Rhuna- Black City

by Barbara Underwood

  “We should be there soon,” Aradin remarked as the first welcoming evening breeze brushed across Rhuna’s cheeks.

  “Look for the depression of the dry riverbed,” Damell advised. “It is the most distinct feature in this barren landscape.”

  Their pace slowed as their attention turned to scanning the horizon ahead for any significant change in the bleak landscape. The light weakened as fine clouds covered the descending sun, bringing relief from the heat.

  “Ahead,” called Protector of Remembrance from the front of their caravan. “The riverbed,” he stated with certainty.

  They continued a short distance and then followed the senior Atlan as he digressed from the trading road and pointed to a deep depression nearby. Rhuna stopped near a crest in the sand dunes and looked at the small canyon that ran lengthways as far as she could see in both directions.

  “This was the Black River that we saw in the Black City?” Rhuna asked, astonished.

  “It has been dry for generations!” Mohandu observed, stepping down into the riverbed to examine it more closely.

  “The city was there,” Damell pointed.

  Rhuna looked in the direction her father pointed but saw only mounds of sand and rubble. The entire expanse of dry land looked desolate and forbidding, and she struggled to believe that a flourishing city once stood there.

  “Let us explore while we have light,” Goram said, handing the camel rein to Damell and walking briskly in the direction of the uneven mounds. Rhuna and Aradin quickly followed Goram as Lozira called after him.

  “Goram, wait! I want to come, too!” Lozira exclaimed, and then called to her husband with a new tone of firm authority. “Goram! Come back here!”

  “Did you hear that?” Aradin whispered to Rhuna as they walked on while Goram stopped and obeyed Lozira. “The driving forces in their relationship have really changed!” he chuckled mischievously.

  Rhuna barely heard Aradin’s amused remarks as she wandered farther into the uncanny landscape of rugged mounds and odd protrusions. She stepped closer to the nearby mound and saw a straight edge of stone underneath crusts of sand and dirt.

  “Look!” she called to Aradin. “There’s a stone block underneath. This was the wall of a building!”

  They explored the nearby mounds for more building foundations, and then scraped away some layers of loose sand to reveal black rubble.

  “Something was burnt here,” Aradin observed.

  “Do not stray too far!” Protector of Remembrance shouted. “Stay together! It shall be dark soon. Return to the camels!”

  Rhuna looked around and saw that everyone was roaming in various directions, exploring different parts of the ruins. The sky had turned pink and purple, and the breeze had suddenly stopped, leaving Rhuna standing alone in an eerie stillness. In that moment, a sound like a rushing windstorm overwhelmed her, and she spun around in alarm.

  “Rhu-u-u-na!” the windstorm seemed to say. “Rhu-u-u-na!”

  Rhuna froze as the echoing sound reminded her of past instances when the Dark Master had tormented her with such a call.

  The sound of rushing wind increased, and Rhuna thought she heard dry leaves scattered in the wind, then tossed around in the air above her. She looked up and then spun around, but saw no movement and felt no wind on her skin.

  “Have you come to find me, Rhuna?” whispered the wind in a deep and hollow voice.

  Rhuna’s blood ran cold as she heard the unmistakable voice of the Dark Master echo all around her.

  “Wh-where are you?” she stammered.

  “I am everywhere, Rhuna!” the horrible whispering voice answered as it mingled with the sound of dry leaves in turbulent wind gusts.

  “Where?” she called out again, and then dropped to her knees as the windstorm seemed to overwhelm her.

  “I’m here, Rhuna!” Aradin shouted as he grabbed her shoulders from behind and began to shake her. “What’s wrong?”

  Rhuna suddenly heard Aradin’s voice, sharp and clear in her ears, and she turned her head to look at him.

  “It’s you,” she said with relief.

  “Of course it’s me. What happened?”

  “I heard the Dark Master calling me!” Rhuna said with a tremor in her voice. “Didn’t you hear it?”

