They trailed through the night, looking for a clearing that shone. David kicked at stones, Bernard whistled, Osmond ate bread, and the other one, Darrell, drank water. They reached a hillside by the evening. The trees faded away behind them as the sun went down. The stars sprinkled across the sky, twinkling and fading, with a cosmic fog covering them.
They sat down on the grass, all surrounded by a crackling fire. There was no meat to cook, but the heat of the fire provided comfort to the cold of the night.
Bernard turned the spit, and the fire roasted the bread, warming and expanding it while the crust burst at the seams.
"What is there to do? What is there to do...", David juggled a pebble with his foot.
"Maybe a story, entertaining little stories", Bernard replied.
"Stories?"
"I have a story, from my time in the First War", Darrell said.
"Well? Tell the story", Bernard said.
"In the army, when my captain decided to attack Pnoaphales. His triumph over the Men Of Deer and Laphanists was withstanding. Immediate respect, with great honors upon his kin. His ego expanded, eventually, until he reached his breaking point. Pnoaphales stood as a final achievement until he was laid to rest."
"One day, he decided to take control of Men Of Deer territory atop Pnoaphales. He decided to separate them into respective groups. As I waited in the first group, the others, in the second group, attacked them. We heard screams; the throes of death. Then came the animal sounds of the Men Of Deer and the human shouts of the Laphanists, perhaps of triumph."
"But, when we got there. Fog covered everything. Agog, we were. Devoid of life. Nothing but swamp. What did we know?"
"When we marched back, only a person remained. No ears. We gave him some wine and made him stagger. He wouldn't talk, nothing but blabbering. The wine didn't work, we tried to bribe him, to bow to his needs and desires. A blank stare crossed his face, and his mind fell from sanity. He drowned himself in the rivers going into the ocean. The captain and his group didn't come back either."
"It was pure luck that I was in the second group", Darrell replied.
"Strange, strange, strange... A long time ago, then, a long, long, time ago.", David said.
"The First War wasn't like that! A time of adventure, a time to fight, a time to stand! A time when Wailen fought against higher things! Not of the plague, but something else!", Bernard said.
"It was for me", Darrell replied in a whisper.
"Then, maybe... I remember fighting in the First War, cold in the winter, hot in the summer, both miserable, but still as fun", Bernard replied.
"Still as fun", Darrell echoed over his breath.
"I've got a better story than that", Bernard grinned at Darrell, "Yes, a much better story."
Darrell sat there and nodded. His lips curling as he did. Then without a blink, he answered.
"Ok", Darrell studied Bernard, "Tell the story."
"I was walking on the street when a glimmer reached my eyes. I went over and there shone a silver ring. It was the largest ring I'd ever seen. So amazing, so glorious, so splendorous. A miraculous discovery. And, it weighed twice as heavy as this rock".
Bernard held up a large pebble. The fire made it a raging red. Denton scooched closer.
"That night, I didn't sleep. I dreamt only of the ring. The very much silver ring. Several times, I rubbed it for good luck. Then I bit the ring to see if it was fake."
He paused for effect.
"And, the next day I walked to a jeweler. I showed him the ring, and he examined it. He was mumbling, and he licked it and sniffed it. The whole time, I thought only of the money. The piles I'd be swimming in, the great mountains of gold and copper, and also how fast I'd spend it before being poor again. The riches. I would use this to buy the largest castle in the world. I could use it to fly in the sky like birds. Or, buy three steady meals every day. Then the jeweler stopped. He sniffed the silver ring. And he looked up and said"
Bernard hunched his back and spoke.
" 'Get out of here! It's a fake, look! See! Get out of my shop!' "
"Asking him to check again, I did. But he mumbled something about stupid customers. And he kicked me out. To this day, I will never know who dipped an adder stone into some lead. But, I know this"
He leaned forward and whispered.
"Don't bite lead rings, it brings bad luck."
"Bad-... What?", Darrell bit his lip, "What?"
"Have you ever cracked a tooth?"
"Besides teeth though, besides teeth, it doesn't bring much else"
"Ok," Bernard pulled a rusty ring from his pocket. "Bite this lead ring,"
The rust on the ring was layered with thick age. It smelled horrible, like old bronze buckets.
"Er...", Darrell took the ring," Okay, then."
