Saga of 5 Ages: The 12 Rings of the Emperor - Tales 1 & 2
The Waste-Tracker: Chapter 4

T aruk-sem, waste-tracker of Urok, was blind.

He had not been born that way. Indeed, he was a pillar of perfect health and possessed an extremely hardy constitution. Such had it been with every male member of his family, waste-trackers all, going back to his great-great-grandfather, Taruk-Sembatuwani. Alas, he would be the last of his family to bear the honorable title and undertake the duties that went with it, for the tribal council of Urok allowed only five generations of any particular clan to carry the responsibility for the protection of the homeland.

Yet now, Taruk had lost his vision, and while his other senses had been sharpened by his training, it would severely hamper his ability to patrol the deserts, lowlands and steppes of his native land effectively. His duty, as with all waste-trackers, was to guard Urok’s borders, deal with potential threats, monitor foreign travelers, and maintain the various, though similar, environments. He was neither expected nor permitted to return home, unless the nation as a whole faced some imminent danger or infirmity due to age or injury made it impossible for him to continue executing his duties. The path of the waste-tracker, once embarked upon, was a life-long committment.

But, at the moment, it was infirmity that vexed Taruk-sem, causing him to doubt his considerable physical prowess and to erode his confidence. What plagued him further was that this blindess was brought on by the bone arch, a sacred ritual totem deep within the Tribelands. He was told that his loss of sight was a punishment. But for what? The natives had spoken of desecrated lands and unpure souls, but Taruk-sem had always been respectful of other cultures and other lands, in the rare instances that he had left the borders of Urok. His decision to venture into the Tribelands was only brought on by a strange woman that he had rescued from the clutches of the Dothiks. She had asked for his help and he had agreed, believing that there was some impending doom headed for Urok. Had the woman lied to him? Her actions and character spoke otherwise. In every situation, she had been brave, forthright and honorable. For these reasons, Taruk-sem had volunteered to take her place in the ritual of the bone arch, his thought to protect her from the dangers that may have been brought forth in the ancient rites of the natives. She had been spared, but Taruk had been punished. Would she too have been blinded had she stayed tied to the arch? Or would her fate have differed from his, as the judgement was handed down from these supposed native forefathers, now denizens of the afterlife?

Taruk-sem knew not what he had done that could so offend these ancestors that were, in part, relatives of his, sometime in the distant past. He had not bothered to debate the issue with the woman; while she knew many things, Taruk very much doubted that she could answer for the spirits of those long dead. As it was, once they had returned to the welcoming sands of Urok, she took her leave of him, continuing on with her enigmatic quest. Now, Taruk felt comforted being surrounded by the arid lands of his home, even though he could not see them. He could feel the dry breeze blow through his shaggy hair, and he reveled in the heat of the noonday sun as it tanned his skin an even deeper brown.

Glad to be free of the oppressive humidity of the Tribelands, he continued on his route, able to navigate the rocky, barren terrain with uncanny accuracy, even while blind. But his trek would take him to a differnet part of Urok, far to the west, into an area seldom visited by the locals, by foreigners or even by the waste-trackers...

Skorr’s Rift.

It was a place of legend, even to outsiders. This vast, seemingly bottomless crevasse, deep in the Broken Hills, held a great and powerful secret. Some said it was home to a gargantuan beast, while others maintained that it was a passage to a dark, otherworldly realm. Some believed it was the resting place of the spirits of old, and still others claimed that a god lived there.

Whatever the case, it was off limits to foreign travelers, and even the inhabitants of Urok were allowed there only when a sacred trial had been ordained. Taruk-sem knew he was breaking tradition just by being here. It had, not surprisingly, taken him longer to walk here than he had anticipated, but now that he stood upon its craggy lip he was more determined than ever to go through a trial of his own. Though he could not see, he could feel the rift’s emptiness yawning out before him. Taruk could hear the wind whistling through its crevices and shelves. He also felt a coolness drifting up from the chasm, no doubt that, because of its inestimable depth, the burning sun of Urok penetrated no more than a few score feet downward. Strangely, against the purported claims of outsiders, there was no smell of death here. In fact, Taruk was surprised to replace the slight fragrance that emanated from the rift to be vaguely pleasant and refreshing.

