He passed by plague bodies. Each with the rotting bones, seeming similar to him, similar to all. Mortal souls... By the Prophet! He stopped, backing away from them. Further death! Further death! He shrank from the view, seeing himself. He was fine... Soon... The Prophet...
He stopped there suddenly, sitting upon the ground, and closed his eyes.
He thought further of the Empty eyes. Crowds and bodies in the masses. Death! Further death! The future held nothing, but the cold eyes, empty sockets, the skulls on pikes held high above all. But, what to do? He bit his tongue, nails, lips, pulled at his beard. To gamble with death? He had a chance... Maybe... He looked into his bag, saw nothing, closed it, and sighed... Money and power. He had none. Death would accept nothing, not even payment. Soon... With a whitened beard, hobbling, and dying from the throes of Plague.
He turned away, shaking his head. He pounded his fists against the ground, cried for a while. After that, he looked into the sky, gazed at the sunset. Then, from his bag, he took out two vials, drank them down, and shut his eyes tightly.
Ahead, a village loomed, with stacked stories, and decaying homes. He glimpsed smokestacks and farms that cleared plains into the titan mountains. He walked into the open doors of an inn with sallow, sulking people that drowned their depressions with wine. Cabinets surrounded the innkeeper, people drank from rounded jars, and leaned against the frescos. Tiles slipped, shattered, tumbled, but the innkeeper took no heed.
"The world itself. What is past it and what shall I discover?", said someone, from a group of five that sat around a cylindrical table.
"Ha-ha-ha! You'd try on Pnoaphales! A world by itself, by oneself, journeying isolated and cold. A great, great thing, you call it. With beauty, with the Prophet! With the PRophet.", said another.
"I'd want to... But the world itself. All can see that it lies in Pnoaphales."
"A world seems fine. Greatness lies on the peak of Pnoaphales!"
"I wouldn't go, no. A world... Yet again... Yet again, there is nothing but the Prophet and his followers. The boring drone of their marching will surely distract me."
To the right of David, someone mumbled in slurred words. Then, the words grew louder as the man stood up.
"Pnoaphales, I'd climb the slag heap", it mumbled, "Going onto the top, with people, with anyone for hire! Who'd go? Who'd come with?"
He pointed to himself with limp arms. His eyes widened, revealing red. Lips sagged, foam curled at the edges, then he waved to himself.
"I'll bet, bet my home, house. Don't reach it, I sell my money, sell my land, sell my home! And all useless with the plague. Coming about and destroying the crops! I'd- I'd-", the man spat with every word. Yellow teeth revealed from his lips. Grinning, with a smile filling his face.
The one behind him, holding him, whispered something into his ear, then pulled the man backward.
"I climb. No matter the choice... My words, not, the mumbles of a drunken idiot....", the man wiped his mouth, "No... no... Nobody understands...understands... "
"Denton, come down. Drunken, drunken rage, and I told him.... Denton... Denton..."
The innkeeper shouted to get him out.
"Give us some time. He's woozy. We'll carry him away, and lift him...", one of them tried to pull him to the doorway. Then turned his head to stare at the drunken man,
"Let's walk away. You're too drunk. Let's walk back home. You should take a nice rest, then in the morning, everything is new."
"None of that matters! The Plague! The Plague! The Glorious, Glorious Plague! Run, I'll run, run and run, the glorious Plague! The Plague!", the man stumbled away from them. His legs crossed each other, and he fell . David caught him in his arms as the man collapsed.
David led the man over to them, holding him tightly against him, "Here"
"Thank you", Grunting as he dragged him over to them.
"Can you... help us with him? Too heavy of a load for us, you understand", gesturing to what David carried.
"I'll need another", David lifted the sagging weight with his arms, "C'mon, lift his legs, then we'll get him home."
They walked in silence as torches were snuffed and the town basked in moonlight. Then, the house covered them in grey. David lay the sleeping figure on the ground. He turned and stepped away.
"Wait! You seem hungry, you seem sleepy. Helpful, you've been. Why don't you sleep under our roof?"
"I can sleep outside. It's fine for me, otherwise, this bed of mine will be of no help for the journey."
