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

“T hese hills are deadly.”

Theara glared at Taruk-sem, waste-tracker of Urok, for a brief moment, expecting him to add something to the effect of ‘and no place for a woman’.

He didnt.

“The Broken Hills are home to some of the most venomous creatures on Dreganos,” Taruk explained. “Many travelers --especially foreigners-- lose their lives here for they do not respect the land and the wildlife that dwells within.”

Theara looked at him again. She was a foreigner to him, a strange woman from the north with a hidden agenda. Taruk had rescued her from the clutches of the Dothiks and later sacrificed himself to protect her from the natives of the Tribelands. He had lost his vision temporarily but that act of heroism had allowed her to replace the key she had been searching for.

“And it is not only the beasts that kill,” Taruk continued. “The loose rocks and shale of these mounds often cause an avalanche that bury the unwary. There are also pits and sinkholes that go unnoticed until it is too late. Should one become lost, there is no water supply to quench your thirst. It is a dangerous place where only waste-trackers are fit to tread.”

Theara smirked at that last comment. Taruk had only recently emerged from Skorr’s Rift, battered and beaten but victorious in his trial. In a mere two days he had lost his limp, his wounds had closed and his pace was as brisk as ever. Urokan constitution was a marvel, as was their ability to withstand the constant bombardment of the sun’s rays. But now, Taruk trudged on, seemingly unaffected by his previous ordeals and utterly confident in his ability to lead them through this lethal landscape. Still, they would be forced to ration what water Theara had left in her waterskin before making it to the border of Gildrah.

“There,” pointed Taruk, “That mound is home to a nest of deadly vipers. We shall avoid it. And in that direction lies the acid baths. Their fumes will kill you as quickly as the liquid will eat your skin!”

Theara was glad to have chosen Taruk as a companion over the last few weeks. His guidance through this harsh terrain was invaluable. Her knowledge of Urok and its people was limited and her ignorance would surely have gotten her killed had she continued to traverse this land alone.

“One must always watch his step when traveling through Urok,” said Taruk, nearly echoing her own thoughts. “One must keep an eye on the signs, an ear to the ground and continually scan the sky and horizon.”

Theara began to get the feeling that Taruk wasnt merely imparting important information to her but embarking upon some sort of basic training on how to act and live like a waste-tracker. Or maybe her mind was just overly paranoid and suspicious. If scouring the deserts of Urok indeed had been his whole life, then this would be an immutable part of his being and his conversation would rarely drift elsewhere. Not to imply that his experiences were limited --in truth he seemed a veritable font of wisdom-- but the topic almost never changed. Still, Theara took the opportunity to bolster and reinforce what she had already learned about Urok and its people.

“Stop!” yelled Taruk suddenly.

Theara froze and looked to Taruk with wide eyes. He was staring down at her feet at a small plant that looked like any other common succulent. Taruk gently grabbed her arm and pulled her aside.

“A sand snapper,” he imparted. “Should you step on one they will clamp around your ankle like a bear trap. Those that do not lose their foot immediately will never walk the same again, even if they are able to force it to release its grip.”

Theara stared at the carnivorous plant as they passed by and she watched it give a little quiver of disappointment as they moved on. She would be more alert from now on, more so than usual. It would just be so much easier if it weren’t for the damnable heat and brightness of the sun.

Her vigilance seemed to pay off right away.

“Are those vultures?” she asked, indicating several circling avians just past the next rise.

“With certainty,” confirmed Taruk-sem.

“Then we should be able to replace food there,” figured Theara as she quickened her pace and made for the area ahead.

Taruk grabbed her arm again. “Not necessarily,” he warned. “Hunger can be a great motivator but it sometimes clouds the judgement. Let us approach cautiously and see what has transpired.”

Theara nodded, grateful that he had corrected her and her potentially rash action.

As they crested the next hill, Taruk scanned the terrain and his gaze quickly fell upon the scene that had piqued the vultures interest; a mangy, two-headed mongrel was slowly dragging a body --a human body-- across the desert floor, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Theara gasped.

