One of the fun things about writing fantasy is that you get to build worlds from the ground up. Since you’re not playing with reality necessarily you can do just about anything you want. It also means you have to do a lot of background sketching to fill in your world. John Scalzi once wrote that he tried to go two questions deep on world building, which makes a lot of sense. It’s important that your world be well rounded (pardon the pun), even when it comes to things that don’t necessarily drive the narrative.

Which is to say that when I was building the world of The Water Road I had to decide what role religion played in it. Even though I’m an atheist, religion fascinates me and I think part of any well developed fictional world would be religion (unless the complete absence thereof was what you wanted to explore). In fact, one of the first things I wrote for The Water Road is the Altrerian creation myth. It’s not actually in any of the books, so this seems as good a place as any to let it see the light of day:

In the time before time, the Maker of Worlds saw a void in the firmament of the heavens.  She decided that it must be filled, lest the other stars and planets be drawn into the void and lost forever.

So the Maker of Worlds cupped her hands and dipped them into the Lake of Eternity.  She brought the water up in her hands and breathed on the waters while molding it into a ball.  When the swirling churning waters had been shaped into a perfect ball, the Maker hung the ball in the firmament and filled the void.

But when the Maker of Worlds looked at the ball of swirling water in the firmament, she was not pleased.  She plucked the young planet out of the heavens and set it in front of her.  The Maker thought for a moment and pondered what was missing from her new creation.

After a time, the Maker took the sharpest knife she could find.  She took the blade in her left hand and held her right palm out over the swirling waters.  In one quick motion, the Maker of Worlds sliced across her outstretched palm and the blood of the Maker fell into the churning, swirling, and empty oceans.

As the blood of the Maker of Worlds fell into the oceans, it began to become solid.  The more the Maker bled, the larger the stain on the oceans would become.  Before long, the spots of blood began to come together and form The Land.  As the land formed, the churning seas beat upon it, breaking off small parts which became The Islands.

The Maker of Worlds healed her wound and surveyed The Land.  With her breath, the Maker calmed the rough seas.  With her lips, the Maker gave the new world a kiss of life – to The Land, to The Islands, and to the seas.  Weakened by her work, the Maker hung the now living planet back in the firmament, where she forgot about it.

Eons passed before the Maker of Worlds remembered her watery creation with the one continent upon it.  In the time that had passed, The Land had become full of life.  Not only animals and plants, but intelligent beings, who lived together in communities and created a society.  The Land was rich and plentiful, but its inhabitants still found things to fight about.  They constantly warred, on upon the other, seemingly without end.  When the Maker saw what had become of her world, she was depressed.  And she was angry.

In her anger, the Maker of Worlds lashed out at her creation.  She drove a single finger into the soil on the east side of The Land.  Then, she drug it across the entire breadth of The Land, changing it forever.  In the wake of the Maker’s finger came Great Basin Lake and The Water Road.  To the south of the river, great mountains heaved up from the soil, all the way south to the cold southern seas.  To the north, The Land cracked and two great rivers were formed as water rushed into the fissures.  The far north, beyond the reach of the waters, became barren, dry, and inhospitable.  The people of The Land were likewise shattered, north and south, divided by the Water Road into Neldathi and Altrerian.  Many multitudes died.

When the Maker of Worlds realized what she had done, she howled in pain.  After all, she was a creator, not a destroyer.  He had lashed out in anger because her children had disappointed her.  Her anger saddened and disgusted her.  As she held back tears, the Maker of Worlds took the wounded world and gently placed it back in the firmament.  She vowed never to touch it again and let her children be.

And then, history began . . .

The Neldathi and the Altrerians were both polytheistic and shared the same pantheon of deities, but interacted with them in different ways. The Altrerians treated the gods as a group, beings that were all involved in the order of the universe. By contrast, each of the Neldathi clans had one god as a protector and venerated him or her over the others. The Maker of Worlds, in spite of the creation myth, wasn’t really part of the pantheon.

At the time The Water Road begins there’s been a seismic shift in the way the Altrerians think of the gods. Sometime in the semi-recent past, a Great Awakening swept across the nations of the Triumvirate. Only this wasn’t an awakening of religious fervor, but the emergence of a consensus that the gods actually didn’t exist. How people dealt with this varied – in the Guilds religious belief and observances disappeared in a generation, while the Telebrians hung on to the traditional cultural aspects of belief while largely proclaiming not to believe anymore.

On top of that, among the Neldathi there’s also a new strain of religious thinking. A movement led by a man named Goshen preaches that the gods are all actually different aspects of the one actual god – the Maker of Worlds. He and his beliefs will play an important role in The Water Road.

The world of The Water Road is dominated by the continent of Altreria. It’s where the titular river is, where the Neldathi and Triumvirate face off, and where most of the action in the trilogy happens. It’s not the only bit of real estate in this world, however.

