A Noble Endeavour

Chapter 7: The Village

"Come on, wake up, Daven," urged Zareela, tugging at his blanket. "We need to leave before it becomes too hot to travel. I don't want you fainting on me again!" He stirred and moaned, gradually opening and rubbing bleary eyes. The stench of old sweat and sea water clung to his clothes and cloyed up his nostrils. Daven winced slightly, repulsed at the smell. "Yes, you stink and are urgently in need of a bath. You can have one when you reach my village if my mother allows it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise how bad I smelled," Daven glanced down sheepishly.

Zareela smiled, shifting the subject. "Here, have some breakfast. You're going to need it." Whilst he hungrily ate smoked mackeral and drank water, she covered the fire in sand and gravel. Soon enough, the tent was dismantled and packed away, and they were ready to depart.

Sunlight crept over the bay, dancing across the gentle waves and dazzling through sand and rock. The flotsam and jetsam of the shipwreck were barely visible amongst the surf and the bodies in particular. For that, Daven was thankful. He whispered a prayer to The Three to guide their souls safely to the golden gates of the afterlife.

He watched the morning light wash along the ruins of the temple columns and walls. Gazing more intently, Daven noticed scorch marks at the base stones of the building. Most of the flagstones were broken, cracked, or missing completely. The once grand columns were in a similar condition, and the roof was long gone. Sections of wall remained, and Daven could just make out faded remnants of people, birds, and fish painted upon them. At the far end of the temple was a raised altar and behind it, a weather eroded bottom half of a once impressive statue. Its identity was unclear.
"It was once a statue of Dionara. This was her temple," interjected Zareela.

"I see. When was it destroyed by fire?"

"Oh, hundreds of years ago. My mother thinks it happened during the Sarveenian Civil War."

"What civil war?"

"The one that finally ended the Old Sarveenian Empire. The followers of Dionara battled the forces of Elthera. Dionara's forces eventually won, but the cost was terrible; there was so much death and destruction. The empire soon disintegrated. My mother will tell you more when you meet her."

Daven was about to ask who Elthera was, but Zareela had already set off. The ancient, paved road stretched before them towards the broken horizon. Despite a swift recovery, Daven struggled to keep up with his companion's speed. He decided to stick with his own pace and absorb this new island and its foreign yet enticing culture. After only a few steps, his attention switched back to the beach and the shipwreck. Movement amongst the waves caught his eye. A wild dog was hungrily biting and dismembering a corpse. Peering closer, he recognised the starving wolf that tried to attack him only hours before in the night. Disgust and anger rose in Daven, and he fought a burning desire to chase the animal away from desecrating the body of a man he once knew. Whispering words in his head stopped him. The dead are beyond your help. Choose to aid the living instead. He wasn't sure if it was his own conscience or another voice entirely. Daven felt compelled to take one last look at Dionara's temple. The figure of a woman with golden flowing hair flowing stared back at him. He blinked, and there was nothing but the coastal breeze scattering grains of sand amongst time eroded columns. Shaking his head, he took a swig from his waterskin and continued trudging on the road, eager to avoid the encroaching midday heat.

The road, or what remained it, led them away from the beach and into higher ground. The sand and rocks gave way to more fertile soil covered with sparse grass, flowering plants, and clumps of cypress trees. The songs of brightly coloured birds mingled with the buzz of insects. Flowing water could be heard in the distance. Zareela paused and turned to Daven. "There's a small stream nearby. We'll stop, refill our water skins, and have a bite to eat. It's another hour or so to my village."
The couple ate and drank in subdued silence. Despite the increasing heat, Daven's spirits lifted as a result of drinking fresh mountain water and being immersed in the soothing colours and sounds of nature.

They were soon travelling again. The land rose once more with mountains appearing to the left in the distance, whispy clouds skirting around their peaks. The road passed through one hundred metres or so of tall jagged rocks and winding ravines and began to fall once more. Daven's aching legs and sore feet sighed with relief. Slowing his pace somewhat, he drank in the new surroundings.The coastline curved again into another natural bay that was strikingly similar to where he washed ashore. The salty tang of the ocean breeze greeted him, staving off the worst of the midday heat. Gulls cried out to each other as they circled and dove amongst the waves, some emerging from the emerald depths with fish in their beaks.

At the far side of the bay was a secluded cove replete with sandy inlets. Quaint houses and cottages appeared, and the picturesque village drifted closer like something from a dream. As they journeyed closer, the tranquil mirage was abruptly shattered. Recently, dug graves greeted their eyes, and many of the houses were severely damaged by fire. Some had been hastily repaired, yet only a few emerged from the flames unscathed. It was deathly quiet and seemingly devoid of life, as if the village had been abandoned, following whatever tragedy had struck.

A bone-chilling scream broke the eerie silence. "Quickly over here," ordered an anxious Zareela. Confused and afraid, Daven followed her as she crept towards the ruins of a nearby cottage and crouched down behind a damaged wall. Peering through gaps in the structure, he followed her gaze down the main route through the village. A terrified woman was on her knees, sobbing and begging for life. An imposing man stood threateningly above her, the blade of a curved sword caressing her throat. He was dressed in a red loose tunic and faded brown boots. Red, green, and blue face paint decorated his cheeks, some of it running into a long black beard. A bronze headress with multi-coloured feathers partially covered oily black hair tied back in a ponytail. Two other men, similarly attired and armed, stood behind him.

"We've received word that a prisoner escaped here two days ago. Tell us where he is, or I'll open your throat."

"There's no one here, I swear. All the men and boys are gone or dead from here."

"Search the property," commanded the flamboyant bully, and his comrades vanished into the woman's dwelling. She managed to compose herself somewhat but fearfully stared at the ground in silence. Several minutes of crashing, bangs and objects breaking rolled by, and the three men reappeared. "No one's here," said the bravest.

Whether the gods intervened or the woman's plight moved some shred of mercy within her assailant was unknown. "You get to live for a while. We'll come back soon." Two of the men began to laugh as they  the frightened woman wet herself, her urine soaking in the sandy earth. Their leader merely smiled, sheathed his sword, and led his companions back down the dusty road. They were soon lost amongst the golden dunes and wind blasted stones.