  “No. I didn’t hear anything,” Aradin said, kneeling down beside her with an alarmed expression in his face. He put his arm around Rhuna’s shoulders to comfort her.

  “I heard wind, and then his voice calling and talking to me,” Rhuna continued, still shaky.

  “It must have been a vision, or a mental connection, like you’ve been having lately,” Aradin said, helping Rhuna get back on her feet.

  “No, it was different,” Rhuna said, regaining her composure. “I didn’t feel dizzy, just a bit…strange.”

  “Maybe a different kind of vision or mental connection then,” Aradin concluded as he guided her back to the camels.

  “Look over there!” Yarqi shouted from another part of the ruins. “A torch light!”

  Rhuna looked around in the soft light of dusk and saw the unmistakable flicker of a small fire.

  “It’s moving!” Aradin observed after a moment. “Someone must be walking over there!”

  “Who is there?” Mohandu called. “You with the torch fire!”

  Rhuna looked back at the camels where Damell and the two Atlan representatives stood, watching and waiting for a response. Nearby, she saw Panapu and Goll also standing and looking at the moving torch.

  “Should we follow the light?” Aradin called back to Damell.

  “No,” Protector of Remembrance answered firmly. “Everyone return to the camels now!” he ordered.

  Rhuna and Aradin obeyed, and soon everyone had gathered around the two camels.

  “Another torch is moving over there!” Lozira exclaimed as she pointed.

  “I can’t see it,” Aradin said, straining to look.

  “It is behind a small mound, but I can see it from up here,” Lozira said from her vantage point on the tall camel’s back.

  “People are moving around out there,” Mohandu stated.

  “Maybe they didn’t hear us calling to them,” Rhuna suggested.

  “Perhaps they do not wish to be disturbed,” Stillness of the Lake said.

  “Whatever the case may be, we must prepare our encampment for the night by lighting our own torches,” Damell said as he fumbled with a sack tied to the second camel.

  “Let us first depart from the site of the ruins,” Protector of Remembrance said as he began to walk back to the trade road. The others promptly followed while Damell removed a torch from the sack and lit it with the power of his mind.

  The warm firelight comforted Rhuna’s jagged nerves, and she walked close to Aradin and Damell.

  “What is that over there?” Yarqi asked, pointing ahead.

  “Many more torch lights!” Mohandu exclaimed.

  “It is a tent!” Lozira exclaimed. “There are people and animals, too.”

  “Then let us approach them with the usual caution,” Damell advised as they quickened their pace.

  The large tent of thick white cloth glowed orange in the reflection of two fires nearby where people were busy preparing food. Rhuna could only see shadowy forms, but recognized their surprised movements when they saw strangers approaching.

  “Hello!” Protector of Remembrance said in his friendliest tone.

  The people of the large tent remained silent and waited for Rhuna’s caravan to come closer.

  “We shall also make an encampment in this area tonight,” the senior Atlan continued cautiously. “We wish only to greet you.”

  “Greet,” said one of the shadowy forms. “Greet, Greet!”

  Finally, as they stood within the light of the two fires, Rhuna was able to see the rugged and leathery brown faces of the people who had erected a large and beautiful white tent.

  “Do you speak our language?” Damell asked, stepping forward and smiling at t
hem.

  “Little,” answered the same man. Rhuna thought his voice sounded deep and rough, as if he suffered from an ailment of the throat.

  “Want food?” asked a woman with a similar rough voice. Rhuna looked at her face in the orange light of the fire and thought she looked like a dried corpse. She quickly glanced at their clothes, and noticed they were threadbare and dirty.

  “No, we have our own food,” Damell answered. “We can share!”

  Damell and Stillness of the Lake removed the food from the sacks on the second camel, and Goram helped Lozira dismount the first camel.

  “Cook food here,” the man with the leathery face said. “Eat here.”

  “I think that’s an invitation to share the meal with them,” Aradin said.

