Chapter 24
November 19th, 2020
(Author's Note: Why go to Numuin? He was pursuing Red Haird woman. Although I like this section, I need to find another place for it, or a reason for it to happen. Revisit)
(Authors Note: Pursing the Red Haired Woman makes more sense. Revisit)
Though he was no equestrian, Zechariah galloped hard across the dunes. He had kept mostly to the shadows of the alley ways, despite his racing heart, as he made his way toward the Keep's exit. Leaving had been rather easy. He donned his veil and looked like a Dustman. Walking his horse up to the gate, the guard stopped him for questioning. What's your business? Where are you going? On who's orders etc. He answered simply. 'Mudaris, scouting for Zaeim.' The guard nodded, and opened the sally port for him to slip out into the night. As he stepped out of Sumud, the sky seemed to darken, and the shadows lengthened. Zechariah clung to the walls, and circumvented them, until he was fairy sure he was heading Edgeward. It was impossible to tell with any sense of total accuracy when the nights darkened, for without being able to see the Sun Peak, there was no reliable form of navigation. However, he knew that so long as the keep was behind him, and he was not riding towards the Draconian's camp, that he would be...'safe'...as far as that was possible when riding out into the barrens with no supplies.
After he road hard, Edge ward for a while, he slowed his horse so as not to tire her out. He turned her to the right, and began to travel For, heading towards the coast. He had no idea how far it actually was but on horse back, his chances of making it were far better than if he were on foot. Once he reached more habitable lands, he could find a road, and from there, find a town. Then he would follow the coast Edge Ward till he reached Umar, and he prayed that he would be ahead of any messengers of desertion that Sirpa might send.
As he road, silently through the night, the only sound being that of the steady rhythmic beat of his horses hooves on the sands, his mind wandered as it was prone to doing. He could barely see where he was going, and relied upon the glint of light upon the dune peaks as guides of where to go. So as not to wear out his horse too fast, he walked the steed through the valleys of the dunes, staying cool, almost cold, as they headed to Numuin. The presence of the night, only grew deeper and deeper. It was as though he were wading through water, this draw upon his clothes, his skin, his heart. His steed's eyes were darting this way and that. Not panicking, but alert.
“What's your name then?” Zechariah asked breaking the silence. He needed something to distract himself from the omnipresent fear of the dark. His steed's ears flipped backwards, listening to him as he spoke. “You're cautious I can see. Not skittish. Thank Krulnac. That way I can be skittish for the two of us.” He laughed to himself lightly, but his laughter seemed to be smothered and die after barely being given life.
The horse turned it's ears away from Zechariah. “Oh, you have attitude as well? Great. You need a name but...I'm sure you're already named aren't you? I don't suppose you'd pick up another name easily enough would you?” Talking to a horse. It should become an idiom. “I suppose I can just call you 'Horse' for now. I miss Baylee. Not that I doubt your qualities as a fine steed. Certainly, you seem far better accustomed to journeying that she. She was all nerves and titters that one. But she was a good horse. I suppose the Draconian's have probably eaten her by now.”
Horse's ears flipped backwards once again. “Oh? That got your attention again? What part, eat or being eaten?” Horse snorted shortly. Zechariah smiled sadly and reached forward, petting his neck. “Sorry Horse, I'm afraid I don't have any feed. Or water for that matter.” He rubbed his eyes. “What am I doing Horse?” He looked around the dark night. He sat for a moment, then shook his head. “Doesn't matter really. 'Al'harrabu'. Take action, and accept the consequences.” He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it in a rush. Sitting up a bit straighter, Horse gave an approving whinny. Zechariah snapped the reigns, clicking to Horse. “We'll travel at night, and stay to the shadows. We'll lose less water that way. By Aleen's mercy, we'll make it to Numuin alive.”
Despite the darkness of the night, Zechariah raised his veil. He wasn't sure if it would help or not, not with navigation, but with keeping his water inside him. He supposed it might just draw the water out of him but, he figured sand would do that faster. So he bundled himself up against the cold of the desert night, and rode Horse on and on. He dismounted frequently to walk beside Horse, to give him a rest. Horse began to walk with a trudge. Not slow. He kept pace. But his moved with as little motion as required, as though he understood that this would be a long and hard journey. Zechariah ran out of things to say to Horse. He wasn't a good conversationalist with people. Horses were even more difficult. But he was glad to be walking with someone or...something or whatever. Rather than being alone. Horse's company was welcome to him and he walked with one hand resting upon his neck both for guidance and comfort as they navigated the dark sands of the night cast Barrens. Soon, the light from whatever entity had been casting that blue light, faded entirely, and they walked in naught but darkness, feeling their way forward carefully with each step.
