THE SILENT VOICE
(A story I wrote).
Among the Nasilian people who wandered in their covered house wagons, and infrequently pitched their tents by tribal colors, there came a man named Al-madath, who was also called Baaladon. He was a humble man and kept to himself and his family, a tent maker by trade as was the tradition of his clan.
A day came that Baaladon fell backward from off a wagon’s porch hitting his head hard upon the ground, bloodying it upon a large rock. Yalma his wife cared for Al-madath as he never rose from his bed where he lay for four days with no food or drink. She gave him up as one lost unto their gods for he retained no color, and his breathing had forsaken his flesh.
Wood, as could be gathered among that rocky range of the Blue Mountain’s northern face, was built up whereby his form laid in repose in the rite of farewell. Yalma was called a widow before his pyre, and fatherless were his six sons: Al-Jahmesh, Al-meth, Al-ye’voth, Al-Bedath, Seir-al-Ban, and Seir-al-Shalvon.
Beneath the shadows of a blackening sky, Baaladon sat up straight upon his deathbed, to the utter fright of all those gathered mourners, he then stood to his feet and in a loud voice proclaimed, “Forgive them Oh Lord! I continue to lift them up even now that you have returned me, even as I swore before your Light that I would oh Sovereign of All!” Then, Al-madath cried to the people who were gathered about as though he had seen them for the first time, “Stop your foolish ways you corrupt wicked people for the Lord of Life, Ruyil Himself desires only to crush you into nothingness, to wipe you away like crumbs from off the feasting table of a King of kings!”
Those who approached to ignite the funeral pyre were thrown back with much freight, accidentally causing the pyre upon which the living man now stood to suddenly blaze with leaping flames! Yet, the man whom Yalma had known as her husband continued to shout at the crowds as though he was on a stage performing a summer play, “For four days and nights without drink or sleep I pleaded before Ruyil on your behalf. I wept with great sorrow, and he was much perplexed by my sorrow as to why I would mourn so, for the loss of oath breakers, murderers, and liars such as this wicked generation has become! I cried ‘Oh God, fallen stupid children are we but children nonetheless, if only I could turn them from your anger, then surely would you withhold from washing them away like filth.’” Baaladon ( which means Man of God) looked down from his own funeral pyre engulfed in flames, suddenly blowing out at that very moment like the flame of a candle. “Neither was I consumed by Ruyil’s great light; greater than the sun’s disc burning the sands of those desert lands we were so blessed to have fled!”
From that smoldering wood pile, Al-madath leapt down tearing with great joy at seeing the face of his beloved wife. He quickly embraced her even as she and their six sons wept holding him close. Being much moved in their hearts, all those people gathered likewise embraced them as members of their own inner family. Then, in one great voice, they swore themselves, “All these and other wicked things we pledge to reframe from and to serve only Ruyil, and you as his cherished Spokesman!!! Slavath are we now, his children, and fools no more.”
Seventeen years passed for those upright people, who craved the best for their fellow man, sharing with the other what needs and wants they might have with each other. Nine hundred and seventy-eight persons traveled as a single mind, ever west in search of the homeland of the fabled Ancient Ones, called Elves of the secret Harbor. Those Nasilian nomads pitch their tents, encircling their leader’s House-wagon no longer than two days in the same place. Then, in time, upon the very morning that they were to uproot themselves once again near the walled city of their prayers, devastating news shattered all their pledged hopes. Their Judge-Shadol was found murdered on his bed with his throat cut open. Wailing cries of horrid shock railed out against a cloudless morning sky.
As it came to pass the two adopted sons of Baaladon, Seir-al-Ban and Seir-al-Shalvon were the very ones who saw a man fleeing the Shadol’s covered wagon. They fell upon the murderer and held him for the elders to proclaim his fate.
The Shadol’s firstborn son declared, “Before the walls of the Ancient Ones have, we finally come, and at their feet shall we plead our cause.”
But it was the ominous words of Baaladon that gave the people the greater cause for unsettled fear, “Hear now, our days have come to be numbered and shattered is all that we once held as secure for once again have we embraced the path against Ruyil! From here on ever shall we fight against those who shall surely prove to be our Masters, enslaving us with cunning words shall we in turn be wholly a forgotten people. Shame! Shame upon us all. Fallen are we even as our Shadol has been slain, and let his blood be upon us for having allowed such wickedness to creep back in among us.” With that Al-madath shut his mouth as a mute man, never spoke again, not even to his wife or sons, who wept bitterly at his passing seventeen years later. It was then they remembered their tattooed oaths and the old ways their people once clung to.
Marithan the first Judge-Shadol of that name was slain in the year [2758], which would have been the [145th] Year of Recitation. Yet, because of the terrifying chaos, it was the first time his people neglected to swear their allegiance to one another as a single people. Reciting the tattooed oaths, they bore on their forearms gave no peace with the loss of their sovereign leader.
....
