Path of the Wind
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
741
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
741
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Unease
Would somebody please rate this. Pretty please!
5
Gerdon’s journey is uneventful along the road to the mountains. Three days out, beyond the last crossroads, most of the traffic seems to be going the other way, not that there is much. Traders returning to civilisation seem to be made up of two groups, young and old. The younger men carry a look of satisfaction, trade has been good. The older men’s faces, however, hold his attention as they pass. Though their trade seem to have been equally good, there is a weariness, a sense of unease outlined on their faces. Something is wrong in the mountains, something that plays on their deepest fears. Every so often they turn to look back along the trail and even in the absence of any perceivable threat, they shiver and hurry along their way.
As the suns approach their zenith they seem to beat down on the earth. Gerdon stops, swallows some water and rinse out his horse’s mouth. In the distance the heat waves turn an inn into a dark shapeless form. Perfect. He remounts and sets off again, slowly. When he reaches it the place seems quiet. A small caravan is watering their mounts and filling their own water skins. From the inn a young boy brings a bag that the men open to distribute the food. They pay and set out. Most of the men form part of the second group, the older traders. Gerdon also waters his mount and looses the cinch before entering the inn, leaving his horse to forage for himself. The inside of the building is also quiet. The same young boy serves him lunch with wide eyes. His response to a query regarding the adults is surprising, they are packing. This is these people’s home, where on earth could they be going, and why? When Gerdon finishes his meal he asks the boy to call his father. After a time a broad man enters the room, red faced and sweating. “Can I help you sir?”
Gerdon looks at the man for a while before he replies “I hope so. I’m travelling towards the west and would like to know what I’m getting myself into.” The man pales. “Why would you ask such a question sir?” He wipes his face and sinks into a chair.
“All day I’ve seen the traders moving east, moving with all haste and the look of people who has seen their nightmares manifest in daylight. Now I find that you are taking your family from their home, and I ask myself, what could cause this?” The man avoids looking directly at Gerdon, wringing his hands. Finally he mumbles something under his breath. “Sorry?”
“You will laugh sir.” Gerdon studies the man for a moment, “Man, speak plainly, this is obviously not a laughing matter.” Finally the big innkeeper turns to face him, slowly speaking the words that send the blood tingling through Gerdon’s veins.
“The Pakrash has raided over the mountains.”
**********
The old man lies in his bed staring up at the dark ceiling. Tonight more than old age keeps him from the dream realm. The Pakrash. The purest form of human evil, enemy of the Gerenti, myth of the eastern realms. They have raided over the mountains. This unprecedented occurrence is the cause of his two guests’ terror.
They had been travelling with a group of traders moving south along the mountains after trading at the Dontenko settlement. Although slower going than the main road, the trail is crossed by many streams and covered by the shadow of the high peaks for parts of the day, making for a much easier trip during the summer heat.
On their second night out their single sentry’s blood curdling scream woke the camp to utter horror. In seconds half their number was down, bleeding their life into the grass. The two friends stood back to back fending of the ferocious attack. As quickly as it began, the attack ended, leaving four members of a party of twenty staring wildly into the night. Ten bodies laid scatter around the camp with gaping wounds, more disconcertingly, six men were gone, vanishing during the brief fight. As quickly as they could, the remaining members of the party set out, back towards the settlement. When they reached it their story sparked various reactions. A group of Gerenti Kuriken had set off, back along their trail as if chased by dogs from hell. Young eastern traders worried about bandits and slavers, while their older compatriots quietly finished their dealings and left the area with uncharacteristic haste. Small groups of Marahandra had set out towards the plains, heavily guarded by Kuriken. The Dontenko suddenly seemed to become weapon smiths and trade in metal had been brisk, however, they will sell none of their constructions. The Gampo’s songs and stories told all about the Gerenti’s old enemy, the Pakrash, and of all battles waged, those won and lost. As night settled, groups of Mentyhe could be seen around their fires, busy in their old, secret ways. The two friends only heard the word Pakrash once, before the older man dragged his companion to the barges on the river Miko. It was the quickest way back to the East, to Terestiun. And so they came to Jasco, barely four days after the attack. The question remains, what is he to do about their tale?