Taruk pondered these odd sensations, as he recalled the many seemingly tragic tales that had come into being around this locale. According to legend, Skorr was one of the first to call himself an Urokan. The mightiest of all Urokan ancestors, he ventured out from his home in the Tribelands to prove to others that there was life beyond that overgrown jungle. He discovered the lands that would later become a part of Urok, naming them simply and taming them easily. When he came upon the Broken Hills, the story diverged; some say he discovered the rift as it was, while others believe that he created it with his bare hands in a vain search for water and other valuable resources. Most were of a mind that the rift began as a small culvert or canyon and was torn violently asunder by the titanic struggle between Skorr and whatever creature or god he encountered there. Skorr was uncharacteristically vague in his oral accounts when he returned to the Tribelands. Still, he had become a hero to his people, the bravest of them all. Centuries later, long after Skorr’s passing, Urok was properly settled and the rift was sanctified in his name. It became a place of honor and trial for those seeking redemption or to prove their worth for some greater cause.

For both of these reasons, Taruk-sem had come to Skorr’s Rift. He needed to prove to himself that he was still capable of performing his duties as waste-tracker, despite his new visual handicap. He also felt that he must make amends for any perceived insult that he had inflicted upon the ancestors, whether they were his own or not. There were no witnesses present, but he needed none. This test would be his alone, for failure or triumph.

Taruk knew not what to expect and so wasted no time in forming a strategy. He would have to think and act on the spur of the moment, as he was accustomed to doing. Without hesitation, he grasped the edge of the cliff tightly with both hands and lowered himself into the crevasse. Taruk was quite used to rock climbing; it was an integral part of every waste-trackers training and patrols. The many flat mesas and rocky spires of Urok required thorough and up-close examination, which made climbing an indispensible skill. The only difference now was that Taruk had no idea how far down it was to the next shelf, if indeed there was one below him at all. His formidable strength would come into play here, as would his indomitable will and boundless stamina.

Hours had passed.

Taruk’s hands were scratched and bloodied, as were his legs and knees. Though he had found several places that were more or less stable on his way down, he afforded himself no rest. He was now well beyond the reach of the Urokan sun. The chill in the air reminded him of nights out on the desert, and the silence was comparable as well. Only the sound of small, falling rocks echoed in the great canyon, yet he never heard one hit bottom. Perhaps Skorr’s rift was bottomless. Or perhaps some massive portal lay beneath Taruk, waiting to swallow him up and send him into another unknown realm. But Taruk would not turn back until he had an answer, not regarding the nature of the rift but regarding his own physical and spiritual capabilities.

The lack of animal noises in the crevasse was eerie. Taruk was so used to hearing the scrabbling of reptiles over rocks, the cry of a hawk in the sky, the buzzing of insects around his head. He heard nothing, not even the rush of a cool breeze or the bubbling of a small stream. Yet the pleasing smell he had detected earlier persisted, and so Taruk continued to scale the sheer wall downward, his hands, though calloused, becoming numb from the effort. The waste-tracker knew that the vertical ascent would be far more difficult, should he survive the excursion. He had procured just enough food and water on his way to the rift to last him for one day. Beyond that, he would have to make do with whatever he was able to replace within the crevasse itself. So far, his prospects for that seemed slim.

Banishing the thoughts of starvation and dehydration from his mind, Taruk-sem pushed on, climbing hand over hand, feeling for small niches that would give him a secure enough hand- or foothold to take the next step on his journey into darkness. He had slipped naught but twice thus far, neither being a fatal mistake, fortunately. That assuredness bolstered his faith in his own abilities and gave him the courage to press on. Taruk had also noticed a distinct lack of vegetation during his descent. No weeds or other plants of any kind protruded from the solid rock wall of the cliff face. So what was causing that alluring odor?