Fortunately the sands were smooth, and constant. Though they rolled, one could feel the rise of the sands, and so they walked on by feeling the rise of the dunes either side of them. Guiding them somewhat For, towards the ever stormy Turmolt. How long they walked like this, one careful foot in front of the other, Zechariah didn't know. How many falls passed in a night? Were there Rises before the dawn? What wonders did the Sun see when it finished it's journey through the Peak? “More forever unanswered questions.” Zechariah spoke as a dim light caught his attention and he turned Peakward, to see the faintest glimmer of light beginning to illuminate the massive mountain that held the Sun within it's arms.
“We'd best find a place to rest through the day Horse. Don't want to face the heat of the Barrens any more than we must.” Horse snorted in agreement. Finding a steep dune, Zecharaih, kicked aside enough sand to create a sort of ledge for them to lay upon, Horse nudged him, sniffing for food or water, and stomped in annoyance at not finding any. Zechariah unsaddled him and did his best to brush him down without a brush. His clothes got filthy but, it was the least he could do for Horse. He to was already truly thirsty, but he tried his best not to think about. Yawning heavily, he curled up next to Horse, and fell asleep in the early Rises of dawn.
(Authors Note: Pursing the Red Haired Woman makes more sense. Revisit)
Though he was no equestrian, Zechariah galloped hard across the dunes. He had kept mostly to the shadows of the alley ways, despite his racing heart, as he'd made his way toward the Keep's exit. Leaving had been rather easy. He'd donned his veil and looked like a Dustman. Walking his horse up to the gate, the guard stopped him for questioning. What's your business? Where are you going? On who's orders etc. He answered simply. 'Mudaris, scouting for Zaeim.' The guard nodded, and opened the sally port for him to slip out into the night. As he stepped out of Sumud, the sky seemed to darken, and the shadows lengthened. Zechariah clung to the walls, and circumvented them, until he was fairy sure he was heading Edgeward. It was impossible to tell with any sense of total accuracy when the nights darkened, for without being able to see the Sun Peak, there was no reliable form of navigation. However, he knew that so long as the keep was behind him, and he was not riding towards the Draconian's camp, that he would be...'safe'...as far as that was possible when riding out into the barrens with no supplies.
Therefore, the dunes stirred to the beat of rapid hoof falls as Zechariah galloped on. He wanted to make sure he could get as much distance between himself and Sumud as he could. He wasn't sure if Sirpa would pursue him or not, but he also wasn't keen on finding out. So he rode and galloped, until he could not longer do so safely. The blue light was almost gone, and Zechariah could barely see anything, and he had to slow his steed to a walk.
Progress became painstakingly slow, and his head began to droop. The adrenaline of everything going on had begun to wear off, and he was so tired. Indeed, his steed seemed to be slowing as well. Zechariah dismounted, and took the reigns in hand, and began to lead the horse by foot, trying to remain focused. Try as he might however, he began stumbling and barely catching himself.
“I don't suppose you have anything to help keep me awake do you?” He asked his horse as they walked, in a desperate attempt to stay awake. “You don't any Saetl weed or anything?” Zechariah joked, smiling to himself.
The horse just snorted.
“Oh? You judging? What you're too good for some drugs?” He breathed as he crested a dune and began down the other side. “You might like them. Who knows? You might even become a drug lord.”
The horse turned it's head slightly towards Zechariah, then away again.
“Don't you roll your eyes at me!” Zechariah exclaimed with mock protest. “I'll have you know, that ...well...I don't know really. I'm kind of losing it aren't I?” Zechariah began panting a little harder than he would have liked as he climbed the next dune. “Deferentially. I've been going crazy for years, haven't I? I mean...Look at me? I'm in the middle of the Barrens, at night, talking to a horse, after being taken prisoner by the Draconians! What the hell am I doing here?” He asked exasperated, tossing a hand in the air in frustration. He looked to the horse, as if he might hold some answers, but his steed just glanced at him out of the corner of it's eye, and kept walking. “Right, don't answer me then. See if I care. Ass.”
His steed reared it's head and snorted loudly.
“Oh! So you have an answer to that huh? You know what? You don't have to be so uppity with me. I get that from everyone else around me. You however, you don't have to be that way with me. Baylee wasn't.” He paused for a moment as he walked, his eyes staring far off. “I suppose they'll have eaten her by now. She was a good one. Certainly far nicer than you are.”
Steed whinnied softly.
“It's true. Sure, she may have been far more skittish and shy than you are. But she was a farm horse, not accustomed to going any further than from her stall to her fields. You probably grew up here. So I say, she was braver than you, because she faced the Barrens without knowing anything about them.” Zechariah nodded firmly, and Steed just twitched his ears as though an annoying fly was buzzing around. “Oh Gorgoth have you.” Zechariah cursed with a smile as they continued walking on.