"It's cold, no one's outside. Come, eat and drink with us, then retire to bed. The Prophet will wait for you on the mountain, but for now, rest."
"I can't deny that. Dirt, I've eaten for days and days. A warm loaf, maybe, I'll devour, something else, maybe... I'll go, then set out in the morning. Thank you."
"No matter. You've helped us aplenty. With the Prophet's journey, people arrive and pass, they wreck the town, and they ruin its resources. A sliver of luck is better than continuous ruin."
He dined and ate what they had, morsels, wheat, bread, some tomatoes, and wine. He slept underneath their roof, hearing rain patter on the roof, along with snoring and shuffling.
The morning arrived with orange covering the sky, and yellow radiating from the sun. Light streamed in rays, and David woke up. A sound came from below.
"I'm going, climbing past, and going. Nobody'll stop me. My journey is too great, too challenging, too tall."
"Denton, this idea of yours. It isn't... You drank and drank, and your mind- Denton? Denton?"
"The mountain stands at the glorious heights, nothing stops me, the Prophet awaits."
"You've seen what those people do! They've left their lives behind, but not you, not you..."
"Bernard, Bernard, you see the mountain? Do you see that glorious peak, the splendor, the lush, the amazing world? Bernard, listen to me! The Prophet, he'll fix everything, everything!"
"The Prophet is gone", Bernard said.
Silence, for a minute. Someone stepped down, the wood creaked, then more talking, mumbling, muttering.
"No, no, the Prophet, never gone. I'll go, see if I don't...".
Footsteps, sandals upon clay. David stood, and packed his things, then headed down the stairs until he reached the door.
"What're you doing?" Bags piling upward and all of them rushing to hurry.
"Denton's left, we're going with", said Bernard, short, squat. Someone with the stature of the Prophet and the glorious smile.
"Beautiful day on the outside, horrible on the inside", one of them observed, "I'm ready, let's go."
They walked out under the sun. David followed them.
"The Prophet awaits for me too, then", David nodded his head.
"You too?"
"Yes, better than being alone", said David.
"The Prophet came past here weeks ago; he must've reached the top by now.", said one of them, tapping his chin "Coincidental, isn't it?"
"I don't know, Osmond", Bernard said, "With that crowd, no, he'd try to shake them off, or let them go with him, or I don't know...."
David followed the rest of them into the deeper part of the forest. It was reaching midday, and the sun was halfway into the trees.
Near him, Bernard opened his bag. Galtrand and Gotund glowed from inside. Coins jingled and shimmered from the sun.
"Magi. Then you must hold great power", David nodded and uncapped the oilskin, drinking the contents.
"I practice magic, but not the type you find in plays or entertainment", Bernard rummaged in his bag. "Not that sort, no..."
"I remember the Men Of Deer's magic. Healing, lifting, and much more. I saw it in circuses..."
"Circuses? Ha-ha-ha! What a jest! A circus?", Bernard laughed again, "Nobody practices magic like that! You must've seen a light show with candles, and the Great Healing Magic."
"Like that, it was. Maybe, but then again...", David frowned, "Alright, alright... Why don't you practice it? Show me what magic is, try it out."
"It won't take long. Only a second to show you. Then, I'll have you eating out of my hand. Won't take long..." Bernard grinned and opened his bag. Then he pushed something into his palm.
He made multiple flashy movements and then gestured to David's pocket.
"Look in there! Ha-ha-ha! Didn't expect that, did you?", Bernard said.
He rummaged in his pocket and held up a coin.
"A coin? But this is just petty magic" David scratched his beard.
"But magic it is! It's the same as the type you find in that circus."
"Can you show me real magic?"
"Another time, another day. The real magic is much more difficult to do. Wouldn't try it here, myself.", Bernard said, and put the coin back in the bag.
Bernard stopped and turned to face something in the grass. He walked over and picked it up. David saw Bernard smile and show it to David. But, nothing stood between his fingers. Not a glimmer went to David's eyes.
"Very good of a coincidence, Gotund. Although you can't see it", Bernard nodded," But it's an early sign that we're getting higher."
"There's nothing there. There's nothing between your fingers..."
"A shroud covering it then, one of five. But Gotund, this is. Rare to find up on the surface, though."
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