Chapter 2 - Stone Ruins in the Forest.

Luudin walked in a meandering, aimless fashion. Or so it would seem from the outside. But he had a plan. He would do as he was taught and find an animal trail. If he traveled the land down slope along one he would likely find a source of water. Eventually. He was concerned for his situation, but unpanicked and unhurried. He was the son of Pilgrims after all, and had learned their ways by birthright.

He took in his surroundings. The smell of the earth. The wind through his hair and over his skin. The sounds of the forest was all around him. Birds called and sang, animals chittered in the distance, and the trees whispered of days long passed. The forest was once tamed land, he was sure of it. The trees bore the unmistakable signs of being carefully tended in the distant past. It was likely a remnant from before the Sundering. Some wealthy estate or village woodland long abandoned. It was even odds that civilization was nearby, or an ancient road, or some other indication that would lead him to other people. He swallowed and refocused on counting his steps. He had to keep calm and keep his mind clear of internal distractions. He didn't know the lay of the land and a misstep could cost him dearly.

Eventually, Luudin found an animal trail and followed it. The sun was high overhead by the time his legs started to burn. It was a while ago that he had found a suitable length of branch to run through the handles of the basket he carried. It eased his burden and lengthened his stride to lever the basket over his shoulder with the branch instead of carrying it awkwardly out in front of him. Still, he walked slowly and deliberately, both to conserve energy and to avoid injury. At a little past midday he stopped to eat another of the apples and some of the bread. He was careful not to eat too much of his small amount of stolen food. Luudin wasn't sure he could reliably find more. He had seen several plants and a few species of trees that he was unfamiliar with. Wherever he was, it was uncharted territory for him and perhaps for his people.

As he ate and probed at the angles of his situation, he heard behind the forest sounds a distant tinkling. It had the distinction of being an almost musical sound. He finished what bread he had in his hand as his ears picked out the direction of the sound. Shouldering the basket, he stepped off the trail and followed it with deliberate steps. He barely made a sound above the cacophony as he wove his way toward whatever was ahead. For a reason he couldn't put into words, his heart was in his throat as the sound grew louder and more distinct. A gentle chiming, a call through the forest. Five heartfelt notes played to the rhythm of the wind.

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The sunlight caught whatever it was and it twinkled in the distance between gaps in the trees. As he drew nearer the undergrowth thinned and a ruined structure came into sight. Weathered brick and stone covered in moss and vine. Whatever wood had been part of the crumbling ruin had long decayed away. It was a shadow's shadow of what it had once been. It wasn't long before he realized that the ground beneath his feet had shifted to old cobble. A road? He could see what he thought might be a well nearby. A courtyard? He paused and looked around for something shiny or glassy. The wind had stopped and so had the sound.

His feet brought him toward the well while his head bobbled, his eyes trying to look everywhere at once. He stopped at the well and looked down. It was deep, a little narrow, and definitely not somewhere he would try to go no matter how thirsty he was. His heart skipped a beat as the chiming began anew and he swayed where he stood. Half against his will, half outside of conscious thought, his feet brought him past the well, and then he saw it. A sword. It was thrust into the stone of the crumbling foundation. It stood upright and proud, and to him it twinkled in the sun like candlelight off glass. The sound appeared to be coming from the sword each time the wind picked up, like someone playing an instrument or the wind playing over chimes.

The sword beckoned him. It seemed to call him by name. Not the name he had picked for himself after he abandoned the Pilgrim's Path, Luudin, but his true name, Zekiah. It was a name he wasn't allowed to use anymore, as was custom. He hadn't spoken it aloud or been called by it for the two years since he reached his age of majority and made the decision to give up the faith. He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand and when he lifted his head he was standing in front of the sword. The hand that had been holding onto the branch and leveraged basket was empty and out in front of him, reaching for the hilt of the sword. Somehow he had dropped the branch and traversed the ten or so yards to the sword while he was rubbing the obvious hallucination out of his eyes.

He jerked his hand away from the sword. He stared at the plain, shiny weapon and briefly wondered what has going on. Who knew how long the thing had been here, but it was untarnished and seemingly mundane. He reached his hand out slow. His fingers trembled. His heart raced and he was breathing hard. Panic and eagerness both welled up inside his chest. Right before his hand could wrap around the hilt of the blade an inhuman voice spoke out behind him.

"Pilgrim child." It intoned in a throaty, yowling voice. "That sword is not for you."