by S. K. Ng
Thorn strips the dead body of its sword, sheath, belt and bloodied cape. Putting these items on, he steps apprehensively towards the rock wall which he has been working on for the past one month. There are no guarantees in his mind that this wild idea of his will work. Standing sideways and swinging the pick-axe low much like a pendulum, he smashes the lower part of the wall. Drops of water begin to seep through. He swings his pick-axe again. Now the drops turn into trickles. He swings the pick-axe yet again. A loud crack ensues and water gushes in through a fist-sized hole in the wall.
Thorn swings his pick-axe again and again, enlarging the fist-sized hole until it becomes large enough to accommodate his torso. Water fills up the chamber fast and the level is now up to his waist. The water is warm, and for that he is grateful. Cold water will complicate things as it will lower his body temperature and will further weaken his body. Thorn swings the pick-axe a few more times. Just his luck! The rusty pick-axe breaks! He shouts curses like a mad man. Then he begins stabbing the edge of the hole with the pick-axe’s wooden handle, breaking away more loose earth and stones. More water gushes through the growing hole.
The water level is now up to Thorn’s neck. He drops the pick-axe handle and climbs onto the side walls of the chamber, trying to position himself as high as possible. He holds his breath. The water now engulfs his head and entire the chamber as well. The gushing of water begins to slow down as the pressure in the chamber equalises. He dives down and pushes his body through the hole. Moments later, he is free, and with all his remaining strength, kicks and pushes hard to get to the surface. The breath of fresh air and the cool late-evening wind blowing on his face as he breaks the surface of the lake are relief beyond measure. He is alive! He is free!
Thorn swam to the nearest bank. He crawled out of the water and afforded himself a little rest. He lay beside some nearby bushes, hoping to stay hidden from view. He closed his eyes but kept his ears sharp. The temptation to fall asleep was heavy. He was having boulder eyelids again and his head felt like a lemon being squeezed. But he kept his focus and after approximately a quarter of an hour’s rest, he pulled himself off the ground. One thing was going for him. No one knew he had escaped! He was sure that the Serpentians thought that he was dead, trapped in a cave-in and drowned. There had been no shouts of alarm from Serpentian overseers.
Thorn crouch-walked to the bank. He took a few sips of water from the lake. Washing his face and clearing his head, he began to put his warrior mind to work. His immediate concerns were food, water and medicine. Weapons was something he had no need to worry about, for the Serpentian sword that he had taken from the dead overseer was more than sturdy and reliable. He took a look around. The nearly full moon in the night sky provided more than adequate illumination once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He found some palm fruits that looked like large grapes. He plucked one. Using his long fingernails, he pierced the skin of the fruit and squeezed the fruit slightly. Good! Thorn thought to himself. There was no white, milky liquid oozing out, only a clear, sticky fruit juice. Next he rubbed some of the fruit juice on his inner wrist. He waited a while. There was no itching sensation. The fruit was looking good to him so far. One last test had to be done. He took a small bite of the fruit. It tasted sweet instead of bitter. Once again, there was no way for him to be really sure, but the odds were that the palm fruits were safe to eat. He plucked a few and ate them. Then he broke off a few large leaves from another plant. He plucked a few handfuls of the palm fruits and placed them in these large leaves and bundled them up as best he could. He then tucked in his shirt, or whatever that was left of it and placed the bundle in his shirt. So now he had a weapon and some food. But the greatest and the most important challenge for him was water, or accurately, how to carry it. How indeed?
Thorn scratched his head. He was running short of ideas. He looked around as best he could. He found some plants with waxy surfaces on their long leaves. Plucking a few of these leaves, he rolled one up into the shape of a cone. He then folded the top parts of the cone and skewered them with a thin, needle-like palm leaf stem to secure its shape. He then tore a small piece from another leaf and placed it on the inside bottom of the cone. He then rolled another leaf into a cone and placed it inside the first cone, sandwiching the portion of leaf that was at the bottom of the first cone. He pressed the two cones together lightly, folded the top parts of the second cone over the first cone and skewered the cones together with some palm leaf stems to form some sort of ‘leaf cup’. He repeated the process again and ended up with two leaf cups. He looked at the two cups he made. They looked really pathetic. They could only hold a little bit of water and it would not be enough for his use, but he reasoned that to have something was better than to have nothing. He had no better choice. There was no bamboo or coconut to be found. He drank a few cupfuls of water from the lake and then after filling up both cups, he began his journey across the Serpentian grasslands under the illumination of the full Farhayvenyte moon.
Thorn looked up at the sky. Studying the constellations, he ascertained the direction of the four quadrants. Thorn made haste as best he could across the grassy plains.
