the_gneech (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_gneech) wrote2002-09-12 03:27 pm
the_gneech) wrote2002-09-12 03:27 pm
The Stones in the Desert, Part Two
Copyright ©2002 by me, etc., etc. Part One can be found here. As always, comments welcome!
# # #
For hours, Soloman simply stared at the stones, letting his consciousness drift into a meditative state as the constellations lazily lifted themselves over the horizon. The curved tip of a crescent moon had just emerged from behind a distant ridge when Soloman saw his first ghost of the night.
At first it was barely discernible, an impression of movement where there was nothing to move, something Soloman would dismiss as an artifact of his reverie in other circumstances. But given where he was, it brought him immediately to full attention. It was only a matter of a few seconds before shapes began to resolve in the dark.
Most of them were formless luminescences, spirits dead for so long that they had lost all sense of identity. With no body to inhabit, few souls could keep from going mad, and with no concept of self, they had no image to project as they manifested. A few had enough memories of life that they still had faces, of a sort; an even smaller number had heads and limbs, distorted into gaunt shapes. Soloman could hear them whispering to each other in the dark as they became aware of him.
The thoroughbred snorted. Soloman knew that she couldn't see the ghosts, any more than a human would be able to, but she could feel their presence as they pressed up against the protective circle Soloman had drawn, and she didn't like it.
The ghosts were speaking to Soloman now, the ones capable of speech beyond gibbering, but they were using an old and lost ancestor to the Khaldunish language, and Soloman couldn't decipher it. Finally, he said in his native language, "I speak the First Tongue. Are any of you capable of it?"
A thrill of activity ran through the throng of spirits at being addressed by a living thing; one of the ghosts began to wail. Another asked again and again in elvish, "Who? Who? WHO? Who am I? Do you know? Do you know?"
"I am sorry," said Soloman. "I do not."
"Who? Do you know? Do you know?"
Soloman shook his head, but spoke no further. The ghost clearly wasn't listening to him. Soloman had almost resigned himself to hearing them gibber until the earliest rays of dawn, when as a body, they silenced. Those with discernible features could be seen to turn to face the stones, and the ghosts gradually spread out.
Gliding from the stones towards the circle was another ghost, this one larger and more distinct than the others. Appearing as little more than a transparent man-shape under a large cloak, the ghost had no legs nor any discernible face under its cowl. The other spirits shrank away from it; many retreated to the far side of Soloman's circle.
The ghost reached the edge of Soloman's protective circle and stopped, hovering there above him, phantom cloak swaying in a phantom wind. After a moment of utter quiet, the spirit spoke. "Sharanja kur padwas raskur," it intoned in a deep whisper, words that meant nothing to Soloman.
"I do not know your language," Soloman replied. "Do you understand the First Tongue?"
There was a moment of silence. Then slowly, perhaps trying to remember fragments of a life passed millenia ago, the ghost said in elvish, "This is the marker. It is a sacred place, and all who reach it, must take the sacred path. The desert is harsh; the desert claims its toll. All must take the Sacred Path, so that the desert may claim them, or let them pass."
"What is the Sacred Path?" Soloman asked, gripping Lightseeker's handle.
"The Sacred Path is here," the ghost answered. "The Sacred Path lies before you. Enter the Gateway of Dawn, and make your way along the Sacred Path. Those who find their way to the Gateway of Twilight shall live; those who do not, are taken."
Soloman blinked at the ghost, then looked behind it toward the stones; he sat directly east of them, facing west, and there was an entrance on this side. He knew from his earlier survey of the area before he set up camp, that there was a corresponding entrance on the far side -- but none to the north or south. The Gateway of the Dawn and the Gateway of Twilight, he thought to himself.
"Is that who these spirits are?" Soloman asked, gesturing to the other ghosts. "Are they people who traveled the Sacred Path, and didn't find the way through your maze?"
"The gods are merciful, but not all who seek the south shall survive the journey," said the ghost. "It is better that they should die quickly in a sacred place, rather than waste and fall in the desert with none to remember them. You must take the Sacred Path. Now."
"No," said Soloman. "I refuse. I am not crossing the desert."
"You must take the Sacred Path."
"You have no power over me, ghost."
"You must take the Sacred Path!"
"Begone."
"All must take the Sacred Path! There can be no exceptions! Death comes for common or noble, for beggar or prince! All must take the Sacred Path!"
"Or for priests?" said Soloman. "When they decide their time of duty at the stones draws to a close. There was something in there that, even prepared for, you could not survive. What was it?"
"You must take the Sacred Path."
Soloman nodded. "I expect you're right, spirit. And so I shall. But not by night, with you and your brethren wailing in my ear. I shall wait until morning."
With that, Soloman closed his eyes, and his mind; until the dawn, the ghosts may as well have been speaking to the stones themselves.
