§ two §

Waking could never have been so onerous, so miserable. He can feel and hear a very low hum emanating from the floor. Blearily he opens his eyes to find himself in a box, a cage barely large enough to turn around in. All is smooth metal. He can hear strange voices not so far off speaking in a tongue he does not know. He peers through the grate toward a dim light at the end of a not so long corridor or aisle lined with cubicles the same as his own. He sees two men at a table each wearing red armor, helmets hung on the wall.

"so these were the demons"

It seems they are playing a game with wafer-thin pieces of wood.

"Fordan i set ae luyu, uh?" one says.
"Glada natch'e." says the other. This one smacks the table in apparent glee. "Sodo na ye! HA! HA!"

With that everything shutters and takes a terrific roll sideways and the happy one is thrown from his chair. A mean face comes over him and he rises to his feet. As everything settles he hammers on the wall with his fist, shouting "Grane! Grane!"

He rolls his eyes, "Shada, nu pleya du. Shada nu."

The other stifles a laugh.

The tumult has startled some of the other occupants in the other cages. Some have begun sobbing and crying.

The once glad man, now angry, growls, "Sheta. GHARA GRANE!"

He vehemently makes his way down the aisle, banging on the cages with his stick.

A young girl across from Onuup cries uncontrollably, "Mama, mama! I want my mama!"

She must be five years younger than Onuup, who fervently gestures her to quiet. "Shh....shh."

§

The old man walks with his son through the alleys and streets of Ador. How the years have passed, like petals falling from a Salarian tree. Soft pink flakes dropping one by one. Each a passing day, a month, a year. Some to be blown on the wind never to be remembered again.

What do we have here?

The old man stops at a merchants stall stunned by what he sees there. A Pluygast Danthartegeia skull. Fascinating, that beast is only to be found on the Isle of Grehna'domi in the Sighing Seas, two-thousand miles away. He passes his walking stick to the other hand and leans down. The vendor sits cross-legged in front of his wares. Laid out upon a simple bench are various items: a tooth brush (used), ivory comb, a multitude of small jars (obviously scents, maybe). But this skull; a rarity indeed. The old man picks it up, inspects it.

"Master Punjit." The vendor nods and offers a toothy, yet blackened grin, "I am humbled to have you at my service." The stink of his breath almost causes him to cover his nose, yet dignity and interest prevail.

"This? How much?" Punjit proffers the skull.

"Ah. Three rij, that one." Nodding his head.

The old man pulls out his purse and is about to pay the man.

"Father! Don't wander off like that!" The old man is startled and drops his coins. He can hear the ting, ting, ting...like music. He can't help but grin at that, . He looks up to see his son standing there. So tall now, amazing. He can't help but admire that and smile.

Wander

"Wander? I was...am here," he stammers.

"Yes, yes. You are here. I am here, but we must go before we are all too, too late," Guildmaster Superior Vordennih Shuildin z Goldanna Karahk of the Guild of Monetary Matters and Finance exasperatedly bends down to retrieve the coins.

Punjit glances down to his sandaled toes, "Mmm. I have said to you, son. I have no need of a...helper."

Vordennih rises with the coins in hand and pours them into Punjits purse, "We have gone over this father. With my new post at the guild I can't very well take care of you every passing moment."

He sighs and looks into his fathers eyes which have turned a bit hostile. Punjit spins around and stalks off before swiftly turning back and clapping the three rij onto the merchants bench and pocketing the skull, stalking off again.

Vordennih quickly gains on the old man, "Did you just give that rabble three rij for that piece of bone?"

Hobbling onward and without even a glance toward his son Punjit replies, "I see how ignorant you really are. Have I not taught you anything. Do you realize what this 'piece of bone' is? Never you mind, my money."

"That money, yes is yours, but is your stipend from the guild. You aught to watch your money better father."

"Fine. How about you not make this ridiculous purchase of a slave, then you can save a bit more money, uh?"

"Father, you need someone to be with you, to take care of you, wait on you..."

"Watch me? Make sure I don't wander off? Huh? So my son can forget about his old man?"

