Eran’s Journey - The Stark Frontier.

Sixteen cycles since The Great Flood, Eran, son of Juust and Kima of the Neg Tribe in Wenga embarked on a journey that would last a lifetime. Such a journey granted him a lifetime of memories both beautiful and scarring. Seven cycles from the start of his journey, Eran would encounter an enemy formidable and sly, all the way out in the far flung region known as The Stark Frontier. 

These are the writings and recollections of Eran. 

The Stark Frontier.

It has been seven cycles since I departed my beloved Wenga and journeyed along this endless road. I feel as though I have aged a thousand cycles! My bushy beard certainly suggests so… 

In that time I have encountered self-preserving forests, fearsome predators and distinctly different tribes. I have keenly observed all that I have seen and written it all down as accurately as I can in my diary. My hope is that this diary will serve as a record of my life and times as well as the condition of this world at this time in history. It is said history is the longest road of all and I am inclined to agree. 

Presently I am a day out from the frontier known as Stark. Rumor has it this place is thick with mystery and intrigue. Fellow sojourners I have encountered along the way have warned that Stark is a place that will overwhelm the senses in ways no other place can. They also reported that the people of the Stark Frontier have a stern disposition and have customs that can only be described as unusual. I don’t know what to make of this last statement…I shall have to see for myself what is meant by that. There is no way for me to avoid Stark. There is no way around. To continue my journey, I must go through it.

Outer Bounds of Stark. 

The region before Stark is quiet and uninhabited. There are vast open fields of dry, yellow grass and a sparse spattering of trees. I recognize these trees to be Acacia trees from their spikes and yellow flower clusters. They offer no shade from the hot sun which hangs overhead and sees all. 

My water supply is nearly depleted and I don’t have great hope of encountering water out here. The wind carries no moisture, it is dry and hot as it whips against my skin and through the whispering, tall grass. Out of frustration, I kicked at the hot, pale soil and nothing but dust rose up. 

Next, I found a stick and roughly dug into the hard ground to see if there were signs of moisture just below the humus. I spent a great deal of time engrossed in this task, digging until I was about 20 inches deep. In Wenga and indeed many other regions I have passed hitherto, I could always dig up tubers which grew underground and use the shavings from them to extract water. While tedious, the result is ample drinking water and a peeled tuber to roast over open flame. Here, the ground seemed like it yielded nothing. I tossed the stick.

 Only the toughest critters and cretins survived out here I thought angrily. My anger only rose as I continued on my journey in this brutal landscape. This region was shaping up to be possibly the toughest one yet. My inner state was greatly agitated by the state of this place. 

A Quest for Water. 

The oppressive heat of the day gave way to a chilly night. The barren ground relinquished into the night air all the heat that it had absorbed during the day and temperatures dropped by at least 20 degrees according to my gauge. Thankfully, I had my Father’s anorak which I dug out from the bottom of my sack. I admit that I held it and hugged it for a long time. I must’ve looked ridiculous to anyone who happened to see me! Alas, I haven’t really seen people out here. Perhaps they are further in? But who can live “further in” here? None of the questions I had about this place seemed to have an answer yet. My adventuring spirit still rang under my growing distress. I have to find water, explore this desolate place and continue my journey in that exact order.  

My father's anorak keeps me warm though I remain uneasy. 

I selected a spot under a small cluster of trees to sleep under tonight. A slight breeze blew through the brittle grass which caused it to whisper a forlorn tune into the dead quiet night. I listened intently for any and everything before laying down on my sleeping mat. The gaunt trees above me stood indifferent to my fate. Clasping my knife tightly, I drifted into a fitful sleep. 

I woke up at the crack of dawn. A combination of agitation and needing to seek water jolted me awake. Oh, how I had hoped that I only conjured up this wretched place in a fever dream! Alas, there I was, craving a drop of moisture just as all the things around me did. I bundled my sleeping mat and anorak into my sack and got up. 

I thought it best to journey very early in the morning and perhaps encounter a patch of grass temporarily holding precious morning dew. I rolled up the legs of my pants to expose my shins with the hope of feeling dew drops as I trekked through the grass. There was no certainty that I would find it, only hope. 

