Chronicles of Akhani - 8 - And so it begins...
Zhorovna’s heart was in her throat. She eyes scanned left and right, but not a single detail of the landscape was familiar.
Why? Why couldn’t I have stopped when I was spirited away to the Mystical Mountain? The question burned in her mind as an unfamiliar uneasiness grew deep within her.
There was something… off... about all of this. The longer that Akhani lay unconscious, the more surreal the desert became. A cool, damp breeze blew in from behind and wrapped the duo in a suffocating humidity. The sand below her knees grew damp, and she began so sink. Each time that she shifted, the sand became more viscous sticking to her limbs.
Zhorovna struggled to be freed from her predicament, but found that her efforts were in vain. “Help!! Oh saviors of old, grant me your grace!” she cried, but the words fell flat and sank into the earth below.
A quiet hiss slid into Zhorovna’s ear and slithered into her mind. Her sight faded into a milky gray fog. In that fog she saw a figure. A figure moving towards her. A figure growing larger by the second. A figure of a small young boy.
“Mama? Mama? Is that you?” asked the boy in a sweet and innocent voice.
A chill ran down Zhorovna’s spine as she heard these words. A conflict of fear and pity consumed her heart. Did she dare call out to the unknown child?
After her inner turmoil subsided, the compassionate part of her won and she broke the silence. “My name is Zhorovna. What are you doing way out here, sweetie?”
Zhorovna thought that she witnessed a menacing smile on the boy, but, after a quick blink, all she saw a Doiketian boy no more than three years old in front of her. His face was scrunched up in a pitiful pout with streams running both down sides of his face. Her heart was crushed at the sight.
“Mama left me. I can’t find her,” the boy choked as the words struggled to escape his mouth. The boy had a strange lisp that gave Zhorovna an involuntary shiver.
Setting Akhani down onto the ground, Zhorovna motioned for the boy to come to her. The boy took a few steps closer, stopped, and stretched out his arms as if to beg to be lifted into her arms. Zhorovna, for a moment, forgot all about Akhani and began to make her way towards the child. Her arms stretched out to catch the boy under his arms, but something within her made her pause.
“Please,” the boy begged in the most pitiful way. “Please.”
Zhorovna, whose heart was utterly melted by the child’s voice, began to move towards the child once more. The sound of scales sliding on sand echoed in her ears as she drew closer and closer to the boy. A hiss gave her a pause once more, she regained some focus during this pause and saw something that made her almost jump out of her skin.
Glowing, red eyes. Narrow, long pupils. Wet, glistening fangs. Pitch black scales.
Smoke rose from the form of the snake who revealed itself, passing through the mirage of the tearful child. Its sharp and sinister smile shone straight into Zhorovna’s sight.
Zhorovna glanced back. Nothing. Akhani was gone. She found herself alone with the serpent.
“Sssss- noooow, why would-sss you do that-ssss?” hissed the asp.
The sight of the smoke came rushing back from her recent memory. The smoke that had left Akhani was the same as the smoke rising from the snake.
With a slow slither, the snake slid on its stomach towards Zhorovna. Zhorovna stood still, frozen in place, unable to move any part of her body.
Beginning to circle around Zhorovna the snake began to speak. “What bussssssinesssss issss it of yoursssss? The ssssXotokianssss are mine now. Sssssyvereniansssss are not welcome here.”
Zhorovna felt something grow inside of her. No, it was not fear. It was a righteous burning deep within her chest. She knew this feeling, and she knew it well. She humbled herself before its source.
As she felt the Word well up within her, she herself did not diminish. No, the Word gave her strength. The Word let her know that the snake was really no threat to her. The Word let her know, as long as she did not allow it, the snake had no power. This was not, in fact, the snake’s domain. At least, not yet.
“Begone! Foul serpent slave of Navros! You hold no power where the gods still dwell. The soul of Achinos has not yet fallen, despite your efforts. Now, flee! Flee before the wrath of the gods who will cleanse the sands of your corruption.” As these words flowed with unprecedented power, the fog was burned away by a light with no distinct source. The light welled up from both without and within. Within such light, darkness cannot remain.
With a sudden all encompassing flash, Zhorovna found herself still clutching Akhani tight in her arms. Realizing that war that was raging within his soul, Zhorovna leaned down and kissed her friend’s forehead. Her heart welled as her lips met his skin, and she quickly withdrew with confusion in her heart.
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