They continue on in uncomfortable silence. Punjit slows, slumps his shoulders, "Vordennih, I am sorry," he gazes at his son a moment then again forward, "This old man may very well need a little help now and then." Punjit sighs and catches a hold of his sons elbow and they make their way toward the slave markets.

§

[The following will be omitted for a later chapter. I'm working on a new chapter]

They had spent three days at the slave camp. Upon arriving they were stiffly roused from their cages and herded into a corral of sorts. There they were stripped and deloused with lye. The attendants themselves too were slaves as were attested by their thick black leather collars. The earth was hard-packed and dusty. The surrounding buildings were low stone constructions with flat roofs. And as they were ushered through the flimsy wooden gate

lined up to relieve a 

§ one §

Dawns arrival brings with it the sounds of hushed business and small whisperings beyond the thin gohl-skinned tent. He lays there staring into the apex and listens as the tribe readies for the day. There is much to do with winter coming, the days that the Bright One travels farthest away from her people. It was said that the brightest star spent her time in winter to confer with the Others on how to conduct her works upon the world when she returned in the fruitful days. And in the cold days, the dark and gloom-filled days are unhappy without her.

These thoughts are too troubling for his young mind. "Mama...", Onuup silently mutters. He blinks...and sighs, throws off the warm blanket and sits up to look around. The fire is banked, yet a glow of still warm embers remains. A cold mist seeps through the vapor of warmth within the tent and a ray of light stabs through that sliver from the outside world.

A shadow flashes and the flap is opened.

"Bada. Come. Your father has a thing to show to you." Marichail, his mother offers with a smile.

"What is it, mama?"

"You will see, sleepy-head."

She enters and kneels, pats his head and strokes the side of his cheek. "Well? Come now. Get yourself ready for the day."

Her deep, caramel-colored eyes linger upon his face with utmost loving admiration. Her smile as radiant as the goddess herself. She tilts her head like she always does when a small silence comes about.

"Well! What are you waiting for?" her eyes widening in emphasis.

The still cool air invades his person as he steps from the tent and his breath wafts away. He glances around and sees his neighbors sitting around their cooking fires. Madach, the old one, there with his smoking-pipe, waving it around like a pointing finger. Banjir, Madachs' granddaughter passes in front of Onnup and glances down with a smirk, carrying a small basket of trew. She slows as she passes and then turns.

"Onuup? I know that today you are...what? Twelve seasons on now? Plenty on your way to being a right man of the tribe, uh?", she flippantly turns tail and continues on her way. Onuup, extends his tongue in derision, being the boy that he is.

He turns away to scan the camp for his father.

The sky is the pale-blue of a burdges' egg and the clouds are tails of stallions. Laughter and chatter resound throughout, whilst the children chase each other in games of tag. The steppe grasses are peppered with snow. Today, the wind is calm as his breath lazily drifts.

There.

"Papa...", he mutters.

He makes his way toward Blagans' tent where his father sits at the campfire fletching an arrow, carefully scrutinizing the shaft. Concerted eyebrows swiftly change to uplifted recognition as Onuup approaches.

"Son!"Jariri sets down his work and rises to greet his son. His beard wispy and rugged face shining with admiration.

“Father?” the boy raises his pointed finger to the horizon where the dust rises like a cloud of unearthly trepidation, a vast obscurity bearing down upon them. There was no cause for such a thing, they were puzzled.

“Onuup, stay here at my side.”

“Yes, father,” the boy asserts and glances up, “What is it...that is coming?”

“That I do not know with certainty, we shall wait here and see. Come; let us break the nights fast while we wait for our visitors.”

Father and son turn away toward the morning fire upon which mother is preparing breakfast. She glances up to her husband and then away to the impending horizon. And then again to her husband she smiles reassuringly.

“How is the meal Marichail. Onuup and I are starving here.”

“Jariri, you know very well tuok takes time to cook, and more so that if I don’t cook it long enough you’ll be running to the jacks at every moment. But, you love it so much…well, here I am. So don’t rush me or I’ll cut your beard off in the night and you can look like the Barryni tribesmen…”

“And look like a woman: bah! Then I’ll not pester you love…unless you prefer your men to appear as if a woman. In which case you should have told your father before we got married and he could have arranged for a marriage to a Barr...”
Jariri is suddenly spattered with the beginnings of the tuok, affecting a rousing giggle from Onuup and light-hearted indignation from Jariri.