Found.

I found it! 

Nearly an hour after I set out I felt the dry, wiry grass gradually change. It felt softer, fuller. Less like a thousands thin whips lashing at my shins and more like a caress. 

There was water here. 

On the grass itself and possibly underground. I was giddy from excitement and lightheaded from dehydration.  

I grabbed my water bottle and a bundle of grass close to the base. Using my scraper tool and going from the bottom up, I harvested sparse dew drops directly from the grass into my bottle. It was a painstaking process, even more so than squeezing tuber shavings! But it had to be done carefully or else I risked losing precious waterdrops to the equally thirsty ground. 

There was also the matter of the sun…

 The higher it got up in the morning sky, the faster this sparse moisture would evaporate into the arid air and I’d be in a world of trouble. Simultaneously, I had to work fast but with deep concentration for the sake of my life. I was deep in concentration when I was first approached by them.

First Encounter.

“Stranger, you are surrounded. Lower yourself to the ground. If you refuse, your life will be taken and your body will be lowered into an unmarked hole in the ground. It is for you to choose.” 

Just so the voice said it.        

There was a furious buzzing in my body and all over my being. It was a feeling I had become familiar with across my journey while encountering beasts and unexplained anomalies. My instincts were telling me danger was near. Indeed it was already here.   

I sat on the ground.

There was movement and whispering behind me and I dared not look. I sat breathing as my fate was deliberated. Finally, the individual that first spoke circled around me. The individual was rotund, medium height with a bald head. They had a belly that stuck out in front of their knees and they looked neither male nor female to my eye. Turning my attention to the other dozen or so individuals, I saw more variety in body shape though they were all fairly short. They had dark blue eyes, so blue in fact the eyes appeared as endless black pools. For a long time I was strangely entranced with these eyes. I can’t be sure that delirium wasn’t setting in but they conveyed menacing messages to me, directly to my core. I shuddered. They had machetes drawn. 

The individual that first spoke was handed an ornate chalice which they held forward with an outstretched hand. 

“Do you seek death, stranger?” The voice was discomfiting.

“I only seek water.” I replied.

“You only steal water.” the being intoned again. 

Theft of water was utterly ridiculous to me. Water was a naturally occurring gift for all and in all my voyage so far I hadn’t encountered such malarkey. What would they accuse me of next, stealing air?! Inside I fumed, however, I composed myself as I was thoroughly outnumbered in this forlorn territory. 

My lips were cracked and my throat was dry. If they didn’t kill me, dehydration soon would. I had no choice but to reason with them. Meekly, I say unto them;  

My name is Eran, son of Juust and Kima of Wenga. I am of the Neg tribe and have journeyed countless miles on this great road. I mean you no trouble and am only passing through. The water I gather from the shaking grass is only to keep me alive as I journey on. 

I wait and hope my supplication suffices.   

“So you admit you steal our water, stranger?” The eyes flashed and I felt cold under the unforgiving sun. All dew had long since been sucked into the hot air and my situation was increasingly perilous. 

“I was harvesting water only to ease my thirst. If this universal custom was forbidden in your territories, there was supposed to be signage denoting this, stranger.” With death becoming more of a realistic option, I found myself flirting with it. I was greatly offended at the insistence that I was some thief. A thief of water no less! If I was to die at this juncture, I’d do so but I wouldn’t be dishonored by this peculiar race of people.    

I remained seated and the rotund one spoke again. 

“If it’s water you crave, it is water you will receive.” The voice reverberated deep in my eardrums, all throughout my brain and whirled around in my core. It felt like a foreign entity swirling around. My breathing was sharp and shallow when the sun reached its apex.  

One of the individuals set down their machete and walked forward with a bottle in their hand. The jewels embedded in the ornate chalice glistened in the sun and I watched and panted as water was poured from the bottle into the fantastic cup. 

Bargain. 

“If it’s water you crave, it is water you will receive.” They repeated.

The individual walked towards me. At closer range, I noted a silver tint on their skin. Their scent was unlike anything I had ever smelt before, it was like metallic perfume wafting around them creating a disorienting sensation. 

