OVERVIEW

Continent 2, in the high orbital photo below, is the broad, mostly orange landmass in the upper left. Below it is Continent 3; to the right stretches Continent 1. On the horizon at lower right is Continent 4. Together with Continent 5, just over the right-hand horizon, these continents form a chain with over half the world's land; the continents of the other hemisphere aren't just smaller but more isolated. Thus, civilization may progress faster here in the so-called Outer Hemisphere; and Continent 2 is in the heart of the chain.

Continent 2 could almost be named Saharia. It's shaped like the Sahara plus Arabia and Ethiopia, with subsaharan Africa cut off by shallow seas. It's also the driest continent on Pegasia--though the east is far greener than Arabia or the Red Sea basin or Ethiopia--quite jungly, in fact. And even that western desert is no Sahara--broken up by warm gulfs and high mountains, full of river canyons and artesian basins.

Geologically, east and west Continent 2 are as different as their climates. The west is part of the Continent 3's great platform to the south; the rugged east is a huge rift zone structure (hence its resemblance to the Red Sea).

Continent 2 is topologically difficult to tour in a linear fashion--all those jagged eastern peninsulas! But I'll give it my best shot, starting on the southeastern capes, zigzagging generally west over and around the bays and mountains in the way, along the southern shore, then north along the dry west coast, east over the great prairies, and north along the rift zone again. That means we start in the middle of nowhere. I don't mean a wasteland. No land at all! I really, really hope you already read the survival tips.

Oh well, too late now.

You're flying over a tropical sea. I hope you adjusted your wing-straps properly; you can't land and and fix them now. The only land in sight is one green hump hours behind us, half-hidden by clouds on the southeast horizon, and another hump hours ahead. If it's any consolation, even the locals (far better fliers than us) rarely use this flyway; it stretches thousands of km, to Continent 4, Continent 3 and southern Continent 1, but none of the routes are easy. Geologically, it's a mid-sea ridge (much like Earth's); but Pegasia's seas are so shallow the ridge's high points form frequent islands (rare on Earth). This is a relatively easy stretch, not a lonely deep-sea passage; land's in sight, and so are half a dozen gaggles and lines and Vs of distant fliers. If you crash like Icarus, there's even a faint hope they'd fish you out before you drown; as safe as sea-travel gets, on Pegasia! Just the baby pool.

Two hours later, when you land on the narrow beach fringed by tall trees, as shake your wings off and stretch your sore shoulders, you ask "Where are we, exactly, on the mainland. The southeast?" And I get to say: "I lied. You aren't there yet. You've just crossed one of a dozen straits in the 21 Islands, heading for the mainland." You grudgingly suit up, and flap on, around this ten-mile islet, over a five-mile channel to the next, and the next, and the next--each larger, longer, with higher ridges and bigger volcanic cones. Bali after Bali! By noon (in the long, long Pegasian day--nearly 13 hours since dawn) you've flown several hundred km along this tropical chain, stopping every other island to rest and and taste the aromatic fruits of the rainforest canopy. The local silviculturalists won't begrudge you; they planted them for travelers. Who are these tree-farmers? You tell me. I only know they're light and agile enough to live up in the sunny canopy; a ground-dwelling population of any density seems unlikely--too dark and close down there.

You sleep through the noon heat before flying on to the next island. Rounding the flanks of each volcano, you expect to see the sea again, but this island's huge, fully 750 km long (460 mi)--a Java. Near sundown you're starting to suspect I lied twice and this really is the mainland, but a moat of fire appears ahead: a last channel mirroring the slow sunset. Over the strait, the colors turn wild and the horizon disappears--you're flying through a psychedelic dream of magenta tigerstripes above and below. You're too tired to appreciate it fully, though. A long day! And I do mean long--26 hours of daylight. You skid on the beach, strip off your wings, and curl up in the dune-grass of Continent 2.

And sleep 15 hours--more than half the night! A stretching session, a moonlit predawn swim (what moon? Not huge Zeus, the gas giant Pegasia orbits--we're on the outer face of Pegasia, where it's never seen. That big rusty moon in the sky is Tharn, one of Pegasia's sister moons. It's bigger than Mars--big enough to have intelligent life of its own!) A solid meal, a second sleep, and when you wake at dawn you feel ready to appreciate the scenery. It's worth a look; dawn here's as wild as the sunset. Damp tropical air nearly twice as dense as Earth's to filter the rising sun's light, and puffy clouds as screens for a fiery display lasting all through breakfast and beyond.

Today you practice riding the winds along the mountain-chain. Hours of gliding, just bending your wingtips; spiraling in upwinds, then darting across shady valleys to regain height on the next ridge.

