*Scene 01* 0:50 (The Xarmnian Scouts)
From a notch in the ridgeline, several Xarmnian horsemen watched the distant beach with interest. The meddlers would eventually pass through to the west of them, but they were given instructions to let them pass for now. Shihor had given them strict orders. The flying creatures were proving to be a fortunate ally, as long as their lord and the matron both shared common enemies. The beachhead stretched for miles along the coastline and the creatures had led them to the perfect vantage point to intercept them. Now the hardest part would follow–the waiting.
*Scene 02* 2:58 (Following the Child)
I move to follow while she runs eagerly ahead, oblivious to potential danger. Her free-spirited steps displaying the exuberance and happy curiosity of a child. Such precious innocence, I almost tear up.
I glance back down the sandy beach in the direction from which she came. The fog and mists are building from the south. There isn’t much time, and I didn’t want to scare the child.
As I begin to turn away, something else catches my eye. There are two sets of small child-sized footprints in the sand, each track about six to eight feet apart, but I think nothing of it.
Clearly, Miray has passed this part of the beach before. No telling how long she has been wandering these shores…only the small footprints appear to be heading in the same direction. I pause, staring at the separate prints.
Of course, I thought, She must have gone further inland and then passed back this way. I was just seeing the bottom loops of her searching circuitous path.
I shake my head and almost laugh at myself, and plod ahead, trying to keep the young girl in sight. Perhaps I am a little disoriented and not as clear-headed as I first thought.
There is something I am forgetting.
Something very important.
We must move inland soon to reach the valley where the shadows in the foggy shore cannot follow. Even now, I feel something in the air. Moving within the distant sea fog coming behind us along the shoreline. The light is odd here. It darkles with some grayish luminescence. I cannot risk losing sight of the little girl.
She is an absolute charmer. Miray is her name. Beyond that, she told me, she cannot remember much either.
A sea dune intervenes, like a pointed finger, between the turn at the edge of the shore and the frothy water stretching out to sea. The edge of the portal seems to recede into the bruised sea-cloud, lying beaten, cast and scuttled along the beach like a shipwrecked sailor.
I follow the separate sets of small footprints up the side and over the sea dune and see the gathering of bewildered travelers below. I see the small red-headed girl milling around between the people. She speaks to a few and then moves quickly on to another queue, flitting from one to the next like a hummingbird sampling nectar from blossoms.
They must be very confused arriving here by the sea-gate portal, but fortunately, I know a deal more than they do, and it is time I made their acquaintance.
*Scene 03* 3:05 (Arrival of Others)
I attempt to count the people I see as I quietly approach the crest of the dune. They, like me, are all wet from being in the surf. I estimate there are about twenty people, give or take a few. It is hard to tell from this distance and the sky is not as clear as I had hoped it would be to get the expected count.
There were fourteen of us total the last time I was here. But this time…more. I quiet my breathing and try to settle the worried pounding of my heart.
I tried to think of how should I begin, “Is everyone here? Let’s call the roll, shall we?”
That would be unfair to them because they do not yet know the importance of sharing their names and revealing who they are or believe themselves to be. That felt…off.
For the time being, they must remain strangers to me. All will be explained in time.
Each of us is part of something larger than we can imagine. A grand story, written by a Grand Designer.
Back in the Surface World, among my circle of friends we’ve lost some very precious people. There are no words to assuage the grief caused by their untimely exit.
Their absence creates a reminder that life is but one breath away from loss.
They were unfinished stories.
I should have known that it would be these particular thoughts that would confront me upon my return here.
In my subconscious mind, I did know and that is why it has taken me so long to finally be willing to come back.
Running away from problems, or drowning them out with distractions, fillers and other illusions, never make the problems go away.
They only grow.
Larger and meaner and more deadly with time.
In the end, they breathe and become living and sentient monsters…
I mentally gather the weapons of warfare to me, that I have learned are most powerful in this strange land. An Ancient Text which transcends space and time and becomes embodied in flesh and power.
