Traugott (intro)

“As I walk the streets of red, stained with the blood of both the dying and the dead, I realize that I, too, though still alive, am constantly dying.” These were the words that ran through Traugott Hollis’ mind as he entered yet another burned out city. He’d repeated the phrases so often, and for so long that he truly couldn’t even remember where or when they had come from. He seldom even tried to any longer. But they were such a part of who he was that he couldn’t ever quite put them out of his head. They were always there, itching, like a deep wound that had finally almost healed. They didn’t describe this particular city at all, though. Everything here was only black, various shades of gray, and dirty white; the color-drained hues of ash. Exactly like every leftover husk of civilization he had wandered through since his journey began.

Exactly what his destination would be, he hadn’t a clue. But even without being able to know where he was headed, he always knew he was on the right track. Lately that track had been taking him west. Always west. For so long that, had he begun with a map of his homeland, he long ago would have crossed over its edge into uncharted territory. Maps, like everything else, it seemed, were distant relics of the past. He remembered them well from the classrooms when he was a boy, though. And he had studied them so closely that he knew within himself that he was no longer within the borders of his childhood territories. He had left that familiar land when he crossed the half wrecked bridge over the Tethys River. That had been two full moons ago.

Although he knew he wouldn’t find much of use, he still had to search the buildings ahead. While the provisions in his pack weren’t exactly low, he always heard the urging of his mother’s voice telling him he needed to eat more. He had always been one of the smaller boys in the village growing up, but that had never concerned him. His strong faith and the longing to follow his uncle into the priesthood made him curious as to his mother’s concern about his physical stature. Traugott’s brothers had always been the warriors of the clan. For them, size was of paramount importance, at least to hear them tell it. But up until recently, Traugott had never seen the destruction and desolation of war. “Honestly,”, he muttered quietly to himself, “I never really even thought about it.” That was the blessing of growing up in a society that had been devoid of any major conflict for over 230 seasons. Traugott still wondered why that had changed. Why had such a sudden end come to the peace and security he had always known?

It seemed like this end of town was the business district. At least, it had been, in its past life. As always, when he entered another ghost town, the nagging thought, “What did they do with all the bodies?” wisped its way through Traugott’s mind. He had passed a partially melted signpost 1,000 girahs back, which had at one time announced the settlement’s name. But the fires had burned so intensely here that all traces of paint had been melted from the now twisted metal. “What sorcery could have possibly caused this kind of destruction?”, he asked the purged ruins. Like all of his questions, this one, too, remained unanswered.

The first building he came to appeared to have been some kind of warehouse or factory, a very old one, judging by the masonry. Just like in all the past villages he had ventured through, the only remaining ruins were built like the citadels he had read about as a child. Fortifications built to withstand prolonged siege or attacks that had been all too common in times long past. Although these stones still stood, they had by no means survived the mayhem of this place. Every trace of wood, whether architectural or furnishings, had been reduced beyond the level of common ash. A smooth, almost oily, soot covered every surface of this place. Yet, surprisingly, Traugott’s clothing and boots remained untouched by the evil blackness of the stuff. It was almost as if it had bonded with the surfaces it covered. Even his blade and his pick couldn’t coax this mysterious soot to part from the stones or the metal to which it adhered.

With nothing but the stones and the soot remaining in the factory, Traugott decided to move deeper into town. He wanted to be back in the countryside before twilight arrived. Although it was only early afternoon, he feared being in this place after dark. He knew this trepidation was unfounded. “Probably unfounded,” he whispered half convincingly to himself. Perhaps he didn’t believe in ghosts, yet still he sensed the evil in this place. If not of the place itself, then of the being or beings who had caused the life to be burned from it. Although the ashes were long cold, the Destructors’ presence still lent heaviness to the air here. It had been the same throughout his recent travels. He always felt more comfortable in the open spaces, where nothing could reach out from a doorway or window to snag his tunic.

The town revealed only more of the same, soot-covered emptiness street after street. Then, suddenly, Traugott caught a brilliant glint of sunlight from a blue street sign. The sign read “Galicia”. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the word. He spun in a full circle in the middle of the street to assure himself that he was, indeed, alone. A chill ran up his spine, as this had been his younger sister’s name. She had been just twelve when she disappeared. That had been, what? Eight seasons ago? Yes, that was right, eight long seasons had passed since the girls in the village had started going missing. Galicia had been the third child who had simply vanished. Despite his uncle, Elishima’s, warnings that the Forloreniss would begin with children disappearing mysteriously, and despite all of Laniobre taking precautions against it happening.

Traugott knew the street sign was the Destructors’ doing. For some unknown reason, they wanted him to continue his pursuit, and by placing this sign here, painted with this particular name, they were taunting him, attempting to make him race recklessly after them. This was the first time he had seen tangible evidence that they actually knew about him and his travels. Never before had he seen anything so untouched within the destroyed zones through which he had passed. It was as if the sign had been carried in weeks after the fires and bolted to the signpost by some handyman with a twisted sense of humor. He had often wondered, especially in the darkness of night , if they were aware of his hunt. “At least that question has been answered.”, he said. The quaver in his voice belied how much this answer terrified him.

The presence of the sign also made Traugott wonder how much more they knew about him and his family. Had they chosen Laniobre because of him and what he knew about them from the prophetic dreams Uncle Elishima had told him about as a child? He had certainly been correct about the disappearances. And the attacks. The horrible attacks in the dead of night when it sounded like the entire world was exploding all around them. When it felt like the gates of Halja itself had been split open to spill its tormenting flames into his realm. He had even perfectly described the horrible, banshee-like screams of the Destroyers. Screams that seemed to come from everywhere at once, that were so loud and so horrific that even Traugott, with his unwavering faith, had momentarily prayed for the flames to claim him so the sound would just stop. Those screams had haunted his dreams, both waking and sleeping, more days than not throughout the long, tormentingly slow-passing seasons since he had first heard them.

Although he tried desperately to remain calm, he half ran to the corner beneath the sign. As he crossed the street where the sign was, he glimpsed an entire house that had been left untouched by the blaze. Even more miraculous was the fact that it was a small log cabin with shake shingles. Not a single shingle even looked dry, let alone singed. The logs were a beautiful red, and were perfectly hewed and joined, as if a group of master craftsmen had felled the trees themselves, and then brought them into town only days ago to build this cottage specifically to confound Traugott. There were even robin egg blue shutters at both sides of each multi-paned window. Although the house’s appearance was troubling in itself, even more concerning was the impeccable lawn and gravel walkway leading to the front door. Every detail was frighteningly familiar to the traveller. As well they should be. This was the very house his grandmother had lived in, surrounded by the fir woods just outside Laniobre. At least, it appeared to be. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?! The cabin had been completely destroyed, along with the woods themselves, in the first wave of attacks against the township 6 seasons ago. Of course, he had to go inside. As much as he feared what may lie on the other side of those eerily familiar walls, he felt himself slowly walking between the perfectly shaped hedges that lined the front edge of the lawn. As shocking as seeing the familiar house was, what bothered Traugott even more was the crunching of the small stones of the walkway under his heavy boots. The sound caught him off guard, as, suddenly, he was transported back to his seventeenth summer, walking up the same path toward that small, yellow door. Surely, that time, his heart hadn’t been hammering such a racing, staccato rhythm as was being sounded by it now.