Categories > Original > Fantasy > From the Ruins
Chapter One: Aramel
This chapter rating: PG-13
~~~
Fieri was a world that developed from a violent cataclysm. When it formed it was one giant land mass, a supercontinent. Over the millenia there was great shifting of its tectonic plates until the land mass split into pieces, still huge continents, still not life-bearing, until eventually these continents divided into islands of much smaller size. A migration of the islands occurred, such that none were close to one another. Rather than being fixed in one place, the islands moved in the seas like huge ships. Life developed on each of the isles, human and animal species and vegetation grew and flourished. Each island's flora was different from that of all the others, as was each island's geography. Upon each of them a unique race of people developed.
One of the islands was called Rokimas. Dominated by one huge mountain, it was a rocky, hilly island in a circular shape. There was a bit of woodland scattered here and there around the base of the mountain and on its lower slopes. Its peaceful people farmed where they could, but their main industry was mining. However, the inhabitants were primitive people who were afraid of the surrounding ocean and never ventured off of the island. Old legend had it that under the sea lived terrible monsters that would devour anyone who left the safety of Rokimas. Thus the people never ventured off of the island and were unaware that any other islands existed.
~~~
With a start Aramel awoke and rubbed his eyes. Blinking out the dust, trying to clear the fog inside his head, at first he could not remember what had happened. His head hurt. When all his senses returned, he realized he was lying on his back in a cave. Rising on one elbow to look around, he saw a thin ray of light, thread-like, stretching across the small space.
Suddenly he heard the thudding sound of falling rocks. Alarmed, Aramel rose, his memory returning. Rising too quickly made his head spin. When he felt the sore spot on his temple, he realized he had been struck by a falling rock which knocked him unconscious. This was no cave - he had been buried under falling rocks and earth - outside something was happening that he did not understand.
He realized he was lucky not to have been killed. By some miracle, he had been trapped below the surface in a pocket of air among all the debris from an avalanche that had occurred while he had been out walking alone on the mountainside. He would have to dig himself out. He would not allow himself to be killed when only a short time ago he had been spared.
Quickly he found the source of the light above his head and began to dig with his fingers. After loosening a bit of the soft earth, Aramel heard the sound of something running overhead, hoofbeats thrumming a steady rhythm. Mountain goats were fleeing for their lives down the mountainside, accompanied by an ominous rumbling from deep below the earth. With a renewed sense of urgency, Aramel began to dig frantically at the muddy ceiling.
Suddenly, the leg and hoof of a goat broke through the soft earth above him and a hapless animal crashed down on him, accompanied by earth, stones and twigs. It fell into his arms with a shocked bleat.
Aramel acted quickly. Placing the small animal around his neck, he clambered out of the hole it had made. Once outside and standing on firm ground, Aramel put the frightened goat down on the ground and looked around. He could see that the main part of the avalanche was over. Large chunks of rock were strewn everywhere, the mountain's lower slopes were covered with debris. Luckily this side of the mountain was uninhabited, but what about the other side where Aramel and his people lived? He must get back to his village.
The mountain goat had stayed put and had not run off as he'd expected it to. It looked at him questioningly, so he picked it up, again placing it around his neck, and holding onto both front and back legs in both his hands, he hurried down the slopes to the bottom as quickly as he could, dodging in between the rocks and boulders.
~~~
Morning found Aramel huddled with the goat beneath a sharp abutment in the rocky hillside where they had sheltered during the night. After building a fire out of fallen twigs, Aramel looked at the goat, who still stayed by his side. Realizing it was a female and needed to be milked, Aramel hunted for and found a chunk of wood that he quickly hollowed out with a sharp piece of slate into a bowl, and milked the grateful she-goat.
"I suppose I should give you a name," he mused.
When he had gone for his fateful walk, Aramel had been grieving for his wife of two years, who had been killed in an accident when she had fallen out of a tree while harvesting coconuts. Her name had been Fernly.
"I will call you Fern," Aramel said, and a wave of sadness washed over him. He fingered the small piece of stone he wore on a bit of string around his neck. It was carved with a few markings, an intimate message to him from Fernly, known only to himself and her. He would cherish this token of her love forever.
After drinking some goat's milk and allowing himself to shed a few more tears over the loss of his beloved Fernly, Aramel picked up Fern again and began his journey back home to his village, around the base of the mountain to the other side.
