Millenium Myths

Homeless Spire

In all honesty, he didn't know what he was getting himself into. He felt he was chasing after a dream, a hope of his people. He could see the unsalvageable wreckage of his ancient nation looming before him. To Jar, it looked more like an unsalable tower half-basked in the rising sun.

It stood as tall as a mountain but was dwarfed by the mountains around it. Buildings of rubble crowned its top. Buildings were shorn in two at the cliff edges.

The farmers didn't look up as he passed. Those who did stared in awe at his massive stature. A full two heads taller than any of them.

As he neared the base of the spire of rock, brush became thicker and in many places were piles of overgrown, half-buried rubble covered in moss. At one point Jar had to climb over the parts of a fallen pillar as wide as he was tall. As he picked his way through the wreckage he ran across small bands of men, women and children in clothing not much more than sacks at times and not better than rags at others. They huddled together in corners and snatched at rats if they came too close. He actually saw a man catch one and wring its neck before he started to eat it, stretching the rat's skin with his teeth.

The place reeked so much that Jar felt the stench was a physical barrier at times. Those who cared to look up at him widened their eyes with wonder and amazement at such a large man. Or perhaps it was because his clothing made him stick out. Then again, the fact he had clothing...

He picked his way among pools of grime and the tangles of twisted trees. His foot slipped and was immediately drowned in mossy muck.

This was a fool's errand. His rightful place was to be the leader of his people, the Musai, and lead a rebellion against their enslavers.

A carving on the stones caught his eye. It was carefully carved and had no recognizable shape to it. The lines were bold with strong curves, but unafraid to bare sharp and blunt edges. He laid his hand on the stone and looked at the earthen-covered mounds the stone was upon.

He wanted to see it. The ruins of the birthplace of the Musai. According to legend, this giant rock pillar was the grave of the last Musai King and buried with him, the royal door-hammer. The hammer was the equivalent of a scepter in other kingdoms.

Jar thought back to his last encounter with his younger brother, Ovun. Ovun had taken him to the farthest part of the gardens away from the Ara-Erian lord's palace whom Jar was under servitude to. They could see all around them across a wide lawn before bushes, trees and flowers broke up the landscape. They faced each other, only offset so they could watch the other's back.

Ovun had turned to him, bending down to Jar's height. Jar was short for a Musai, about two heads shorter than many of them. That stature marked him as royal blood, a deeply kept secret by the Musai people. To keep it that way they had changed how they treated short Musai and copied the Ara-Erians. Short Musai were ridiculed and bullied. Jar feared the ruse was becoming more real and less of a cover-up. It was too easy to let one's frustration out and call it a way to keep the secret.

Ovun said to him in a whisper, "Our people are restless. We have been slave to the Ara-Erians far too long. Some have accepted it, spurring anger and strife amongst our own people. Others threaten rebellion. If they do rebel, Ara-Era will pay more attention to our cause and may once again seek to destroy any remnant of our royal blood." Ovun put a hand on Jar's shoulder. "Your humble stature makes it obvious to our people you are our true King. This excites them all the more. However, we lack the power to overcome our masters. Most have lost heart and accepted our fate. You must rekindle our lost nation and find the symbol of our people in the ruins of the old country. Else our people be lost forever."

Jar shook off his thoughts and looked up again at the spire of brown and gray rock. He could never return his people to their former glory.

Jar reached the bottom of the pillar and stood amongst a mess of broken shaped stones sunk into dirt. It was drier here nearer the spire. For a moment he considered attempting to climb the spire. But no, the legends said this was a burial place. The king would be beneath the spire. Yet, how far down did the spire go?