The Slaisal Islands are a chain of islands that lie off the continent’s northeast corner, curving away from the Badlands toward the northeast. Those who live there, called Islanders, are, naturally enough, sailors and fishers. In general, they stay out of the political squabble between the Triumvirate and the Neldathi. In short, if there’s a vacation spot in the world of The Water Road, this is it. I mean, consider the sunsets:

Not really the Slaisal Islands, obviously – they don’t even have cameras yet! But you get the idea. Photo of Lake Malawi in Tanzania, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

The Islanders are also traders, effectively controlling the commercial network at sea. Since they’re not part of the Triumvirate they aren’t bound by the alliance’s command to not do business with the Neldathi. In fact, there are four Islander cities along the Neldathi coast. They serve as way stations for Islander vessels, but also provide the only regular contact between the Neldathi and the outside world. There’s a similar Islander city on the northern coast, serving the same function with the Azkiri nomads who roam the Badlands.

In spite of their position on the periphery of events in Altreria, the Islanders are a key part of the story of The Water Road.

I’ve talked a little bit about the great walled cities of the Arbor, the large city-states that formed the Confederation. While they dominate the dense wooded area, they aren’t the only thing there. Smaller cities and towns pop up in various clearings. One of them, even, takes a slightly different route.

Oberton isn’t quite a mythical city, but it’s a city with a lot of mythology around it. That’s pretty much par for the course when you build a city in the trees. Here’s Rurek, introducing Strefer to the mythos of Oberton:

“Oberton is a city in the Arbor…” he said, before Strefer interrupted with a wave of her hand.

“Hang on. I thought the names of all the cities in the Arbor ended the same way: Tomondala, Kerkondala, whateverdala,” she said, emphasizing the last two syllables before trailing off.

“Sort of,” Rurek said. “In the ancient tongue, ‘dala’ literally meant ‘walled city.’ So ‘Tomondala’ literally means ‘Walled City of Tomon.’ The seven city-states that make up the Confederation are all walled cities, so their names all end the same way. But there are lots of other cities and towns in the Arbor, Strefer. You didn’t think there were only the seven, did you?” he asked with the kind of grin that said he hoped she did, so he could hold it over her in the future.

“Pfft,” she said, waving off his accusation, “of course not.” She wasn’t so drunk to concede that she had never actually given the matter any thought.

“Oberton is a city that’s almost right in the center of the Arbor, somewhere between Maladondala and Vertidala,” he said.

“Somewhere?” Strefer asked.

“Nobody is quite sure where it is, to tell the truth,” he said.

“Wait, are you sure it really exists at all?” Strefer asked. “It sounds a little fishy.”

Rurek rolled his eyes, as if the existence of Oberton was a settled fact where he came from. “It’s not like the other cities in the Arbor, Strefer. It’s up in the trees, built along the tops of the massive trunks that have grown up there. They say you could be standing right underneath the town square and never know it.”

Strefer was not quite buying this, but he might as well continue, anyway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Rurek took a drink and continued his explanation. “It’s renowned as a city of learning and history. Sort of like your people, Strefer, when the awakening came and the priests and monks of the various orders there put aside the gods and became scholars of history. They say Oberton has a great library that holds many ancient texts and great secrets. In Oberton, they treasure learning and truth above all else.” [/quote]

Hmm. A mysterious city in the trees where truth is valued above all else. A woman who needs to get the truth out whatever it takes. Wonder if those things might play well with each other?

NOTE: As it happens, the theme for this week’s edition of One Line Wednesday on Twitter is “up.” Look for more blurb about Oberton there using #1lineWed.

Does every story need a sidekick? If so, then I suppose you can consider Rurek a sidekick in The Water Road trilogy. He’d be a pretty good one, if you needed it. Strefer certainly thinks so.

Rurek is a Sentinel. As I mentioned earlier, Sentinels are both the intelligence gatherers for the Triumvirate and also act as a police force for the city of Tolenor. Rurek works in Tolenor, although he had a brief stint in one of the forts along the Water Road (as all Sentinels do). He walks a beat, trying to keep people out of trouble, a role that suits him quite well.

Rurek is originally from Kerkondala, one of the great walled cities of the Arbor (the suffix “dala” means “walled city” in the old tongue). Kerkondala sits on the bank of the River Adon at a place called The Narrows, where the Adon and the River Innis are at their closest. Because of that, at one time Kerkondala controlled all passage from north to south. After a great war with Maladondala, to the south, it had to relent and open the Arbor to more people.

Like every other Sentinel, Rurek’s been trained in the use of the pikti, the fighting staff. He’s a student of its history and, while not a master, can use it very effectively. For a time at the Sentinel academy in Tolenor he taught new recruits how to use the Sentinel’s signature weapon.

Rurek has a professional relationship with Strefer, the reporter for the (Sermont) Daily Register. At least he’s a source, one of many she pumps for information at night in the pubs where off duty Sentinels congregate. He tends to have a good handle on what’s going on in the city, since a lot of other Sentinels report to him. He’s fond of Strefer, but never in his life did he imagine the kind of trouble she would eventually get him into.