An historic zone of exile thought to lie somewhere within modern-day Cornwall.
There was a time—a certain long-ago halcyon era—when peculiars could live together, unlooped and in the open, without fear of persecution. Peculiars of the day often divided themselves into groups according to their ability, a practice now frowned upon as it encourages tribalism and inter-peculiar hostility.
The source of the cannibals’ wealth? The manufacture of candy and children’s toys.
The country names here are fictional, though in some regional versions of the tale they are substituted with real places. In one telling Frankenbourg is Spain, in another Galatia is Persia; the story, in any event, remains the same.
There used to be a highly acidic liquid you could buy on the peculiar black market. The bottles were wrapped in snakeskin, and the stuff inside could burn through metal. It was called Princess Spit—in honor, no doubt, of this tale. After a number of unfortunate incidents involving its misuse, peculiar authorities shut down its manufacture. These days, bottles of Princess Spit are rare collectors’ items.
The Council of Important Peculiars, made up entirely of men, predated the Council of Ymbrynes by a great many years. It was composed of a dozen chummy councilmen who met twice a year to write and amend the laws peculiars were supposed to follow, which mainly concerned conflict resolution (duels were permitted), the circumstances under which peculiars were allowed to use their abilities around normals (whenever it suited them), and the myriad penalties for breaking the rules (ranging from tongue-lashings to banishment).
While this tale doesn’t mention them, likely because they are too numerous to mention, many remarkable discoveries were made at this time regarding the behavior and function of loops. These included the concept of arrested aging, the limits of accessibility for non-peculiars, a loop’s dual exits into past and present, and perhaps even the rudiments of time-stream theory and the problems of parallel streams. All of which makes Ymeene not only Britain’s first ymbryne but a true pioneer in loopology. Neither should the contributions of her friend Englebert be overlooked: within his removable head dwelled a keen scientific mind, and if not for his detailed notes, many of Ymeene’s breakthroughs would have been lost.
This small, popular revolt was the beginning of matriarchal ymbryne leadership in peculiardom, but it was not a clean break. The council and its cronies did not let go of power easily, and in years following they staged a series of unsuccessful coups. But that’s a story for another time.
Ymeene’s tree was a destination for peculiar pilgrims for many years, but its location has long been lost. One of her tan-and-black tail feathers was saved, however, an ancient relic that can still be viewed in the Pantheon of Notables, safely behind glass.
This is also true of grimbears, unless you have a special bond with one.
Dancing Plague killed millions, but its victims invented the fox-trot, the Charleston, and the cha-cha slide. So, a mixed bag.
It would seem that word of Britain’s ymbrynes spread far and wide across the world, becoming the stuff of legend even among non-peculiars.
Living islands are virtually unknown in peculiardom today. If any still exist, they stay very well hidden. No one can blame them for being shy—historically, such islands have been mined for their blood, a process every bit as grotesque and painful as it sounds.
Technically it wasn’t a lie, since his father’s body was Cocobolo.
Known today as Eel Pie Island, it has long been a meeting place for the peculiar. It was a favorite haunt of King Henry VIII, and in the twentieth century, hippies, anarchists, and rock musicians flocked there.
Some accounts of the fire even have the pigeons fanning the flames with their wings. Truly a shameful moment in peculiar history.
There are many dream-manipulators in peculiar history, but only one who shared Lavinia’s talent for making real the immaterial stuff of dreams. His name was Cyrus and he was a thief of pleasant dreams: he needed them to survive, and became infamous for stealing the happiness of entire towns, one night and one house at a time.
Much has been made of this passage, which some read as evidence that Lavinia’s nightmare ball is demonic in origin, and that Lavinia herself is a sort of dream exorcist. Personally, I think that’s silly, and that some so-called academics watch too many horror movies in their spare time. The ball merely has a few unpleasant habits.
How Erick knew the boy was peculiar from a simple laying-on of hands isn’t clear; it’s possible he was himself peculiar, and his ability was detecting peculiarity in others, even latent or undeveloped talents.
Extraordinary locust plagues afflicted the American West throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The largest ever recorded appeared in 1875, when a swarm of more than twelve trillion locusts, blanketing an area larger than California, devastated the plains.
This was mostly likely Vitaligis Peculiaris, a medical book written in half-invented Latin by an unknown quack physician of long ago. Some of the advice it gives is quite sound, but most is madness; the trick is telling the difference.
There are many accounts of villainous persons making false lights in order to confuse and deliberately wreck ships, but this is the only mention anywhere, in history or folklore, of a peculiar’s power being used for such purposes.
The Hannah is not fiction. It was a real ship—and now an infamous one—that sailed from the Irish port of Newry on April 3, 1849, under the command of an inexperienced captain named Curry Shaw. Just twenty-three at the time, he had already earned a reputation as a ruthless man, and was widely despised even before the terrible events that befell his vessel.
This, too, is verified by history: late on the night of April 27, the Hannah struck an iceberg, and Shaw fled with his crew in the only lifeboat.
That is not to say giants disappeared altogether; they simply stopped walking the earth. Read the tale “Cocobolo” to learn what became of them.
They reached the cliff-top via an ingenious rope-and-pulley system Miss Wren engineered herself.
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