A dark fog started in the shadows, peeking out from the cracks of the rocky ground first, then appearing from every surface that daylight hadn't touched in a long time. And as the sun slipped behind the ranges of Bistik, there were just too many places that weren't in the light. Soon, all the shadowed grounds were covered by a blanket of thick smoke, swirling about and ever so slowly spreading and rising in the glint of dusk.
Above them, basking in the warm orange glow of the setting Sun was R'qsar or rather, its corpse. Broken and gutted, where the cozy huts of stone and wood used to be, only remained rubbles and ruins. Black as if burned and covered in a thick layer of dust that hadn't been disturbed in a while, a month in fact. The air was heavy there, almost visible to the eyes and also so very still. Except for the rising mist from the shadows, everything appeared as though it were frozen in time, even the dusts in the air.
Tong, tong~
Came a painful cry like that of a dying man's cough or… a beast. The sound plunged past the village and sank dead before it could reach the mountain for an echo. Hoarse and short, it came from an ancient but massive bell in an equally ancient but massive temple.
Few hundred steps away from the village and on an overlooking ledge, the decrepit temple was always a solemn and silent watcher of R'qsar. Hated and forsaken by the villagers, a relic of the forgotten past that only survived the fury of the villagers because they were too weak to harm it. Evil, they called it and left it alone. And now the only place where they could take a night's rest was in its shelter.
Tong, tong, tong, tong~
Continuously and pitifully the bell rang, and kept ringing, like trying to rouse the dead village. Figures appeared, hunched and limping, covered in cloaks that had gone black from the dust. They trotted across the narrow alleyway between the broken houses, leaving a trail of dark smoke behind them.
They were covered head to toe in dark rags, not showing any part of their bodies, even the uncovered eyes hid under the shadows of their brows and headgear. One after another they headed toward the sound, in hurried but weak steps, tripping on their own feet, on the uneven footings and barely managing to keep themselves upright in their desperate attempt to reach the 'evil' temple.
They walked up the stiff ledge not made for walking, the only way to the edifice, over mist covered treacherous path that threatened to stumble them over with their every step.
The one in the front slipped and barely managed to stay on the ledge on his knees.
"Ugh! Shit!" He cursed and took a hasty breath in a rough and weak voice of a man. The loud bell almost drowned his feeble show of anger. The ones behind him gave him a silent glance and took careful but rushed steps over him and proceeded forward.
With trembling hands and knees he held onto the ledge and stood up only when he was passed by all twenty three of them. With him they were twenty four, which was most of the able bodied souls of R'qsar that were left. The guards that came for the town to 'protect them'- he scoffed in his mind, like always- weren't there. They ate what the villagers brought and demanded more than anyone ever got to eat and still never helped.
And what a 'great' job were they doing of protecting them too…
He rubbed the side of his knees and faltered up following the queue. He fell harder than before, his whole damn foot was feeling numb now. Just few more steps and he would be inside, safe and done for the worthless day. But he did not want to go in. That place suffocated him.
Kolte, Lepin, the Elder, Derrik, Rudah… everyone had changed, he didn't know them anymore. Only Nicola, yes, he thought sourly, remained the same person she had been. And out of everyone, he had wished she changed the most.
Once there was a time, he fancied her, even felt he loved her. When her father died and she was alone, he offered to wed her, to give her a family, a roof, but she left the village. Always so strong and so… beautiful. Rumor had it that she had a family in the town, where she stayed for years, learned alchemy or witchcraft. Whatever it was she didn't return the same. Among the figures that walked by him, she was also there, he just couldn't tell which.
He had changed too all these years. Devon had made a family, buried that family and now lived only for the next day. Nicola never married in the village, made enemies with almost everyone and made medicines that most likely did more harm than good.
Devon wasn't a fool… he sighed. Or maybe he was, in his heart he knew, he still fancied her. If came a time she asked him to be with her, he would say yes, he didn't even know why. And that was why it scared him. He knew what she was, he was disgusted and repulsed by her like everyone, but that childhood fancy stuck around like that one secret bad habit that no one else knew existed.
Is that what witchcraft was for her? A bad habit? He didn't know. But he doubted it was.
She didn't talk to him more than she did with others. There were no lingering glances, no hidden smiles, if she even knew he existed was a question.
The stairs to their respite, their 'cage' was underneath him. It kept them safe and also bound them here. One of these days… he would have had enough.
'Gibetty, maybe you were the stronger one between us to follow after our… children.'