THE GREAT RIFT

The hills below are seamless emerald, with trees 70-100 m tall (Pegasia's low gravity encourages skyscraper trees). Rains here are year-round, though heaviest in orbital summer. But slowly, over the endless day, the rainforest opens up. By afternoon, we're creeping north into a Mediterranean strip. At last, a monstrous volcano looms ahead, ice-flanked. The signpost at last! Time to turn inland. It's a real climb, up brushy slopes, then trees. The trees fray abruptly at the rim--the far side drops in red cliffs. Below are dry box canyons. Sharp up- and downdrafts; gliding down is less physical work than the climb was, but tricky and exhausting. Over a grassy, scrubby coastal plain is a long straight saltwater sound, stretching northwest out of sight. The Great Rift! Faint snowcapped peaks rise out to sea, beyond the horizon: the far rim. Hard to see in the glare of the afternoon sun. I'm sure you could make it across this gulf now, but the setting sun would be right in your eyes the whole way. Better to rest up. So we fly leisurely up the coast for the last few hours of daylight. In the morning, you can see the peaks quite clearly; the gulf's narrowed enough for you to cross with ease in an hour or so: 80 km (50 mi).

The eastern shore is Mediterranean too, at first. I won't lead you further north yet; most of Continent 2 lies to the west, and the most fertile region is south of us. That's where we're heading, for now--back down the west shore of the Rift. By sunset you've passed five volcanoes high enough to bear great icecaps. But they're mere punctuation on the unrelenting wall, as straight as a human artifact. Offshore, the far rim fades into the distance as the gulf widens.

THE SOUTHEAST

Relax and take a couple of long Pegasian days wandering around Cape Y---. A maze of tropical sounds wind between lush hills, below scattered snowy volcanoes. They must be tall indeed--we're just ten degrees from the equator now. You visit the treetop garden-villages of the heat-tolerant, fructivorous X--- People. What do they look like? Parrots, winged monkeys, gliding lizards? You tell me. You should certainly get in some swimming, too--the reefs here are famous. Are they inhabited by an amphibian race that trades with the treetop people? If so, who? Clever-toed newts, toughened-up squid, tool-using otters, tree-climbing crabs? You tell me.

At last, inland to a lake below a great ice-peak, a Kilimanjaro. Our way lies northwest, between two lesser cones. A long slow haul; no help from the winds, for the great peaks around the valley shelter it.

From the pass, you see a second lake below snowcapped volcanoes to the east, south and west. To the north, a long river valley.... Head north for a full Pegasian day, now, all the way round the head of Y--- Gulf. A great icecapped peak floats on the western horizon: Mount Z---. Its shoulders are dark forest, but its lower flanks are scruffy brown. So are the nearer hills. The rains are starting to fail. We're nearing the end of the lush southeast, but it isn't dead yet. As we fly south along the west shore of Y--- Gulf, the woods return--opener monsoon forest, not as tall as the rainforest behind us, but still grand country, with small lakes gleaming like eyes, fed by streams from the dark evergreen mountains to the west.

On the third day, a mile-high range juts into the southern sea, nearly meeting a long island. It's a bridge to Continent 3--but we have business west.

Past this narrow strait, hills of patchy green and gold savanna stretch to the horizon. The West! Geographically you're still well east of Continent 2's heart, but you know instantly this pass is the border. The prairie below is another world.

THE SOUTH

For two days you fly west; well, north of west now, for the coast angles slowly away from the equator--and its rains. The land fades from golden hills to tufted grasslands to brown scrub.

The third day is hard, thirsty flying. Here a gulf cuts deep into the desert, nearly to the mountains' feet. The shores are dry red hills; coral reefs fill the winding sounds between a flotilla of rocky islands, from mere sea-stacks and arches to several bigger than Crete. From the map, you know these grow steadily greener to the south: a second bridge to Continent 3.

This south coast of Continent 2 feels a bit like Australia's, though more broken up; low, dry, scrubby capes and broad sounds. A day to the west you reach a great hilly peninsula with open woods. A bit further south, and more maritime, it's in the path of more storms. But still the monsoon rains vary annually. If the local people are winged, they may have an irregular migration pattern: in bad years they head north to the mountains in the middle of the desert, where (paradoxically) trees and water may be scarce, but are reliable; aquifers are charged by the snows of previous years. Neither land could sustain a large population by itself; nor could a flightless people easily cross the desert in summer; but those scorching hills create strong updrafts--perfect for fliers to ride. And temperatures in the central mountains are bearable in summer, though thunderstorms are a problem for fliers. What do they look like? You tell me. But I'll tell you one thing I'm sure of about them--expect a religion that placates a thunder-god. Not a remote growler off in the sky, as in human religions, but a fierce, unpredictable peer, a flier like yourself, but prone to bizarre tricks. Death is not a blind archer, but a mad sniper...

