by B K Suitter
The monk landed with grace and batted away the sandy arms that held Simeon to the ground, then he leapt away into the storm to continue the fight. Simeon watched as more of the monks raced through the storm, swinging their bow staffs and turning the creatures to dust. They battled the sand demons fiercely while gathering up the survivors of the lost caravan and herding them all together.
Simeon quickly found the unconscious woman that was buried in the hot sand and began to dig her out. Soon, the host of warrior monks and the remaining weary travelers that were in his band stood all around him.
The angry storm raged on and countless more sand demons circled the large group, slowly closing in on them. Simeon looked at a monk that stood before him and saw the faint glow of a charm that was held in his hand. The amulet was attached to a long silver chain that was worn around the neck of the mysterious monk. He began chanting in a mystical verse while a small orb in the center of the talisman began to spin and glow brighter. A brilliant light pushed out to surround the whole group, covering them all in a dome of radiance, and an eerie calm settled over them. No more were the driving winds and stinging sands. The cacophony of the mighty sand gale was drawn down to a simple hush and only the crying of the women and nervous speech of the men could be heard.
“Gather up your wounded,” said one of the monks. “We must make haste towards the temple. The demon storm will not abate, and our magic is not eternal.” They were all dressed in the yellow garb of monks and their heads were wrapped in red cloth turbans that wound down to cover their faces, leaving narrow slits for their eyes and mouths.
Simeon reached down and scooped up the woman at his feet while others helped the few wounded to stand. All the horses and pack animals were lost and only half of the original thirty devotees remained. Two of the knights of Castle Sunflower survived and the female that Simeon carried was all that remained of the mercenaries. She was badly wounded with a terrible gash on her neck and dark bruising across her face. They wrapped cloth around the injury to help stem the flow of blood, but she would not live if they didn’t make the temple that night.
“Did you see Coronas Redsword?” Simeon asked one of the twelve monks that assisted his haggard party. “He was at the front of our caravan riding a black charger.”
“Your father and the others are fine. They ride up ahead of the storm, being led by Brother Umias.” As the monk walked, he nodded towards the outer shell of the magical sphere that kept them safe from the storm. “The demons will trek with us until we are at the walls of the temple. There, the magic of Carami will extinguish the cursed storm and its creatures with it.”
Simeon could see the sand demons walking along just on the other side of the clear bubble that surrounded them. The storm was still raging all around and the sand was blowing fiercely, causing the visibility outside the magical shell to be minimal. But the demons could be seen clearly as they trudged along next to the protective clear orb. They did not look in at the exhausted party, but simply marched along beside them. They were gray shapes, appearing to be human, but long since dead. Their faces were distorted, with looks of anguish and contempt and they shambled along slowly, keeping pace with the group.
“Brother Tamos, will you relieve me?” asked the tired monk that was walking with the magical necklace.
“Of course, Brother,” replied Tamos as he left Simeon’s side and moved over to accept the magic amulet. The magical sphere that surrounded the weary travelers shimmied momentarily and a small spray of sand fell upon the troupe, causing them all to look nervously at the walking dead beside the sphere.
“Do not be alarmed,” one of the warrior monks said to the group. “They cannot enter our protective sphere as long as the magic remains in affect. My brothers and I must all share in the glory of The Gift to make such a long journey. It becomes most taxing on a single individual if the magic is used for too long.”
“What are they?” Simeon asked one of the monks as he continued on with heavy footsteps. He still carried the injured woman in his arms, arms that began to grow weary with each step.
“Let me help you carry the woman,” the monk said, avoiding Simeon’s question. “I can tell she grows heavy in your arms.”
“No thank you,” Simeon replied. “She is my burden alone. She would not be here now if I did not insist she make the journey with me. Ten years ago, when my mother died from a sweeping plague, I was left alone to raise myself. I was just a boy of ten summers and my father was off venturing the lands to the north. This woman took me in and cared for me. We have been the best of friends ever since, for she too lost a loved one. Her brother that she loved more than anyone in the world, died young. In a way, I replaced her lost brother, and she became a mother to me. If she dies here, then I ask you to let me die as well.”
“Then I will not let her die,” said the monk. “My name is Darious, and I do not have the patience to bury you both.” The monk chuckled at his small joke as he continued to keep pace with Simeon.
“If you can keep her from dying, then I will be forever in your debt,” replied Simeon as he shifted the heavy woman in his arms and picked up his stride with renewed vigor.
The party kept walking, plodding through the sand that dragged at their feet. The monks would each take a turn carrying the magic necklace and Simeon could tell they were being drained of their energy as they began to stagger on through the shifting sands.
At one point, a tired woman fell to the sandy floor, causing the man that was helping her along to go face first into the ocean of grit. Several of the exhausted monks raced over to help them up, bringing them both to their feet and assisting them on with the laboring trek.
Simeon’s arms were burning, and his thick muscular biceps began to cramp, but he continued on. He tried to get his mind off the growing agony that threatened to consume him, and he again asked the question, but this time it was Tamos that walked beside him.