Based on the general intelligence of enemy forts, Thorn knew that Battlelord Constrictor’s nestland, called Nestland Constrictor, was situated in the north-western part of Serpentia. And based on the sign-boards that he had come across while transporting the processed metal to the smelting factories, he knew that he was somewhere in south-western Serpentia. He was clearly in the nestland of one Battlelord Doomrattle, but this battlelord must be new, because the Fallsian military had no information about him at all. From what he could remember, this area should have been the nestland of a battlelord known as Blackscales. Clearly, Doomrattle had killed Blackscales and had taken over his nestland.
Thorn tuned his mind back to the task at hand, which was to escape and make it back to Fallsian territory. But first, he had to head north. He had no choice. That was where Caramel Verance was, in Battlelord Constrictor’s harem, and he had to rescue her. Thorn crouch-walked in the open and tried his best to hide his movement with the help of the tall grasses of the grassland terrain. He stopped every now and then to listen out for enemy presence. His water had already run out, but he pushed on nevertheless.
With the approach of dawn, and subsequent daylight, came great danger for Thorn; for in the darkness of night he had refuge but in the ensuing brightness of day he would be exposed and vulnerable. He had to seek shelter quickly, not for the protection against the elements but for camouflage from the eyes of Serpentians. The temptation to take shelter in the cluster of short trees nearby was strong, but he decided against it. A cluster of trees in flat or undulating grassy plains was too unique and attention-drawing to be a good hiding place. Thorn chose a cluster of tall grass instead, for there were many such clusters, and this particular cluster was within a stone’s throw away from a little creek. This little creek would be his life-line for the days to come.
Actually, Thorn considered himself lucky, for in his haste to escape, he forgot to follow a golden rule of survival; which was to follow rivers and creeks or at least to stay close to a water source. He had made haste across the grasslands on two cones of water and would have been in real trouble had he not come across this creek. He dug a shallow hole in the middle of the grass cluster in the shape of his body with a large, flat stone that he had found nearby and collected the dug-out earth on his cape. He then threw the dug earth in the middle of some bushes a distance away. Next, he embedded some of the grasses that he had dug out earlier into the cape. He took his stomach’s fill of water from the nearby creek and filled his two cones as well. Then he lay in the hole that he had dug, covered himself with the camouflaged cape and slept the day through.
A Serpentian overseer examined the tracks by the banks of the lake which was to the north of the metal ore mine. Fightlord Forktongue came up behind him.
“Well, highminion?” asked Fightlord Forktongue.
“It is as you have suspected, fightlord! That Fallsian slave had swum out from the mines and came to land here,” said the Serpentian highminion to his superior.
“Can you track him?” asked Fightlord Forktongue.
“Yes, fightlord, I can!” said the highminion.
“Proceed!” instructed Fightlord Forktongue.
The highminion set out on foot at a comfortable pace. Fightlord Forktongue followed on horseback, accompanied by a jaw of Serpentian warriors. A few riders galloped off in different directions, no doubt to raise the alarm for Battlelord Doomrattle’s other units.
The sun was beginning to set. Thorn woke up with a start. He looked around for a while, feeling dazed and confused. Slowly, he got up and made his way to the nearby creek. He drank heartily from the creek using his leaf cups. He then ate a few of the palm fruits that he had bundled up from the night before. He looked around carefully again. No one was in sight. It was time for him to move. And this time, he intended to follow the creek northwards as far as possible. He packed up, refilled his pathetic leaf cups and set out once again.
Walking in darkness was a dangerous undertaking. Thorn could easily step on a venomous snake and get bitten or trip and fall because of the uneven ground. Yet he had to walk as fast as he could; for soon, he was sure, the Serpentians would realise that he had survived and would be hunting him down; if they had not come to this realisation already.
In the dark hall of an unknown castle in a distant land, a winged demon flew in and bowed to a figure who sat on a throne. The dim flicker from a nearby torch revealed the demon to be none other than Lord Deathclaw.
“Deathwings is dead, my lord! He could not control his hunger and decided to hunt at Southgust Town in Free Falls. The smell of death was strong, I have to admit, but he should have exercised self-control. He ran into a group of Sollenthars and was killed in the process,” it said.
“That idiot! I told him to stay away! We have food here! Why the hell did he go hunting!? That Elementhar, Ray Iddell, has been a nuisance all these years. But now, he is real trouble! These Sollenthars that he has trained could potentially ruin us all. He must not discover that we exist! He must not know the location of our home! I gave explicit instructions for everyone to stay away from him until such time that he could be weakened and then be killed! Damn that fool of a demon, Deathwings!” expressed the figure who sat on the throne.
Lord Deathclaw stood in silence. The figure calmed itself down and kept silent for a while.
“Deathwings will be hard to replace,” said Lord Deathclaw.
“I know. But we proceed as planned. Keep finding them, Deathclaw. See if you can find a replacement for Deathwings. If you cannot, then make one,” instructed the figure.
“But my lord, the new ones are weak! They are not like us! Would they be worthy of being with us, part of us?” objected Lord Deathclaw.