This chapter rating: PG-13
~~~
Fieri was a world that developed from a violent cataclysm. When it formed it was one giant land mass, a supercontinent. Over the millenia there was great shifting of its tectonic plates until the land mass split into pieces, still huge continents, still not life-bearing, until eventually these continents divided into islands of much smaller size. A migration of the islands occurred, such that none were close to one another. Rather than being fixed in one place, the islands moved in the seas like huge ships. Life developed on each of the isles, human and animal species and vegetation grew and flourished. Each island's flora was different from that of all the others, as was each island's geography. Upon each of them a unique race of people developed.
One of the islands was called Rokimas. Dominated by one huge mountain, it was a rocky, hilly island in a circular shape. There was a bit of woodland scattered here and there around the base of the mountain and on its lower slopes. Its peaceful people farmed where they could, but their main industry was mining. However, the inhabitants were primitive people who were afraid of the surrounding ocean and never ventured off of the island. Old legend had it that under the sea lived terrible monsters that would devour anyone who left the safety of Rokimas. Thus the people never ventured off of the island and were unaware that any other islands existed.
~~~
With a start Aramel awoke and rubbed his eyes. Blinking out the dust, trying to clear the fog inside his head, at first he could not remember what had happened. His head hurt. When all his senses returned, he realized he was lying on his back in a cave. Rising on one elbow to look around, he saw a thin ray of light, thread-like, stretching across the small space.
Suddenly he heard the thudding sound of falling rocks. Alarmed, Aramel rose, his memory returning. Rising too quickly made his head spin. When he felt the sore spot on his temple, he realized he had been struck by a falling rock which knocked him unconscious. This was no cave - he had been buried under falling rocks and earth - outside something was happening that he did not understand.
He realized he was lucky not to have been killed. By some miracle, he had been trapped below the surface in a pocket of air among all the debris from an avalanche that had occurred while he had been out walking alone on the mountainside. He would have to dig himself out. He would not allow himself to be killed when only a short time ago he had been spared.
Quickly he found the source of the light above his head and began to dig with his fingers. After loosening a bit of the soft earth, Aramel heard the sound of something running overhead, hoofbeats thrumming a steady rhythm. Mountain goats were fleeing for their lives down the mountainside, accompanied by an ominous rumbling from deep below the earth. With a renewed sense of urgency, Aramel began to dig frantically at the muddy ceiling.
Suddenly, the leg and hoof of a goat broke through the soft earth above him and a hapless animal crashed down on him, accompanied by earth, stones and twigs. It fell into his arms with a shocked bleat.
Aramel acted quickly. Placing the small animal around his neck, he clambered out of the hole it had made. Once outside and standing on firm ground, Aramel put the frightened goat down on the ground and looked around. He could see that the main part of the avalanche was over. Large chunks of rock were strewn everywhere, the mountain's lower slopes were covered with debris. Luckily this side of the mountain was uninhabited, but what about the other side where Aramel and his people lived? He must get back to his village.
The mountain goat had stayed put and had not run off as he'd expected it to. It looked at him questioningly, so he picked it up, again placing it around his neck, and holding onto both front and back legs in both his hands, he hurried down the slopes to the bottom as quickly as he could, dodging in between the rocks and boulders.
~~~
Morning found Aramel huddled with the goat beneath a sharp abutment in the rocky hillside where they had sheltered during the night. After building a fire out of fallen twigs, Aramel looked at the goat, who still stayed by his side. Realizing it was a female and needed to be milked, Aramel hunted for and found a chunk of wood that he quickly hollowed out with a sharp piece of slate into a bowl, and milked the grateful she-goat.
"I suppose I should give you a name," he mused.
When he had gone for his fateful walk, Aramel had been grieving for his wife of two years, who had been killed in an accident when she had fallen out of a tree while harvesting coconuts. Her name had been Fernly.
"I will call you Fern," Aramel said, and a wave of sadness washed over him. He fingered the small piece of stone he wore on a bit of string around his neck. It was carved with a few markings, an intimate message to him from Fernly, known only to himself and her. He would cherish this token of her love forever.
After drinking some goat's milk and allowing himself to shed a few more tears over the loss of his beloved Fernly, Aramel picked up Fern again and began his journey back home to his village, around the base of the mountain to the other side.
Sign up to rate and review this story