*Scene 04* 6:07 (Sowing in the Seventh)
From atop the edge of the sea cliffs, the hidden mercenary stood with his hands resting upon the hilt of his sword. The metallic-gray clouds twisted into the sky forming a giant Gordian knot and silhouetting his shadowy form against their silvery light. He stood back beyond the edge of the cliff, so his form would not be seen from the beach skylined against the clouds. But he could still see the gray sands of the shore and the foaming lines of the sea clearly, and the wet, new arrivals.
The Oculus had appeared hours before. They had seen its glow from their small waiting camp in the early morning hours and had approached the cliffs. The Xarmnian patrols were rumored to be about, but The Storm Hawk and Lehi had kept them further back, running interference. Not fully knowing why The Resistance wanted them to, but were happy to assist when they received the request. The Storm Hawk was rumored to have once been one of the Surface Worlders, so the less she knew of his present mission the better.
The two infiltrators were in place. They’d descended the cut into the slope, and soaked themselves in a tide pool just beyond the bend of a dune. He saw them join the others on the beachhead below, and he knew at last his assignment was complete. Now he would ride back and report to Tobias and the others, and get his double-portioned rations and sowing seed promised him. He would then take his family out and return to farming, far away from the towns.
The two agents were naive enough to have the chance of pulling this thing off. The Surface Worlders, on first arrival were never what one might have considered to be readied warriors anyway. They were exposed out here. Unprepared for the harsh realities of this world, because they were too much under the influence of the assumptions of this World being, too much, like their own. The two were fools. Naifs. But they would be fools among fools, so they would fit right in.
The Resistance knew that one day the Surface Worlders would be back, and they were more certain of it, than any of their sworn enemies. There was some mystical influence coming from the old Marker Stone. Those in the Resistance, at least, agreed upon that, but in many ways, to his mind, it could not be relied upon. There were certain useful truths in it, but there were also too many inconsistencies.
So, every seventh year, he brought the Resistances’ two delegates and they came to the eastern sea cliffs to watch for the opening of The Eye of the Sea and the entrance of the unwitting interlopers. The Resistance had once welcomed their arrival once before. Believed it to be a sign that the Prophecy of The Marker Stone was being fulfilled.
But that was before.
The Stone Quests were a failed hope. And finding Excavatia was only a dream of superstitious mystics. Stories only believed by children, before the hardships of life matured them into becoming realists and skeptics.
Though there were many faithful prophecy believers still within the Resistance, their influence was failing, and the Realists and Skeptics were steering the resistance efforts into a more pragmatic approach towards insurrection, and enticing the dormant, and smoldering embers of suspicion and nascent fratricidal war back into flame. But the Surface Worlders, naive as they were, still had to be watched and there was no better way to watch them than from within their company.
Though they never began with The Stones of Virtue in their possession, somehow, always, a Stone found its way to them.
Whatever these Surface Worlders were planning, it would not be good for the Resistance movement. They would stir the Xarmnians up and then life would again become the hell it was before. The Surface Worlders would leave and return to their own world, but the results of their meddling would ripple like waves across The Mid-World and impact all who lived here.
Noadiah had been a fool, but at last, she’d come to her senses and conceded to their plan. Then she’d disappeared, leaving them without a Seer.
Tobias and Sanballat had then stepped in, and proposed a more feasible solution to throwing off the oppression. But a lot was riding on this plan. The Capitalians would not appreciate being incited to return into the land beyond the wall, but they must.
And then the two brotherhoods would finally destroy each other upon a final field of battle.
Yes, he and his family would be long gone before that happened. Far away, sowing his own seed and reaping his very own harvest, away from the winds of war.
*Scene 05* 3:56 (Memories of the Past Beginning)
As I stand upon the large brow of the sea dune, contemplating and looking down upon the new arrivals below, I notice they are looking up at me, wondering, since I do not immediately descend.
By now the little girl has told them about our brief encounter. That I may know something about this place they find themselves in, and what secrets it holds for why they are here.