“We need a merchant, Deathclaw! We need the merchant’s skills if we are to remain hidden from the world of men! When we are strong enough and we are ready to make our existence known, then we can kill him if we find that he is unworthy of us! But in the mean time, we will have to make do with what little resources we have,” explained the figure.
“Very well, Lord Bloodrage,” said Deathclaw as he bowed, turned around and flew away.
Meanwhile, back at Palace Liberty, a carriage had gone through the gate and pulled up in front of the palace keep. Royal Secretary Verbena Romar and her guests stepped off the carriage. The carriage driver then brought the carriage to the stables. There, he tethered the horses and ran off towards the nearest toilet to ease himself. The stables was a poorly lit area. At that moment, there were no soldiers in the area. As silent as a mouse, two Shadow Deathmerchant Clan assassins let go of the bottom of the carriage and dropped to the ground. They rolled sideways and came out from underneath the carriage and ran off to disappear into the shadows.
The assassins moved from shadow to shadow. They headed to the barracks area, which housed the Royal Guards’ administration building. And in the underground part of this stone building was where the dungeons were located. And in these dungeons, four of their comrades awaited their arrival.
Getting into the dungeons was surprisingly simple. None of the Royal Guards had ever expected their administration building, called Royal Guard Command, to be infiltrated. Therefore, the security in this building was lax. There were but a mere handful of soldiers in the offices.
The assassins take aim from behind some large flower pots. They blow hard, and poisoned darts left their blowpipes, fly through the open windows and hit their targets. Two Royal Guards collapse to the ground. The assassins dash into the building, find the stairway and head downwards. The first assassin blows his blowpipe again, and the Royal Guard who is keeping watch at the dungeons collapses off his stool and hits the ground with a soft metal clang.
The two assassins rush silently into the dungeons. They take aim and blow. They change blowpipes, take aim and blow again. Their four surprised comrades collapse to the ground, dead. The two assassins run back up the stairs and exited the building. They disappear into the shadows.
The carriage driver drove his carriage and pulled it up in front of the palace keep. Royal Secretary Verbena Romar’s guests got on board. The carriage driver drove his carriage up to the main gate. The guests were thoroughly searched by the sentries there. But none of the sentries had thought to look underneath the carriage. The carriage driver then drove his carriage down the dark road to Fallsene City. Many long moments later, the two assassins let go of the carriage and dropped to the ground. A few moments later, they got up and disappeared into the night…
The 15th Noon of Third Month of Dry Season was the time the Sollenthars said their goodbyes to Higher Recipient Truthkeeper and the townsfolk of Southgust. Royal Elementhar Pond had been relieved by 3rd and 4th Pond, 1st Lake, 4th Ocean and was ordered to return to Palace Liberty. The ponds of 4th Ocean had brought with them an even larger supply of food and medicine, and several cartloads of building materials as well. The Sollenthars left Southgust with the feeling of pride for the rescue work that they had done, but at the same time, with great humility with regards to the greatness of Nature and the inferiority of humans.
Ray thought about what Higher Recipient Truthkeeper had said to him earlier. The Receiver had said that humans were actually inferior creatures, and that it was the humans themselves who thought that they were superior. But the reality was that humans were indeed inferior. As usual, the bitterness of this truth did not sink well with Serene and Rod. This was because they were still new to the world of Elemental Sorcery. Ray and Clover understood that humans were a part of Nature, not the master of it. Serene and Rod had always though that humans were the masters of Nature instead of being a part of it. Higher Recipient Truthkeeper had then asked the two former defenders of Fort Eastguard to look around and see the destruction around them. It was at that point did they realise that they were wrong!
Higher Recipient Truthkeeper had also told the Sollenthars that even the angels were inferior when compared to Nature itself. This statement surprised even Ray and Clover, but they understood it and accepted it almost immediately. After all, the angels, just like humans, animals and all other living creatures, were a part of Nature and not the master of it. This was one of the logic that was easy to understand but seldom thought of and most bitter to accept. What Ray and Clover could not understand was the reason why Higher Recipient Truthkeeper kept on preaching The Light when it was clear that hardly anyone liked it! Most human beings love being ignorant. They wanted the bliss associated with it. But it seemed that the Receiver was firmly against this idea. He deemed this sentiment to be foolish and suicidal, spiritually suicidal. The Receiver had explained earlier on that it was the soul, and not the body, that was the true person. Therefore it was the salvation of the soul, not the survival of the body, which was of the utmost importance! What more to say of bliss and creature comforts?
As the
Sollenthars journeyed back to Fallsene City, the words of Higher Recipient Truthkeeper played in their minds. Ray and Clover felt themselves a little ignorant after the encounter with the Receiver, but Serene and Rod felt themselves downright stupid! Of course the soul was more important than the body! It was the soul that would go on and on for all eternity whereas the body would rot away after 80 years or so! And that was if one was lucky enough to reach the ripe old age of 80! Most Farhayvenytes would probably die prior to the age of 80 due to sickness, accidents or wars. And war and death were subjects that Serene and Rod understood very well!