“I am Melkit. I give you water. I give you your very life.” And with this strange incantation uttered, Melkit placed their cool hand on my sweaty forehead and pushed my head back.Too weak to offer any meaningful resistance, I let Melkit pour water down my throat. The cool liquid rushed down my gullet and I felt it splash into my stomach. I felt suspended between the land of the living and the dead and when Melkit was done, I keeled over on my side and lay still for a moment. 

Something wasn’t quite right about that water. My stomach churned violently once. I think I screamed out loud but this period of time is hazy as my perception was severely distorted. 

“What was in that water?” I heard the voice in my head ask. Or perhaps it was out loud…The last thing I recall is my inner voice telling me to be smart and strong for the period ahead was going to be difficult. Melkit and the rest of the gang gathered around and looked down at me as the light faded from my eyes.   

Underground.

As of this entry I am held captive in a subterranean cave by the Bednaar tribe. Where there were merely trace amounts of moisture on the ground surface, this underground system of caves has deep blue pools of the most pristine water around. 

Legend has it these caves were once sacred to the Umne people who were indigenous to these regions. While the Umne have been scorched off the face of the planet (according to the new settlers anyway), their presence is etched into the very stones that hold up the caves. This grand old civilization carved a metropolis in the cave, sparing no expense as far as detail and grandeur went. Sections of the wall had been hewn to create individual and family size cubbyholes where people lived communally.   

The Umne revered the water pools below and the sun above. Their wall etchings suggested a general reverence for nature. It was said they had retreated to their subterranean domicile after the Bednaar tribe had migrated from heaven knows where and systematically encroached onto their land, above and below. 

Though I am presently held captive by these very Bednaar, I am astounded at how such an unimpressive race of beings thwarted and supplanted the noble Umne. From my early observations, it appears the Bednaar’s power lies more in suggestion and the immaterial than physical might.    

It was the Umne ceremonial chalice that I drank tainted water out of before being dragged down here unconscious. It was their fiercely guarded sacred pools that sustained this underground civilization. I closed my eyes and touched the stone cold walls. Yes, though my condition was dire, I had to tap into the ancient wisdom and strength carried within these walls. I yearned to explore the expansive cavernous system but with shackles on my hands and feet, I wasn’t going anywhere.       

The waters herein were alleged to be so imbued with power that they had turned Melkit and all the Bednaar tribe mad. Their eyes took on a manic blue hue because they had gazed lustfully at the waters from the very first day they set eyes on the pools. They now guarded the waters fiercely but carried great evil in their hearts. They were in constant fear of losing it and devised all kinds of ways to increase the water in their domain. 

I had been abducted to serve in such tasks. 

Life In Captivity.

The ground above was essentially a barren, dry plot and so it made sense to the Bednaar to dig further down the bottom of each pool. Their plan is currently underway. This is to be achieved by boring holes into sections of the thick water table and cramming explosives in the newly drilled holes in order to blow the rock up section by section. The claim is there are untapped reservoirs of water beneath the water table which would hydrate generations of Bednaarians. 

I along with several other captives will be performing the deadly tasks of drilling and exploding rock in exchange for our eventual freedom.  

Melkit, whose water I had drank, was my overseer. It turned out Melkit was technically female and she wore a couple of pendants around her neck. Each pendant had a very small cylindrical glass that held a cloudy sort of fluid. On the day I woke up after being drugged, she explained that she was the custodian of not only my freedom but my soul. One of the murky pendants held a piece of my soul supposedly. I had no reason to doubt her. Thus far the Bednaar have demonstrated a propensity to maleficence.

    “You will engage in this necessary task for the betterment of all, won’t you?” Melkit’s eerily dulcet tones seemed even more potent down here in the cave. Every word she uttered rang and stuck with me, which is how I am able to recount verbatim all her exchanges with me. 

No matter how much I wished to say no, I felt pulled to agree with her. The metallic scent that came off her body was intoxicating and my body hadn’t yet developed immunity to it.

 My inner voice hadn’t deserted me, however. Even as I agreed to violate the ancient rocks and tranquil water with mechanized drills and powerful explosives, my inner voice whispered into my own ear, “You must resist. You must continue on your journey.”

And so it is.