“A doom dog,” Taruk said, identifying the beast. “Very vicious, though they usually travel in packs.”

Theara gaped at the waste-tracker and his callous recitation of the facts. “We have to help him!”

“This one is beyond help,” he countered. “We shall allow the creature to have its meal and the vultures will tend to the corpse. Such is the Way of the Wastes.”

Again, Theara was stunned by Taruk’s seemingly cold-hearted attitude towards the situation. A body should never be left to carrion eaters! But then she realized what a natural existence the people of Urok lived, so simple and uncomplicated by the rules of a more civilized society. Who was to say which way was better?

Just then, Theara saw the man lift his arm weakly, as if begging to be saved with his last ounce of strength.

“He’s alive!” Theara cried.

Without an instant’s hesitation, Taruk-sem vaulted from the top of the mound, covering a good twenty feet in a single leap. Theara watched astonished as he closed upon the doom dog in seconds, never drawing a weapon but simply bounding forward and tackling the animal with the full force of his run and his muscular body behind the impact. Then it became a violent tangle of tooth and nail, of arms and legs, of hands and feet grappling in a death grip meant to suffocate or crush the furred scavenger before he could latch his jaws onto the waste-tracker’s flesh with one or both heads.

Theara rushed in, knowing she would not be able to assist Taruk, but desperate to see to the condition of the wounded man. As she approached, she could hear the terrible grunts and screams coming from the pair’s melee that was only a few strides away.

The doom dog was nearly as big as Taruk, though much more scrawny, and it wasnt about to give up on one let alone two possible meals that were rare enough as it was. The beast tore at Taruk with its claws many times over, drawing shallow red gashes across his skin. He bit when and where he could but the waste-tracker knew how to hold and handle the creature so as to minimize his chances of clamping down with a serious bite, for once they locked their jaws onto their intended prey it was nigh impossible to pry them apart. The victim would indeed be doomed, hence the name of this desert-roaming canine.

Theara examined the dying man; his forearms were shredded and he was still losing much blood. His eyes were glazed as if he were fading from life at that very moment. She had no salve to place on his wounds, no cloth to stop the bleeding. She feared that Taruk had been right and that it was too late for this one. Theara decided to hold him in her arms, cradling his head so at the very least he would not die alone.

The struggle between man and beast continued. The creature wriggled too much to allow Taruk the firm grip he needed to finish off the creature. Instead, Taruk rolled over onto his back, pulled his feet up and kicked the dog with all his might, launching him nearly thirty feet. The animal landed hard, as had been Taruk’s intention, hoping that the beast would give up the fight and slink away to lick its wounds. But the doom dog would not give up so easily. When it regained its feet, it stared hard at the waste-tracker with one of its heads, the eyes dark and fierce. The other head gazed directly at Theara as she sat upon the ground holding the mangled stranger. The dog was no fool; it went for the easier target.

Theara suppressed a scream as the animal bolted directly for her. She put her head down and curled her body around the bloodied man, as if to protect him from the coming onslaught. She could hear the hungry snarls of the doom dog as it bore down upon her. In seconds it would rend her flesh and tear her to pieces. Just before it struck, she felt the fetid heat of its breath and the froth of its drool wash over her. The foul stench of its body was enough to make her retch.

Then the impact came, but it wasnt against her. Taruk’s long strides had carried him to the scene an instant before the dog was able to maul Theara and the stranger. He had lunged at the last second, stretching his arms to catch the beast by its hind legs. Taruk held on to them for dear life even as the dog fought desperately to free himself from the waste-tracker’s hold. But Taruk would not let go. Instead, he stood and, swinging the creature by its back legs, slammed it into the ground. He swung it again and again, to the left and to the right, continually bashing its heads and body against the hard, dry earth. Taruk’s muscles strained at the workout but he refused to let up until the thing ceased to move and became a lifeless bloody pulp in his hands.

Theara raised her head as the desert went silent once more. Taruk was standing over the dog’s carcass, breathing heavily and bleeding from dozens of minor wounds and scratches. Theara was still nauseous from her near-death experience but she managed to look up at the waste-tracker and thank him with her eyes.