With calm reserve father says, “My love, I regret to inform you that I have not delivered your morning kiss.” At which he begins to pursue her around the hearth fire causing wild eruptions from Onuup.

“Oh, no you don’t Jariri. You had that coming…you had…AAH!”

Suddenly with the hunter’s swiftness, he has her grasped about the waist and with the strength of a grot he has her spun around and planted a sloppy tuok filled kiss upon her lips.”

This further ignites Onuups’ delight that can hardly be contained.

After all is settled, father, son and mother kneel to eat, Maral one of Jariris hunting companion sidles to the fire.

“Maral, please join us.” Jariri says.

“Gladly, every opportunity to welcome the hospitality of your hearth pleases me.” He accepts a bowl of the tuok.

After a few bites he asks father under his breath, “Jariri, do you believe it is them: the Adorians?”

“That may be,” thoughtfully he gazes out to the horizon, “Two days ago I had come across Barryni hunters on the Hyuthe Plain and they told Uuthri and me that they had sighted Adorians farther south along the Serathe River.”

“I wonder why they have come so far north...you know...the raiding and all...”

“It surely cannot be as bad as all that. I hear the Adorian Empire revels in all that it could hope to have. What could they want of a simple tribe like ours?”

“It is puzzling yes. It may be I worry overmuch...”

“Don’t worry. For what is it that we have that could rouse the greed of a great tribe as the Adorians?”

With the morning meal come to an end, the daily preparations for the hunt begin. Hunters set about testing their huldja, named for the bones of that great animal from which it is made. It is a bow as tall as a Suuthe with the sinews of the huldja used for the string. The instrument itself is a prized heirloom passed from father to son, engraved with each predecessor’s name. It is said that once there is no more room to put a name to one it is too old to use any longer and thus put into safe-keeping and a new one crafted. The arrows or juhadu-yhe themselves are fashioned of juhadu quills and at an arms length can pierce the toughest hide and burrow through the flesh, eventually killing the prey.

Father and son sit beside the fire and although Onuup is too young to hunt, Jariri shows him the way of preparing for the hunt.

“See, my son, the juhadu-yhe must be straight. Here hold it at the end and sight down the length and turn it. As you do this, be sure it does not twist or twirl in any way....well, well here is grandfather, Onuup. Good morn to you Theule-hur, it is good to see you”

Father arises and bows to Theule-hur as Onuup leaps to his feet and calls out, “Grandfather! Grandfather!” and pounces on the old man.

“Oomph...grandson you are getting to be quite the young man. Oh here, I’ve brought you something.”

“What is it, grandfather?”

“It is a thing I have carried with me since the day I was ready to join in the hunt, I believe I was twelve seasons along in life then. It was given to me by my father and his father before him. And as it is, I have no son of my blood and so it goes directly from me to you. I believe you are ready for it.”

The old man reaches into his purse and draws out a pendant attached to a leather thong. He unwinds it and places it over Onuups shoulders. As the boy peruses his newly obtained heirloom he notices that it is a claw or maybe a tooth about the size of his middle finger.

“Onuup that is a fang of the juriki, I have heard it was a fierce beast and a magical beast but none exist anymore, or at least none within our hunting grounds."

"Thank you, grandfather. I will keep it with me always."

"Grandson, that lop-sided smile of yours definitely comes from your father. Right, Jariri?" Theule-hur then grasps Jariri about the arm, gently shaking with mirth glancing from the boy to the man. "I can never get over how proud I am to have you with this family. You are the son I never had."

"Theule-hur, you are the father I wished I'd had and I too am proud."

The old man nods once and turns to Onuup. "Well, what lessons are on the agenda today, eh?"

§

As the dawn turns to day the dust cloud upon the horizon grows. A distant chatter and rumble can be heard now. Like thousands of...crickets alongside a stampede of yaithe. All the women and children are sent to the tents, including Onuup and Marichail. The men form a line at the perimeter of the camp awaiting the visitors.

