In the Pursuit of Death| ONC 2024

5| Family

The Ruin stretched so far, it hid the stars from us.

*

IF THE DEADLANDS came from corpses, fire forged the Ashen Mountains.

Eris was three moons away from Akul's temple at the base of the mount. She remembered when she'd first visited; Akul had been long gone, but his sycophants remained. They sought to prove their faith, stalwart followers regardless of Akul's absence. It was then they demonstrated true belief, worshipping without proof. But so long as the bleating of the sheep grew fainter, and the ground turned barren, and the wind rose up in protest of the blanketing silence, Akul was everywhere, and for the acolytes, that was enough.

The temple had been carved from the mountain. A small building of edges and angles. It stood shiny black in the sun, and solemn without it. Vines of gold coiled around the columns lining the entrance. Inside, braziers hung from the ceiling, lighting up the altar at the end of the room. It was that same smooth black rock, and precious gold. Covered in dried reeds folded many times over to resemble forgotten things. Flowers and dolls with lovely hair, trees with fat canopies, baskets that had held fresh fruit, clean water, and soft animal pelts.

Behind the altar, they erected for Akul a throne. One which was simple, unadorned, and carved from the same black rock.

It awaited a king. It was cursed to always await its king.

Fifteen hundred years passed since then, and Eris knew what time could do. It made gold lose its luster, and columns crumble. It suffocated the fires and dulled the colors. And allowed emptiness to fester.

Eris's memory served her well, for as soon as Windwalker set a hoof outside of the Deadlands, Eris remembered. A great fire had razed the land, burning for an entire moon. It had flattened everything. Not a stump of wood or a stone from a village hut remained. The lakes and rivers evaporated. Thick smoke had blotted out the sky and when it should have rained, ash fell instead, scorching the land once more, ensuring what was dead stayed so.

Nothing was meant to survive.

Windwalker neighed, as the scorched land was stable and unmoving, and she appreciated the change.

Eris too, appreciated the change. The sun did not burn with the same hotness as in the Deadlands, the air bitter here, but thin and cool. She removed her headscarf, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders. The tight braids she'd woven into it the night before slapped against her arms.

She brought Windwalker up to a trot, the horse eagerly obeying. It had been years since Windwalker did anything more than plod along, so hot was the air it stung, so rare was water it was a miracle when god-blessed pulled it from the skies, that goading the horse faster, put her at risk. Eris had fed many to the Deadlands, and she refused to do the same to Windwalker.

Eris and Windwalker continued for a time, savoring the air and tepid sun, until both ended.

The sky grew dark, a low rumble coming from the horizon. Windwalker's ears pricked up. Eris felt it too, something gathering in the distance. Electricity prickled the nape of her neck, skirted up her forearms, frightened. She yanked on the horse's reins, forcing her to stop.

She dismounted, looping the reins around her hand. Her gaze remained on the horizon, as did Windwalker's.

There came a flash. A slash of acid green. It sliced the sky in equal halves, and left a lingering imprint of a wane smile, carved overhead. Sulphur perfumed the air.

Eris gritted her teeth. "Lightning." The word tasted heavy on her tongue, as she knew what it promised. Ash storms. Burnfalls. "We need to take shelter."