THE MYSTICAL JOURNEY OF RATHO SHENZI

Excerpt 1 - From Chapter 8 - The Ruins

Shaded by tall pine trees on both sides, the trio climbed up the ancient path step by step. Reaching the top, Paudar stopped and pointed downslope to the dozen or more stone structures nestled below them.

"The ruins of Hol Kandar!" he proclaimed.

Nestled between two peaks near where the Iltac mountain range began, Hol Kandar lay in a shallow valley overlooking a deep gorge through which the wild Tanji River flowed on the way from its headwaters at Cushmal Lake. Though the site was not far from the main caravan route, traders always passed by quickly, fearing its strange and foreboding power. Time had seen many comings and goings at Hol Kandar, but its origins were still unclear, shrouded in obscurity.

"This is amazing!" exclaimed Ratho. "You’d never know it was here."

"In past times, this was the hub of commerce, trade, and religious celebration for the entire region." Speechless, Barjen just gawked.

Stone walkways wound around like a spider's web, connecting various parts of the complex to a central square, where an enormous broken obelisk stood. All around were the remains of small buildings, walls long since collapsed under the incessant pounding of winter storms. Carved stone columns, chipped and broken, lay scattered on the ground. And everywhere vines encroached upon the old stone city.

An eerie feeling possessed Ratho like a phantom, sending a chill up his spine. It was the feeling of Mulo, the Spirit of the Dead. This was a dead place. Then he remembered; many people had died here during the ancient religious wars.

"Well," asked Paudar, interrupting his thoughts, "do you feel it?"

"I sure do!" replied Ratho.

"What about you, Barjen? What do you feel?"

"I feel strange. This place gives me the creeps!"

Excerpt 2 - From Chapter 22 - The Confrontation

Stomping his foot with a deafening thud, the dark master sent the sand flying, issuing his formal challenge. Arms at his sides, Tanda Vas simply nodded in acknowledgement. He closed his eyes and waited. La Puroon raised his arms to the sky and placed his palms together, slowly lowering them in front of his chest, his body beginning to shake. Mild at first, the shaking became more and more violent until Ratho could feel the ground beneath him start to rumble. Then without warning the shaking stopped. In it’s place Ratho saw a vortex begin to form around La Puroon’s feet. Quickly it gathered speed, completely obscuring the dark master and Tahir in a sandy haze.

All the while Tanda Vas appeared to be doing nothing, but as the vortex made an awful moan he suddenly opened his eyes. With the sound of thunder coming from the newly formed clouds above, a ray of pure light descended, temporarily blinding the onlookers with its intensity.

As their vision cleared, a most unusual sight presented itself. In the spot where Tanda Vas had been standing was an enormous golden sphere. Beams of light pulsed rapidly inside it and through the brightness Ratho could make out a figure seated in meditation, suspended in mid-air. Suddenly, La Puroon’s tornado-like vortex began to gather speed and rise, leaving the sand below it empty.

“Hey!” Barjen yelled over the sound of a sudden, fiercely cold wind. “Where’d they go?”

Looking up, Ratho just shook his head. The icy wind grew in strength, the tops of the trees bending irresistibly toward La Puroon’s cloudy vortex. The wind whipped sand into the backs of the onlookers, stinging them through their clothes.

“Can you feel that?” called out Ratho.

“Feel what?” asked Barjen

“I feel it,” said Zinwa. “The ground underneath us, it’s moving!”