Bebo

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	Chapter 0
	Chapter 0 ------ If death announced its presence in a fanfare of horns, it would have been at a dreadful crescendo at that moment in time. But Oro did not need a fanfare to tell him when his gaze fell upon death, especially not here. In the distance, the wind swept columns of smoke away in thick stone-coloured layers, twisting them into rolls of platted dark wool and then, once sated, letting the columns slip through its incorporeal fingers like sand, like time. The smoke and ash danced a twirling, menacing dance in the sky, waltzing and prancing, and then simply floating away, as if the joy of being released was too much; as if its joy had given it lift to rise and rise, slipping into the atmosphere, never to be seen in the same form again. From this distance, the smoke seemed as thick as a dark basalt tower; not vigorous, but baleful in its own way, like solidified ropy lava, spiralling slowly in a leisurely tornado. But it was not the smoke which gave rise to his emotions of dread, for smoke could have been made by any number of things. What concerned him was the fire. Though not beheld (as the town stretched over the rise of a steep hill), the presence of the blaze was confirmed by the ruby-red glow in the sky and upon the boom of the smog. The fire seemed so intense that it had stripped the sunset of its daily glory, like a climber staking his claim to the peak of a mountain. Its reds were of a different sort; while the sunset seemed gentle, serene, even playful; the consuming blaze sent clashing hues of deeper red and gold, gathering a firestorm which stretched out, painting a deep crimson bleedacross the landscape. It was like looking at a bloody, tattered corpse fallen over a bed of pink roses. The fire would have to be big to make such an impact on the sky, Oro thought. What could have caused such destruction? Surely not an invasion in this part of the world? The Meunos man frowned deeply and pulled his sack up tightly around his right shoulder, still standing, still wondering what should be done. The sack slid smoothly over his bare shoulder and hairless silver skin, uncovering just a fraction of the strange being’s golden trail of hexagonal scales which run the length of his arms, legs, even across his temples and down his neck. He looked over the surrounding woodland area, and into the wild ravine at his left, scanning the landscape thoughtfully with his wide-apart, colourless (and pupil-less) eyes. He was standing on a muddy ridge path which skirted the edge of a forest, some distance off from the burning village. Even here the ruby glow seemed to taint the landscape; spreading red shadows over the tips of Cedar and Larch trees and over the thinly flowing trickle of two parallel streams which run bellow him through the ravine. He glanced down over the edge of the ridge, feeling comfortable at the familiar height of what - for him - was a short drop. ‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it?’ Came the voice at his rear, nearly causing him to jump and tumble down the cliff. Oro turned quickly, his thick silver tail sliding close along the cliff-edge, grounding his balance in case of a sudden attack. He found himself face-to-face with a Human. ‘You speak Meunos.’ Oro said - after a pause - in his own language. ‘It’s a nice language.’ The Human replied. There was something odd about the voice, other than the fact that the man spoke in perfect, unbroken Meunos. When the man spoke, there was no resonance, no echo. Moreover, the man spoke the impassive tone of a daydreamer, or somebody not quite paying attention to his current situation. Indeed, the Human’s voice was an oddity that Oro couldn’t quite work out, and would later forget about. ‘Thank you.’ Oro ventured, squinting through twilight at the man, trying to work out if he had met the man before, for he seemed somewhat familiar. Two of the three moons were currently visible on the horizon, but he couldn’t quite focus on the man’s face. It was as if he was masked by a dark hood, yet was wearing nothing of the sort. Each time Oro tried to focus on an area of the man’s face, his vision blurred and became distracted, and he felt the pressing urge to look away. Later, all that Oro would remember about the man was that he was very ordinary looking; dark of hair, and symmetrically balanced of features, with a clean shaven face. Yet at the same time, he would forget that he had been unable to actually focus on the man’s features in the generous luminosity. ‘Who are you?’ Oro asked, blunt and to the point - as was his race’s nature. ‘A friend.’ The Human responded, knowing that Oro had to believe him. Total trust was part of a Meunos’ belief system. Oro realised glumly that he had swelled his body up without realising it. What was originally a slim, toned form, had been inflated instinctively to the bulging body of a hulking body-builder. His yellow trail of skirting hexagonal markings had been stretched also, forming thick golden bands across his gigantic muscles. Realising how foolish he must have seemed, he forced his body to relax, and like a blowfish he deflated slowly, his wide form becoming once again compact and Human-shaped. He had inflated as if threatened, as was his instinct. He had no idea why he had done this, as logic said that it wasn’t improbable to cross paths with another pilgrim on the roads. But … something … some instinct told him that this man was dangerous. There was an eerie pain of apprehension that had crept its way up into his second stomach, and this man was the source of it. Embarrassed at his stupidity, Oro turned his head towards the burning town, attempting to display his trust in the Human. His nose-less, hairless profile caught a crescent illumination of the burning red sky across the far-side of his face - giving his round head an almost humorous similarity to the second moon, Maer. There was a moment of silence. ‘A Torman has invaded.’ The man said, gazing towards the blazing skies. ‘It will leave nothing alive.’ Oro turned his head back sharply to the odd Human. ‘A Torman? How do you know…?’ ‘Do you mistrust my word?’ The Human said, his tone was practiced, perhaps manipulative. Oro shook his head, ‘I apologise. Why has a Torman seen fit to attack such a large town?’ ‘Food, I would imagine.’ The Human responded. Oro realised that the man had not moved an inch from the moment he had appeared. He was like a dark statue, shrouded in shadow itself, as if he wore it like a blanket. ‘It would be foolish to go there. There are no boats to be caught, and no people to be saved. Nothing can save them from a Torman.’ Oro narrowed his eyes – not out of suspicion, but out of curiosity. He would have asked how the man knew that Oro had come to this part of Eye Coast for the purpose of finding passage by ship, but he realised that asking such a thing would also convey a sense of mistrust. Again he glanced towards the burning town, wondering if he should go to administer healing to survivors. The shape of the strange Human blurred – actually blurred – when Oro was looking away. Its form became opaque, cutting into a brief flash of many bodies, before dispersing as if ripped away by the wind. But then the wind went dead, grinding to a sudden halt and instantly the Human was by Oro side. Oro did not hear, nor see the movement. A leaf that had been falling stopped dead in the air. ‘There are no survivors.’ The statue whispered, close to Oro’s ear now, his words biting off each syllable, wheezing as they passed the mysterious man’s unremarkable lips. ‘There is nothing you can do for them now.’ The wind started up again; time started up again. The statuesque man blurred once more, and then he was standing on the opposite side, many feet back as he had been when he had first appeared. Oro blinked once, numbly realising that there was nothing he could do for the people of the village now, as there would be no survivors. Tormen left no survivors. He turned back to the Human, and was about to bid him farewell when he realised that he had moved slightly, a few feet across from where he had been, yet Oro had heard nothing. Shrugging the oddity off mentally, he said: ‘Well, safe journey to you, stranger.’ ‘You seek those who Seek.’ The statue interrupted. Oro visibly pulled back his head in surprise, his eyes wide and furrowed by a hairless brow, frowning with shock. Continuing, the man said: ‘They will pass this way – by ship – in exactly seven days time, by the Cape of Whispers, to the north-east.’ He pointed, lifting a gloved hand and gesturing woodenly towards the direction he had described. His movement was alien. It reminded Oro of the old Tenakoshan warriors whose bones had begun to stiffen and their muscles fail, and yet they continued defiantly to fight on, long into their twilight years, in the stubborn hope they might die on the battlefield. There movements were of the same nature; stiff, jerky, painful, yet defiantly strong. ‘You might wonder how I know this. You might – deep down – mistrust.’ He flattened his palm on his already-outstretched hand, silencing the protest before it came. Oro found that even he had been about to voice an objection, but somehow now, he was unable to, as if nerves and fear had tightened the muscles in his chest so tightly that he could not bring himself to speak. ‘Even still…’ The Human continued, ‘Go there, at the appointed time, and you will see a ship sailing by, called The Grey Eagle. That will be the ship you are searching for; the ship of The Seekers.’ Oro’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t find the words. Finally, after a long pause, the Meunos nodded and turned away, all but desperate to be free from the stranger’s foreboding presence. When Oro was gone, out of sight and away from the woodland ridge overlooking that wild ravine, the statue smiled. “What is he to you?” Came another voice from the trees. It too was lacking any form of echo, but this voice was something deeper, perhaps even more Human-sounding. “I always liked the Meunos.” The man said, not needing to turn to see the pale face looking out at him from the trees. The voice from the forest grunted in annoyance, “You think many moves ahead, but do you really think the Younger brother can win?” “If I did not…” The blurred figure said as he turned his head to face the one in the trees. “Then I would not have taken the wager. There will indeed be a showdown, and The Younger will be prepared for it. I shall see to it.” “And The Older will be prepared also.” “Good. Then let the games begin.” The figure in the trees turned to glance in the direction that Oro had taken. “It seems they already have.” He said, with a smile. And then both figures disappeared. Not in a puff of smoke, nor in a flash of light. They simply disappeared in a blink of the eye, as if they had never even been there at all. And in a way, they hadn’t.
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