Taruk knew not how far he had descended when he came upon the large object that seemed embedded in the rock. The object was not rock itself; indeed it was cool to the touch. Its shape was odd, uneven, jagged. Taruk cut himself slightly upon one of the edges.

This object was metal.

Those in Urok used very little metal in their daily lives. Most of their tools and weapons were made of stone or obsidian. However, Taruk had seen several merchant caravans trundle through his land carrying crates full of the shiny, sharp material. Apparently, this bronze, copper, iron and steel brought a fair price all across the entirety of Dreganos. And the mithril used by the Dothiks was even more valuable, due to its rarity.

Taruk had no idea what particular kind of metal this was. It felt solid and durable, though it seemed to have many variations in its consistency. It was large, though, and as he examined it further with his hands he found that is protruded from the cliff face at a perpendicular angle. Taruk tested it with his foot and was satisfied with its sturdiness. He put most of his weight upon it, holding onto the rock wall with but one hand. The metal did not budge, though the footing was awkward. Taruk let go of the cliff and continued to nudge his way carefully onto the object. The lack of moevement in the thing, along with the close-sounding proximity of the opposite wall, told the waste-tracker that the metal may very well extend to the other cliff face, or may have even been wedged between the two.

Taruk stopped. There was a gap in the metal beneath his feet and Taruk crouched down to feel around. It seemed to be the outline of a doorway of some kind, maybe some sort of pit or shaft. Perhaps the object was greater in size than Taruk had first thought, large enough for a person to fit inside. Taruk found a pebble and dropped it into the gap, wanting to make sure that the hole didn’t simply open up to the infinite chasm below.

It didnt.

The echo revealed that the distance was short enough for Taruk to jump down without risking injury from a fall. The waste-tracker did not hesitate to lower himself into the open space and he landed solidly on his feet.

The pleasing fragrance was stronger here, and Taruk decided that this must be the location of its source. Is this what Skorr had discovered on his heroic journey all those centuries ago? Had he encountered this same object and not been able to describe it? Taruk smirked at the irony of it all, as he, too, would be unable to tell others of what he had found, beyond the feel of the metal and the cloying scent.

Taruk began to grope about, trying to replace a point of reference for his position, listening with his ears and exploring with his hands. The space seemed to be about the size of a hut, maybe slightly larger, but filled with strange, immovable objects, many of them metal as well. There were other materials here, too, ones that he could not identify by touch. Some felt similar to obsidian, while others had a texture akin to that of fabric, though definitely foreign in nature.

Taruk didn’t know what to think of all this. It certainly wasn’t like anything the legends had prepared him for. It was almost disappointing. There was no god or gargantuan creature here to do battle with. And if he had passed through a portal to another world it was awfully small. Perhaps it was a crypt or tomb of some kind. Or perhaps Skorr’s rift held more than one mystery. On a whim, Taruk decided to call out, not really expecting any sort of answer.

“I am Taruk-sem, waste-tracker of Urok!”

Something moved.

It had been a muffled, grinding sound, as if behind a wall. Taruk stepped softly in that direction and listened intently. He waited, poised and ready to pounce, but no other noise presented itself. Taruk tapped on the wall with his bloody knuckles and it rang hollowly. No response was forthcoming.

“I am here to appease the ancestors and redeem myself of my transgressions!”

A loud hum erupted from behind the wall. The entire place began to shake and rattle, but Taruk, though unnerved, still believed the structure to be sturdy. He would not flee before his task was done.

“I come to face you in my humility,” he admitted. “If you are indeed of my forefathers, then show yourselves!”

A horrific grating noise assaulted Taruk’s ears, so bad that he had to cover them to escape the piercing sound. Metal scraped upon metal and Taruk felt the billowing of fragrant air against his face and skin. The strong, sudden change forced Taruk to double over in a fit of coughing, his ears still held.

Then it was on him.

