This is the first time this story has been published outside of the “Interludes” collection. It was originally written exclusively for the book. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
– John Prescott
Tired. So tired. So
thirsty.
It doesn’t matter, he
reminded himself. Doesn’t matter at all. He’ll find it: The promised
land. A lush, green, fertile land with all the water he could
stomach.
The land of the Blackened
Yellow. He examined the empty bottle in his hand. He’d swim in
his next water source. Then he’d fill this with legendary water.
He ran his dry tongue over
withered lips. He could nearly taste it. Nearly. He thrust the empty
bottle into his satchel and pressed on.
His feet betrayed him,
fumbling in the deep sand. He crashed to his knees, then collapsed
into the scorching sand. It stung his torn and sun-burnt skin.
The pain only brought
clarity. He lifted his head, first grimacing, then grinning. He
looked up at the hill of sand before him.
It would be over this
crest, just on the other side. This time. He knew it. He absently
lapped up the blood that spilled from his split lower lip.
“We must do
something.” It was the same young man, a number of days ago. He was
gazing into a deep well.
“Of course, friend Ezra.
But what? We have tried to appease the gods. They will not cry for
us.”
Ezra could just make out
the glint of sunlight weaving on the thin pool of water at the bottom
of the well. He could clearly see the earth below it. Never in his
life had he seen the bottom before.
“Perhaps they do not
listen. What if they want us to move on?”
Ezra’s companion scoffed.
“Do you speak of your grandfather? Surely you don’t believe such
crazy stories.”
“I tell you, friend
Gerald… I could see it in his eyes. Such vivid descriptions… He
was there again, even as he described it to us.”
“The land of Blackened
Yellow. What does it even mean?” Gerald kicked at the earth. “A
bunch of nonsense.”
“I will speak with the
council. They will see the truth in my words.”
Gerald snapped his head
up. “The council? Surely the drought has robbed you of your
senses!”
“No.” Ezra smiled.
“It’s made everything that much clearer.”
The lowering sun painted
all it touched in a peaceful golden glow. It was at odds with the
increasingly brutal heat that it cast upon the small village each and
every day. Ezra turned from it, switching his attention to the
creature before him.
A cow, barely alive,
returned his gaze with pleading eyes. The sickly creature’s dried
tongue hung limply from its mouth. It trembled slightly from the
effort of standing.
Ezra shook his head. He
placed gentle hands on either side of the beast’s head. “You poor
creature.” The cow mewled weakly. “I know. I cannot bear to see
you suffer any longer.”
He stroked the creature’s
fur. “I will speak with Mother. She will see.”
The young man sat with his
mother a short time later. He chewed at the charred lizard meat that
was the day’s meal. Difficult to eat on the best of days, it was
especially bitter this evening.
He placed his plate to one
side and gazed into the fire. He somehow hoped that the answers he
sought would manifest within the flames. Perhaps the face of Father
would emerge with words of guidance.
The fire would not speak
with him tonight. He closed his eyes and hung his head. Ezra’s mother
took notice, setting aside her own meal.
“You are troubled,
child.”
Ezra did not open his
eyes. “We are all troubled, now.”
“Of course we are. Never
before have the gods tested us like this. That’s not what bothers
you, though.”
Ezra finally opened his
eyes. “No.” He raised his head. “I wish to end our last cow’s
life.”
His mother froze, eyes
locked on his. She quickly turned her head away. “She hasn’t been
well for some time. The look in her eyes…” The fire made her own
eyes glisten in the dark.
“So it is agreed, then.”
“No!” The woman
whipped her head back. “She’s her last hope! We need to keep her!
We’ll sell her when she…”
“When she what, mother?
Dies? Wastes away to nothing? You’ve seen her suffering!” The
growing sorrow painted on his mother’s face cut him like a knife.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” Her voice was a
trembling whisper. “No, you are right. She suffers.” She lowered
her head. “The gods will frown if we prolong it.”
“She was our best…”
“Speak no more of it.”
Ezra’s mother stood and stalked away.
Ezra walked slowly home,
turning two small clay discs over and over in his left hand. In his
right were scraps of beef to be cured. Both represented what remained
of their last cow.
He dropped it all as he
approached the small mud hut that he called home. Two elders were
bent over a woman just outside the entrance. He broke into a sprint,
eyes growing wild.
One of the elders stood as
he approached. The old man held up a staying hand. Ezra ignored it
and plummeted to the ground beside his mother.
