Excerpt from a potential story.


The Year One

It was the time of change. The world was rediscovering itself in the aftermath of the great quake. The quake caused their planet to shift, creating a coming together of the lands. The People were afraid. They did not know what to expect because the land no longer spoke to them.

Across the vast plains sits the city of Artrack. Central to the surrounding villages, Artrack sits atop a modest plush plateau. Mahogany wood and braided rope ladders were used to climb to the top, a five-minute journey–two minutes for the strongest warriors. Yori was not a warrior, but scaled the ladders with the same swiftness of the best climber, Ignar. There was a silent understanding between them. Yori and Ignar passed glances over many seasons. They never spoke of their skills, nor did they challenge each other. The shame and burden of losing kept their tongues at bay. The silence said all it needed to say to keep their reputations untainted. Theirs was an understanding among spiritual warriors. This wisdom and understanding kept peace among their people.

The night tossed a blanket of darkness over their land. Every manner of beast roamed amidst the moonlight, hunting for a predawn meal. As they walked the fifty paces toward Artrack, the dead leaves rustled beneath their feet. They pushed aside giant green leaves with large purple veins spidering out to the tips. Dew fell from their edges, cascading onto tiny brush that lay low to the ground, like creeping vines stringing a path to their destiny.

Their destiny was like that of the vines, uncertain of the end, but sure of the journey. Their journey was the only thing they could be sure of; all else was a dream of a life not within their grasp. Their future was the wind that pass over leaves, they lightly shook and then were still, as though wind never moved them.

Ahead of them, near the clearing, they could hear the rush of waterfalls surrounding their secluded world. The water, their lifeblood, runs to the river Xior. At the base of the river lives the spirit of their people.

© zaji