Taruk felt the great and solid weight of a heavy blow strike against his muscular back, knocking him to the floor. More blunt pummeling pounded him relentlessly and he had to roll painfully to one side to escape the onslaught. Taruk winced as he leapt to his feet, almost certain that a rib had been broken. He tried to orient himself towards the beast as best he could, which was not difficult given the tremendous amount of noise it was making. Then the thing struck his face and Taruk reeled to the left. Whatever it was, it felt as if the creature was made of solid rock, though the chill in its blows made it feel more like cold iron.

Taruk swung with his fists, kicked with his feet and groped for a handhold on his opponent but none of his attempts connected. The thing was buzzing like a wasp suddenly and Taruk stepped back, not sure of what to expect. A small explosion met his ears, startling him and he heard a shattering behind him, like that of crystal or glass. Then, the adversary hit him full-force with his entire body weight, which was considerable. Taruk was thrown back, but not far, as he landed against a table or shelf of some kind. The enemy continued to press its attack, pinning Taruk and bending him backwards. The waste-tracker felt his back being cut and punctured by small fragments of whatever had just crashed behind him. The creature was terribly heavy, but now Taruk was able to grapple it fully. Yet, Taruk felt no soft-spots or weak points, no joints to apply pressure to; its body simply seemed to be one continuous piece of cold metal.

Distracted by the odd and unnatural feel of his opponent, his grip relaxed momentarily and the beast shoved Taruk back even further, raking his body across the sharp pieces of detritus that were beneath him. Taruk heard the echo of sounds around him change and felt a difference in the air; his head was hanging out of the room, exposed in the emptiness of the chasm.

The waste-tracker got his legs up and kicked out with just enough strength to force the massive being a few feet back. It gave Taruk the time he needed to remove himself from the precipitous ledge and return to the room, attempting to square off against his opponent once more. He tried to circle and position himself on the opposite side of the room from the ledge, putting the creature between him and the window. The thing responded with several more small explosions, one of which Taruk felt tear into his abdomen with searing pain. The blood came pouring out of the wound, dripping down Taruk’s leg, but the waste-tracker wasn’t finished yet. He knew the injury must be treated quickly or his chances of survival would be slim. Taruk jumped upwards, groping for the lip of the portal by which he had entered the room.

His first leap missed the target, and he heard his enemy making a clicking sound. Taruk didnt wait to see what new weapon the adversary was preparing. He leaped up again and this time caught the edge of the hole, hauling himself up and out with no small amount of pain shooting through his lower body. Taruk rolled to the side of the portal, lying on his wounded back. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and hiked his bloody legs up to his chest. Then, he waited.

Mere seconds later, Taruk heard metal clamping onto the rim of the hole and there was a terrible metallic scraping sound as the beast hauled its tremendous bulk up and out through the portal. Taruk waited for the sound of its body to come to rest on the roof of the room, and when it did Taruk kicked out with all his remaining might. The impact felt as if he had struck the thing solidly in its center mass and Taruk could hear the creature stumbling, trying not to lose its footing. There was an odd mixture of strange sounds, clicking, buzzing and scraping as Taruk’s enemy lost its battle to remain upright, tumbling to the floor in a heap, then falling from its perch.

But before Taruk could claim victory, he felt an iron grip upon his ankle; the thing had latched on and was pulling Taruk down with him! The waste-tracker grabbed the lip of the portal just in time to avoid being hurled into the yawning rift below, but the weight of the beast was too much. Taruk could feel his leg being ripped from its socket and his gut wound being torn open even further. He screamed aloud in agony, the terrible pain of his ordeal echoing loudly off the walls of the canyon and beyond. Taruk tried to kick loose the hand that held him but to no avail. His body was stretched and he was beginning to lose his grip. Taruk prayed silently to his ancestors, hoping that they would hear him and come to collect his spirit so that it would not be lost in that bottomless abyss.

As if in answer to his supplication, Taruk suddenly heard a sharp snap from below and the weight pulling him down was abruptly gone. The clicking and buzzing faded into the distance as he quickly hauled himslef back onto the roof. Yet, he still felt a grip upon his ankle, though it was a light weight and a loose fit. Taruk reached down and unclenched what felt like a metal hand, possibly a gauntlet of some kind...