Taruk-sem plopped down on the ground and drank several gulps of water, leaving just enough for his companion. She finished it off, yet her mouth still felt dry. Neither of them spoke for several long minutes. When Taruk regained his breath, he looked to Theara and the man she held in her arms.

“Will he live?” he asked in a low tone.

Theara shook her head. “I dont know,” was all she could utter.

Taruk looked over the man’s mangled body. His condition was not good.

“Can you travel?” Taruk asked of the female.

“I think so,” she responded.

“Then head for Gildrah,” he said. “Perhaps there will be someone just across the border who can help. I will do what I can for him but you must hurry!”

Theara immediately rose at this call to action, gently laying the stranger’s head down upon the ground. His eyes were glassy but he still drew breath. She dashed off without another word hoping against hope that there would someone in the vicinity and that they could return in time to save the poor man’s life.

Night had fallen across the desert of Urok. Taruk-sem had dragged and hurled the dog’s battered body over a hundred paces and the vultures had feasted well that day. The waste-tracker had also built a small fire near the dying man, using what little bracken and scrub brush he could scrounge from the area. The fire was wholly unnecessary where warmth was concerned; the red soil of Urok had a quality to it such that it would absorb the ample heat of the day and allow it to emanate and release during the night. Taruk had built the fire as more of a signal to help Theara replace her way back. It also kept nocturnal predators at bay and may have even comforted the mortally injured stranger.

Taruk’s wounds had already closed and he thought little of them as he gazed up at the brilliance of the half-moon. But tonight, his thoughts were not of Urok or the Ancestors. He feared for Theara, though the distance to the border was less than a day. It would be a short, uneventful journey for a waste-tracker but for a female of the northern towns not used to traveling in such a wild place as Urok the journey could very easily and very quickly turn deadly, as the poor fellow at his feet had discovered. Should she replace assistance, at least she would have company on the return trip. But if she returned alone, there could be any number of dangers that she could come across and, brave as she was, Theara was ill-equipped to handle the perils of this unconquered land. He could only hope that some of what he had taught her had sunk in and that she was quick and observant enough to avoid any potentially hazardous encounters.

Theara had insisted upon saving this man and Taruk knew that it was the right thing to do, though presently it seemed that their efforts would all be in vain. The man was stubbornly clinging to life, due entirely to Taruk’s medical ministrations. He was unfamiliar to the waste-tracker but his clothes suggested that he was from Gildrah. Why had he crossed the border into Urok in the middle of the wilderness instead of taking the known roads and paths that led to the desert settlements where he could replace safety among others? Was he lost? Was he running from enemies?

“He is a spy,” came a soft voice from behind Taruk.

The waste-tracker lept to his feet, startled by the sudden voice that came out of nowhere. He drew his knife and whirled to face the potential ambush. But what he saw was more confusing than threatening; before him stood a hairless older man, with skin as tan as his own. The interloper was not Urokan though; his small stature and narrow eyes confirmed that. He wore nothing more than a tattered brown robe and sandals and his demeanor exuded a perfect calm. There was something odd and exotic about this fellow that Taruk could not put his finger on, an almost other-worldly quality that hinted at either sorcery or divinity. Taruk-sem was unfamiliar with both and thus stood his ground, waiting for the newcomer to reveal more.

He did not. He merely stared at Taruk-sem, his hands tucked into his sleeves and the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

“Where did you come from?” asked Taruk-sem, still trying to size up this individual.

“That is a long and complicated question, waste-tracker,” was the reply. “Were you not more interested in the origins of the man at your feet?”

Taruk considered this. Somehow the person before him knew his mind. “Are you one of the Ancestors?”

“In a way, but perhaps not in the manner that you envision them.”

Strange words from a strange man. There had been many strange occurences of late. Theara had been right; things seemed to be deviating from their natural state. The routine was becoming less of the norm. Still, the interloper appeared harmless for the moment and in the possession of information that Taruk may replace useful.

