Maeslstorm - part I

Prologue

The story has been passed to me to carry, of the times before my fathers' fathers' lives. Of the world long before the People we are, came to know it. From the stories, it is said that the grounds we live off of were once as barren as the skies when the clouds do not come across them. A land so desolate that only the sands covered them and the wind blew only to shift the grains.

The stories tell of a man that traveled those sands alone. A man that walked heavily with the burden he carried on his back, and what lay within his heart. This man many say did not have a name to be called by, yet others say that it was a name no one was to say again, and has been taken from our language. His journey carries him across the sands with no destination in sight, and the only purpose is to deal with the feelings of guilt and betrayal that were his burden alone.

This man, the One that brought a new world from the sands that thrived after the destruction; the One who traveled the sands that covered the Land as far as one knows; many call him Omanji, the Destroyer.

We called him Maelstorm.



Chapter I


The snow was falling fast and heavy, even though the wind was doing its best to blow it away from the ground. The trees had grown top heavy with the build up that he groans echoed as far as one could hear, intermittently with loud creaks and cracks of branches breaking under the stress. I couldn't open my eyes, but somehow in my exhaustion and weariness knew the sun was up, somewhere beyond the heavy cloud cover. As I lay there, wondering how did I come to be in this situation, my stomach made noises of hunger. 'Food,' I thought. 'What a wonderful item that would be.' At the same time, I recalled that my pack was empty, lost days ago in the days I have been lost in the hills. The cold was creeping higher up my legs, and I could no longer feel beyond my elbows. The blackness came over me again.

The past can be remembered in so many different ways between many people. Some may remember images. Other may do best with smells or colors. My first memory is of a sound. It was deep and reverberated against my chest, calming me. I could not open my eyes, but that sound was comforting, though it pulled at my heart with sadness. The next thing that comes to mind is of my father, Meelo, working the ground with a hoe ahead of me, sternly telling me how to drop the seed and cover it in the garden. I must have been about 4 summers at that time. All I can remember is that it was father and I. We lived in a one room shack on the outside of Tilston and raised a garden for most of our sustenance. None bothered us, and I don't ever recall anyone coming to visit.

What I knew of town was from one trip Father had made me partake with him. Though only a couple miles out, the entire day was spent there whilst Father did some trading with others for items we needed. I was mostly told to sit and watch, not to wander and play with some of the other children I saw. In my memories I was content. I felt no need to mingle. At near day's end, we would walk back home, and complete the evening chores. One day was like another for the most part. Until the soldiers came to Tilston.

It was late summer, and harvest time was near. Father and I were in the fields weeding, and deciding which crops were going to be the first to be picked. I was in my seventh summer and still not grown into the clothes Father had arranged for me. My brown hair constantly fell into my face as I weeded, causing me to look handicapped in some way as I shuffled through the garden. I would toss my head, flipping the hair back, and as I shuffled to the right, give each leg a short kick to empty the dirt catching in the folds of the rolled up pants legs. With a final wave of my arms above my head to slide the arms of the shirt back to my elbows, I would then again bend over to attend the next plant.

"Meelo!"
I heard the yell first. It was coming from the house front. I stood glancing that way strangely, as I had never heard anyone yell for my father before, let alone a visitor to the home.
"Meelo! Hurry, you must help!"
I glanced quickly over to Father, who had heard our visitor this time. Several emotions passed across his face, many I could not recognize. Only the main one that I knew to mean dreaded concern. Concern like if we lost half the crop to the bug, and how would we manage.
"Mal. Stay here and continue. Do not come to the house until I call. Understand?" father asked me as he moved quickly towards the home.
"Yes, sir," I answered and bent back to my duty, wondering what was happening.

Form the corner of my eye, I watched as father rounded the front and waited to see if he would invite the visitor back, or holler for me to attend. For many minutes I could hear nothing, but then the rise of voices in anger and fear reached my ears. I stood up, trying to find out what more I could. Father came back around from the front and stopped, catching me looking that way. His eyes fell to the ground, and his shoulders slumped. He looked more dismal than I had ever seen him, and it brought a coldness to my gut. For a moment, I knew not what to do, when father suddenly straightened back up, a determined look on his face, and a fire in his eye. He waved me over, and I jumped at the chance to find out what is going on.