Then, the pain overwhelmed him and he nearly blacked out. It was all he could do to lower himself back into the relative safety of the room below. He would surely perish if there were another one of those creatures within, but it was a wiser course than waiting for the next spasm to send him rolling off into the endless void of the black ravine.

Taruk lay there on the floor, breathing heavily, trying to retain control over his faculties, gritting his teeth against the agony that he felt. He drank from his waterskin and poured a bit of the liquid upon his wounds; there was precious little of the fluid left but he had no choice. Then he fumbled around in his satchel, trying to cobble together a poultice and bandage. He applied it gently, hoping the bleeding would stop soon. At that point, all he could do was wait, though he knew he must stay awake or risk drifting off forever.

Once the pain became manageable, Taruk-sem began to crawl towards the source of the aroma, determined to discover what was creating that wonderful fragrance. Mere moments later he found himself bathed in that intoxicating scent. It was calming and refreshing and Taruk felt more awake as he inhaled deeply. The humidity was more pronounced here and he could definitely smell rich soil amidst the variety of pleasant odors. Taruk felt around and his hands encountered a strange sensation rarely found in Urok: the soft feel of living greenery. Leaves, vines and blossoms surrounded him as he finally realized he was in some kind of garden. What a strange place to grow plants, he thought. There seemed to be neither sunlight nor water, so how could this flora live and thrive? Taruk plucked a healthy bloom and tucked it into his pouch. Though he was still blind, he hoped that he would be able to examine this oddity more closely at some point in the future.

Taruk seemed to have forgotten about the pain of his wounds and the fatigue in his limbs. He decided that he would attempt to climb out of Skorr’s Rift, feeling that he had done what he had come to do and that he must return to the surface before his supply of food and water was exhausted. Hopefully his strength would hold.

Taruk knew the task ahead would be difficult; it is easier to descend than to climb and without visual orientation he would have a hard time replaceing the handholds that had allowed him to safely come down this far. Taruk began his ascent and he could see at the outset that it would take much more time and effort than it had before. But he would not call for help nor wait for assistance, for no one knew he was here. He must climb until his body gave out. If he could replace no footholds he would have to make them somehow.

Initially, luck was with him. His progress was steady and his mishaps were few. The ancestors favored him, seemingly keeping him from falling. But his will was also strong, even as his strength began to fade. Eventually, though, he had no choice but to stop and rest on a narrow outcropping. He consumed what meager rations he had and finished what remained of his water. Taruk was tired and it wasnt long before he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Taruk wasnt sure how long he had rested. He awoke to an aching body, a ravenous hunger and an unquenchable thirst. He immediately rose and began searching for the next foothold and the next fissure in the rock wall. He was desperate to escape from this place, having survived its trial and wanting to tell others of what he had experienced. Skorr’s Rift was part of his culture and the history of his people. Its enigma was a part of him and he felt he had new information to add to its legend. Taruk was nearly frantic with frustration, replaceing less and less handholds and ways to ascend. He took foolish chances and nearly fell to his death several times, sliding down the sheer cliff face only to catch an edge of the outcropping he had slept on before. The situation looked hopeless. He cried out in primal angst, feeling that the ancestors were now taunting him, still bitter over his perceived insults. Or maybe they simply wanted to keep what was hidden in Skorr’s Rift a secret.

As Taruk-sem stood there pondering his dilemma, something brushed his face. He jumped, startled until he realized that he could now feel the dry air from the surface above. He could hear the wind whistling gently through the crevasse. He was almost to the top, and some sort of curious bird, bat or insect must have flown in low to inspect him. Taruk, briefly re-invigorated at the thought of near freedom, continued to search for a viable place to grip and haul himself upwards.

Something touched his head again and he reacted quickly this time, his waste-tracker instincts kicking in. He grabbed what felt like a thick vine, but no...it was corded, much like...a hemp rope! Could it have been left behind by another explorer, Urokan or otherwise? Taruk decided not to question his good fortune; he tested to see if the rope was secure then immediately began to climb up it, hand over hand. His joy and exuberance increased tenfold when he finally felt the ever-present Urokan sun shining down upon his tanned skin. He had missed its warmth, and when he had crested the lip of the ravine he kissed the sandy ground, for he had indeed missed the solid surface of Urok as well.