“You said this man was a spy,” Taruk noted. “I am not so much interested in how you know that as to why he would be here in the outlands of Urok. Is he a threat?”

“Not to you,” was the mellow response. “Not to anyone now.”

“Does he hail from Gildrah?”

“Indeed he did.”

“But Urok is allied with Gildrah. Why would they spy upon us?”

“It is sometimes necessary for allies to keep an eye on each other. As you should continue to do.”

“I am a waste-tracker. I have no--”

Taruk paused. The stranger was speaking of Theara.

“She is a companion of yours as well,” surmised Taruk.

“Not as such,” said the quiet man, “though I am fascinated by her quest. Her success or failure will have astounding implications.”

“Sit, then,” offered Taruk. “Share your knowledge.”

“I shall not tarry long,” explained the newcomer. “I can only suggest that you accompany her on her journey. The road will be a long and difficult one if she is to succeed. Your guidance, counsel and protection has meant much to her in recent days.”

“Her quest will require her to travel far and wide. As waste-tracker, I am bound by the borders of Urok and pledged to protect its lands and people.”

“I can assure you, good Taruk, that her actions, whether here or elsewhere, shall affect your nation greatly. The very future of your culture may depend upon the outcome.”

Taruk noted the stranger’s use of his name, which he had not given. “If you are truly one of the Ancestors then you know the trial I recently underwent in order to cleanse my spirit of the trangressions I committed in the ancient homeland. I was penitent and endured the tribulations that followed. I shall not disgrace my vows lightly again.”

“But your actions were honorable and altruistic,” countered the foreigner. “You saved her life several times over.”

“And she may have well saved mine,” agreed Taruk, “but my penance is done. From this time forward, I stay true to my pledge.”

“Most admirable, young waste-tracker. Though it is not I who shall judge you.”

“What do you mean, old one?”

“Theara is a strong-willed individual, not unlike yourself. There are few that she will trust with her safety or her friendship. There may be more to your relationship with her than you yet realize...”

Suddenly, it was morning. The blazing Urokan sun had just begun its fiery climb into the clear, wide sky. Taruk was sitting on the ground, his arms resting on his knees. His head had been down, chin to chest, and he now raised it to survey his surroundings. The fire was long dead, as was the man that had been mauled by the doom dog. But what of the old stranger? Taruk had just been conversing with him moments ago...hadn’t he?

Taruk scanned the ground, searching for sandalled tracks but found none other than his own. There was no sign of the wizened visitor. Had Taruk dreamed it? It seemed doubtful since his body did not have the feeling of having slept through the night. Taruk felt fully alert, refreshed and not drowsy at all. His last recollection was that of the encounter with the quiet man in the middle of the night as the moon gazed down upon the campsite and the stars winked and gleamed in their eternal way. Had time passed so quickly? Or had the elderly traveler ensorcelled him?

Taruk hadn’t the time to unravel the mystery, for just as he was pondering what to do with the fresh corpse he noted the approach of two riders coming up fast on his position. The animals they rode were not horses but stiltins, beasts of burden found mostly in the swampy areas of Gildrah. The herbivorous creatures were notable for their exceptionally long legs, which made travel through the soft, mucky marshes much easier and safer.

They rode in from the west, the direction of Gildrah, and indeed it was Theara in the lead, followed by a fellow that had the bearing and dress of a Gildrahn border guard. As they came closer, Taruk’s sharp eyes could see that Theara had new clothes upon her, albeit poorly fitted.

“Are we too late?” called Theara before she had even reached the campsite.

“He has joined his ancestors,” conveyed Taruk.

Theara swore something to herself that was undecipherable amidst the clatter of hooves. She and her new companion dismounted and both went to examine the body, as if to confirm what Taruk had said was true. When she was satisified that life had indeed fled the poor man, she rose and shook her head in dejection, but that was the extent of her emotional response.

“I will take the corpse back to Gildrah,” remarked the border guard.

“Why was he here?” asked the waste-tracker, bluntly.

“I cannot say,” answered the Gildrahn.

“Cannot or will not?” pressed Taruk.