Falling silent, they continued on for a long time. The silence of the desert slowly weighing upon them like a bail of hay. Eventually, he could go no further, and he pulled Steed to a stop. Finding a relatively flat portion of the sands, Zechariah took off Steed's saddle, and using it as a pillow, laid down upon the cold coarse bed. He curled up, his tiredness exacerbating his sense of isolation and futility. He felt so empty, so alone, laying there, in the middle of the dunes, not a sound to be heard, not a sight to be seen.
Before his thoughts could wander too dark, the sound of hooves behind him drew his attention, and then all at once, Steed laid down behind Zechariah, cuddling up with him. “You're quite well trained aren't you? Or are you always this considerate?” Zechariah asked the horse as it stretched swishing it's tail and scratching it's face in the sand. Zechariah smiled to himself at the unusual behavior that Steed was exhibiting, and he lay his head back down, feeling safer and not quite as alone as he drifted off to sleep.
November 20th, 2020 (Author's note: This chapter and the last need serious rewriting. Unhappy with entire procedure of events. Also, more research into sever dehydration required.)
November 20th, 2020 (Author's note: This chapter and the last need serious rewriting. Unhappy with entire procedure of events. Also, more research into sever dehydration required.)
Steed snorted. Zechariah flung himself up off the sands and began looking around for a sign of danger. Steed's head was up, ears twitching this way and that, listening carefully.
“What is it?” He asked the horse as though it could actually reply. “What did you hear?” Steed quickly got up and looked Peakward, up the dune they were sleeping on. He began to slowly walk up the dune. Zechariah moving after him hissing as he went.
“Wait. Wait! You dumb horse.” He got in front of Steed and grabbed his snout, petting him. “It's okay. I'll go look. I'm far more stealthy than you. Stay.” He said backing away from Steed, seeing if he would obey. The horse just looked at him as he turned away, and began to crawl up the dunes. Getting to his belly, rather uncomfortably, he peaked his head over the top of the dune, scanning the Barrens.
Nothing. It was as empty as it's namesake would suggest. Still, Steed would not have awoken if it was nothing. The Sun was past it's Zenith, and already nearly at it's first Fall. He waited in silence, barely breathing. Then, over the ridge of a dune, came first one, then two, then five then a total of nine horses. They they were quite some distance off but not far enough that a loud whinny or a shout from Zechariah would not be heard in the ominous stillness of the Barrens. Zechariah could only see them as they were silhouetted against the skyline. As they descended the other side of the dune, they vanished from his sight.
Riders! Zechariah thought, ducking below the crest of his dune, his heart racing, his eyes wide. Sirpa must have sent men after him. He had to lay low, but he also didn't have much time. Being out here in the Barrens, he needed to find the Ghabar Rijali before he died of dehydration. Steed snorted quietly, sensing his anxiety. Zechariah climbed down the side of the dune, and hugged Steed hushing him quietly. “It's okay boy. They'll not come this way I think. They haven't followed our trail so either the winds covered our tracks, or we got extremely lucky. It'll be okay.”
Calming Steed, he laid him back down, and they returned to sleep, though his rest was far from peaceful, as he continually awoke at the slightest breeze, or sound that dared to interrupt the serene silence of the Barrens.
The cold crept up on him, biting his nose so slowly that he barely felt it until it was too late. Opening his eyes, he saw little more than darkness, and he shivered. It wasn't so bad when he was walking but lying out in the open like this, the cold crept up much faster than one might expect. He tried to swallow, and nearly choked on his tongue as it stuck to his throat. He was parched. His tongue felt fat and heavy, his lips were cracking and his eyes felt dusty. Standing up, he staggered, his head spinning. Taking a moment to steady himself, he wondered again why he was out here, dying in the middle of the Barrens. Taking a breath, he climbed back up the dune, to measure the time. The Sun was barely illuminating the Peak any more. It was time to go. Unfortunately, the sky was black tonight. Not a light to be seen. It would be a very long, and very slow journey.
Back down the dune, Steed whinnied already standing, and smacking his lips together. “Yeah, me to.” He saddled up Steed, and jumped into the saddle, almost not making it, his legs feeling weak. Steed stepped a little unsteadily but walked forward, away from the Peak, without prompting, and they began their slow careful walk through the Barrens once more.
Clomp, clomp, clomp. Zechariah swayed in the saddle. He shouldn't be as tired as he was, but not eating or sleeping for over a full day, took a toll on the body, and his stomach growled. Despite resting and sleeping in the shade, he had lost more water than he thought during the day. It wasn't good. His thoughts were getting cloudy, foggy. He raised his left hand though he couldn't really see it, and flexed the tight burned skin. It always kind of hurt a when he tried to open his hand fully. Curling his hand again, he traced the freshly carved runes in hand with his fingers.
“More of a lacking than a being.” He mumbled to himself trying to think hard, but his mind felt thick. It was hard to focus. Who was that man? 'The Ritualist'? What did he mean by that? Or about the soul? What was all that? Damn him and his cryptic speech. How entirely useless!