Mother and son kneel together peeking through the slit of the tent flap. Warriors stand rigid as Pruadathe, the shaman, paces back and forth in front of them performing the Glaedu, the rite of protection and strength.

Suddenly a faint 'whumph' can be heard followed by a whistling that quickly intensifies to a mind melting shriek. The explosion, less heard than felt, knocks every one man to the ground with a concurrent discharge of earth and grass. There is no movement as another salvo descends upon the camp. The air is soon enveloped by the grainy dust creating a surreal, dream-like haze. Shouts from the women can be heard as one by one they can be obscurely seen rushing to the aid of their husbands.

Marichail visibly shakes and furtively glances from one silhouette to another.

"Onuup..."

He looks to her as she steadily gazes on.

"Come with me." She reaches down without looking, grasps his wrist and the both of them dart from the tent. The strange rumblings have intensified as they make their way through the smoky haze. The intermittent concussions persist, throwing up debris. Marichail frantically whispers to herself, "Jariri..." over and over.

A blank disembodying sensation overcomes them. The concussion is stunning and drops them to the ground. Onuups head is pounding and his ears are buzzing as he comes around. He is covered in dust and his nose is bleeding. Dizziness and a stifling nausea overtake him as he frenetically searches for his mother. On hands and knees he crawls about in a daze, pausing uncontrollably to wretch nothing. He's calling out for her but cannot hear his own voice.

After a few moments he is able to stagger to his feet. He cannot tell east from west nor north from south as he fumbles through the dust-filled air. Shades move in and out of the gloom as he blinks back the seeping tears.

The last thing he saw in those fateful moments was the demon. It could have been nothing less.

Glossy red scales...and all spun into vertiginous blackness.

§ Prologue §

I was once a boy and not the leader of men that I have become. The future then was not as I had imagined. And the death that I have evaded for so long will eventually claim me.

Until then I have set about putting my life’s story to the pen. It is at times uncomplicated and at times intricate. To this day the losses of my youth have cleft my heart in two, for I realize that without those losses I could not be the “Savior” that I am touted to be today, yet I also realize: I may very well could have lived as my father and his father before.

But that was not to be, was it?

The empire then, was isolated and insular, it had no concept outside of itself; its rule was “right”, the people of Ador were content with the way things were. For the first time in over a thousand years, times were luxuriant and peaceful for its citizens. At no point in history had it ever been unopposed, it was free to do as it willed; even to the detriment of those that lived outside its bounds.

I was such a one.

And this is my story…

Characters

Badach [bah-dok] : Banjirs grand-father.

Banjir [ban-jeer]: A young woman of the Suuthe tribe.

Blagan [blah-gen]: Jariris friend and neighbor.

Jariri [juh-reer-ee] Onuups father.

Maral

Marichail [mair-i-keyl] Onuups mother.

Onuup [ohn-yoop] A young boy of the Suuthe tribe.

Glossary

Ador [ ā-dōr ]
1. the empire of Ador.
2. the city of Ador.
[Origin: unknown; a the + dor or dar heart]

Bada [bah-dah]
1. a word literally meaning baby or child.
[Origin: Uruthe]

Barryni [bah-ri-nee] double r's are rolled
1. a neighboring tribe of the Suuthe along with numerous others living in the Northern Steppes.

Freth [freth]
1. strips of dried meat.

Gohl [gohl]
1. a large animal common to Uruthe (the Northern Steppes) used as a staple subsistence resource to indigenous tribes.
[Origin: Uruthe]

Uruthe or Northern Steppes
1. an area of land approximately one-thousand miles north-north-west of the city Ador. The steppes lie just beyond the Dragonback Mountains.

Suuthe [suuth]
1. a tribe of the Northern Steppes.

Trew [trew]
1. a root much like a turnip; the tuber itself is white in color with grainy blue stripes running length-wise. It is particularly bitter when eaten raw, but when cooked loses it's bitterness and truly becomes a savory delicacy. The leaves are brilliant red and a highly poisonous resin can be extracted from them.

Tuok [too-och]
1. a traditional breakfast of the Suuthe consisting of freth, trew and herbs for seasoning.