-The Gneech
For hours, Soloman simply stared at the stones, letting his consciousness drift into a meditative state as the constellations lazily lifted themselves over the horizon. The curved tip of a crescent moon had just emerged from behind a distant ridge when Soloman saw his first ghost of the night.
At first it was barely discernible, an impression of movement where there was nothing to move, something Soloman would dismiss as an artifact of his reverie in other circumstances. But given where he was, it brought him immediately to full attention. It was only a matter of a few seconds before shapes began to resolve in the dark.
Most of them were formless luminescences, spirits dead for so long that they had lost all sense of identity. With no body to inhabit, few souls could keep from going mad, and with no concept of self, they had no image to project as they manifested. A few had enough memories of life that they still had faces, of a sort; an even smaller number had heads and limbs, distorted into gaunt shapes. Soloman could hear them whispering to each other in the dark as they became aware of him.
The thoroughbred snorted. Soloman knew that she couldn't see the ghosts, any more than a human would be able to, but she could feel their presence as they pressed up against the protective circle Soloman had drawn, and she didn't like it.
The ghosts were speaking to Soloman now, the ones capable of speech beyond gibbering, but they were using an old and lost ancestor to the Khaldunish language, and Soloman couldn't decipher it. Finally, he said in his native language, "I speak the First Tongue. Are any of you capable of it?"
A thrill of activity ran through the throng of spirits at being addressed by a living thing; one of the ghosts began to wail. Another asked again and again in elvish, "Who? Who? WHO? Who am I? Do you know? Do you know?"
"I am sorry," said Soloman. "I do not."
"Who? Do you know? Do you know?"
Soloman shook his head, but spoke no further. The ghost clearly wasn't listening to him. Soloman had almost resigned himself to hearing them gibber until the earliest rays of dawn, when as a body, they silenced. Those with discernible features could be seen to turn to face the stones, and the ghosts gradually spread out.
Gliding from the stones towards the circle was another ghost, this one larger and more distinct than the others. Appearing as little more than a transparent man-shape under a large cloak, the ghost had no legs nor any discernible face under its cowl. The other spirits shrank away from it; many retreated to the far side of Soloman's circle.
The ghost reached the edge of Soloman's protective circle and stopped, hovering there above him, phantom cloak swaying in a phantom wind. After a moment of utter quiet, the spirit spoke. "Sharanja kur padwas raskur," it intoned in a deep whisper, words that meant nothing to Soloman.
"I do not know your language," Soloman replied. "Do you understand the First Tongue?"
There was a moment of silence. Then slowly, perhaps trying to remember fragments of a life passed millenia ago, the ghost said in elvish, "This is the marker. It is a sacred place, and all who reach it, must take the sacred path. The desert is harsh; the desert claims its toll. All must take the Sacred Path, so that the desert may claim them, or let them pass."
"What is the Sacred Path?" Soloman asked, gripping Lightseeker's handle.
"The Sacred Path is here," the ghost answered. "The Sacred Path lies before you. Enter the Gateway of Dawn, and make your way along the Sacred Path. Those who find their way to the Gateway of Twilight shall live; those who do not, are taken."
Soloman blinked at the ghost, then looked behind it toward the stones; he sat directly east of them, facing west, and there was an entrance on this side. He knew from his earlier survey of the area before he set up camp, that there was a corresponding entrance on the far side -- but none to the north or south. The Gateway of the Dawn and the Gateway of Twilight, he thought to himself.
"Is that who these spirits are?" Soloman asked, gesturing to the other ghosts. "Are they people who traveled the Sacred Path, and didn't find the way through your maze?"
"The gods are merciful, but not all who seek the south shall survive the journey," said the ghost. "It is better that they should die quickly in a sacred place, rather than waste and fall in the desert with none to remember them. You must take the Sacred Path. Now."
"No," said Soloman. "I refuse. I am not crossing the desert."
"You must take the Sacred Path."
"You have no power over me, ghost."
"You must take the Sacred Path!"
"Begone."
"All must take the Sacred Path! There can be no exceptions! Death comes for common or noble, for beggar or prince! All must take the Sacred Path!"
"Or for priests?" said Soloman. "When they decide their time of duty at the stones draws to a close. There was something in there that, even prepared for, you could not survive. What was it?"
"You must take the Sacred Path."
Soloman nodded. "I expect you're right, spirit. And so I shall. But not by night, with you and your brethren wailing in my ear. I shall wait until morning."
With that, Soloman closed his eyes, and his mind; until the dawn, the ghosts may as well have been speaking to the stones themselves.
-The Gneech
I like it!!!
Re: I like it!!!
I did finally figure out why Soloman is out there, tho, so that's a good thing. The story has some underpinnings now! Yay. ;)
-TG
Re: I like it!!!
no subject
Mur