22:49 Jan 28 2007
Times Read: 745
The First Chapter.
Homecoming
As the last few sparks crawled their way along the intricately carved, but long dis-repaired stones, the shadows fading slowly in the dissipating light, the soft clop of a hoof broke through the whispered silence. The ruined circle of stones still glowed faintly, illuminating a single horse and rider, shrouded within a light mist. In the ensuing darkness of the night, the great plumes of steam rising from their form went unnoticed, as the cold began to set in.
The heavy set figure loomed large upon a sizeable warhorse, it's plated armour glinting along the fine honed edges, projecting a sense of wicked intent. The rich dark fabric of the riders' overcoat seemed to absorb what little light was available, creating deeper shadow than the rest of the blackness.
The rider turned his hooded head upwards, as if to peer at the stars, but found only a blackened cloud, stretching across every horizon. Turning back and using a gloved hand to reach up and unclasp the heavy veil, which covered most of his face below the eyes, the figure let the cold sting the cheeks, before taking a long, slow breath, the resulting heavy coughing was toned in a deep male bass.
Replacing quickly the cloth to mask his face, he leaned forward to gently pat and rub at the great beasts' neck. Thoughts of what foulness was in the air came to his mind and how the horse might stomach it. “Easy, Ursa.” Came the soothingly gruff voice. With a small tap of his heel on the horses ribs, he urged it to trot onwards, up a small incline where the path was well worn, if somewhat overgrown.
As he came to ride between two of the larger stones, he pulled up and reached out to brush the stone with his fingertips. A sigh, filled with regret, was breathed into the masking cloth. He felt that he should get on his knees and dig his hands into the soil, to squeeze it between his fingers and feel that it was real, but he held his composure, considering his direction.
He should head inland, to report on his journey to the King, whoever that might be now. But the coastal road, that would bring him after only a few days to his home, where he once knew a childhood and family, long a distant memory.
No, the more important task must take priority for him, for everyone. Home, could wait. It was long enough that he had last been there, a few weeks would hardly make a difference, no matter the longing of his heart. Rousing himself from the melancholy, he spurred the animal along a widening stone paved trail, on towards the hidden range of mountains, which he knew were silently watching him from the shadows of this cold night.
The stench grew worse as he came upon the once fertile plains. Without a sign of light, or town, the world appeared eerily calm and silent, but for a gentle rustle of dry wild grasses. There were towns here once, he recalled the sight of them, glittering as mini galaxies at night and during the day, sending their many plumes of smoke billowing into the crisp air. On the clear days, from a good vantage point, he would have seen all the way to the forests on the foothills of the long mountain ranges. The ice-capped peaks ran for more then three hundred miles towards the centre of the land, where it met other, smaller ranges, forming a great plateau where the Capital, the City of the King, threw up its many tiered buildings and spired towers, proudly proclaiming its magnificence over all others in the land.
Things were clearly different now, however and the unease in his belly gave the rider a cause to wonder how long it had really been, for those who had still lived here, after he and the others had left. Years certainly, decades perhaps. Longer was not a thought worth entertaining. He felt a pang of fear- that the whole land was as desolate a place, that none now lived here. He baulked and gagged as he held down his rising bile. More coughing and cursing the stench, as it now began to sting the eyes, blurring his vision significantly.
The hours became longer as the two made their slow progress along the causeway, the horse snorting loudly more and more often, the nostrils becoming more clogged with the fine dusty air. It was morning before the air cleared and the wind lessened, but the going was made no easier by the thick fog that descended before dawn. And even when dawn came, the grey clouds remained, leaving a dusky light, hardly better than the night.
Still there came no sign of a town, or a village, nor even a farm. There was nothing to be found, especially in the poor visibility, even in the day. The discomfort of being so alone began to tell after the third day of travel. His temper began to fray and the need to lash out at something overcame him. Seeing the dead trunk of a small tree, he dismounted and unbelting the scabbarded sword on his pack, walked over to it purposefully.
Drawing the long blade slowly, the silky shimmer caused him to stare for a few moments, which became a hypnotic few minutes, where he took in the intricate engravings leading along its length from the guarded hilt. He looked up at the tree, gazing without focus at it's ruined and dismal form. Walking to it absently, sword in hand and dangled at his side, loosely dragging through the dirt, he found himself holding on to the trunk, running the palm of his free hand over it, before clenching his hand slowly into a fist and pounding, harder and harder, over and over until his hand began to ache. Finally, slumping his shoulder against the tree, he allowed his body to slide down it, dragging his face and clothes, where he fell into a shuddering cry of anguish.
00:25 Jan 01 2007
Times Read: 764
Joy is in the eye,
We see for every child,
Every day and every night,
On the TV,
Shining- so bright.
Costly is our precious gift,
A hole it burns,
Pockets aflame,
Not forgetting the emptiness,
Once we come to realise- gluttonous shame.
Where we pass over,
Through the darkest eve,
We come to the special one,
That of our delight,
And sleepless masses,
Waiting eager- for the chill morning light.
And what is to be had in such a dawn?
When all that counts is the tag adorned,
The best of the best,
A competition among yards and schools- kids with it all,
Make those with less,
Seem only as fools.
Yet meaning survives,
In the hearts with love,
For the thought of the why- and for whom,
And at last we celebrate- for the years ending,
Cheers, for the countdown which looms.
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