…
…Dusk breaks in the sky, as sun begins to ascend.
Light breaches the dark, thus ending this dire night.
Dry sloping terrain, is proving arduous to climb.
As the heavens still roar, while fury yet swirls about.
Gravel slips underfoot, with little strength to resist.
Knees baring the impact, upon surface hard as stone.
Pain erupts up his legs, but he holds on to her firm.
No chance of letting go. No possibility of her fall.
Wrapped in a red tunic, is her upper body and her head.
Blood covers all their clothes, whatever remains of them.
Rocky outcrop on the hillside, is the objective to be reached.
Seems impossible to consider, this destination to complete.
Distance covered without effort, some dozen times or more.
But given current factors, achieving once would now take all.
A meagre moment just to rest, that stretches out to many.
However, even standing, is the difficulty to address.
Is this the way things are? Is this the way it is to end?
If so, so be it. Because there is nothing, that is left…
…
Feeling a hand grasp his shoulder, Aros opens dust covered eyes to see what phantom has come for him.
“Can I assist you master Aros.”, are the words that emanate from the deep, familiar voice.
“Brohk!”, is the surprised response. The name almost sticking in his dry throat.
It takes a while for his body to regain some semblance of life, since collapsing in that place for what may have been an hour or even more.
“Would you like me to carry her?”, offers the Suhn Gar.
A sense of relief and renewed determination rises, as vitality sluggishly returns. The gesture of support stokes a flame in Aros that had almost burnt itself out over the course of the last few hours.
However, amidst his senses reviving, the perception of who he is carrying and the reverberation of earlier events surfaces again, giving him pause. Processing matters momentarily, in some part at least, simply to carry on.
Wanting to now stand, his numb legs seem unable to comply, but is quickly caught as he stumbles backwards in the attempt.
“Steady there. Are you sure I cannot take her?”, Brohk repeats his offer.
“I will carry her please.”, Aros advises.
“Can you help us get to those rocks?”
Gar Brohk, a roving work hand that often travelled to Temek and the employ of his two roadside discoveries, presently finds himself bracing Aros in his labour of carrying Kei-Len’s body. Fortunately, Brohk’s large frame aids in shielding them from the dust and sand being hurled about continually as they trudge.
With blood flow returning to his legs, Aros is walking on his own upon reaching the sanctuary of the megaliths. Although the distance was not great, the time and effort it took to get there seemed far more than would be necessary on any other day.
“Never thought I would be so relieved to see a Suhn Gar.”, acknowledges Aros in gratitude.
The nest of boulders atop the dry, arid rise provides gratifying, if only somewhat tolerable shelter from the prevailing wind and noise. The city below, obstructed by the murky haze, is difficult to see other than in silhouette. Occasionally breaking into clearer view when the gusts briefly subside.
One of the larger masses in this rock-pile projects from the ground and features a recess along its broad base. Consequently leaving a small nook, that affords some cover, within which Aros lays out Kei-Len’s body. Ensuring that her resting place is as well prepared and comfortable as possible.
Finally satisfied that he has done all he can, he sits in front of her torso, leaning against the stone face, offering a little more protection to her from the increasingly tempestuous elements. Brohk takes a place beside him, concealing Kei-Len’s legs, which Aros quietly appreciates.
“So how did you come to be on this road? My last hearing was of you and Kei-Len being taken by the Seer’s guards.”
Brohk obviously intrigued by the developments.
“No doubt he presented you to Gohrass as a trophy.”
“He did.”, came the concise reply.
“And you manage to escape the stronghold?”
“Well, there was a commotion in the throne room.”
“Your doing?”
“No, Kei-Len’s.”
“In what way?”
“A pure heart is poison for the wicked.”, Aros reflects. Acutely anguished by the preceding night’s affair.
“Hmm, feisty to the end.”, muses Brohk. Recalling Kei-Len’s sometimes prickly, but always straightforward manner.
A sombre tone lingers as the two merely sit, not speaking at all, watching the city below come in and out of view, governed by the dictates of the wily squall. Occasionally glancing at the sky to register the peril’s pending arrival. Keen to have it done.
“Is that red tunic a prize?”, Brohk enquires.
“Unintentionally, it seems.”
“It pains me that some of my people have surrendered to such wickedness. It was once not like this.”
“You do not have to be burdened by the actions of others my friend.”
Aros reciprocates a hand on Brohk’s shoulder, again showing appreciation for his sorely needed assistance.
“I understand. But it is not the actions of others that burdens me, it is the inaction of those that did nothing to stop it.
Accounts must now be squared and many innocent will pay the price, as has your Kei-Len.”
Brohk looks skyward, indicating to the fiery incomer approaching collision.
“This is the grief that troubles me.”
Tapping Brohk’s shoulder, Aros can offer no words for him that are able to ease the current reality. A sorrow that taxes them both.
With the conversation petering out, a reflective mood descends. Aros reaches back and finds Kei-Len’s hand. Feeling compelled to hold her in whatever small way he can, given the time remaining.
The roar grows louder, thick like molasses in the air. Even the ground beneath and the rocks at their back resonate in permeating severity. Gale gusts churn the dust, sand and gravel making breathing a real task, even through the scant coverings available.
“It is almost upon us.”, Brohk yells. His final words.
Intractable noise ceases when the thunderous and piercing barrage ruptures even protected eardrums, thus relieving the two of hearing. Although the reverberations continue to be felt through the terrain and surroundings objects.
A wind shift brings the unrelenting furore head on, with no possibility or point of moving. Resulting in dirt and sand being blasted directly at them, disintegrating clothes and ripping away flesh.
The sustained onslaught most certainly means that survival is unlikely before the moment of destructive impact. At this stage, the meteor ejects such a massive wave of intense, rolling fire that the heat generated manages to melt the surface of the boulder they lean against.
Which, in all likelihood, would indicate that their bodies are engulf and vaporised, in an instant.
