Story: beginning prologue

Nov 12, 2007 - 10:11 AM PST

The streets buzzed with the sounds of people. It was near mid-day, and the traffic was at its peak; bakers and tailors and weavers, butchers and gardeners, all calling out to passersby to come and see the quality of their goods. Children laughed as they played among the crowds, wagon drivers cursed at them and cracked their whips to drive their nervous horses forward. Now and again you could hear the sharp clang of steel on steel as a blacksmith rushed to shape a glowing piece of metal before it cooled too much.
A shrill, other-worldly shriek rose above the cacophony so suddenly that every hand stilled and every other voice quieted in an instant. It continued to rise to its crescendo as if the earth herself were screaming in agony. Finally it faded, and ceased altogether, leaving nothing but a terrified silence in the street that had been bustling only moments before. Not even the horses dared to whicker. The people looked about, afraid to be the first to make a sound.
In the distance a dog barked and, as if given permission by the hound, slowly the people began to continue their activities. It took only a few moments for everything to return to its busy hubbub, and the shattering screech that had ground the world to a halt became nothing more than a strange story to talk of over supper…
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It was a dark and stormy night. The distinct odor of ozone hung thick in the steadily blackening night sky. It was the end of an interminably long month, and the hollowness of the new moon was a perfect reflection of Mother Nature's current mood. Here and there, a star shone with all its might to peak through the tumultuous, boiling cumulonimbus that had begun to roll across the sky. Aside from these infinitely tiny pinpricks of white, the only source of illumination was the terrifying strobes of the lightening-bolts knifing into the earth and, though the wind was howling through the trees and across the land, it was drowned out by the crashing thunderclaps – each new blast seeming to contest its predecessor for ferocity. And without warning, it began to rain.
Once again, lightening flashed showing the path of a lonesome road upon which walked five equally lonesome travelers, each some significant distance from the others and completely unaware that their unfortunate circumstances are being shared, at least in part, by the rest. In turn, each wanderer looks up into the sky to express their consternation, fear, disdain, or indifference to the weather. But the storm carried on, unaffected by their scorn.
The water droplets thickened, slowly changing phase from mere rain to sleet, and threatening Hail. Hunching their backs, the solitary journeyers pressed on as if by bowing their necks they might somehow dry their sodden cloaks or shield their backs from the pounding ice. Their eyes, no longer on the road, swept hungrily to and fro across the countryside seeking shelter. Each spear of lightening gave them an instant of clarity, followed instantly by a damnable night blindness. Between the pulses of light and dark, a shape begins to emerge only a short walk away: a Tower, looming forebodingly over the surrounding plains and forests; standing proud and tall atop a wide hill.
As if cued by something outside themselves, the desperate travelers' eyes dart toward the shadows where they had seen the massive structure and, as one, they lengthened their steps and veered sharply toward this newfound monolith in the hope of some modicum of shelter. There should be, at least, some outcropping of rock or stone to curl up under and weather out the storm…