In works of fantasy, science fiction and myth, ‘the journey’ remains a vital, recurrent theme and metaphor for both inner transformation and the outwardly shared quest.
While many contemporary editors prefer to skip detailed journeys in order to prioritise a fast narrative pace, it nonetheless remains a core archetypal ‘movement’ that both surprises and reassures, comforts and challenges, hardens or softens the heart, anchors the traveller in the needs of the moment, and allows for sanctuary spaces in which companions can rest, nourish themselves, and share stories, food and warming fires.
Throughout the journey, character is tested, friendships are forged, unexpected help arrives, dangers loom, threats and obstacles must be overcome, simple pleasures are rediscovered, and welcome allies may be met.
J. R. R. Tolkien is a master at unfolding ‘the journey’ at a pace which allows the reader to imaginally savour every element of it, including the natural settings, the ominous darknesses, the struggles, pain and laughter, and the down-to-earth solidity of friendships forged by the simple need to survive and keep moving, lured and prodded by a shared drive grounded in both outer necessity and a heart-centred ‘call’ from within.
My main homage to Tolkien is a chapter devoted solely to a cross-country journey by horse, shared by two Rangers (Elverne and Sygan), who are joined by the Shapemage, Jessiah, who has fled to the galaxy Anddemar from the Grey-infested, orbiting galaxy Syngard. Here is one of their quieter moments shared around a fire, on an Earth-like world lit by the twin suns Levyn-Meresda . . .
As dusk settled over the plain, the companions, enticed by a sheltering group of crumbling dolmens, decided to set up camp for the night. Sygan began gathering and breaking up wood for the fire, while Jessiah wandered out among a clump of bushes. Elverne sporadically looked to him, partly hidden as he was now and then by a bush, then suddenly bathed in the ruddy glow of the fading suns.
After they had shared a meal around a crackling fire, Sygan, watching the sunset, drew his cloak more closely about him. Meresda had now sunk below the horizon, while Levyn, oblate and orange-red was falling fast. Elverne sat huddled next to her fellow ranger and stared into the flames. Restless, Jessiah arose to saunter about nearby.
‘If Jessiah speaks the truth,’ said Sygan, ‘as I do not doubt he does, this looming war with the Grey Power is likely a hopeless one. How can we wage war against the stars? More to the point, how do they plan to fight us?’ Picking up a stick, he began to trace odd patterns on the ground.
‘Assuming they are fighting at all,’ murmured Elverne, throwing a few twigs into the fire.
Sygan looked up to her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps they merely seek out empty spaces, room to spread, so to speak, like a seeping stain. Where there is no hindrance, those that can move will simply drift in and settle down.’
‘But what will drift in?’ returned Sygan with agitation. 'Greyness? What is it? We need to question Jessiah further, so that should we be assailed we need not flounder in defence.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Elverne, ‘we shall need to use defences as yet untried by any against this foe.’ Looking up from the fire, she saw Jessiah wandering back towards them and felt sympathy for his burdened plight. To the north, black clouds convened as if with insidious intent, while overhead retreating streaks of stray cloud scurried off to join them. As the light of the now set twin suns faded, the tall dolmen stones looked suddenly eerie and imposing, rather than, as they had seemed in the warm glow of the sunset, welcoming.
‘I have found plants which may aid in the return of my powers,’ said Jessiah as he approached the fire, ‘and one herb which may prove useful for healing, should need of it arise.’ He paused to survey the plains. ‘I have not come across such a broad stretch of unthreatened land in a long, long while,’ he lamented.
Quoted text from Maureen B. Roberts, An Era in Anddemar [Vandrassian Press, Australia, 2026]