5
Gerdon’s journey is uneventful along the road to the mountains. Three days out, beyond the last crossroads, most of the traffic seems to be going the other way, not that there is much. Traders returning to civilisation seem to be made up of two groups, young and old. The younger men carry a look of satisfaction, trade has been good. The older men’s faces, however, hold his attention as they pass. Though their trade seem to have been equally good, there is a weariness, a sense of unease outlined on their faces. Something is wrong in the mountains, something that plays on their deepest fears. Every so often they turn to look back along the trail and even in the absence of any perceivable threat, they shiver and hurry along their way.
As the suns approach their zenith they seem to beat down on the earth. Gerdon stops, swallows some water and rinse out his horse’s mouth. In the distance the heat waves turn an inn into a dark shapeless form. Perfect. He remounts and sets off again, slowly. When he reaches it the place seems quiet. A small caravan is watering their mounts and filling their own water skins. From the inn a young boy brings a bag that the men open to distribute the food. They pay and set out. Most of the men form part of the second group, the older traders. Gerdon also waters his mount and looses the cinch before entering the inn, leaving his horse to forage for himself. The inside of the building is also quiet. The same young boy serves him lunch with wide eyes. His response to a query regarding the adults is surprising, they are packing. This is these people’s home, where on earth could they be going, and why? When Gerdon finishes his meal he asks the boy to call his father. After a time a broad man enters the room, red faced and sweating. “Can I help you sir?”
Gerdon looks at the man for a while before he replies “I hope so. I’m travelling towards the west and would like to know what I’m getting myself into.” The man pales. “Why would you ask such a question sir?” He wipes his face and sinks into a chair.
“All day I’ve seen the traders moving east, moving with all haste and the look of people who has seen their nightmares manifest in daylight. Now I find that you are taking your family from their home, and I ask myself, what could cause this?” The man avoids looking directly at Gerdon, wringing his hands. Finally he mumbles something under his breath. “Sorry?”
“You will laugh sir.” Gerdon studies the man for a moment, “Man, speak plainly, this is obviously not a laughing matter.” Finally the big innkeeper turns to face him, slowly speaking the words that send the blood tingling through Gerdon’s veins.
“The Pakrash has raided over the mountains.”
**********
The old man lies in his bed staring up at the dark ceiling. Tonight more than old age keeps him from the dream realm. The Pakrash. The purest form of human evil, enemy of the Gerenti, myth of the eastern realms. They have raided over the mountains. This unprecedented occurrence is the cause of his two guests’ terror.
They had been travelling with a group of traders moving south along the mountains after trading at the Dontenko settlement. Although slower going than the main road, the trail is crossed by many streams and covered by the shadow of the high peaks for parts of the day, making for a much easier trip during the summer heat.
On their second night out their single sentry’s blood curdling scream woke the camp to utter horror. In seconds half their number was down, bleeding their life into the grass. The two friends stood back to back fending of the ferocious attack. As quickly as it began, the attack ended, leaving four members of a party of twenty staring wildly into the night. Ten bodies laid scatter around the camp with gaping wounds, more disconcertingly, six men were gone, vanishing during the brief fight. As quickly as they could, the remaining members of the party set out, back towards the settlement. When they reached it their story sparked various reactions. A group of Gerenti Kuriken had set off, back along their trail as if chased by dogs from hell. Young eastern traders worried about bandits and slavers, while their older compatriots quietly finished their dealings and left the area with uncharacteristic haste. Small groups of Marahandra had set out towards the plains, heavily guarded by Kuriken. The Dontenko suddenly seemed to become weapon smiths and trade in metal had been brisk, however, they will sell none of their constructions. The Gampo’s songs and stories told all about the Gerenti’s old enemy, the Pakrash, and of all battles waged, those won and lost. As night settled, groups of Mentyhe could be seen around their fires, busy in their old, secret ways. The two friends only heard the word Pakrash once, before the older man dragged his companion to the barges on the river Miko. It was the quickest way back to the East, to Terestiun. And so they came to Jasco, barely four days after the attack. The question remains, what is he to do about their tale?