Dropping his hand, rode quietly on Steed's back. “How are you enduring?” He asked patting the horse's neck. “I bet you're as tired and thirsty as me, aren't you? Do you have as bad of a headache as I do?” Steed barely turned his ears to listen, and Zechariah didn't feel like he had the energy to speak much more. Slowly, the night dragging on and on, Steed began to first drag his hooves, then he began to stumble. Zechariah dismounted and took the reigns and walked onward, feeling faint and dizzy. He forgot to follow the valleys of the dunes, and began climbing them, one after another, walking as straight as he could away from the Peak which he could no longer see. Ridge after ridge. He got to the top of one, and stopped. He couldn't keep going. He felt completely drained. He fell to his knees swaying lightly.
Feeling like giving up, he began to despair. He knelt there, gazing out into the darkness before him. “You're demon possessed.” Maybe...maybe they could help him? Perhaps if he called upon them, they'd come and save him? But would that be worth it? What price would they demand of him? Would living in servitude to demons be worth living? Would it be better to die here, forgotten and alone in the Barrens than to welcome demons into his heart? He didn't want to die. Taking a deep breath, Zechariah held out his left hand and...
He saw something in the distance. Something yellow, flickering. His eyes widened and his heart began to race. A fire. That meant there were people. He tried to stand and hurry toward the fire, and found himself laying on his back staring up into the night sky. He really needs to learn how to descend these dunes reasonably. Steed came up to him, snorting at him. He rolled over and climbed to his feet, almost falling over once again, and looked around. Damnit, which way had that light been? He cursed himself trying to figure it out. In a moment of inspiration, he dropped to his knees and felt around in the sand, until he felt the disturbed sands from his fall. He turned his back to the trail he left, turned slightly to his left, and began walking as straight as he could.
Climbing over the ridge of one smaller dune, he climbed the next and, looking down into the valley of dunes, he saw a small campfire, illuminating the night. He tried to cry out, but instead just wheezed through dry vocal chords, setting himself coughing. As he approached the campfire, he saw the sleeping forms surrounding it. Not giving a though to who they were, he made a beeline for them. One figure moved, and roused another and soon all nine were in various states of groggily looking up, to standing up with weapons drawn.
“Stay where you are. Who are you?” A voice called out to Zechariah.
“Water.” Zechariah croaked as he came into view ignoring the command to stay still. “Please, water.”
“H-hold on.” The man said, reaching down into a pack and pulling out a water skin. “Not too much now.” The man said and kept hold of the water skin as Zechariah desperately drank gulp after gulp. All too soon, the man pulled the flask away from his lips. He asked for more. “Not right now. Water is scarce and, drinking too much all of a sudden, you're prone to vomit it up and waste it. Sit, rest. You'll have more water in a while.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Zechariah said, as he flopped to the sands panting, exhausted. Steed came walking into view slowly, and whinnied quietly. “Do...do you have any for my horse?”
The man waved to one of his companions who got up and rationed a portion of water for Steed. The man squatted next to him. “Okay. Now that you've had some of our water, who are you?”
“Z-Zechariah.” He said clenching his pounding head.
“Where did you come from?”
“Sumud.” Zechariah answered bluntly. He wasn't trying to be rude but he just wanted more water and sleep. He didn't notice the glances that that name brought.
“Then why are you out here without any water?” The man asked incredulously.
Zechariah rolled his head towards the man looking up at him. That was a question he wasn't sure he could answer. Thinking quickly, he tried to find a believable lie. “I...Its...”He stumbled over his words trying desperately but failing to think through the cloud that was over his mind.
“You an convict?” The man asked bluntly.
Was that a way out? Would he send him back if he said? If he said no, he'd have to come up with something else and he just couldn't think. Numbly, he nodded.
The man scratched his stubby beard and popped his jaw as he thought. “Well, I guess that makes us friends then.” He extended a hand to Zechariah. “Names' Angra (Authors Note: Angra Mainyu meaning Evil Spirt in old Persian) Murderer.”
Eyes widening in surprise, he hesitantly reached up and shook the mans hand.
“You?” Angra asked. “What were you in for?”
“Fucking the wrong man's wife.” Zechariah lied, causing Angra to roar with laughter.
“Was it worth it? That gash that good?” He asked grinning, and a few of the others chuckled.
Zechariah nodded, smiling. “Yeah. That good.” and relaxed into the sands. Angra handed him the water skin again, and Zechariah drank some more.
“Take a rest for now Zechariah. You'll sleep better around a fire than on your own. We'll talk more in the morn.”
“Thank you.” Zechariah said again, genuinely. His mind protested at the events but he couldn't care, curling up, Steed laying beside him, he fell asleep and this time, slept deep.
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