Johan rose, eager to learn what he could while he still had time. Dirt and dust fell off him in piles, invading every inch of his body, exposed or not. His arms were red and sand-blasted but didn’t hurt yet, the shock of the situation softly numbing the pain like a conversation in another room. He knew it was there, and was likely to be much louder shortly, but for now, it was more than manageable.
Smoke filled the air where the blast had been, and it allowed him an excellent chance to judge the distance. About two hours walk behind him he guessed.
He had listened to Rider Stroan’s words about the country but decided the best course of action was to leave the road and break trail anyway. He was from this land, after all, and its dangers were all too familiar to him. Sand pits weren’t a worry; he’d learned everything about them years ago. As for raiders and rough country? Sure, the country was rough, but the gain of time outweighed the hardships. Any raider this far off the beaten path was likely more insane than anything. Johan could manage insane.
Whatever had been blasted, it was back on the road he’d come from at the beginning of the night. He thought regretfully that the target may have been another caravan of people, like the many that had passed him after Aryu and Stroan had left.
He briefly looked for his pack. There was nothing in his that was truly irreplaceable, and in the times ahead there was nothing that could help against machines, but he figured he’d better look all the same. He found it in a dried creek bed. The pack was quite beaten, but not beyond repair. Straps could be tied and holes mended. After giving the pack a thorough search he saw nothing of value had been lost. Some clothes, some cooking instruments, nothing more.
He sat in the creek bed for a rest, the events up to then upsetting him enough to finally stop his youthful energy. The echo of the shockwave still rang in his ears.
The power, closeness, and pure reality of that blast had shaken him quite a bit. This was actually happening, and it was terrifying. All the books, all the stories, and all the warnings of the ‘evils’ of machines and technology were nothing compared to the explosion he’d just witnessed. He wanted to be home, despite his soft loathing of it. He wanted to be there with his friend and welcomed a hero. Now, he wondered if he’d ever see it again.
-----------------------
It seemed that Aryu could still surprise even himself.
Barring any unforeseen difficulties, he had presumed that he would be able to fly in elongated bursts, gliding as much as possible. The evening was still cloudy after he left, followed by a typical chilly night, so there were no thermal updrafts for him to ride. Still, he could glide a great distance. His wings were strong and his body and supplies relatively light.
Once the sun was down, it was all he could do to simply pick a direction by the stars and go. There was no ground to see in this blackness. No markers or points of reference. Just an endless field of black, highlighted briefly by bits and pieces of darker or lighter gray illustrating the undulations in the ground below. Once the sun rose again, he figured he’d take to wing as high as he could and search for any visible sign of the Valley of Smoke, a rather large reference point on this landscape, and follow that to home.
Provided there was a home to arrive at.
He’d seen from his vantage point the pinpricks of light in the far west that likely marked more large explosions. They were still some days away by foot, or even cart, but they were much closer than Aryu was comfortable with. He’d spent much of his flight thinking the same as Johan had not too long before.
It’s amazing the difference a day can make.
This time yesterday he was perched on the mountainside, eating a cold meal, and relaxing with Johan. He was now flying as fast and as far as he could to get to a home that may have long ago been destroyed by the Army of the Old, stomping out of history to claim his land.
Stroan had certainly not been sure as to the condition of the Valley of Smoke. Only that he “didn’t think they’d made it that far east.” Hardly a resounding reason to sleep easy. Besides, it was clear in the words he said (and didn’t say) that he expected the Army of the Old to make it there soon, had they not arrived already.
Aryu was often lost in thought at the multitudes of possibilities that had presented themselves in the last day. Often as he thought, his gradual rhythmic gliding motions would slow down or stop outright and he’d drift through the vast emptiness, descending as he did so. He’d then snap awake as the ground approached, give his body a good mental ass-kick, and begin trying to climb into the night sky again.
He had surprised himself with his abilities and endurance in the last few hours. Although he had initially thought he could float like that forever, enjoying the feelings he rarely got to indulge, by the time the moon was high he was beginning to get tired. The muscles on his back were straining to keep him aloft after so much time.
He had landed to eat and rest earlier, hoping a few moments on the ground would be enough. After taking to wing again, it was obvious that he’d need something a
