Short Stories

Short Story #16 (#16 part 1)

The hoverbike zipped through the quiet dunes of snow that concealed the sharp rocks underneath. The old bike, which was struggling to drag the cargo trailer behind it, coughed, sputtered, and intermittently emitted foul puffs of smoke. The snow swallowed these noises and the wind that had been nothing but a breeze a moment ago now furiously whispered, dragging snow up from the hills and blowing it into the rider's face.

The bike flew out of the hills and into the center of a large, shoddy village. Removing his goggles, the rider dismounted, and as he circled around to unlock the grimy metal door of the cargo trailer, villagers swarmed out of their ramshackle makeshift houses, and gradually a cheer rose up among them. What seemed to be the village leader approached the rider. "Eet haz bin quite ze while, eh?" He said, in his coarse Mountain accent. The rider smiled back. "Indeed, my friend. A long time indeed." His speech was a curious mix of a Mountain accent and a more refined, sharp accent that made his speech sound ethereal.

The rider was a previous leader of the village, but he'd been declared missing. The rest of the village, which was comprised largely of the conquereds and their descendants, had no choice but to elect a new one. These villagers, in search of an escape from the prejudice and persecution of the conquerers, fled to Sharizaol Artasneo, which, in the common language of Kiniturse, literally meant "dangerous rock". The terrain was extremely hard to navigate; sharp, rocky peaks climbed for miles, and in the valleys between them, raging, foaming rapids gushed across and around the knife-sharp stones that littered the ground. A constant haze of fine dust and sand hung over the island, from the hurricane-force winds that intermittently swept any loose debris into the sky. The weather was equally predictable, and equally unfriendly; it was entirely possible for it to be baking hot now, then have a winter snowstorm in ten minutes, then have a flash flood ten minutes later. As one could imagine, it was exceedingly hard to sustain life or collect potable water. The inhabitants of Sharizaol Artasneo eventually retreated inside crevices and caves, seeking shelter from the harsh climate outside.

Their conquerors, however, lived in much more pleasant conditions, on a neighboring island called Istornli. "Istornli", meaning heaven or paradise in Kiniturse, had a very consistent climate made up of largely room temperature, perfectly humid, crystal-clear sky days, and only on occasion would one see a white puff of a cloud lazily drifting across the sky. The news that the inhabitants of Sharizaol Artasneo had retreated into caves and crevices higher up in mountains eventually reached Istornli. Someone had jokingly dubbed them durvskeifs, or cave-lizards, and the name stuck.

The rider was sent to infiltrate the heart of the island of Istornli to retrieve crops and potable water from the city's virtually infinite supply, so his village could plant crops higher up the mountain to avoid the turbulence below. He was also to blend in with society and rise through the ranks of the Istornlian government to learn important secrets. He had been told to only return if his mission was revealed, if he had enough crops to reliably sustain their durvskeif village for ten generations, or if he had discovered a secret or a weapon that could overthrow the Istornlians. Nearly two-and-a-half decades had elapsed since his departure, and he'd been declared MIA. His mission, which had shrunk from a top-priority expedition to nothing but a whispered legend amongst the villagers, and its success brought tears to everyone's eyes and smiles to their faces. The priests were already beginning to organize a large, communal religious ceremony to celebrate his successful return.

· · ·

Many, many moons ago, the people on this land had lived together in peace. There were different tribes, yes, with different cultures, different languages, different beliefs, and different views of the other tribes. That did not stop them from living in unity.  Economic systems, trade posts, and large villages, called chalarsti, appeared. It seemed the ideal agrarian society; large swaths of arable land covered most of one side of their land, and the general belief of many religions was to only grow enough to feed and support your family. There was far more than enough for everyone, and underground storage had been created to store any excess crop, should famine or drought strike.

One day, however, the peace was disturbed. An extremist group of the Kardome, one of the more pro-violence religions, emptied the underground storage and separated themselves from the large community. They covertly assembled a stone fortress in the shadow of a large hill nearly and under the cover of the large trees nearby. The structure was eventually discovered by a child playing in the forest, and the now-thriving city voted to send a small unit of cavalry to scope out the place.

The cavalry wasn't ever heard from again. The only evidence that they even got close to the fortress was a skeleton, laying on the forest floor, a razor-sharp wooden stick splintering the bone of its skull.

Urgent whispers spread across the city like wildfire, and even more so in the city hall. The casualties had caused a dark cloud to form over the city. It went unnoticed, sowing seeds in the deepest reaches of everyone's minds. Eventually, distrust began to make its mark, and fights, both verbal and physical, broke out everywhere.

The community was on the verge of collapsing full-on anarchy when the rogue Kardomes appeared at the top of the hill. They stood there silently, and soon the city fell into silence as well. Even those who had been quarreling stopped, mid-fight, to watch the reappearance of these rogues.

A group of men, appearing only as small dots but evidently exerting a great deal of effort, carried a large wooden robin to the city gate. It towered over the men, standing at least twenty feet tall.
As robins indicated luck and fortune in the Kardome religion, it was clearly meant as a sign of respect and peace. A woman stepped forward, a hood casting a shadow across her eyes. "Af'bihja!" she shouted. It was the word for the most formal version of an apology. She turned on her heel and left. 
The men lingered for a moment, before folding away into the shadowy forest.

The city's leader, already familiar with the infamous Trojan Horse, ordered the robin to be carefully inspected, even going as far as to order holes cut in its side to make sure it was not hollow.
After making sure it posed no real threat, the city tentatively accepted it and placed it near the city hall. Its wooden beak, polished smooth and gleaming in the sunset, curved like a scythe.

Late at night, while the city slept, a flaming arrow cut a path through the night sky, and struck the massive robin. The city, comprised largely of dry sticks, logs, and thatched roofs, caught fire and burned. As buildings fell, and as smoky tendrils curled into the sky, the Kardomes rushed the city, wielding sharp sticks and rocks. Anyone who did not surrender was left to bleed out, their blood boiling as great, fiery orange shapes tore through the surrounding huts.

Eventually, the Kardomes pushed the people they'd conquered onto the neighboring land, and as the environment and land were less friendly there, they found themselves unable to grow crops. Many starved to death, and only eventually did they learn that high in the mountains, dark soil was abundant, perfect for farmland.

The sea slowly rose, spirits slowly fell, and the conquereds saw the slim chance of a return to life as it had once been disappearing into nothing.

· · · 

The rider stumbled into the village center. He was still slightly out of breath, as if he had been running in a marathon recently. The new leader ordered a fire to be started, and several people moved forward with logs. Soon, the rider was crouching in front of a crackling bonfire, staring at one of the stones ringing the firepit. A crowd had gathered by now, and they looked on in silence, the occasional murmur breaking out here and there.

"Well...?" The new leader asked the rider. "Was your mission discovered? Did you bring enough food for ten more generations? Did you find a secret?"
The rider smiled, never taking his eyes of the stone. "All three."

A/N: 1402 words today. 
Hello again! I definitely won't be able to upload stories daily, since I'm still busy, but I'll try to write more in the future.

Cut the story short because it was getting too long.

Have a good day!