"Arabian Nights"
Part 1
by Mel
For many a foot the sand traveled onwards, the sun beat down.
A cloudless sky rolled overhead, he remembered seeing oceans that color once,
that rich blue that could almost blind with its intensity. The sand shone
almost white beneath it, making it hard to focus on anything ahead other then
his feet. They hurt from walking in constricting boots though it would be
madness to remove them, he could feel the heat on the small parts of his flesh
that met with the open air. Some days before he had found it strange to see
the Nomadic people that lived in these deserts in white robes and now he wished
he had followed their example, dark tan riding leathers and heavy black shirt
had seemed so practical now drew more heat then necessary to his already dehydrating
body. He should have been across the desert two days ago, but somehow he got
incredibly lost. It would have been rather embarrassing if he didn't fear
for his survival. He was the best hunter and tracker in his father's kingdom,
he had believed that navigating a simple desert would have been easy. He had
never been more wrong.
His once bright stormy eyes that had looked at his father with such defiance
now glazed with fatigued. And yet he kept walking with grim determination
not to perish that once made him famous amongst his people. Now it was the
only thing that kept him moving, that ensured he didn't just pass out where
he was. He had finished the last of his water yesterday and this morning had
sucked as much of the dew from his clothes as he could before it had gotten
to hot and they had dried out. His mouth had been dry for hours, or perhaps
it was simply moments that seemed like hours. Sand had gotten into places
he had never new existed, crusted to his clothing. He didn't even sweat anymore,
there was not even enough water in his body for such a function.
He wondered silently if choosing this path had been a mistake. When presented
the option to marry and settle down or leave, leaving had seemed the only
option at the time. Now he wasn't so sure, a warm bed and the soft lines of
a woman in his arms sounded of paradise. Perhaps he had been wrong to deny
his father his wish.
No! He thought stubbornly, he had not been wrong. His father, King and a wonder
as he was, had more sons, and Grandsons then one could poke a proverbial stick
at. He wasn't needed to produce heirs, to carry on his family's line, and
it was almost laughable to think that he had too. His father had no need of
him, to marry him off was as convenient as sweeping him beneath a rug. And
he would be no dust for anyone, especially his father. When he had walked
out he had felt triumphant at the surprise on his father's face. He had not
believed he would actually leave, that he would take his life into his own
hands. He would have laughed in his face if that had not meant he would have
found himself in a cold, dark cell rather quickly.
It was good to know he could still smile even as he could begin to feel his
life ebbing away from him. He did not feel the wind pick up until sand stung
the skin on his face. He had been warned of these sandstorms that could strip
the flesh from your bones should you be caught in one. They moved quickly
through the desert, their fury lasting bare moments, but the man had spoke
in fear and awe of such an event. They were not to be reckoned with.
It battered at his body, intent on driving him. In his weakened state he would
not have this. He had fought to come so far, against exhaustion and dehydration.
He would not give into a work of nature. He continued to move against the
wind, to fight against what would push him back. He would not return and be
his father's puppet. Rage boiled up and over and he continued to move, lifted
his face to the sky and howled, howled till he could do no more and he finally
to gave in to the demons and collapsed, falling to the ground as the storm
passed with his rage.
It was here that the Lord Viggo may have found his end, a broken man, unconscious
and so close to death that few would have been able to tell the difference.
In the darkened place where his consciousness resided he did not hear the
hooves of horses come upon him, nor the softly whispered words or gentle hands
that checked his condition. He missed the shouted order and being lifted into
a saddle. All he knew was darkness and the feel of comforting hands around
his waist and softly whispered words in his ear. "You are safe now.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Mel
go to PART 2