  Before long, the aroma of cooked meat and vegetables wafted around the large encampment as a few more people emerged from the tent and sat around the two fires. Rhuna counted ten people altogether of various ages. As each person took a bowl of food, a young woman from the tent walked over to Lozira and spoke in her native language. She reached out to touch Lozira’s protruding belly and repeated the unfamiliar words.

  “Do you understand their language, Goll?” Aradin asked the scribe who had removed his eyewear and most of the head-wrapping.

  “No, I do not.”

  “She say the same,” the leather-faced man explained. “Same.”

  “Oh, I see,” Lozira said cheerfully. “She is also pregnant. Same as I am.”

  Rhuna tasted the unfamiliar meat in her bowl, and decided it was tender and good. No one spoke as the meal was eaten with relish, and Rhuna became aware of the silence of the windless sandy plains at night. Suddenly, she remembered the frightening voice of the Dark Master, and suppressed a shudder.

  “We saw some of your people in the ruins earlier,” Mohandu said, but the rugged-looking people did not react. “We saw moving torches. Fire light. In the ruins.”

  “Ah!” said the man, and turned to speak in his native language to the others. Two other men and three woman all responded with murmurs and chatter.

  “Not us,” the man finally answered. “You saw spirit lights.”

  “Spirit lights?” Damell repeated.

  “We see every night. There,” he said pointing to the ruins. “Dead City. Spirit lights in Dead City.”

  “You mean, they are not people carrying torches?” Aradin asked.

  “Not people. Spirit,” said one of the other men. Rhuna looked at him and saw the same distinct features as the first man with the hoarse voice. She thought their faces looked sunburnt and windblown, and concluded that these people must live permanently outside in the wilderness.

  “Bad place at night. Not go there,” continued the younger man. His voice had become agitated. “Spirit lights. Spirit voices.”

  “Voices?” Rhuna asked. “You also hear voices in the ruins?”

  “Spirit voices,” the man repeated.

  “I heard a voice, too,” Rhuna said.

  Damell and the others looked at Rhuna.

  “It happened just before it got dark,” Rhuna explained. “I’m sure I heard the…the Dark Master calling me.”

  “Spirit voice calling,” the man responded with a nod.

  “How long have you been here?” Damell asked them.

  The first man held up two fingers. “Day one stay in Dead City, hear Spirit voice, see Spirit light. Day two come here.”

  “And where are you going?” Damell asked politely.

  “To the others,” the man replied.

  “Who are the others? And who are you?” Damell continued.

  The leathery-faced people seemed puzzled.

  “Are you people from Farsa? From Varappa? Like the traders who travel along this trade route?” Aradin tried.

  “Ah. Not them. We have no name,” said the man with the rough voice. “Not go or come. Just stay here. Stay there. Take home, stay,” he said pointing to the tent. “Where you go or come?”

  “We live in the inn, a day’s journey from here,” Aradin answered.

  “Ah. Same.”

  “They are like nomads, roaming this land,” whispered Damell.

  “We came to see what happened to the Black City,” Mohandu told the nomads.

  “Black City dead now,” the first man answered as he finished his food.

  “Do you know what happened?” Rhuna asked, wondering what the nomads knew about the city.

  “Black people. Like Spirit. Make city go away,” the younger man said.

  “You mean the Mages who wear black clothes?” Aradin asked.

  “Black power,” the man nodded.

  “You black?” asked one of the women, suddenly wide-eyed with concern.

  “We are not like the black-clad Mages,” Damell answered firmly.

  “We White Clan. Not Black Clan,” explained the older nomad. “Not eat with Black Clan.”

  “Your Black Clans are like the Mages of the Black City, is that correct?” asked Protector of Remembrance.

  The nomads nodded.

  “We also stayed away from the Black Mages,” Aradin said.

  “Good, good,” the nomads said, nodding approval as they began to put away their bowls and extinguish the fires. Rhuna stood up and followed Damell as he carried the torch back to their camels. Everyone quickly prepared the encampment without speaking, and then laid down on their pallets and covered themselves with blankets.

  Rhuna huddled close to Aradin for warmth and comfort as she shut her eyes tightly.