“I am not aware of the comings and goings of everyone who passes between our two nations,” came the curt reply.

“Is that not your duty?” inquired Taruk-sem.

“My duty is to see that no foul creatures from Urok encroach upon the lands of Gildrah, and to ensure the safety of travelers on our roads.”

Taruk did not miss the hidden insult. “Then it seems you have failed,” he said, indicating the dead man on the ground.

“Perhaps if you had done a better job patrolling these areas then one of our citizens would not be dead!”

“Stop!” Theara interceded. “His death was a tragedy but completely unavoidable. For now, his identity is not an issue. First and foremost we must return him to Gildrah, inform his family and give him a proper burial.”

Taruk and the guardsman stared at each other a moment longer. The Gildrahn turned away first, saying “I will carry his body back.” With that he hefted the cold cadaver and secured it to the stiltin’s backside. He then mounted the beast and slowly started riding west, with only a brief backward glance to see if Theara would be joining him.

“I shall follow you shortly,” she replied to his unasked question.

Theara faced Taruk, stepping closely to him.

“I am pleased to see that you have returned unharmed,” he commented. “It is regrettable that the man’s life could not be saved.”

Theara nodded. “But you’re alright,” she said softly, as if not wanting anyone to overhear.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She smiled gently. “I suppose it’s foolish of me to think otherwise. This is what you do. It’s who you are.”

“I was born to serve my people and my homeland,” he stated, trying to ease the burden of what he was about to say. “And I must do so for the rest of my days, for as long as I am able.”

Theara nodded again, her smile fading. She could see where this was going. “Is there no way that I can persuade you to undertake this quest alongside me?”

Taruk hesitated. The words of the mysterious stranger echoed in his head. Some of the sentiments that had been imparted echoed those of Theara’s own. There were larger forces at work here and she was dedicated to tackling them on her own. But Taruk-sem, waste-tracker of Urok, was also dedicated. His duty was to patrol and protect the lands of Urok, her red sands, her cracked earth, her hills and mesas, her canyons and natural resources. He was also sworn to protect Urok’s people and its culture, the traditions of its Ancestors and the generations of the future. If these cataclysmic events were to occur then he would be needed here, in his homeland, more than ever.

“I must stay,” was all he said.

Theara looked downward, saddened. “I accept that. I understand duty as well, moreso than you will ever know.”

“Then go and do your duty,” Taruk stated, “but return if you are able. It would be pleasing to see you again. And I would sleep more soundly knowing that you were safe.”

She looked up again. “I shall do that, Taruk-sem.”

They grapsed forearms, embracing in the manner to convey strength, honor and comradeship. Then Theara turned and mounted her stiltin.

“I would ask one last thing of you, waste-tracker,” she said. “Should you, in your patrols, come across any mention or evidence of Diathilos, its nobility or the twelve rings of the Emperor, please take note of it and follow up if you can. It is of the utmost concern to me.”

“You have my word,” Taruk promised.

“I shall return and replace you, waste-tracker,” she declared, pointing the stiltin towards Gildrah, “if the gods permit.”

Theara urged her mount forward and slowly headed west, seemingly in no hurry to catch up to her cohort or to leave the land of Urok. Taruk watched her go and did not take his eyes from her retreating form until she and her companion were well past the limits of his vision.

As he stared, Taruk-sem pondered her words, as well as the words of the dark-skinned man. The events that had occurred over the past few weeks and months had indeed been both odd and alarming. Theara had been right; times were changing, with an apparent quickness that Taruk had not been prepared for. The dothik encroachments, tensions with Gildrah, masses of refugees fleeing the fall of the D’losian empire. Taruk would have to intensify his vigilance and he would have to convey that intensity to his fellow waste-trackers.

With renewed determination, Taruk-sem resumed his patrol, heading towards the Southern Flats and the settlements beyond. As he trekked off into the wilderness, a warm wind blew, kicking up a light dust storm that spiraled into small vortices of swirling red sand. But Taruk did not look back at the chaos that was churning behind him. His steely, hawkish eyes were set firmly upon the horizon...