The LOST NATION Saga

Volume 1: The ERA of ANITQUITY

Book III: The BROKEN COVENANT

Original Serialization Date: February 19th-August 16th, 2023

A southwardly way the mind-wretched student of Kuros treads, unto the regions of Madanaz. This is the record according to his words and the writ of those who dwelled with him.

It came about that Uzrah, under tattered cloak, passed beyond the vicinity of all the great cities, veering thus from the roadways of the Wanderers and unto the rare-beaten pathways; roads known only to a few. He looked to heaven, making a bitter vow before the face of his maker.

"Creator, do not curse me with company. Let me be drained and thinned. Let no vice of flesh or drink distract me. Let only my mind and soul be known to me in this scorned land!"

Of water Uzrah took little, for his skinflask dried out, and he found no well nor fellow-travelling Kartumite to draw up moisture for him. Of food he had none to partake, for his pack was light and only two loaves of bread did he take with him from Ghalodim. The summer sun beat him relentlessly. The plains dusted his sandaled feet, for they trampled withered brush. Contemptable whispers flying aloft the wind brushed his tired ears. They spoke ill against him.

"You!—Cursed be the Lord of Light, forever!"

The bedarkened chronicler crashed unto his knees and hands.

"Nadoyahe, the men asked of me 'what had been done in the dark?', and I could not answer them," Uzrah lowly bemoaned. "Now, I ask the same unto you, for only you can know! That memory is lost on me, but its effects shall forever pester my weary soul."

Uzrah rose from his pathetic plea, hoisting himself up by the support of his rickety staff, marching thereupon the slopes of the Horn of Mekhbah and into Madanaz. Uzrah's wearied eyes slovenly drifted this-way-and-that, and he saw no place where man could lay his head to rest. Neither to the north or south, nor to east or west. Thence, he staggered on for some time more until the evening, where there he approached the crossroads of Mekhbah and Madanaz—on the shore of the Southern Khabora—Kartum's Well. The chronicler looked upon it with jealous eyes.

"Creator, just let me have a drink of water!" he rasped. "Not more, not less—."

A woman came to the well, drawing up water for herself. Another man—so it seemed to the observant traveler—appeared close to her and took hold of her arm, forcing her away from the well with a wild jerk. The beastly creature threw the woman to the dirt, face down. Uzrah approached them with bitter, ungraceful haste, and the unmade man, catching ear of the approaching vagabond, cried out in terror:

"It is you! Master! You live, still!"

"Begone from me!" Uzrah commanded throatily.

The ethrosum scurried off like a beetle, screeching and groaning wildly all the while. Uzrah took the woman by her hand and lifted her. A Manuthian of fair beauty she was; of a dark, shapely form under resplendent white garment.

"Truly, you must be a son of Etaium! He ran away from you, though you did nothing but call to command!"

Uzrah did give her no reply, though she gaily continued:

"Praise to the One! I am ever-thankful to you, friend!"

The woman peered her head low, catching a glimpse of Uzrah's shadowed eyes.

"I have not seen your face before, and it, no—all your form—is weather beaten!"

Uzrah brushed white grains of sand from his new-grown beard.

"I have travelled far, from the north," spoke Uzrah

"What honor do my people, farmhands and sheepherders, have to receive lonesome wayfarers such as yourself?" asked the woman amusedly.

"No greater cause. I come only to seek—myself."

"Have you found yourself?"

"No, and I fear what may come of my journey."

"Well, before you go on this journey, please, come into my homestead and rest yourself away!"

"I will not. Please, just give me some water and leave me be."

She laughed:

"What neighbor could I call myself to not invite you into my father's home, traveler?"

"Troublesome as ever, you are."

"Have we made acquaintance before?"

"Has my appearance changed to such a degree?"

Uzrah removed his dust-caked cowl, revealing a troubled visage. So it was the woman indeed knew him.

"Daro," he spoke, "—please, just give me the water. Nothing more."

The woman, Daro, did not deliver upon his request. She only took her jar and filled his skinflask, and he partook of it hastily till it was emptied.

"Please, give me more! I'll be on my way for some time."

"Surely, you shall."

Daro drew up water from the well, into her jars, yoking them on her back.

"Goodbye, son of Etaium."

Uzrah grew indignant, falling to the ground.

"Friend! Do not be cruel to me!"

The woman laughed at him.

"Get the water for yourself!" she said. "I do not want to be a bother to you, after all. Maybe you'll find yourself at the bottom of the well! Great secrets lie deep in the dark, no?"

"Save me your jeers. In any case, this well is too deep for me to draw up water with my hands and there is no rope nor vessel!"

"Then follow me, Uzrah!"

Begrudgingly, he followed up behind the woman, his hand outstretched.

"Water—," he pleaded. "Water—."