“What are those creatures?” Simeon asked as he nodded towards the sand demons that kept pace beside the magical sphere.
“Please, Brother Simeon, allow me to share in your burden,” and Tamos reached out to the woman in his arms.
Simeon shook his head and laughed with exhaustion. “Why do you avoid my question, good monk? After what they have done to me and the people I promised to protect, the least you can do is tell me their story. Please, it will keep my mind from ailing on this long journey.”
“There is not much to tell, my friend,” said Tamos with a shrug. “Legends say that a group of treasure seekers scoured through the mystical Wastelands and happened upon a cursed ancient city rich with diamonds and gems. They helped themselves to the treasure and foolishly wandered back into the desert. Soon after, a sandstorm swallowed them up and they were all lost with the vast treasure. Now the cursed men are forced to walk the Wastelands for all eternity.” Tamos shrugged again and left the story at that.
Simeon’s instincts told him there was much more to the tale than what he was being told, but he didn’t press the issue further. More curious than ever, Simeon began angling his walk so he could move closer to the edge of the protective barrier and get a better look at the so-called treasure seekers.
“Not too close, my friend,” said Tamos. “If you come in contact with the magical barrier, you can be thrown out and you will be lost.”
Simeon staggered on, moving close to the edge where he walked next to one of the strange creatures. It paid him no mind as it continued to plod along next to the sphere. Simeon could see it clearly and indeed it did resemble a man long since dead. The creature’s skin was the color of sand and it moved and shifted like tiny granules being blown across the desert floor. Its eyes were a sparkling blue, two orbs that floated in the hollow caves of dark eye sockets. It seemed to wear clothing that was similar to that of the monks, although torn and aged, the resemblance was there.
Simeon looked over to the monks and found them all staring at him. An uncomfortable feeling washed over his body and he
slowly moved away from the sphere’s edge.
They all kept walking for what seemed like days, and just when Simeon was about to give up hope and surrender to his exhaustion, the storm suddenly cleared, and the sand demons blew into the desert floor and the force of the wind abated. The monk that was holding the magic amulet allowed the protective barrier to disappear and Simeon looked up in awe.
The massive stone wall that surrounded the ancient Temple of Carami towered before them, standing hundreds of feet high and stretching far in both directions. The group was twenty yards from the vast citadel, and they moved with vigorous steps and began to cry with relief.
A long drawbridge was lowered over a wide moat that was filled with boiling tar that spit from the deep chasm that surrounded the entire structure. A large portcullis raised and huge doors opened, and out came dozens of monks to greet and assist the beleaguered people. Simeon’s father was there as well, and he raced to his son and took the woman from his arms just as Simeon gave into his exhaustion and fell to the hard planks of the drawbridge and into total darkness.
*******************
“We can’t save her. She is too close to death.”
“I told him I would not let her die. You must let me heal her.”
“We have done everything in our power to mend her wounds. It is her time.”
“We have not done everything.”
“I would advise against using The Gift to save her life. It would take too much of your life energy, Darious, and there’s no telling what affects it will have on her. This one’s aura is dark and it would not be wise to touch her with magic.”
Simeon was barely conscious as he listened to the verbal exchange between the monks. He was dizzy and his vision was blurry, but he could see he was in a room and the fuzzy shapes of monks were standing over the woman he carried to the temple. He wanted to voice his opinion and tell them to just save her. Whatever the consequences, he would pay them. But he was too exhausted, and he lay motionless on a small bed of his own. He faded back into unconsciousness, waking periodically for only brief moments and then falling back to sleep.
Simeon could not tell if he was dreaming or if he was actually awake. He laid on his side watching as a monk stood over the woman that was lying on a small bed on the other side of the room. His arm was stretched out over her and he held a silver chain with an amulet tight in his grip. A small crystal spun at the center of the charm, bathing the woman with its soft glow. Back into darkness Simeon fell, mumbling in fits, tossing and turning.
The next morning, rays of sunshine spilled through the window and washed over Simeon like a warm bath. He stretched out long on the small bed as he struggled to open his eyes. At first she was blurry, walking up to him and then sitting down on his bed beside him. She ran her fingers through his hair and when his vision cleared, Simeon smiled wide and sat up.
“You’re alive,” Simeon whispered, and tears began to form as he was overcome with joy.
“No thanks to you,” she teased and then laughed at his incredulous expression.
“But I carried you…” he began to stammer.
“I know what you did for me, Simeon. Thank you for saving my life,” and she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry I talked you into coming,” Simeon started to say.
“Are you kidding? Stay home and miss all the fun? I’d be mad if you left me behind.”
“Are you ok?” Simeon asked, reaching up to the woman’s neck to find no visible wound or scar.
“I’m fine,” she said, grabbing onto his hand and holding it close. “In fact, I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” replied Coronas Redsword as he entered the room. Two of the temple monks walked in as well, and they were dressed in yellow robes and had their heads shaved, as was the norm for most of the brothers that lived in the sacred temple. “We would have been quite shaken had the good brothers not healed your terrible wounds.”
