The Dark of the Angry Sand

[Brodon Windriver]

Brodon could still hear the father's voice behind him. He dared a glance over his shoulder to see the ghost "pop" in and out of visibility, progressing in jumps toward him. A new surge of fear and revulsion gave him a boost, but his adrenaline was already taxed and his sprint was short lived.

The malice of the laughter intensified, growing closer in leaps and bounds. A sudden blast of cold spiked through his abdomen and the muscles seized and twitched in debilitating response. The flow of athletic motion was thrown off enough to slow Brodon down a half step. A stab of icy malice nearly disabled his upper spine, between his shoulders, and the jerky hesitance to his stride became worse. Blades of ice felt as if they were slicing through his organs on both sides of his backbone, disrupting his breathing as he gasped in shock.

He stumbled and went down, the cold nearly causing his body to go into a seizure. The voice sneered some untranslatable taunt and a stone came crashing into the side of Brodon's head. Dizzy pain turned to darkness and a wave of cold that consumed his entire body. The dizziness seemed to be sliding parts of his flesh away. It was not so much painful as disturbing. It brought back to mind his one single memory of succeeding in projecting djed from his body. It had been a shielding lesson he had reluctantly tried. A class he had ultimately rejected in favor of learning falconry. He simply was NOT comfortable with anything that tampered with the very essence of his body. He did not like it then, hen he had a semblance of control over it, and he disliked it even more now, when it seemed to be occurring of its own accord.

His revulsion gave him one last focus as he concentrated on his own body to recall the essence that seemed to be leaving him. Warmth rushed through him and he saw the stars over head shimmer as something was rejected from his body. Two things dawned on him, both of them deadly and terrible. One was that the ghost of the father had just been possessing him, which made him sick to his very soul. The other was that a cloud was roiling overhead, sparking with destructive energy. He had been stricken by djed lightning, formed by a wind wizard, once before, and the thought that he was now helpless, his body spent from the possession, brought terror to his soul. THIS time, he was already weakened. THIS time, his breathing was in ragged gasps. THIS time, his heart was already stuttering in exhausted mistimed rhythm. THIS time, he would die.

Then it got even worse. he heard the wailing sobs of the little girl rushing toward the father and he, coming beneath the cloud. The voice of the father changed dramatically from a taunting, triumphant crow of victory, to a horrified wail of anguish. All Brodon could feel was desperation. But not for himself, he knew he should have died many times over by now. It had only been by the grace of Eywaat and Yahal that he still lived. But now, everything that seemed to comprise the whole purpose of it, was about to be lost. Surely, the gods had guided him here to rescue this child. How could he fail?

A final surge of determined strength surged from...somewhere...and he found himself inexplicably on his feet, rushing toward the girl. The fathers voice was a boom of self-loathing and accusation, knowing that, without a body to possess, there was no action he could take to save the child, his child.

Brodon crashed into the girl, hurling her to the left, noticing, but not recognizing, that his iron staff was stuck upright in the sand a few feet to his right. The air crackled and sizzled and, in the millisecond before the surge struck, he felt his skin crawl and his hair stand up from the imbalance of energy in the environment. Then there was blinding light, deafening noise, and a heart-stopping flow of unstoppable power that tore every fiber of every molecule of his body into ramrod rigidity.

...then every thing went black and silent.

[Brodon Windriver]

'Something...familiar...scent....sound...horses...' The world swayed. Brodon realized he was on his back, but not on the desert floor. There was heat, yes, and the light of day, but it was diminished somehow. He feared a massive headache if he opened his eyes into the full face of Syna's intense gaze on Eyktol. But no, it was not so bad as that. But it took surprising effort to get his eyelids to respond. A blurry line became a blurry blob. He blinked, but it didn't feel complete. The blob remained. He made to reach his hand up to use his fingers to pry them apart, but his arm trembled and barely raised level with his stomach. The effort exhausted him.

Someone's excited voice called out. Brodon felt a startled rush that should have made him jerk, but it hit on unresponsive nerves. He would have worried but he was too tired. A voice was directed at him, questioning, anxious, almost pleading, but in Shibur. He almost made a single snort of laughter at the absurdity of, once again, being unable to communicate. He managed to lean his head enough that it rolled to the left. And with supreme effort he got it to rock back to the right as well.

This gave him hope, and he started applying more will to tiny gestures of muscular response. A surge of relief poured through him as he found the ability to wiggle fingers, and he let his foot rock side to side as he had done with his head. He thought he would cry with joy. Another familiar smell hit his senses but he could not immediately place it. Then arms wrapped around him and the little girl's smell and voice broke through his fuzzy senses.

She was crying a short phrase over and over again. It was something he had heard fairly often, but his head was too muddled to realize...

"She is thanking you, Abi, but she does not know your name. I am telling her you need your rest. Please, Abi, do not feel you must speak now. There is plenty of time. All time is Yahal's gift to you, for you should be dead. Now is time for rest. You are in a caravan bound for Riverfall. We have horse and hawk that Sirideen says are yours. She thanks you, but when you are restored to health, you must also thank her, for she made a dragging sled to pull behind your horse. It is only your great fortune that we were close enough that she saw us. Rest now, Abi, you are safe. My name is Haribal, I will return to check on you as we travel."

