Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3-THE LOST ONE

Meanwhile, Charnaiz’ party had already arrived at the oasis that belonged to Valeri’s tribe. It was indeed a relief for them, as there was abundant water and nourishment, and of course, their much-needed rest. It was nightfall when they arrived. Charnaiz first made sure that Primrose was secure and comfortable inside her tent, then he walked up to Valeri, the prophetess.

“Much thanks tribeswoman. We would have wandered forever in the desert had it not been for your aid.”

“Think nothing of it, your Majesty,” said the hooded woman. “It was our duty to meet and see to the needs of the ones who will slay Aquilifon.”

“You know Aquilifon?” Charnaiz said with a look of surprise in his face.

“Aye, my Lord. I told you that when you first came here, didn’t I? All this desert, as well as this entire world is totally under his malevolent power. He has enslaved the tribes in this desert, and only we are left opposing him. He wreaks evil against us, and we have no choice but to fend for ourselves, hoping that one day the instruments of prophecy might arrive to deliver us from him. And now, it has come to pass.”

“Ah…Would you care to elaborate more on that, my lady? My head is quite fuzzy from all the shocks I have received for the past few weeks.”

“I would, my Lord. But I think you have pretty much been sapped for today. I beseech you, get some rest. And I would advise the same for your wife and your companion with the red garb. I will have our tribe’s seers explain to you the fullness of the prophecy first thing in the morning.” Valeri then removed her cloak and Charnaiz stared at her pretty face. She was barely as old as he was, and he was 23. but the seriousness of her marble-white face revealed all too much the vital task placed on her very early in her life, probably since birth.

“I agree, Valeri. And thank you again,” he finally said.

Valeri stood up, bowed and left him without saying anything more. After a few more minutes of admiring the tall palms of the oasis in the moonlight, he proceeded to enter the tent he and Primrose shared. But first, he passed by the tent the tribes people had set up for Kazansky, who although he also must have been very tired, was still sitting outside, not quite deciding to sleep yet.

“Well?” Kazansky said when he saw him.

“Nothing much. They said they would explain more to us, but that’s all.” Charnaiz paused, then sat down beside the Russian. “This is all coming too fast for you, isn’t it? Your relative scepticism must be torn apart from all sides,” Charnaiz told him softly.

“Not really that, your Majesty. It’s just that I grew up in a world where it’s not an everyday sight to see someone produce a pillar of fire out of his hand, much less sprout bat-like wings from his back and fly into the clouds.”

Charnaiz chuckled to hear Kazansky describe his abilities so factually. “You saw Aquilifon, right?” he asked.

“Only briefly.”

“Now, do you believe?”

“Got no choice. I saw what I saw. But you can’t blame me for being like this. What do you think, Charnaiz?”

“I think we’ve all seen too much for one day. Go to sleep my friend. Good night.” And standing up, the king of Adrior left,

“Sleep. Now, there’s a relaxing idea.” Kazansky thought to himself.

Charnaiz woke up in a cold sweat. He did not know the time, although he was sure dawn had not quite come yet. Primrose was still dozing off, cuddled close beside him. He got up from bed swiftly, a sense of dread keeping him sweating. It was that jolt in his brain he had felt so many times before; the Iris always alerted him to danger when it neared. He quickly grabbed Char Milvian nearby and sleekly ambled out of the tent.

Several local sentries were nearby. They were armed with spears and each had a sword tucked under their belts. “These people are not exactly that primitive,” Charnaiz thought. “But they are eons away from the technology of our world.”

Several of the sentries spotted him and came rushing over to him. They all asked repeatedly why he had dashed out of his tent so hurriedly in the middle of the night, brandishing his strange-looking sword. At first, Charnaiz was annoyed as they all pressed up on him, but he soon realized that they were genuinely concerned for his safety.

A sharp cry suddenly rang out over the entire oasis. Charnaiz and the sentries drew their eyes towards a tall palm tree, where underneath it, lay one of the tribe’s own, dead. Standing over him was a figure in dark red body armour, ornately decorated. His mask and helmet were frightening to behold. Charnaiz took a good look at the attacker. He recognized the assassin’s armour as that of Japanese samurai in the feudal age. He had only seen it before in literature and depictions, and now he was seeing a genuine article. Some of the spear-wielding tribesmen rushed at the samurai and were felled in a matter of about twenty seconds.

“Who are you??” Charnaiz demanded in Japanese. As a linguist, he always had found it suit to speak in the native language of his foes.

“Shruiken, warrior. And I crave for blood. Fight me, and see for yourself the strength of one of the Lost Clan!

‘What’s going on here??” Kazansky exclaimed, bursting out from his tent. He already had his PYA in hand. Charnaiz paced his breathing, and he gripped Char Milvian more tightly.