If you thought the story was lacking drama so far, this section is for you! Enjoy!
Woodsong – Day 5
It started to storm again in the middle of the night. The river began to rise and lick at Arilla’s exposed ankles. She got up groggily and started to pack her things up. Everything fit nicely in her pack again, and she pitched it over to the soggy opposite shore. Her clothes were already mostly soaked, so she jumped in the raging river.
The current was much more significant than the day before, and though she swam with all she had, it carried her several hundred yards downstream before she threw herself onto the shore. Panting, trying to find some air through the drowning torrent, she began to crawl in what she judged was the opposite direction of where she was being washed away. The night was pitch dark, and she couldn’t tell which way she was going. Water started to cover her right hand as she followed the edge of the river.
Lightening flashed, illuminating the torrent just long enough for her to see her pack being swept away. She would have curled up and cried, but her survival instinct kicked in. The need to find higher, drier ground was most important. Another brilliant flash showed the thick forest to her right, so she pushed herself up to her feet and ran blindly in that direction.
Trees sheltered her enough from the downpour to slow down and catch her breath. With no flint, no food, and no blankets, all she had was her knife and a crude wooden spear on her belt. She still couldn’t see a thing. Wandering forward, feeling her way among the trees, she walked straight into the most solid fallen tree she’d ever felt. Its bark was gone and it was smooth and stone with deep ridges. She scratched at it to try and get some tinder, but it broke her nail off. Above her, she hit her head on alow, heavy rock that was blocking the rain off of her. She curled up under it and listened to the storm.
She had never felt so terrified in her life. The river was coming up quickly and she could be trapped. Anything could live deeper into the recesses of the strange cave she was in. Furthermore, she was soaked to the core and her nose had strangely started bleeding. The thunder drowned out her cries.
~
The rain didn’t stop completely, but it was finally light out. Wet, bloody, and devoid of resources, Arilla woke up sick to her stomach. Immediately she knew something was very wrong with this place. She didn’t just get sick or have nosebleeds randomly. Additionally, she turned over and was face to face with not a tree but a huge, white stone column. Startled, she sat up and hit her head again on what appeared to be a roof of the same material, slightly askew on the fallen structure.
More carefully this time, she crawled from her position back out into the open. Her jaw dropped. More massive columns lay around a domed roof. For acres it seemed there were white ruins of a megalopolis.
“Washington…” she said aloud. Ivy had overtaken a lot of the structures. Even more ominous, large two-tailed rats scurried about everywhere. One hissed and lunged at her. Like a flash she skewered it with her spear. “There’s breakfast I guess…”
She started to explore and headed towards the center of the ancient capitol. A statue stood in the approximate middle of the ruins. Arilla carefully picked her way closer. The closer she got, the sicker she felt. Her head was about to split open with pain. The statue must have also been the center of the evil energy she felt, because she had to fall to the ground retching.
“By the gods…” She looked up and noticed the statue resembled the Kingchief’s wife slightly. Her eyes were going crossed with pain though. Weakly she crawled forward. Suddenly, the ground stopped beneath her and she fell deep into the ground, blacking out as she hit her head on the bottom of the pit.
~
“Who is she?” “Is she alive?” “Did she really fall from the surface?”
“Hush brothers!” An old man in a simple hemp robe knelt over Arilla, washing her wounds and trying to wake her with strong salts. “She is waking.”
Arilla stirred painfully, feeling more nauseous as she came to. She started when she noticed a half dozen monks kneeling around her. “Who are you??” she demanded, scuttling backwards on the slick stone floor. All around on the shards of wall embedded in earth, murals smiled at her. Her voice echoed harshly.
“Be calm sister,” the old man said. “We are the Order of Remembrance. My name is Huyana, and these are my brothers in remembrance: Imala, Isik, Ista, Ituha, and Kai. You fell from the surface into our chambers.”
Still feeling ill, she stared in awe at them. “W-What’s making me so sick?”
The one called Ituha hung his head. “It is the poison of the new-clear war, left on this capitol. It is strongest here, because this is where the bombs hit. We are in the remains of the legislature, buried by the terrestrial wave set off by the impact. The Kingchiefs neutralized the poison everywhere in the world except the ancient capitols. They are a reminder of the mistakes of the Cursed Race, and a monastery for those like us.” He walked over to where she was cowering in the far side of the chamber and sat next to her with broth. “Here, have this. We drink it to protect our bodies from poison.”
Greatfully, Arilla drank the warm liquid. It didn’t taste very good, but it made her feel better. “Thank you, Ituha.”
Huyana gave a sympathetic smile. “We disposed of that Ratat you caught. I hope you weren’t planning on eating it. They are the result of the new-clear poison.”
“Why are you here?” Isik asked suspiciously.
“I am from the School of Nature in Chigakwa. My rite of passage into service is to survive for a week in the Eldenwood. I lost my pack and my sense of direction in last night’s storm. I need to get back to the other side of the Algoma in at most two days.”
Ituha smiled at her. “Then surely you can spend the evening with us. I believe it will aid you with your studies.” Arilla noticed he looked strikingly like Hiran. In fact…
“Ituha Marsh! You’re Hiran’s older brother who left Chigakwa to become a monk!”
“Indeed he is, young sister,” Kai said menacingly. Then, aside to Huyana, he whispered, “Master Huyana, we can’t keep a girl here! Especially with the Ratatar on their way.”
Arilla listened in anyway. “What is the Ratatar?”
“A violent tribe who want to harness the power of the poison here for their evil purposes.” Ituha shuddered. “Kai is right. This girl… Uh.. whatever her name is… can’t stay here. They are coming tonight!”
“Arilla Woodsong. And I have heard of people like the Ratatar. I can fight alongside you. It will be my job in two days anyway. I am going to be a Guardian.”
Kai scoffed. “You? You don’t have an ounce of warrior in you!”
She drew her knife and jumped to her feet. “Let me prove you wrong!”
Huyana bowed his head. “Yes, Sister Woodsong. Prove that you are worth your keep. But put that knife away. We spar with staves.”
Kai grabbed his off the wall and smirked. “Looks like you’re hands only, little sister.”
“Fine!” Arilla put her knife back on her belt and braced for Kai’s attack. He was already running towards her spinning his staff quickly. She remembered what Hiran had taught her and grabbed one end of the staff with a strong hand, flipping Kai with his own energy.
Their shouts echoed in the great domed chamber. The other monks watched as Arilla put up a good fight against their best warrior. She got three more good hits in before he pinned her to the ground with the staff across her neck. Gasping for breath like a beached fish, she looked into Kai’s black eyes. He softened for just a minute, savoring the nearness of a woman none of them had known.
Seizing his weakness, Arilla threw him off of her. He hit the ground hard and his staff crashed against the opposite wall. “She’s a keeper,” he groaned.
“Well done,” Huyana said. “This will do well. They are sending six warriors and a counselor. We will be even. I will not have to fight with these old bones unless there is a tie.”
Ituha Marsh helped Kai off the ground, then turned to Arilla. “Let’s get ready then, sister. I think Itsa has some leather armor that will fit you.”
Itsa nodded. He placed a hand over his mouth that signaled he was in silence, then beckoned her to a corridor off the main chamber. She followed him, unsure of what she was about to be a part of.
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