Taruk-sem lay on his back, basking in the sunlight, feeling the arid breeze and listening to the sounds of the desert that was his home. He smiled and chuckled to himself, as one does when they are surprised to replace themselves having survived a seemingly insurmountable ordeal. Taruk felt good about his experience within Skorr’s Rift. He had proven to himself that his abilities would not falter and his body would sustain him through any trial, even without his vision. He hoped that the ancestors were pleased with his performance, and he silently rededicated his life to upholding their standards and protecting the land and people of Urok, conserving its resources, customs and traditions.

And then, Taruk began to see blurry shapes and colors. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring across the landscape. Objects started to come into focus and landmarks became recognizable. An ecstatic Taruk stood, raising his arms to the sky and proclaiming, “I serve Urok and all who were a part of it, now and forever!”

“You are favored,” came a gentle voice from behind him.

Taruk whirled around to see the strange woman from his recent travels standing before him. She still appeared as disheveled as the last time he saw her, but perhaps slightly more sunburned.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, somewhat surprised by her presence.

“My conscience could not allow me to leave you in such a state,” she explained. “You sacrificed yourself and your eyesight for me. I had no desire to see you suffer on my account. I followed you to this place, but kept my distance. I was not sure if you wished to share my company any longer. I had hoped that you would not detect me as I trailed you.”

Taruk was stunned. This was the most the woman had spoken since he had met her, indeed the most she had revealed about her inner self in all of their conversations.

“Your concern is appreciated,” Taruk said.

“I was not certain that you would accept my help in any case,” she continued. “I felt this was something that you had to reconcile on your own.”

“What you say is true,” he agreed. “I needed to replace the courage and strength within myself to go on. And I had to be sure that the ancestors wished for me to continue in my role as waste-tracker.”

“It would seem that you have their blessing,” she replied. “I imagine that you must feel greatly redeemed.”

“Indeed,” said Taruk. “For if I cannot serve them or my homeland then my existence is meaningless.”

The woman nodded. “Then you begin to understand some of my purpose.”

Taruk looked at her questioningly. She had spoken deeply of her duty before, but only in the vaguest of terms. “You ask for my help?”

“I could not ask after you have already gone through so much in my name,” she said humbly, “but if you were to offer I would be obliged to accept your assistance.”

Taruk smiled faintly in understanding. “To reaffirm one’s purpose and place in life is of the utmost importance. You have led me back to the path of righteous servitude for my people and my ancestors. I can scarcely do less for you.”

The woman nodded in gratitude. “Then let us be off to tend to your injuries.”

“They will heal sufficiently in time,” commented Taruk. “so long as we keep a slow pace.”

“Very well, then,” she acquiesced. “We head south and then west.”

“To Gildrah?” asked Taruk.

“The very place,” confirmed the woman.

“Your people?”

“Not as such,” she demurred, “but I will be able to converse with them on a higher level than that of the Tribeland natives.”

“Mm,” grunted Taruk.

As they set out towards the southern lands of Urok, the woman kept glancing at Taruk, as if expecting him to say something. When no comment was forthcoming, she spoke.

“Did you replace any secrets within Skorr’s Rift?”

Taruk reached into his satchel and pulled out the bloom he had taken from the hidden garden. Its fragrance was still very strong. “Only this,” he said, handing her the flower, which he could now see was white and delicate, very unlike the indigenous flora of Urok.

The woman took the bloom, inspecting its structure, inhaling its heady scent. “I’ve never seen a flower like this anywhere.”

“Nor have I,” said Taruk.

The woman smiled inwardly. She looked at Taruk, who hadnt noticed. He was still concentrating on putting one aching foot in front of the other. She had been trained to not betray her emotions anyway, so she wasnt surprised.

“I have a secret for you as well,” she offered.

“Oh?”

“Theara,” she said softly. “My name is Theara.”