Finishing up a short story, this is an excerpt from it. Still needs a little work, but it coming along nicely and I do like the cover I came up with.
The Sound echoes in every cell, creature and world that exist, stretching from the first noise that created the universe and every universe, to the furthest reaches and wildest fancy that hold all life. Each path within the Sound a marvel and a terror. It is the last and first harmony of creation, chaotic and pure, it binds all that is and will be. Flowing outwards it offers a conduit to those who choose to walk its path. Few feel its pull, strong, constant, sweeping and questing.
A Traveller walks alone, name, home and hearth long forgotten in footsteps too many to count. Reasons once true now but a shadow of a memory, the yearning for the answer a constant companion on his long journey.
Sand shifts beneath the Travellers feet as he steps from the waypoints path, his final passage along the Echoes, their boundless doors reaching an unfamiliar end. The focal point fades and disappears as the world sharpens into focus and the traveller surveys this final world.
A midnight sky harbours no stars or moon, yet a temperate light illuminates the all before him. In the distance waves lap upon the shore, slow, gentle and restless. Air, dry, stale and lifeless fill his lungs. Memories of another life painful and joyous claw to the fore his mind, unwilling and unwanted in this moment they are pushed down and buried once more.
Looking around no reed or dune breaks the line of his sight, only the sand and the waves greet him. Reaching down he places his open palm lightly against the sand and reaches up to black stone, which rests on his chest. Streams of light like lines of cracked glass spread along surface of his hand. Concentrating he can feel that life does not belong to this place, no insect crawls or plant grows.
Standing he walks closer the waves, their unnatural movement captivating him as its breaks on the shore. The water if it can be called that slowly devour the grains of sand, leaving only more waves reaching up hungrily to consume the shore once again, a protracted cycle of destruction.
Stretching as far as his eyes can see the waters fill his vision, its sight raising a primal fear from the core of his being. The Traveller has seen many worlds, many reverberations along the paths of the Echoes, paper thin and twisted, but they have never instilled the same disquiet as the Sea before him.
Reaching into his greatcoat pocket he removes a skein of string extracting a long length, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger to detach it from the body. Tying a heavy knot at one end, the Traveller throws it into the Sea. Pulling back on the string it at first looks unchanged, lifting the string to his face it begins to crumble like ash and drifts back to the sands.
Looking left and right the scene remains unchanged, sand sweeps, curves and lengthens until it meets the waves once more. Uncertainty and doubt gambol within his chest. Stilling himself he adjusts his pack, turns to his left and begins to walk along the beach, there is work to complete. Minutes pass and turn into hours. Hours lengthen and the world around him remains unchanged. Food and rest are needed as hours change to days.