WEST COAST

And then, after days, the coast bends sharply north. The new west-facing coast gets almost no rain at all--dry hot winds blow off the jagged mountains, not from the sullen sea. Red desert coast, though the higher peaks are tall enough to harvest some rain, or snow; their middle slopes are Mediterranean woods and their shoulders dark evergreen forests, though even the heights are gray and sparse as a balding old man.

Offshore, running south, rugged desert islands rise. They look unpromising, but deserve a side trip: fly south, and they grow slowly greener and larger, culminating in a rainforested Java-sized island straddling the equator. The chain continues southeast all the way to Continent 3; in fact, it's a shortcut for many winged travelers headed for the Inner Hemisphere (less mystic than it sounds! The hemisphere permanently facing Zeus, the gas giant this world orbits; the left half of the world map).

But to see all of Continent 2, we have to head north, up this desert coast. One good thing: the coastal mountains generate plenty of updrafts, by the next morning, we've gone from a rainless Baja or Namibian desert to southern California--a narrow strip along the shore stays green due to summer fogs. And small snowmelt streams start to reach the sea. Villages appear and soon grow dense as the strip between the mountains and the sea, 1-200 km wide, grows greener. Past 30 north, the coast bends east.

This Pseudo-Morocco has a Mediterranean climate, cool and rainy in winter, dry all summer. The Pseudo-Atlas Mountains (longer and snowier than their namesakes) run all along the west coast, walling off the worst of the inland desert. Who lives here, in this great ecological island? You tell... no, I'm not repeating that phrase again so soon.

NORTH COAST

At last, the mountains bow their heads and march down to the sea. Wheeling right, round their eastern end, we enter another world: low, rolling hills of savanna to a level, hazy horizon. It's the prairie heartland of Continent 2, around the northern Gulf of W---. Most streams here are small and seasonal; but now and then we pass a larger river from the inland mountains. These are snowfed and perennial; their bottomlands will be as rich as the Nile. Civilizations may center here, in distinct strip-states. But more like Libya or Tunisia, not Egypt... for a second people (species?) may graze the wide veldt around them, or herd animals that do. Cameloid people, drought-proof and prone to spitting in your eye? Lion-folk herding cattle, counting all their wealth on the hoof? And how would wings affect their herding, raiding, trade? If they have wings. What species (or pair of them) are we talking about? You tell me.

These wide veldts, the rivers, the inevitable port at every rivermouth, may get monotonous after a week. But the swimming is nice! Gorgeous coral reefs in these warm sheltered sounds.

At long last, a ridge heaves up from the endless plain, blocking our way. We climb a kilometer or more up to a pass. Below lies... deja vu! A great, straight slash cradling the head of a gulf or long lake--you're not quite sure which, even when you skim down to its shore and taste its brackish, slightly bitter, soapy water. The next dawn you take flight and follow it northwest. It's Lake Q---, a rift-lake some 320 km long and 65 wide (200 by 40 mi). You can see reefs down the middle, built by small volcanoes and hotsprings. Some mighty strange critters live in this lake. What do they look like? Oh, I'm shameless: you tell me.

FULL CIRCLE?

Brackish Lake Q--- is just a few hours' flight from the salty gulf where we first landed on Continent 2. Nearly full circle now! Back in the Great Rift.

We fly northwest, riding the updrafts along the western ridge-faces. The valley is dry and golden: treeless veldt. Every hundred km or so, you pass a sharp, clean, recent cone that warns you: not all crust spreads peacefully. Small and dormant, but still... volcanoes dot the peninsula as regularly as the bumps on a skinny dancer's spine.

Slowly trees spread from the streambeds. Over the top of the ridge, you can see the distant sea, now; we're on a green-gold peninsula stretching nearly to 40 north. Mediterranean climate here; dry summers, gentle rains in winter--or a dusting of snow in the higher mountains. Pleasant country, but not spectacular or lush. But the villages you stay in have a cosmopolitan air; at least a tenth of the denizens are of various species from all over Pegasia. Geography explains why. This peninsula, Rift End, is the easiest route to western Continent 1. A certain fraction of the flyway's travelers simply liked it and settled down. But the cultural effects have been profound. Among them: the highest percentage of mixed-species marriages you've seen on Continent 2. What sort of couples? (Not to mention the trios!) You tell me.

And now you're at the end. Rift's End. Where the worldwide riftzone finally splits and fades into geological untraceability. A narrow green island leads like a causeway toward Continent 1. It's an easy flyway. Shall we go?

The gazetteer: will have a full index of native placenames, with descriptions--once the contests's over and we have natives to name them.

World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sh - Si-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: wdreamb@yahoo.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites