Ch2: The Flow of Time

The start. The man. The Rose.

The flow of time is something people use as an everyday tool, yet it’s still shrouded in mystery. A memory can easily get stuck in its strong currents, and follow you throughout a lifetime. Some memories follow you just for a short moment, without you even noticing its presence, before it’s gone. The second we remember a memory, that tiny second we travel backwards through the stream and live that moment again. It’s truly a pity that we don’t care more for remembering everyday chores, there might come a day when you wish to relive your life again, remember what you’ve lost, remember what you once had, appreciate someone you didn’t notice before. That tiny second can sometimes feel like a whole year, or more, and when you get back to your present time, you might not feel as young as you felt when you left.

For Darius, the rose was the start, much like a race, a race in which he had been in for years still. But at that point, the rose didn’t seem worldly important. A black rose from countries and places far away. Its simple beauty touched the heart of crafter, his ruff hands brushed it gently and a smile tickled his lip. But the bitter reality soon darkened his mood, this token of appreciation wasn’t for him.

Rhonda waved goodbye to her friend and with a heartily smile she began to walk the small road towards his family home. Her black hair was suddenly thrown back by a sudden gust of air and she welcomed the refreshing feeling filling her entire body. She was free for the time being and enjoyed every second of it.

The sun was close to setting when she reached her home. Her feet were aching as they always did after a long day of hard work, it was part of her everyday life, the daughter of a hardworking man shouldn’t expect anything less. In fact, she enjoyed the feeling she felt after a day of hunting, gathering or working at the shop. Darius had raised her to be a work-woman.  She opened the door with a firm hand and entered their home.

“Little ms Jones, come here right now.” 

His voice was strict but calm, none of the growing worry in his chest was displayed in this single sentence, this single command. But Rhonda wasn’t naïve, nor had she any of the stupidity which many of her friends had or faked to have in front of the townsmen. She had a quick mind, sharp ears and an eye for detail and, thanks to that unique combination; she noticed the subtle hints within his voice, and the obvious reason for using her last name.

As she entered their simple kitchen with their small dining table and saw her father’s grim face, she reflected upon what the cause might be. It was connected to her and it was something that had offended her father. Thousands and yet thousands thoughts rushed through her mind that single second of pure observation between father and daughter. A mistake in the shop she’d done a few days ago but masterly corrected within the blink of an eye, too simple, a piece of equipment she might have broken, ridiculous , she respected her father tools almost as much as he did himself. Hell… what could it be then?! How could she defend her case if she had no idea what she’d done…

Darwin

The realization was so obvious, yet so sudden that it was like being slapped across the face while talking to your friend. She cursed under her breath for her stupidity, and fore the fact that just the thought of Darwin made her blush like a child with her hand in the cookie jar.

Travellers were an uncommon luxury in Marles. Travellers meant that the merchants could sell their “special” merchandises for a “special” price, when in fact; they were some foolish junk which they couldn’t even get the stupid villagers or farmers to buy, for a price which was so through the roof that it didn’t take a genius to realize the fraud.

Travellers could also mean that they too had merchandises that were far beyond what these regular farmers and priests had ever seen, which meant that the town’s local merchant could buy it cheap and sell it for more. 

A win win situation.

It had been months since the last traveller had left Marles, the merchants were getting grumpy over every little mischief that the bored kids pulled, a broken fence, a stolen apple, even such a small act of childish boredom could set the townsfolk on a rampage.

Ridiculous really.

As if they’ve never stolen an apple from the local merchant on hot summer days when they were in their teens, as if they’ve never experienced the rush of excitement, knowing that you might get caught. Darius sure hadn’t forgotten, but he did ignore it best he could, only seeing through the thick fog that’s parenthood, thicker than most parents since he already lost one part of his heart, when his wife died a few years earlier.

A small trail of smoke had been seen a week before Darius found the black rose. To any other village, it was just a sign for another visitor, most villages had plenty of those. For Marles, this was the first sign in months of any other human being then the locals, a blessing basically. Marles sprung to life when word got out. Like a flower finally getting water after weeks of desertion. Merchants brought out their finest wares, cleaning their shops for the first time in weeks, even taking a long deserved bath in the nearby river. The dirt roads was swiped by the young kids, feeling the urge to do something when Marles lived through a drunken haze of excitement.

The day after that, two travellers was seen by the fine brick road, that passed nearby Marles.

Darwin and Marwin was on their way, and the dark ages begun.

Ch1: Desert Thoughts

A life as an outcast. A life as an exile. A life of agony.

Darius glanced at the falling sun and sighed, yet another night of his life was on its way and with a painful movement he rose and wandered back to the campfire. The gloom that lasted outside of the ring of luminary made his guise almost eerie. The black leather boots plowed through the sand and with his simple leather attire against his body, he embraced the warmth of the fire.

The nights was the worst, he had learnt this the hard way after years in the wilderness, surviving through stealing, by living like this he had found out what a gruesome world he lived in, if he could call it living, he just barely survived. The camp in which he now laid in, he had had for three days now, an extraordinary long time according to him, too long even. The closest village was only a day’s ride from there, but he was not yet ready for what awaited him there. Although he had done this for years there still lingered a sting of worry within his mind.

Something was not right in Hamsley, and not within the villages either, the people was not like the ones in its surrounding countries. Darius knew this, although the infinite number of villages and cities he had traveled through, none could lead him right, where ever right was. The earlier village of Minya was the worst so far, the decay that plagued the land seemed more dense here, you could smell it, you saw it in the people, you saw their rotten smiles that only told you one thing:

You’re next.

Years had past since he left his one and only home, desperate and half mad by grief. Following tracks that were slowly fading, misleads had slowed him down and he was now far behind. He was no master of tracking, but Darius had learned a lot during the years that past, more than most men learn during all of their lives, combined. The tracks had lead him through countries and lands far from his home, and wherever the tracks where, mischief and misfortune followed closely. Villages had been rampaged, all telling the story of a man mad with bloodlust who seemed to enjoy his killing as much as the devil himself.

Soon the villages on his road was deserted, apparently people had heard about this new merciless killer, following the a path which no one knew, Darius scavenged these villages for any supplies he could keep for his continued travel. Not much was left but whatever was left, was his for the taking.

Villagers who didn’t get away, was turned by what Darius called “the Plague”. A dark stench which infected the men who stood in it’s way. The Plague was light at first, a few villagers in every other village, but soon they grew in numbers, the further Darius traveld  inlands of the country. Minya had been all out infected with it, every man, woman and child had been plagued, the grains were poisonous for all other then the plagued and Darius didn’t wish to get like them, he had yet to figure out what caused this so he had no time to risk it, he was running low on supplies. Now as he closed in on a new village, he was struck with fear, what was the new degree of the Plague? What happened as the plague thickened?

A desert wind woke Darius from his thoughts, or it wasn’t the wind itself that woke him, but rather what it carried with it. Whispers. It wasn’t unusual in these parts, many men had wandered off into the desert in search of the Whispers, to eventually become a part of them. They were called the Whispers of the Dead, but the dead wasn’t the only ones Darius heard this night.

"Help me."

Darius flinched at the voice, that seemed to whisper in his ear, he could feel her breath against his cheek, he knew that voice. His child, his little girl, trapped within the claws of the ones who still haunted his mind. He glanced around; she couldn’t be dead, could she? But what other explanations were there? The Whispers of the Dead was the voices of lost souls, but she couldn’t be dead. Not Rhonda…

"Pappy, help me, please Pappy"

Tears overwhelmed his eyes, for once in a very long time he let his mind pass through the walls of his mind that kept him up, his mind traveled back in time, to that warm summer night when it all started. Ten years but he could still see it as if it was but a second ago.