“Ezra! You shouldn’t be
here. She…”
“Where else would I be!
Mother…” He began to weep. His eyes fell on the dagger jutting
from her chest. Anger flashed up inside him. “Who did this!”
The other elder turned
heavy eyes on the young man. “She did.”
Ezra shook his head.
“No… NO!” He scrambled to his feet. “She wouldn’t… Who
could have…”
The standing elder firmly
grasped his arm. “Ezra, it’s true. She felt herself a burden… We
tried to save her. I’m sorry.”
The young man tried to
pull away. The elder pulled Ezra to him and embraced him. The young
man screamed in grief.
So it was, the sole
survivor, his family devastated by the curse of the great sun god.
The thought was foremost in his mind even as His golden rays painted
themselves over the body of Ezra’s mother. Such cruel mockery.
He approached the funeral
pyre. She looked serene to him, as if she were enjoying some secret
dream. Ezra placed his hand on hers. It felt so cold. The illusion
was shattered.
From somewhere behind him
came the sound of a fire roaring to life. The sun that had seen the
final hours of his mother’s life passed below the horizon. Another
glow grew behind him.
A gentle hand pressed on
his back. “It is time, Ezra.” It was the elder that had stood to
meet him earlier.
The young man lowered his
head and closed his eyes. His mouth worked through a silent prayer.
His gaze returned to his mother. “I am ready.”
He turned. The other elder
held a torch. He held it out with both hands and bowed his head to
Ezra. The young man bowed in turn and took the torch from him.
Ezra stood before the
pyre. The light of the fire danced off of his mother’s skin. He felt
he couldn’t move. His mind knew this was right, but his heart pulled
back on his hand.
Inch by inch, he stretched
towards the base of the pyre. It caught fire at last. He numbly
stepped back as the flames slowly climbed their way towards his
mother’s body.
He turned away as the fire
reached the body of his mother. He lowered his head. Fresh tears
stained his cheeks. He did not look up when the elder approached, but
held out the torch. The elder took it from him and quietly walked
away.
Ezra’s friend Gerald stood
beside him a short while later. “Why do you turn from your mother?”
“That is not my
mother anymore.”
“Still… Why do
you….”
“I could have saved
her!” Ezra looked upon Gerald in rage. “I should have left
sooner!” He lowered his gaze to the ground, his face contorting in
sorrow, his eyes red.
It was Gerald’s turn to
become angry. “After all this, are you still so eager to throw your
life away!”
“I will do no such
thing!”
“If you still intend to
walk out into the desert, you will. The council will never…”
“I am through with the
council. I am through with this village! I will leave tomorrow.”
Gerald shook his head.
“No, Ezra. You can’t…”
“I will…”
Ezra stormed away.
“I tell you again,
friend Ezra… This is madness!” Despite his words, Gerald handed
Ezra two bottles of water.
Ezra hesitated. “Where
did you get these?”
“The council.” Ezra’s
jaw dropped. “I… borrowed it. I suppose you are not the only one
who is crazy.”
“Borrowed it.” Gerald
nodded. Ezra smirked. “I suppose they won’t want it back when I’m
done with it. They’ll be grateful for your thievery once I come
back.”
“Ezra… Do you really
think you’ll find the Blackened Yellow?”
“I must.” He reached
into his satchel and produced a small circular device. Inside of it
was a needle which appeared to float. Four markings adorned the
bottom of the case.
Gerald’s eyes grew wide.
“What is it?”
“It belonged to my
grandfather. He called it his ‘calmness’. He said he used it to find
the Blackened Yellow.”
“How does it work?”
Gerald watched, transfixed as the needle inside turned this way and
that, seemingly of its own accord.
“This needle, when the
painted end faces the three lines, will point the way to the
Blackened Yellow. I only need to keep it pointed in that direction.”
“So why didn’t he ever
return, if it was so easy?”
Ezra smiled sadly. “He
was too weak to go by himself, and the council wouldn’t allow anyone
to accompany him.”
Gerald looked puzzled.
“How could the elders claim this Blackened Yellow doesn’t exist?”
“That was always my
grandfather’s point. Everyone always laughed at him when he talked
about it, yet nobody was ever willing to prove him wrong. He said
they were too scared.”
“Scared of what,
though?”
