Powers and Principalities Ch. 1-8

Powers and Principalities Ch. 4

Chapter 4

         Alexander the Great traveled tens of thousands of miles over the course of his short life; either on foot or riding atop some lice-infested animal. Genghis Khan traveled from Asia through Europe, conquering everyone and their cousins. Moses and the early Hebrews were lost in the desert near Jerusalem for the span of an entire generation. They must have traveled much further than I had. If they could do it, why did it feel like I was losing my mind watching my body wither with fatigue?
         Starvation was starting to set in. Perhaps it was already there but my mind has been distracted with my various other dilemmas. I wondered how long it had been since I had eaten. For that matter, how long since I sat at home among friends and enjoyed a meal freshly prepared by family? It’s hard to imagine who these people may have been. At this point I stopped running and just collapsed. I finally allowed the tears to roll down my sunburnt cheeks. My cup was filled to the brim and demanded to be spilled. In this searing desert of isolation, even seeing those golden arches bearing grease-burgers would have filled my lonely heart with some sense of familiarity.
         I must have aged a year over the course of that afternoon. Blue Crow was anything but blue: high-standing stone walls encircling its area of approximately two kilometers in width. The high sands were trying to climb up its walls. Apparently I approached from the wrong side, which made sense because there was nothing on my side except barren sandy death.
         The most curious aspect of this largely featureless structure was an aqueduct protruding from the base. This fed into a small creek that trailed off into the ground. “WATER!!” I shouted to my imaginary audience. I ran over to the poor excuse for a river that stood only a few inches deep. Despite some discoloring, it wasn’t apparent that this was meant for blood until I drew near and could sense the unmistakable iron in the air. Some rodents could be seen nearby; they seemed not to mind as they scurried about. One of the only signs of life I have seen in awhile.
         It didn’t matter to me; of course I went further away from that part of the river to where it appeared clear. The lukewarm water pooled in my hand and then was absorbed eagerly into my dead skin. Time seemed to stop for me. My muscles collapsed and showed no signs of life as soon as I sat down. I don’t know how long I stayed in that spot, drinking and splashing myself. It was the happiest I had been in awhile. Light strokes of gray began to steal the sky from the sun. There was only about a couple of hours of daylight left when I finally arrived.
         My approach was halted there and I scoured for a real entrance. From the other side of this overbearing wall, sounds of activity could be heard; signs of life! My second wind was inspired as I got close. Upon reaching the other side I found an opening, with a crude dusty road laid out ahead and a guard post near the entrance. My heart skipped a beat as I almost let myself burst forth in frantic tears, but out of determination, I restrained the cry of every fiber of my being and casually approached.
         A young man leaned against the small guardhouse. His uniform was designed similarly to my own, except his looked brand-new. Long yellow hair framed his fairly-complected face; apparently this army allowed long hair. I instantly thought that he hadn’t been out into the desert lately, being so well-groomed. His green eyes lifted up at me lazily. My mind had to take an extra moment to make sense of the thick Scottish ranting that spewed forth at me;
“Wuts tha matteh wit yah? Looks lik yir havvina haerd day. Yir clothes’re fallin’ affa yoo.”
         I approached a little slower as I mulled over what I had heard. Then I formulated my response; “Is there ever a day spent rummaging through the desert that isn’t hard?” This was fully true to me by now.
         “Ay, then giv yir ID ere so yoocen git goin. An taek tha rags offa yir face,” The man commanded as he drew closer with graceful steps. He had a jolly and friendly manner about him, but I knew that he wanted to compare my face to that of Yorick’s on the ID that I possessed, then my cover would be blown. I couldn’t think of anything cleaver to do, so I did as he asked and prayed for mercy, something I hadn’t been doing very much lately.
         “Wuts this aboot? Looks nuthin’ lik tha pictua. Git ontha ground yoo wanker! We needta call tha sergeant!” His friendly disposition vanished beneath a mantle of military discipline. I quickly obeyed as he reached for his sidearm. The area immediately around the guardhouse was established upon an area laid with concrete. Even through my clothes I felt the scorching heat on the surface on which I laid. Each second spent became increasingly unbearable. The barrel of his sidearm stared down at my helpless body. It is incredible how one can feel these things without needing to see them for themselves. My prayers became more sincere with each passing moment. This couldn’t be the end, it just couldn’t be.
         The sound of the door swinging open was followed by the click of metallic boot taps against the hard surface. “What is going on here? Not again!” I heard another man shout. Although I couldn’t see him, his voice was that of a teenager, ringing with youth. The two gathered among themselves and held a private argument. I couldn’t hear most of their whispers, but it seemed this new figure was defending me because the picture on the card was too worn to determine that it wasn't me. Their argument was lengthy, or at least it seemed so when each second passing was spent in agony. With the sunlight fading, the surface should have been cooling but I couldn’t feel a difference.
         “Seefy tries enythin wi me, eez in a loaty trouble. Av git steel toecaps and nay tolerance!" was spat in my direction. I didn’t bother trying to decipher him this time; I just wanted him to let me off this miserable fryer! As if granting my request, he grabbed me by my hair and drug me up, nearly pulling off my scalp.
         Evident by his toddlerish pouty expression, the teenager was displeased. “Get on your way, Specialist Yorick. Sorry about the trouble. I hope you enjoy the Festival of Servants! There is still time before it begins” stammered an embarrassed voice. For a moment I suspected that I was higher rank than them, but the notion dissolved in the formless soup of my mind. Without giving a response, I stumbled into the Blue Crow.