Lonethorn

My mother left without saying goodbye.

Though in hindsight, I should have seen it coming. The signs were there. The day before her departure my uncle worked me to the bone so that when the time I got to my bed, I lost consciousness within seconds. He made me accompany him to a potential client in the hinterlands of Sorez and insisted that we go by foot. It was a four hour hike to and fro from the client's abode, a small farmhouse in the hills, adjacent to the coastal forest.

I quite enjoyed it to be frank. The silence of the green rolling hills were a serene contrast to the obtrusive greyness of Sorez and the howling fresh air made the sight atop the elevated spot all the more beautiful. Uncle had given me a walking stick (of which the crafting of is a popular past time among the oldfolk of Sorez) to aid me in our trek. Mother opted to stay behind to look over the house. That should have been the first giveaway at what they planned.

True enough, the sights atop the hills were splendid and distracted me.

The greystone houses that jutted the coastline and formed the city was a thing of marvel. In the silence afforded by the distance and elevation we stood on, I gazed and relished the quiet beauty as well as the soft winds that accompanied being so far out of the metropolis. A thought came to my mind. That I should take some time, rather than tackle my uncle's modest collection of books, to take some small hikes in the hills should the weather permit it. As if sensing my line of thought though, without turning around, My uncle warned, "If you are planning to trek by yourself in these hills, do not. You are not yet prepared."

"Sir?"

"It may not look like it, but the hills and forests has claimed aplenty unwary souls. The path twists and turns. What should have been a simple clearing can turn into a mind bending peril. Do not go into the forest and hills by yourself," He warned me cryptically.

I was perplexed by this, "What do you mean uncle? They're just trees and grass and hills." We talked as we walked. We opted for greatcoats to shield us from the cold winds that met out from bothways, the ones coming down from the mountains and the one rising up from the seas. I've been told that the geography affects the weather as well, giving Sorez an almost perpetual feeling of a storm about to fall.

Without turning to face me, uncle Arnao added, "Sorez is an old, old place boy. Surely you must have felt it when you first laid your eyes on it?" I did not voice my agreement. True that seeing these drab and cold land reverberated something deep inside of me. I do not know then how to describe such a feeling. I was eight, my only concerns most of the time was the next distraction to ward off boredom and chores. I felt the world revolve around me then, to give me the options to alleviate the ailment that is boredom and monotony.

That feeling, the one I felt when I first laid eyes on Sorez....It was a feeling of something far bigger. A hidden giant moving behind a veil I could bare comprehend to grasp. A history so ancient it perplexed me, a boy of eight years. It took me years to give voice to this. My silence as my uncle and I trekked gave him all the assent.

"The world would much like to forget it, but we Sorezii and along with our Grey neighbors do not forget so easily. And it is not for a lack of trying in our part," the old man continued, a lonesome how of wind accompanied us in our small journey making the conversation even more forlorn.

"There are...forces in this land, Anrique," he said, speaking my name. He seldom says it. My ears pricked. The moment forever ingrained in my mind, attested that even after many years I still recall it every now and then. Uncle Arnao went on, "For the most part, that force --that power-- ignores us. So long as we don't poke or shift its resting place. You strike me as a curious young soul. There are places in this world, many of which are here in Sorez, where such power lies. Either sleeping, forgotten.....or waiting."

"Waiting, Uncle?" I inquired. He did not continue, simply kept on forward and I followed as best I could with my little legs. I did not get what he was referring at. What he was cautioning me against, as much as I asked in that trek. Only that I was being cautioned. His tone....I could not pinpoint what it was at the time, only years later would I discern it - -through an event. An incident.

An incident that began the cascade of disaster in Lonethorn.

The incident triggered the memory of those hills and the lonesome breeze that accompanied us. And I understood then what it was that my big old uncle Arnao felt as he cautioned me of the supposed unseen forces. Ancient forces that so slumbers amidst quiet hills and lumbering forests.

It was fear.