THE BOOK OF KINGS: THE TALE OF Moran (and Cora):
Moran was heading through the Bedouin encampment of Slavath. He and his wife Cora enjoyed bartering for goods like pottery and blankets. Cora’s mother, Mina was with their daughter Leah worshiping in one of the temples of Lindol, so they enjoyed their outing by themselves.
Turning to enter one of the many market-tents, Moran began fighting his way through palm tree leaves, entangling branches of fruit trees and the crowds of pushing and shoving people. The market was filled with screaming for this and everyone yelling for that. The entire camp was a drowning sea of chatter and noise. Out of all the bustle, pushing and shoving it was a wonder that Moran even felt a light tap on his shoulder.
Just as the fluttering wings of a hummingbird had stopped and landed on him the sound went mute. Moran was all alone in silence. Moran suddenly noticed he was seated at a Gazebo. In front of him, he recognized the whitewashed stone-model of the city of Mithar. The Map Garden and Mausoleum was in the other direction, near the citadel's southern gate. The torches were not lit, the winding stream and pool were filled with sand and all the plants of the park were leafless stalks that had been long dead debris. Overhead the skies were shimmering like embers rising from an evening fire. From the north boiling clouds were darkening with an approaching thunderstorm. A cold shudder ran through Moran like a shadow, even the bird was no longer on his shoulder. He was alone in the world. He stood to his feet in a panic, and upon whirling about saw the park was restored to its grandeur of beautiful greenery, flowing water fountains and flickering torches beneath brilliant blue skies. Standing at the entrance of the Map Garden was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties that he had met in his dreams a few weeks earlier. She stood there smiling at him wearing a thin, white gown with the walls of Mithar as a backdrop. Her bright red hair was accented with yellow ribbon, and bangles adorned her ankles, “Hello, my friend. It is well seeing you again. I am pleased you are no longer displeased with me.”
“I was never upset with you, Miriam. I’m beyond happy you are alright,” Moran exclaimed!
“See here, soon you must stop where you are searching, my friend and look in the caves in the west, for there amid several jars shall you recover The Scroll of Dreams. I am sorry you lost your sons, but they will be the heirs of Thriyel.”
“Thriyel,” Moran was bewildered by everything she was saying, but mostly about the word.
“Legacy - my father’s lore, and more when you find it. But the Scroll and box of Searfym is lost to us all, I am saddened to say.”
Hoping to discuss these things possibly later, Moran felt compelled to ask her, “Miriam you said you had to die and that everyone else deserved it, but why?”
“To appease the angry demands of the just God.”
“God?”
“The Priest-King of Mithar has lead us all to our doom. See! For even now The White Prophet comes with the boiling heavens.”
Moran looked and up and through the blur of boiling blackness - he opened his eyes to his family gathered about a bed covered in pillows and several people he didn’t know. A bald man covered in facial tattoos, he knew to be Judge-Shadol, tribal ruler of Slavath. He told Moran, “You gave us all a fright thinking you had crossed over from the land of the living, my friend.”
“A camel kicked you to the ground, father, and you hit your head on a tent peg,” his daughter answered his bewildering question of why he had been sleeping for two hours.
Cora leaned in asking, “You weren’t dreaming about her again were you?”
“Something horrible is coming!”
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