I once stood where they are standing now. Bewildered. Unsure and afraid of what might be happening. I fully sympathize with what they may be feeling, but I also know I must be careful with what I say.
I remember the voice of the man who led us and his admonishments like it was only moments ago rather than years.
“Listen carefully to what you hear. Measure and consider what the people of this land say. Apply sound principles you have known from past experiences. Aligned to the Truth Codex all you perceive on this journey. Strive to be a studied person of wise counsel. There are many deceptive illusions in this place. Be a considerate companion of your fellow travelers. We need wise counselors.”
Had I heeded these words of wisdom; my friend would still be alive and that once-human monster, The Pan, would not have in his possession what he does…
In view of that, I wonder if I should ever be forgiven. Jeremiah was perfectly justified in…
Already, I have almost said too much.
I am supposed to lead these newcomers into the interior. But I am fearful of revealing too much too soon. This place, this Mid-World, is like and unlike the world, we all left behind on the other side of the sea-gate. I am fearful that I will not be able to gain their trust, yet the compelling of the call still rests on my shoulders and heart. Fear of rejection has too often been an impediment to action in my life, but the One still calls me to obey and leave the results up to Him. As hard as it is, I must trust the call because of who it is that called me.
I sigh heavily, surrendering the tension I feel and mentally committing my will to His quiet voice. “I am coming, Lord. Give me the courage I need,” I pray quietly as I move forward.
I have been stalling. Delaying the inevitable. I can feel the urgency. Like there is a danger far worse than that of the fog rolling toward us.
I descend the far side of the dune and all eyes turn toward me.
“Here goes…,” I mutter.
The small group is coming this way. It is time they came to know me and I them. The journey to the gate is long, and the path to get there is uncertain.
*Scene 06* 7:50 (Welcome to the Mid-World)
“You, there!” one of the men calls out to me, “This little one, says you may know something of where we are. What’s the story?”
Others are following, gathering.
“Welcome to the Mid-World, my friends,” I say raising my hands to encompass and indicate the group should draw near.
“That remains to be seen,” another muttered, “This place does not seem all that welcoming. We’re all wet and cold.”
“I have been sent to collect you all and lead you into the interior. There is a storm coming and we need to get further inland before it hits these shores.”
“What about this thing we came through? I’m not sure I want to leave the only entrance to wherever this is if I cannot get back to where I came from.”
“Despite what you may think, you are not all assembled here by accident.”
“You mean someone did this to us?” asked one.
“Who?” another asked. “Can’t we get back?”
Questions came at me from all sides, tumbling over each other, but I chose to respond to only the ones clearly heard by the group.
“You can. But aren’t you even curious to find out why you are wanted and needed here?”
“Where is here? Are we dead or something?”
“If you where you would not be wondering where here is. You would already know for sure.”
“You are talking in riddles, sir. How do we know we even can trust you? We don’t even know you, or anyone else here for that matter.”
“Now that is the first and most important question you all have asked me. It is critical that you start asking these kinds of questions if you are to participate in a quest in the Mid-World.”
“Quest?” one said, almost laughing incredulously, “What a nut job!”
“I think someone drugged us and is playing mind games,” one whispered loudly to another.
“I knew I should not have had that third vodka martini, before bed. These are the kind of freak dreams I get…” another muttered.
“I doubt this is a dream. I feel wet and cold and the sand and salty air feel real enough.”
“Perhaps we’re in one of those sensory deprivation tanks, somewhere. Or aliens have abducted us,” the questioner then turned an accusatory finger at me.
“Dude, are you an alien or some head shrink researcher or something?!”
“No. It is more complex than that. I’m none of those things,” I answered defensively.
“What kind of a quest? Why should we bother?”
“Because you very lives back in the places where you have come from depends on it.”
“How melodramatic of you to say that.”
I bow slightly to the speaker.
“Allow me to present myself. My name is Brian. I am, like you, from the world, you all came from. Because that place is the locus of creation, we refer to it as the Surface World. So, I too am a Surface Worlder.”
