Riding the Rift

Farther away than Miriam could have guessed, that very man was speaking in low tones with an elderly man over a campfire.  The older man’s broad-brim hat angled low and obscured the right side of his face.  He waited patiently while the younger spoke, telling him of the fear in his heart and the pain of his people. It was a late summer night in the Northlands, the hint of a breeze caressing the land like a lover in the darkness.  He spoke of days he’d known when the southern armies had retreated off their isles, he spoke of the night when the sky shattered into so many gem colored fragments the people had gathered in their tents for safety on what they believed to be the last night of the world.

The old man listened quietly as the younger one went on and on, telling of the next morning when a few brave souls ventured tentatively our to see how there world had changed.  They’d come rushing back with tales of bronze soldiers covering the Southern plains by the river advancing north.   He told of how his people had fled up the mountains for their lives, foolishly seeking the aid of some other worldly being they believed lived there and could save them. Then he finally reached the last of the part, the tale of how his tribe was ripped into by the chaos. He felt a failure that he could not keep his people together, but how could he force those to stay that were to scared?  When he finally fell silent the old man waited a few moments to give the young man time to collect himself.

“There is a way that might help.” The old man said pulling out a pipe and began to pack it.

“Anythin’ to save my people. They do’na deserve this.”

“You must go to the grove of oaks; there you must wait until the full moon. Your savior will be reviled to you then, but I must warn you.  The sorceress will not be what you are expecting, the savior will be like nothing you have ever seen and have a powerful magic that will be able to stop the advancement of the bronze soldiers,” The old man said.  The young man thought it over then nodded a bit hesitantly. He was more then a little nervous to get his people mixed up with a sorceress but what choice did he have. 

“Aye, I’ll do it.” He said quietly.

“Ah Torin, you’re a good lad.” The old man said as he pulled out a twig from the fire and lit his pipe.