The Place
The Fen Mirror is a mirror-still bog, and the mirror is the whole of the place, because a bog that is a mirror is a bog that has been kept, and the kept is the law. The bog stretches five kilometers from the reed line to the grey water, and the five kilometers is the measure the kelpies trust, because a bog that has been mirrored is a bog that has been lured, and the luring is the keeping. The surface of the bog is a constant grey shimmer, a grey that is more water than color, and the grey is the color of the mirror, which is to say it is a color you can see in the still and not in the move. The floor of the bog is a dark green, a green that is more depth than color, and the green is the color of the drown, and the drown is the calendar, and the calendar is the find. At the edges of the still water, where the reeds thin, the surface turns a rust color, a rust that is more depth than water, and the rust is the color of the lure, and the lure is the word, and the word is the find. The sky over the bog is a flat grey, the color of the reed line when the mist is up, and the mist is up, and the up is the season. It smells of wet reed and old water, a smell that is the bog and is also the mirror, and the one sound under the water is the drip, a single slow crack from the center of the bog that is the mirror being read as a word, and the word is the drown, and the drown is the find. There is no landmark the way a bog has a landmark, but there is one: the First Mirror, a pool of still water at the center of the bog, the oldest mirror and the first drown, and the mirror is the door, and the door is the drip. What makes the Fen Mirror itself is the conversation: the bog keeps its mirrors the way the mirrors keep the drown, and the keeping is the mirror, and the mirror is the word, and the word is the end.
How They Live
The Kelpies build their mirror in the bog, a constant grey shimmer, their surface a constant drip, their floor dissolving and re-forming, and a mirror is kept one still at a time, because a still is the season and a still is the calendar. The mirrors are low and deep, a grey shimmer over a darker floor, and the grey is the surface and the darker is the law, and the law is the drown. Light comes from the mirror — the grey shimmer of the bog, which glows faintly in the dark, and the glow is the daylight, and the daylight is the kept. Food is the mirror: the rider, the horse, the light, and the drag that keeps the lure honest, and the rider is the staple, because the rider is the conversation, and the conversation is the kept. Water is the bog, and the bog is the water, and the mirror drinks and lures and drowns in the same grey shimmer. Heat is not something the bog offers, and the not-offering is the law, and the kelpies have stopped asking it to. The drag-light is cold and kept in the hide, and the cold is the law, because a light that is cold is a light that has been lured, and the luring is the word. The defense is the mirror itself — a visitor who rides on the mirror is already in the drown's path, and the drown is the alarm and the welcome and the sentence, because the bog has a still, and the still has a drag, and the drag has an end. The day is not measured, because there is no day, and the not-measuring is the law; the mirror moves, and the mirror rests, and the bog is the only clock, and the clock does not lie about the find. Every kelpie that is named must stand in the First Mirror through one full drip before the bog will call it one of its own, and the standing is the naming, and the naming is the only thing the water ever gives back.
People
Home of the Kelpies, whose mirrors are counted by drag. Five mirrors at the last count, and the count is kept by the lure-keepers, which is to say the count is as reliable as the drip, which is to say it is reliable until the mirror breaks. The lure-keepers lead, and rank is decided by the luring, because a keeper who lures a rider the bog has forgotten is the keeper the mirror trusts. Nothing that cannot stand in the still is welcome, and the not-standing is not an insult, because the bog has a word, and the word has a drown, and the drown has an end. A traveler who once watched the bog from the reed line called it a place that drowns its conversations in grey water, and the calling was the truest thing he said and the thing the bog paid the least attention to.
In Stories
The place where the mirror is the only honest conversation, and the conversation is the drown, and the drown is the find, and the find is the end. The Forgotten have not crossed the bog, and the not-crossing is the decision, and the decision is the longest one the guild has made. Uaellaen heard the drip once, from the reed line, at the hour of the still, and the hearing was the mirror, and the mirror was the only thing that lasted.