  “They heard voices, too,” Rhuna whispered. “Maybe it wasn’t a vision or mental connection I experienced.”

  “No, maybe not.”

  Rhuna awoke to noises around her, and realized that several members of her group were already preparing a small meal. The horizon was pale blue-purple, and a gentle breeze stroked her hair as she sat up and looked around.

  “Let’s go home,” Aradin said softly as he smiled at Rhuna.

  “Yes. Home,” she replied, feeling happy and at peace with the world.

  When they had eaten and loaded the second camel with their belongings and food, they waved to the nomads who were seated outside their tent. As soon as they were on the firm gravel of the trade road they quickened their pace, eager to return to the inn and discuss the new situation in detail.

  Clouds obscured the sun for most of the day, lessening the heat but heralding a storm and urging the caravan to travel quickly and without rest stops. They arrived at the inn only a short time before the windstorm reached them.

  “We have already closed all the window shutters,” Greeter of Friends told them as they entered the main building.

  “It is fortunate that we eluded the windstorm,” Damell remarked, looking behind him at the growing tempest beyond the main doorway.

  Shandi came running into the room to throw her arms around Aradin and Rhuna, and Preserver of Faith and Kiana looked at the returning party expectantly.

  “The Black City is gone?” Preserver of Faith asked in an unusually deep and soft voice full of awe and hope.

  “Yes,” Protector of Remembrance answered firmly. “ Only a faint outline of the city’s foundation remains. It is a desolate ruin, barely noticeable from the trade road.”

  “A desolate ruin,” Goll repeated as he scampered towards the small, low table where he kept several sheets of parchment, a bottle of ink and his writing utensils. He began to write eagerly, his quill tip making frenzied scratching noises on the parchment that competed with the escalating screech of the wind outside.

  “This sound is what I heard in the ruin of the Black City,” Rhuna said as they put their bags aside and gathered around the cozy Atlan lamps in the middle of the room. “And I’m sure it wasn’t a vision or mental connection,” she insisted. “I heard the Dark Master calling to me!”

  “I didn’t hear anything even though I was standing close by,” Aradin said. “But the nomads have heard strange voices calling them at night in the ruin.”
>
  “The nomads?” asked Greeter of Friends, wide-eyed with curiosity.

  “They also saw torch fires when no one was there, just like we did,” Yarqi added with a tone of intense mystery.

  “They called them Spirit Fires and Spirit Voices,” Lozira remarked. “They believe in incorporeal entities.”

  “This is a foreign concept to Atlans,” commented Stillness of the Lake. “Nevertheless, we should learn from other people, whether their knowledge is vast or limited.”

  “Let us discuss the main issue,” Protector of Remembrance said with authority as they huddled closer together around the lamps while the windstorm began to whistle and rattle the shutters of the inn.

  “We may conclude with reasonable certainty that Harbinger of Solace has succeeded,” the senior Atlan stated triumphantly. “The Black City is gone, and has been a ruin for many generations already.”

  “That means it was destroyed or abandoned in a distant past time period, such as the one Harbinger of Solace entered,” Stillness of the Lake added.

  Silence fell upon them as they contemplated the significance of Tozar’s actions with awe.

  “How did he do it, I wonder,” Lozira said in a fragile voice. Goram placed his arm around Lozira and pulled her closer to his side.

  “He said he would search for a way to communicate this with us,” Aradin replied. “But I can’t imagine how…”

  “Perhaps the answer shall elude us indefinitely,” Damell commented.

  “What about the people who were living in the Black City, such as the woman, Almara?” Yarqi wondered.

  “Or the Black-Hats who visited us,” Mohandu added. “Zal and Pari. They were nice people, despite their steadfast resolve to kill Atlans who enter their city,” he stated with a stiff nod of his head.

  “Their lives have been terminated,” Protector of Remembrance stated gravely.

  “Their existence was connected to the Black City which should never even have existed,” Stillness of the Lake added in a similar sombre tone.