Ezra shrugged. “Of being
wrong? Of being lost in the desert, I suppose. I don’t know…” He
hoisted his satchel and winked. “I’m not scared.”
“I can’t help but think
that you should be, friend Ezra.” Gerald kicked at the sand. “I
won’t try to stop you, though.”
“Thank you for that.
I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon!” Ezra’s voice
was as dry and cracked as his lips. A stunted laugh turned into a
coughing fit. He hugged his ribs with one blistered arm and struggled
to his feet.
Each step came with sheer
force of will. His breathing came in ragged, tearing breaths as he
fought to find purchase in the loose sand. He never took his eyes off
the top of the hill. He was certain the Blackened Yellow would be on
the other side.
Ezra fell to his knees
half way to his goal. He was breathing in great gasps. His weary eyes
saw two hilltops when he looked up. He dug his hands into the hot
sand and clawed his way higher.
Gravity claimed him. The
hot sand burned his cheek, but he did not feel it. He was only
vaguely aware that he was atop his hill.
The world was slowly
spinning, or was he? His eyes sagged shut. It felt good. The
darkness. It felt… warm. Inviting. He could just let go.
“No.” It was more of a
croak than a word. Ezra opened his eyes. He lifted his head with
great difficulty, and peered down the other side of his sandy hill.
He saw dark green. He
fluttered his eyes, willing them to work just a little longer.
Slowly, painfully, the treeline came into view.
“Grandfather,” he
wheezed. The sight and excitement brought forth energy from the very
depths of his soul. He pressed himself to his hands and knees and
plunged forward.
He stumbled and fought his
way down the far side of the sandy hill. Momentum took over, sending
him tumbling to the bottom. He came to a stop with half his body
lying on cool, green grass. It was a sensation wholly alien to him.
He sucked in a deep
breath, eyes wide in wonder. They turned towards the massive, gnarled
trees that stood just beside him now. He grabbed at the grass with
his hand. It was real.
Ezra willed himself back
to his knees. He breathed deeply through his nose. The smell was
fresh, organic, damp.
There, in the distance.
Water. Standing water, waiting for him to drink. He forced his
body forward, gleefully pawing his way through the lush green grasses
that grew at the base of the trees.
He allowed himself to
collapse at the edge of the water. It was nothing more than a puddle,
really. It could have been a great ocean, as far as Ezra was
concerned.
The cool water stung his
torn and bloody lips. The feel of the the life-giving liquid flooding
his parched mouth washed away the pain. He pulled in so much water
that he gagged on it, and began to cough.
Still, the water gave him
renewed vigor. He leaned forward and lowered his face into the cool
water. He rubbed at his eyes. His vision cleared, revealing an
amazing sight.
Small, white mushrooms
dotted the grass before him. They had the faintest green glow to
them. Beyond, he could see a clearing. In the middle of it was a
pond.
Somehow Ezra found his
feet. He stumbled through the puddle he had drank from. The cold
water flooding his threadbare moccasins made his tired feet cramp. He
ignored the sensation and forced himself into a jog.
He half-fell, have-dove
into the crisp, clear water of the pond. All of his pain washed away
along with the grime and the dirt of the desert. He emerged at the
far end of the pond, eyes wide.
Ezra had found it: the
Blackened Yellow. His grandfather had been right. Here was an oasis,
not only of water, but of life. The otherworldly water tingled
on his skin, penetrated it.
Burned it.
He looked at his arms.
They were covered in rapidly growing blisters. He felt it all over
his body. The burning threatened to overwhelm him. He found it
increasingly hard to breathe.
Ezra began to grin. He
wasn’t dying. He was changing, growing! It would make him something
more! He focused his rapidly diminishing vision on the relic before
him, standing at the foot of the pond.
It was a paper-thin steel
barrel. Faded black paint still clung to it in spots. In the middle
of it was a bright yellow circle. In the middle of that was a black
circle with three black marks fanning out from it.
“Blackened… Yellow…”
Ezra’s lips split apart as his grin widened. He stretched a skeletal
arm towards the barrel. The metal split where his fingers graced it.
Brilliant glowing folds of
white and green filled his failing eyesight. In the light, he beheld
his smiling grandfather. Ezra suddenly found the energy to stand. “I
found it, grandfather!”
Ezra’s grandfather smiled,
but his eyes were heavy. “Yes, my boy. Come.” The young man did
as he was asked, leaving the beauty and pain of the Blackened Yellow
far behind.