"Mal. The time has come for us to move along in the world. With no questions asked, you must do exactly what I tell you, as quickly as possible. When there is time, I will tell you what is going on, but for now, we must move quickly. Back to the garden with the basket and harvest everything that is even a week close to being ready. Some of them you know can be picked early and will ripen as we go. As much as possible, in as many trips to the home until I say. Got it?"
"Yes, father," I said, eagerness for something new filling my voice. I jumped for the basket and headed back to the garden to follow his orders. Father disappeared into the home and I could hear the banging of the cupboards as he searched through them.

I brought in the one basket I had filled so far, looking down the path to see if the visitor was still here, but there was no one in sight. Father had spread out two blankets and was stacking items in the middle of each. So far it was few clothes, some salted meat we had traded for, and a plate and cup apiece. When he eyed the basket I brought in, he motioned me over.

"Split this up between both stacks here. There is no time to get more, so this will have to do." He glanced at me seeing the many questions upon my face."There is trouble in town and it is trouble we don't need to find us. Don't ask more now."
"What would we be in trouble for? We are nothing but farmers, and have done nothing," I stated though he asked quiet of me.
"Aye, we are only farmers and cause no trouble for any. There is more to this than I can explain for now. Do this and be ready. I must get one more thing." Father stood and moved off to a small sectioned off area of the room that I was never to bother. I heard a trunk opening and some metal rasping. Father returned with a sword that had definitely seen better days. My eyes widened in wonder, as I never had known such a thing existed in our home. But before I could say a word, father gave me that look, and I knew to finish what I was doing before a switching came.

Within moments I was done sorting, and with Father's help, we tied up the blankets into a pack of sorts. At the front door, with a heavy hand on my shoulder, Father glanced once more around the room, as if he were remembering where everything was, then out the door we went. Back through the garden, father grabbed and pocketed as many more foods as he could, up to the edge of the woods that started the easy slopes of the Endiback mountains. Father set a quick pace moving for the peaks, and I followed as fast as I could behind. Nothing was heard but the stepping of our shoes through the undergrowth as the sun went down into late afternoon.

A couple hours past sundown father stopped us for the night. As I found some deadwood, he prepped a campfire and laid out a small portion of food to eat. As we sat there eating, I watched his face for signs that I could ask some of the many questions going through my mind. Father sat staring into the fire for a while, then glanced my way. Seeing my questions, he exhaled slowly, then slowly leaned back against his pack, again gazing into the fire.

"The questions running through your mind are clear upon your face, Mal. I would wish we had the time to sit here and answer them all, even if I did have all the answers, which I don't. But I can start some of it now, and give you more each night when we stop. Is that fair?" With this last comment, he looked askance to me. This was a first I had seen this side of father, and it intrigued me.
"I understand father. But first, where is it we are going? Why are we leaving all behind?" More questions wanted to follow, but I snapped my lips shut as his face shifted into a grimace of great strain.
"I do not know where exactly we are going. I have heard over the peaks is another land, just as good as this one. As to why we are leaving, it has to do with the leader of this land. I had not planned on teaching you about this for another few years, so bear with me as I try to do it in easy terms. The leader has sent soldiers to our town to collect his share. These soldiers take our monies, our foods, our items of trade to their hearts content, and only give a portion to the leader. They keep and squander the rest to their liking. It has been many years since they have come this far out from the main of the land to do this. The last time was before you were born. We have nothing of value to give them, even if we would go hungry during the winter. If we do not give anything, we will be killed as examples. Does this make sense?"

I thought over father's words, and realized what he was saying. So we were moving on, in order to save our lives by going to another place. I felt peaceful inside knowing that Father and I could do this. Then everything sort of blanked when I realized he had mentioned about my birth. This was a topic never mentioned.
"Could I ask about my mother now?" I tentatively spoke. Father's eyes met mine, and I could see the sorrow he held inside at the mention of my mother. The tears started to fill his eyes.
"No," in a gravelly voice he answered."Tonight is not the night for that story. Time to rest now as tomorrow will be harder, and we'll be a bit sore." With that he used his pack and jacket to cover himself, and turned his back to the fire. I sat thinking for a short while and did the same. Pictures of far away lands, people I didn't know, and a beautiful woman that could be my mother all floated in my dreams that night.