are seeing the grayness for the first time, sits there on his horse with eyes wide and mouth open. It seems as if the grayness extends all the way to the horizon. “I can’t believe this,” he says.
“Believe it,” asserts Zyrn. “Don’t go near it or it may kill you.”
“Why are we here?” another asks.
Coming to a stop well back from the edge of the grayness, Zyrn removes a bundle from behind his saddle. Laying it on the ground, he unrolls the cloth to reveal six Parvati longswords. Picking up one of the swords acquired during their initial scavenging expedition, he begins walking toward the edge of the grayness.
“The last time I was here…” he explains then stops and glances back to where the others remain with the horses. “It’s safe enough to come a little closer,” he assures them.
“If it’s all the same,” Kabu says, “we’ll stay right here.”
Sighing with a shake of his head, Zyrn resumes his trek to the edge of the grayness. “As I was saying,” he begins again, this time raising his voice so the others can hear him better, “the last time I was here, I saw it expand.”
Stopping three feet from the edge of the shimmering grayness, he eyes it warily. Grasping the hilt of the sword, he holds it point downward. Raising the hilt as high as he can, he thrusts it into the ground. The blade sinks half a foot before coming to a stop. Making sure it is securely in the ground, he then turns back and hurries to rejoin the others.
“What I want to do is see how fast it is growing,” he explains as he reaches the others. “By placing these swords along its edge every fifty feet or so, we’ll get a good idea of what it’s doing.”
“Why?” asks one of the men as Zyrn takes another sword.
Zyrn stops and looks the man in the eye. “I don’t want to wake up one night to find it at our village,” he says. “Or worse yet, not waking up because it is encompassing our village.”
Striding off to the right of the spot where he placed the first sword, he goes approximately fifty feet from where the first blade is in the ground before coming to a stop. Trying to place the sword exactly the same distance from the edge of the grayness as the other, he thrusts it into the ground. Again making sure the sword will remain standing upright, he returns for another.
Again and again he takes the swords and thrusts them into the ground at the edge of the grayness. When all six swords are firmly fixed into the ground, he stands back and looks at them.
“Now what?” asks one of the men.
Gesturing to the swords he says, “Look at where the swords stand.”
After they look for a few seconds one of them asks, “So?”
“Can’t you see?” he asks. “They do not mark the edge of a circle.”
Taking another look the men see what he is trying to explain. Instead of a smooth circular line, the swords mark areas that extend further out than others.
“It isn’t growing consistently,” Zyrn summarizes. “Rather different areas are pushing out at different rates.”
“Guess your time at the School paid off,” Kabu says.
“The High Lord Magus would know what to do,” he explains. “Though by the time word reached him it might be too late for our village.”
“What now?” asks one of the men.
“Now we wait,” he says. “Learn as much as we can about it so when the priest gets here we can give him some idea of what he’s facing.”
“Look!” one of the men says as he points to the first sword Zyrn placed in the ground. Already the edge of the grayness has reached the blade and is creeping past. Glancing to the others, they see that the grayness in those areas has not moved forward at all.
“Let’s return home and come back tomorrow,” he says. “Then we will know how fast it is spreading.”
Mounting their horses, they turn around and race back to their village.
Day after day they return, Zyrn continues bringing six swords to mark the new edge of the grayness. Though it is spreading, it isn’t spreading very fast. As near as Zyrn can figure, the grayness is advancing around six feet per day. Some areas advance faster while others not so much. Overall, it is keeping a somewhat consistent shape. Should one area advance six or more feet one day, the next day it may only advance a foot or two allowing the rest to catch up.
The mood of the village is gradually worsening. Talk is beginning to spread that they are cursed because they stole from the dead, that the gods are angry with them. Some believe the grayness is their punishment.
After the third day, others from various villages in the area can be seen as they too keep an eye on the advancing carpet of gray. Zyrn confers with other learned men from the different villages but this is beyond them. Still no word from the rider he sent to the south, he can only watch and wait.
By the fifth day, no one bothers coming out with Zyrn. Talk of the area being cursed by the gods and other such nonsense has kept anyone else from even thinking about going out there.
In the late afternoon of the fifth day, he again goes out and marks the edge of the shimmering gray area. Four rings of swords now stand within its boundary, every ring marking a different day. Zyrn shakes his head, worried over where this might lead if nothing is done to curb its growth. But what can be done about it?
On his way back home, he tries to think about what could possibly halt the spreading of the grayness. Halfway back to his village, he encounters a score of people from his village coming his way. Among them are the ones who have been most vocal about the gray sand being a punishment of the gods.
As he approaches them, he takes note of Khalim, the only young man to have survived the ill-fated second expedition to the battlefield. That is if you can call having lost his mind and constantly gibbering incoherently surviving. Nothing they’ve attempted has done anything to restore his mind back to him.
A feeling of dread comes over Zyrn when he sees Khalim’s arms are bound behind him. The grim set of the men’s faces does nothing to alleviate the feeling. Kicking his horse faster, he rushes to meet the approaching group.
“What are you doing with him?” he asks, gesturing to Khalim.
“We go to appease the gods,” replies Maki, the one who has most fervently purported the theory of the gods being angry.
“Khalim has brought this doom upon us,” another states. “Had he died with the others, the grayness would not be seeking him.”
“Is that what you think?” asks Zyrn in disbelief.
“Yes,” asserts Maki. “Only his death at the hands of the grayness will appease the gods.”
“You are wrong!” Zyrn exclaims. “He is blameless for this!” Bringing his horse before Maki he says, “I will not allow you to do this.”
“Stand aside Zyrn,” Maki says. The others with him are unsure of themselves, but Maki glances back and hardens their resolve. “We do this for the survival of our village.”
Another of the men says, “You yourself said that if the grayness isn’t stopped, it will come to the village and destroy us all.”
“We will satisfy the gods with our piety and devotion,” Jatta asserts. Jatta, one of the elders of the village, is hardly someone Zyrn would believe to be party to something like this.
“All you will do is kill an innocent man!” he yells. “Will the blood of an innocent appease the gods? Do not fool yourself into a course of action that will damn you for all eternity.” He meets the eyes of each of them and sees his words are having little effect. Fear, fear of the unknown has robbed them of their senses.
Knowing he will be unable to sway them with words, he reaches out and takes hold of Khalim’s arm. Just before he pulled the mad young man onto his horse, he hears a whisk of a sword leaving its sheath.
“Take your hands off him,” Maki says. The point of his sword is but inches away from Zyrn’s throat.
Zyrn’s gaze bores into that of Maki’s. Releasing Khalim’s arm, he stares at the men before him.
“Go home Zyrn,” says Jatta.
“Let us do what must be done to save our village,” Maki tells him. Still holding his sword, the threat of bodily harm hangs between the two men should Zyrn continue in his attempt to stop them.
“Don’t do this,” he again pleads with them.
Ignoring his plea, they begin moving again. Walking around Zyrn’s horse, they head out toward the grayness.