Even in his near delirium, Brodon spoke the one phrase of Shibur he'd just heard the girl say, thinking it probably appropriate. "Av-berkaven...Av-berkaven..." he drifted off to a deep sleep repeating this phrase...'Blessings and prayers over you.'

[Brodon Windriver]

By the time the caravan had entered Cyphrus, Brodon was feeling fully healthy again. Haribal allowed that Brodon's identification of several items in the yvas bags proved his ownership of Lovaak. The girl, whose name was Sirideen, had already stated this, but confirmation was still desired.

Brodon experienced significant emotional conflicts when the girl was delivered to relatives on the border of Eyktol and Cyphrus. On the one hand, he was overjoyed to see that she had a place to go, now that her parents were truly gone from her life. On the other hand, after what they had been through together, he felt that a little sister was departing from his life.

They had a day to meet the uncle that was taking her in and he was very grateful for what Brodon had done, confirming that the girl's father, his brother, Alahem, had always been overly fascinated by magic. The rest of his family had tried to dissuade him from that path, including his wife, Rachel, but he would just laugh, saying they worried for nothing.

"He may have been right, were it not for the terrible djed storm last year" Sirideen's uncle stated as he looked up from the book within which the mother had brought the girl to write several pages. The pages described a massive flow of djed that had stricken the land over a year ago. It explained how Alahem had been experimenting with his wind magic when it struck.

In fear for his family, he had unexpectedly found that he was able to divert massive amounts away from the homestead. This was probably a result of some temporary djed-flow mutation within his essence, but he took it to confirm that everyone's concerns were ill-founded. He got it in his head that he could handle such massive amounts of djed crafting any time he wanted.

In the days that followed, Alahem quickly fell to the allure of "the sweet whispers", and chose to give them more heed than his family begging him to stop. He accused them of trying to hold him back from reaching his potential. Typically, he cited the great things he could accomplish for the good of all, but he became withdrawn and isolated to the point of paranoia, deciding that any who spoke against his progress were his enemies. His priority focused on "defense", which became ever more aggressive.

A series of arguments and denials led to the slaying of Rachel and the convincing of Sirideen that it had been a terrible accident. The mother lingered in spirit, but was unable to convince the child of her father's growing madness. Slowly, though, Sirideen came to harbor the same concerns, and an identical argument grew that would have claimed her like her mother. But, in a last living lucid moment, the father caused a gust of wind to cast the daughter from harm's way and took the bolts of lightning unto himself.

He too, lingered in spirit, clamoring for an equal share of the daughter's time. A bargain was struck to keep his malice in check. Brodon's arrival convinced Alahem that Rachel was reneging on their arrangement. Sirideen's book ended here, but she and Brodon filled in the gaps.

It was not until Brodon threw the girl aside and suffered the lightning strike that would have killed her, that Alahem's memory of his own similar sacrifice returned in a moment of lucid regret. Sirideen was sadly grateful that her father realized his downfall at the end. Their farewells were tearful, but hurried, Alahem declaring his love, but also his concern that he go to Lhex now, before the madness returned.

Haribal asked Brodon what he wished to do now. He could return him to Yahebah, but he felt that Yahal had set something in motion and that he should follow it. He mentioned the announced expedition to Syka being launched from Riverfall. They had been bidden to announce it wherever they went.

It did not take much convincing. Brodon had felt the same way. Too many incidents had led to a next one and a next one for him to think there was not a purpose. And now that purpose seemed to be to go to Riverfall and look into this expedition.

Haribal said that his caravan would be making its way back to Yahebah. Brodon asked him to give word to the priest, Joebel, his friend Madrial, and his benefactor, Eldarab, a son of Ayshaw, that he was alright and was again on the road following the direction of the gods. He gave Sirideen a last hug the next morning, said a last prayer with her for the sake of their parents and themselves and set out with the caravan to see what the gods next had in store for him.

[Caelum]

Thread Award Name: Brodon. Skills: Falconry +3 Shortbow +1 Riding +1 Negotiation +1 Wilderness Survival: Desert +5 Climbing +2 Tracking +3 Foraging +1 Land Navigation +1 Weapon: Staff +1 Running +1 Languages: Shiber: Poor Lores: Falconry: Hunt Training Wilderness Survival: Bracing for Desert Sandstorm Wilderness Survival: Finding Direction in Sandstorm Wilderness Survival: Appropriate Desert Attire Wilderness Survival: Shelter from Sand & Sun Wilderness Survival: Finding Water Race: Ghost Notes: I have awarded you Shiber (Poor) for your continued efforts to communicate and understand the language not just in this thread but in the ones I graded previously. Good job! I kept envisioning scenes from Mad Max Thunderdome. Trust me, I mean that as a compliment. I kept hoping to see Tina Tuner's shaking hips. Please delete or edit your post with this thread link in the grade request thread if able and, as ever, feel free to PM me with any questions or concerns.