“I’ll bet he’s one of those dufuses that lives in his parents’ basement, sits in his underwear and a white cotton T-shirt smeared with Cheetos stains, playing video games all day.”
A few chuckled at the mental image, and I knew, with this crowd I was not getting off to a good start as their designated leader.
This is the very thing I feared the most. The mockery. If I did not get them to take this seriously soon, we were all going to die here.
“Oh, God,” I silently prayed, “What do I do to convince them? To gain their trust before it is too late? I can’t lead these people. I wish You had picked someone else. I am the worst person to do this. You know what I did the last time. I am too afraid. Please pick someone else, God.“
I then felt a small hand grab mine, I looked down and saw a crown of deep red curls, and a pretty face scrunched up and looking at me intently.
“I believe you Mister Brian,” she said simply, “Tell them it’s real. You must tell them even if they don’t believe. If I knew what I forgot, I would tell them, but I am still missing it. Please tell them.”
“Precious and blessed child,” I said, gently squeezing her encouraging hand.
“For you, I would do almost anything,” convicted that what I was fearful to endure for The One, I was more than willing to do for this sweet little girl.
I took in a deep breath and then boldly faced the muttering and suspicious group, unconscious of where the determination of strength came from as I spoke to them further.
“Believe what you will. But there is danger coming to us all if we remain much longer. That sea fog, coming in from around the bend will be on us soon. We must move inland and get beyond the sea cliffs to the descending valley on the other side. You can follow or stay. It is your choice. But we…,” I looked down at Miray and smiled at her, and she wrinkled her nose and smiled up at me, “…we are going forward.”
As Miray and I turned to walk past them, I saw another little dark-haired girl, about Miray’s age or a little older, scowl and her eyes flashed daggers at Miray. She clearly was not happy, but one by one the others followed us up the shoreline, winding up a switchback sandy grade and over the hill overlooking the sea. Reluctantly she followed the group at last, as an older girl came back and took her hand. She smiled at the girl who came back and they seemed to chat quietly as we wove between sea-weathered rounded boulders, and made our way down into a shadowy valley below. For some reason, I knew the sea fog would not follow us there. That it would move along the shore and skirt the ridge, but not pour over it into the valley beyond. We were somehow safe in the shadow.
As we walked down, I heard some of those following behind speaking low among themselves, thinking I could not overhear.
“What do you think of this Mister Brian?”
“I think he’s full of crap, but we’ve nowhere else to go and there is no way I’m sticking around back there getting stuck in that fog.”
“Where do you think this place is?”
“I don’t know, but somehow I think I came here once before with my dad.”
Stunned, I stopped in my tracked and turned around to see if I could spot the speaker.
They all looked so innocent, but some blushed, realizing I had been aware of what they were saying. I could not discern who the speaker might have been, so I turned back around facing the front.
“What’s wrong?” Miray asked, a concerned look on her face.
“Nothing,” I lied, “Nothing at all.”
*Scene 07* 1:22 (Going Inland)
The sun is, even now, at our backs. The road stretches out ahead of us into the fading and darkening horizon. The starlight above us begins to sharpen as the day yields its cooling place to the night.
Ascending the hillside leading up from the beachhead, I am almost as wary of the looming shadows as I was of the sea fog below.
I know it is not safe to be traveling at night, but we have no choice. We must get to the road and then to the valley beyond it. The fog bank on the seashore now obscures the entire coastline. Fogs here are dangerous. Not all of them, but enough to make one avoid them. There is something in them that makes people forget. We’ve walked a fair piece, but there is a much farther place that we have to go to. I say further, but that is not entirely true. In some ways, it is very close.
By the time we reach the crest of the hillside, it is almost daybreak. The sun’s glow gives a gilded edge to the mountain peaks in the distance. The dawn is still a few hours away, but we feel the promise of it. With the daybreak comes the hopeful promises. The chance to make those wishful dreams that linger in fading memory a work in progress towards fulfillment.