Darrell closed his eyes and bit into it. Then he spat onto the ground. David watched as Darrell grimaced. He scooched back a bit.
"Tastes like old coppers!", Darrell continued spitting, "Like rusty iron gates!"
David handed him a flask of water. Darrell drank it greedily.
"Wait for a second! That was of the impure type. Made of nickel, wrong ring."
Bernard pulled a larger rustier ring. This time, David saw moss.
"No, no! Enough! Okay, made your point, you have", Darrell turned his head away and spat on the ground again.
"Right, you see what I mean", Bernard took the ring back and wiped it with his shirt.
"But without rust, it would still be lucky", Osmond tapped his chin.
"Try it out then?"
"There's no evidence to prove that lead-... It seems... Uh.... I.... Is it-?", Osmond took the lead ring, "I'll bite into it... Then, we'll see what happens."
"Alright, we'll see... We'll see...", Bernard nodded, "Bite it"
Osmond bit into it and spit onto the ground. He spat again to get rid of the rust. Below him, he could see the swirling red in the translucent water.
"Red?! Red!?", the ring fell to the ground.
"Let me just pick this up...", Bernard grunted.
David stood up.
"I'm going to go to sleep", Bernard nodded in reply and David walked away into his canvas tent.
"Good night", Denton replied with a faint nod.
The wind whispered and the grass poked through the weak canvas. It billowed and swayed.
He closed the flaps of the tent and looked through to see if anyone was looking. The rest all talked around the fire. Bernard laughed.
He closed it again and opened a small bag.
Inside it, a vial glimmered, made of glass and cork. A peddler gave it to him, producing a box, and his hands had snatched it away. Years ago, but it seemed quicker, and during it, the peddler had promised fantastic dreams. From Galtrand and Gotund, the peddler had said, from the great elements of magic, from the magi.
David had tried it out after and he had dreamed wonderful dreams. Wonderful, wonderful dreams. Dreams his mind could never comprehend. These dreams seemed as different, great, and strange as Pnoaphales.
His hands pulled out a small vial. He tapped out a small palmful. Then he scrambled to put it back. David drank it with water and lay down.
A warmth filled his body. Slow, as it wrapped around his mind and relaxed him. He closed his eyes. He saw darkness for only a second. He could feel the exhaustion of the walk draining away from him, and felt as calm, in its purest form, came through him. Small dots of white danced in his vision and he smiled inside his mind. Then he saw light.
Gone was his beard. He sat on the ground in a crowd of people. In front of him, Men Of Deer raced chariots. Horses galloped around and around, speeding past another in blurs with dusty streaks remaining.
David laughed, and his eyes filled bright with delight as Men Of Deer moved past. But now none of them after The First War....
He shook his head at the thought and looked above. Above him, the crowd cheered and the horses sped past him.
He relaxed his mind. David's hands clapped together. Then the horses bounded into their pens. The crowd stood up and clapped. People crowded around him, their bodies stood everywhere, going around the track in a wide ring. Then, they sat down.
Every moment reminded him of the times before the First War. Before the rats ravaged the town's remains. In his heart, the memories remained there always. They'd never fade away into dust. For, his memories existed as immortal. Floating inside his mind, as precious as gold, better than any gift. Nothing could take away these memories.
Fading away now, gone from his mind. He reached out a hand to catch and hold them, but they slipped out of his hands.
In another dream, his feet walked above red sand. His feet curled, and he walked around craters. A mountain lay above, he knew, a mountain higher than Pnoaphales. An eternal night shrouded him from light. People stood ahead, waiting for someone.
Where is the Prophet?, he asked and shouted, Hello? Where is the Prophet?
The person ahead of him, Denton, didn't answer. Denton stared at the sand instead, sifting the red through his fingers. He continued, dragging his feet along the sand. Winds lashed at his head, and he reached his blind limbs forward.
Two people stood ahead, walking with him. He wiped his eyes and ran to them.
Hello? Where is the Prophet? Hello?, he shouted, cupping his hands together, Hello?
The person pointed, Osmond and Bernard, and David made his way past. The mountain loomed ahead blocking the winds and casting a shadow upon him.
Finally, the mountain stood ahead, surrounded by infinite gates and infinite water that dripped down the sides. He strode forward, but fell, and tried again, falling again. The Prophet's figure outlined against the light, splitting into three figures. His eyes filled with light, and then...
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