Scorched Earth by Jessica Korte

Senior Short Story Entry

Whips of lightning flashed between the brooding clouds hanging heavy overhead. The wind howled, its harsh chill wailing through the ruins as if the dead had returned to haunt their successors. The white skeleton of a tree, branches devoid of any greenery, thrashed against the degraded remains of what had once been a proud building. But now, like all buildings from before The Burn, it was a ruin, tumbling apart a little more with each wandering refugee who sheltered between its nearly roofless walls.

This night, it sheltered all the inhabitants of the miserable village nearby; a score of pathetic, scrawny beings, clinging desperately to the surface of the desolate planet. The bedraggled group had come to ruins, seeking the protection their own hovels could not provide for them.

On this night, as they weathered the powerful storm, they would remember the past.

The villagers huddled close to their fire, listening in awed silence as The Taler recounted the events of The Burn. It was a story they had heard before; every year, during this storm, they would gather in these ruins, and hear the story retold. Yet still, their reactions were as strong, as sincere, at each telling as they were the year before, and the year before, and the year before.

The Taler stood. Immediately, what little conversation there had been ceased. Even so, he raised his gnarled hands, asking for silence. To his audience, it seemed even the crashing thunder quietened out of respect for the Eld One. Then, in a low voice, the stooped, grey-haired man began to speak. His body was weak and frail, but his voice carried loud and strong, ringing throughout the building, casting a spell of attentiveness on his awed listeners.

“Years upon years upon years ago,” he began, his voice falling into the cadence of the Taling, “so far back that it is beyond living memory…”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Years upon years upon years ago, so far back that it is beyond living memory, our Earth was utopia. Clean water ran everywhere, and green things grew bountifully. There was no hunger. There was no need to fear other men, for there was no violence. And there were marvels, far beyond our understanding. There were things in which to ride. There were things which flew. There were huts as tall as the mountains. Yet these were the least of the wonders.

Most magnificent of all, there were boats, which carried men into the stars.

But in the stars, there lived monsters. There were the Dragons. Vicious and evil, the very sight of a Dragon is terrifying. They have long, sinuous bodies, like the venomous serpents. Their legs are powerful, and each foot contains three long, curved claws, sharp and strong enough to pierce the enduring rock. They have wings; the wings of the night-fliers, hard and leathery. On their heads, they bear two curled horns. They breathe fire, and spit poison. Covered in impenetrable scales, they are blacker than the clouds of this storm. In the dark of the night, all that is visible of them is their red, glowing eyes, glaring malevolently at all comers.

When they first met men, the deceitful serpents claimed that they wished to be friends, and offered to teach men many things. And so, men invited them to Earth.

When the Dragons first saw the utopia that was, they grew covetous. They schemed, planning to steal that which was not theirs.

But men discovered the truth, and defended Earth. Warriors arose to fight the evil Dragons. These warriors were the Knights. Fiercely, they fought the Dragons, and beat them back.

But the Dragons were determined. Realising that they would not take Earth, they grew enraged, and breathed their fire upon the utopia that was.

And so, Earth burned. For a hundred days and a hundred nights, all was fire. Thus was The Burn.

When The Burn had ended, the Knights were gone. But they left behind a promise: We shall return. Wait for us.

And so we wait. We wait in our village. The Brothers and Sisters wait and pray in their Abbestaries, watching the stars for the return of the Knights.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Having finished his story, the Taler looked around. He observed the expressions on the faces of the villagers – mingled despair and hope, as they both prayed for and dismissed the final promise. His heart went out to his people, struggling to survive each day in a harsh, barren world. But life was not so everywhere, he knew.

He longed to tell them the truth he had inadvertently stumbled upon when he was young. But he knew that now was not the time; the truth would have to wait. The elaborate, well-woven plan had yet to come to fruition, and must be hidden until the very end. The final design would be revealed eventually, a beautiful and complex scheme with such a wonderful prize at the end for all humanity.

Little did he know, the revelation would come much sooner then he expected…

(This was written as the prologue of a much longer and currently incomplete story.)