Final Soul

The Buried World ~ 1

"In the far north, where our peoples dwell, spoke of in our tongue as Svera, the winter never ends. The snow has been falling for as long as I can remember, as long as my mother before me can remember and her mother before her. And it doesn't melt. The snow ever grows, as surely as night follows day, the snow buries everything. Nothing is left for the next generation, nothing for the next people who wander across these barren lands. Only our stories and legends live on, that is why we must never forget what has happened and what will happen; the spoken word is our lifeblood." The wizened old crone, hunched over a small fire gestured with her hands, milky, white eyes wide, cracked, thin lips moving without sound. Her figure casting looming shadows over the hide of the tent. The children sat on the the other side of the fire, frightened and huddled together, all except for one.

This one child sat, stock still, intently watching the old woman speak her tales, completely unable to hear, but able to tell what she was saying. She spoke of magic and great adventures, wandering warriors and great beasts unlike anything she could ever imagine. Then she stopped.

"We live a waning age, the old magic is returning, and with it, the eldritch and forbidden creatures return too. Perhaps one of--" She was interrupted by one of the tribesmen rushing into the large tent. His clothing a mess of white pelts and brown and blue leathers.

"Matriarch, we must go! The Silver Horde has arrived, Yehm spotted them coming from the south! It's an army, at least forty times as large as the whole tribe!" The tribesman had been ushering the children out of the tent into the waiting arms of the horsemen. "We'll have to leave everything! We must leave--"

"Have any of you reasoned with the Southerners?" She huffed, getting up from her spot beside the fire. "I am old and grey, and I have passed on all my stories. Take the children to a safe place, I will go talk to them."

"But you don't speak their tongue?"

"Whenever did I say that?" She gave a knowing look, pulling her great pelts and ivory jewelry over her shrunken frame. "Now go. It's time for me to have a conversation with this Silver Horde you speak of with such reverence."

"But--"

"No more hesitation, Baior, take a handful of riders to accompany the children. Protect them and train them in the tribe's stead." And with that, she had left the tent, trekking out into the wintry battlefield.

"Well then," Baior started, voice shaky, he turned to face the remaining child. "It seems it's time to go."