“Once again, I thank you, Darious,” the woman said. She had shoulder-length black hair, a round face with soft features, and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a soft blue tunic and comfortable breeches that were given to her by the monks.
“It is Carami you must thank, Kneeamara,” Darious replied.
“Please, call me Mara,” said the woman and she smiled with gratitude at the two monks. “And thank you for saving us in the desert. And give my thanks to all the other brave monks that came to our rescue.”
Tamos nodded and smiled and Darious took a step forward and took hold of Kneeamara’s hand.
“Maybe one day you will return the favor and save all our lives,” Darious said as he stared deep into Kneeamara’s eyes, causing her to look away uncomfortably and nod her head.
“Of course,” Kneeamara replied, “if there is ever anything I can do,” and she looked back into his eyes and found them staring hard into hers. She wanted to break free of his grasp, his hands holding onto hers and keeping her close. She felt as if he was looking deep inside her, possibly eyeing her very soul and she wanted to scream out but couldn’t. Tamos put a hand on Darious’ shoulder and the monk let go of Kneeamara’s hand.
As he stepped back, he whispered to the woman. “Don’t let me down, Mara,” and he smiled as he turned away and left the room with Tamos.
Kneeamara just stood there as she watched the monk leave the room. She was visibly shaken for reasons she did not understand. She felt as though she had been inside the mind of the monk and he was telling her things that made no sense. There was a special bond now between them and it made her feel as though she had lost something that was personal to her.
“And how are you feeling, my son?” asked Coronos. He was a large man with a bulging mid-section, and he seemed comfortable in the light robe and wool garb given to him by the monks. He had bright orange hair that was thick and curly and a strong jaw that was matted with a thick red beard.
“I’m fine, Father,” replied Simeon as he stared at Kneeamara, wondering what she was thinking about as she stood with a troubled expression.
“Good, because you will not want to miss the show,” and Coronos gave a wide smile to his son and clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “Follow me, my boy,” and the man walked quickly out of the room.
Simeon rose from the bed wearing the comfortable clothes provided by the monks. He walked over to put a strong arm around Kneeamara, causing her to jump from her reverie.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Simeon asked as he moved around in front of her.
Kneeamara smiled at Simeon and took hold of his large arm and began walking him out of the room.
“I’m fine,” she laughed. “C’mon, I don’t want to be late for the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?” Simeon asked.
“You’ll see,” Kneeamara said, pulling him forward and quickening their pace.
The huge ceremonial hall was located at the southwest corner of the grand temple complex. It had a vaulted ceiling that was decorated with elaborate paintings depicting angels and demons and the wars they eternally fought. Sculptures of angels riding strange beasts were cut into the solid rock walls and tall stone statues of monks in prayer and battle circled the huge room. They stood on huge blocks of stone and the stories of their amazing feats and dedications to Carami could be found carved into each base.
Simeon stood on a high balcony with Kneeamara and his father. Others from his original party were there as well, and many more he did not know, all lined up against the stone railing to watch the ceremony below. Only monks were allowed on the ground floor and there were thousands of them. They sat on benches that circled a huge granite platform with steps that led up to the top. In the center of the platform was a grand statue cut from a solid piece of white rock and standing more than fifty feet high and thirty feet long. It depicted the image of Carami standing in the clouds and reaching down to all his children. The huge statue was carved so that no matter where one stood in the
massive chamber, they would always see the same image.
In front of the magnificent statue stood two kings, each dressed in ornate armor that was forged with pure silver and gold. Two monks also stood on the platform and they each carried a sword with veneration. After a long reverent pause, each monk carefully handed-over the sword he was carrying. The King of the North was large and imposing and he took his long sword from the monk with gentle hands, and the Asarian King took his blade with respect as well.
Both men then faced each other before the watchful eye of Carami and pulled forth their swords from their decorated scabbards. There was a thick tension between them and at first it appeared they would do battle.
They crossed their blades gently, though, and the metallic clang was crisp and loud. Then they crossed them again, this time a little harder, and then a third time harder still, and the result was a deafening blast that echoed throughout the giant hall. A strong vibration shook deep inside the rock walls and the ceiling moaned as dust and pebbles showered down upon all who witnessed the event.
The two kings then sheathed their swords and slowly walked off the platform, taking even strides together down the stone steps, then moving off in different directions to exit the vast ceremonial hall.
“Now can someone please explain what I just saw,” Simeon whispered to no one in particular.
“Exciting, wasn’t it?” said the man that was standing next to him. He looked to be an Asarian with his short dark hair and brown eyes. “The way the swords interacted with each other was simply amazing.”
“The Beoraki King and the Asarian King just finished signing a truce to end The Blood Wars,” explained his father, who was standing on the other side of him. “When both men arrived at the temple, they gave up their famous swords until after they signed the peace treaty. They were just now given back their blades in a bonding of the truce. They are both great men.”