It was the morning of the fifth day. Squalls of cool wind gave me liberation from the sweltering heat of midday. The air was clean and clear, mimicking the pure and promising cerulean sky above me. A refreshing breeze swept my long locks of black hair up and out of my face, giving me the same invigorating sensation of dipping my face into a bowl of cool water.
The landscape had become more hilly since the last day or so, and new vegetation was beginning to emerge from the earth. The grass was more stunted here, and in some places was appearing to have a bluish tint. Lavender colored weeds, about the same width and length of my hand, sprang up from the ground, expanding into triangular shaped flowers that swayed lightly in the wind.
I could still see the dark green foliage of the Omosede forest off in the distance. Every now and then I would pass by a familiar tree that would seem to sprout out of nowhere, as if a seed from the woods had blown all here. When I came across one of these trees I would usually lie down and take a break, or a quick nap in the shade.
This morning I never had the opportunity to nap, because as soon as I reached the top of another rolling hill and gazed upon the wide, meadow-like landscape ahead of me, I saw in that vast wilderness the village of Wan-joh.
Or at least what was left of it.
Most of the buildings were burnt to the ground. A few were just barely standing; held up only by a few feeble rafters and charcoal beams. Everything else was destroyed.
I gave a sharp intake of breath when I first saw it, and my eyes calculated the scene with silent horror. Smoldered remains of humble wood cabins, shacks, and lean-to’s lay upon scorched, trampled earth. Entire houses were burnt down to the ground. Even the town well was destroyed and smashed to pieces; the stone that held it secure was rudely crushed into bits and all that remained was a dented metal pipe. Nothing was left.
My countenance was stern and resolved as I held back stinging tears. These people, whoever they were, were going to pay for what they’ve done.
I ran down the hill with long, aggressive leaps; the wind rushing past my face and tossing my hair wildly behind me. Tears stung and blurred my vision, but none of this deterred my footing or my balance. I charged at the dead city as if I was still able to save it.
I slowed to a halt as I approached the first building. I took a moment’s pause to mentally prepare myself for what I might find here, and then proceeded through the city. The atmosphere seemed to change as soon as I proceeded down the rows of houses. This place had the same presence as a graveyard; quiet, eerie, and deathly still. A rafter broke off a dilapidated building behind me with a loud crack. Startled, I jumped an inch off the ground and spun around, my heart thumping rapidly inside my chest. I stood stalk-still, waiting for the disrupted dust to settle before I moved on.
After a minute or so, I realized something was very strange about all of this. There were no bodies. If this was indeed a massacre, there should be corpses lying around. I inhaled a deep whiff of air, and could detect the irony presence of blood. If I gazed closer at the scorched soil, I could see bloody trails everywhere. But if there was a battle, then where were the casualties?
I searched the village for answers, looking around for any clues, but all I could find were burnt remains of the town, and no survivors.
Then as I approached what appeared to be the town’s church, I saw something very peculiar. Tied to the broken outer rafters of the building were the thin, flexible twigs off of a Yulkeu tree, a native honeysuckle. The white flowering blooms formed a wreath above the entrance.
I tilted my head to one side and stared at the display. Getting up on the tips of my toes to reach it, I brought my fingers to the jade and hazel colored leaves and touched them. I gave it one more glance and then went inside the edifice.
It was no different than the other buildings; empty and ruined. My eyebrows knitted together into a puzzled expression as I contemplated the room. What did this all mean?
I turned around and exited the church, stopping just outside the door. Someone had to have been here since the battle with the intention of putting that wreath up. The church was nearly burned to the ground, and here the wreath hung, unharmed. Its leaves had not even begun to wither. That brought me to another thought.
If the flowers were freshly picked, the person who set it couldn’t have been here more than a week ago. That meant that they whoever they were, they were somewhere nearby.
I passed through the rest of Wan-joh at a respectful pace, silently sending prayers to all the fallen warriors. When I reached the city’s edge, I set out in the same direction I had been traveling for the past few days; northeast.
Hopefully I would find a town, or someone on the way, that I could inform of this terrible monstrosity.
