[Worship] Sojourner's Travels

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

Vespera, You and I are One.  I am becoming the peace I search for.  Make it so.  I am that.  I am who I am.


And then Turhan, arthritic as he was, fell to his knees in the dirt and bowed his head to pray.  Vespera, his Spiritual Guide, looked down from her place in the heavens, and covered the sun with dark clouds.  Instantly the warm midday-placement of the sun was cloaked by black thunder over in the east.  The breeze brought the sharp, crisp ionic taste of a storm and the smell of fresh blood turned old as ritualistic prayers (written in blood) dried on his skin.  


The old man could not feel the heat that threatened to boil his blood to curds.  He could not feel the cool air singing through the hairs of his shabby aboriginal coat to keep him from heat stroke.  His forehead was slick with both sweat and ash making his horned mask slide back when he lifted his face to the sky and howled like the predators he used to run from.  His blind white eyes did not need to see the lightning strike to know that it had.  The near-distant roll of thunder bellowed so loud overhead that he felt, for sure, that Vespera had heard him.  The ritual was at its peak when the storm reached the mountains and began to wail full-tilt tyranny against it.


Vespera was hearing the medicine man as he broke into chant in an old tongue - a lost language very few knew. He could smell the pungent wet stink of fire prevailing over water.


Something bleeding at his knees in the dirt squirmed until he sent a sharp bone through it with a swift but powerful thought.  The sacrifice - he was sure he had caught a rabbit in his traps but it might have been something less benign.  The fires went out - the ceremonial drum had gone quiet.  He concentrated on what he prayed for as long as it took to feel Vespera's hand right over him.  Blessing him, guiding him, soothing his tired, aching body. 


Rain started slow then grew loud as the droplets grew in size and in numbers.  The wind rested and relaxed the angle at which it would fall.  Thunder grumbled both near and far and promised to be quick.  Turhan kissed the wet dirt with his mouth.  Vespera spoke to him through the drill-holes of the horned skull plate braided onto his head.  

The breathy words whistled and hissed as she spoke in tones of the wind, the rain, and most of all - the blood.


You have returned hom.  You may rest now.


The sojourner's last journey into the ancient home of the Ilati.   


You will find what you are looking for in the East.


To Terrastella and into the land of its people.


Turhan seemed to understand the way of the wind, rose up, and began his descent down from the peak rather dutifully. It would take the sixteen year old days to reach his destination so he was better off starting now. He had been promised rest - whether it was to come here just so he could die or if it was for other reasons, he believed in his heart that Vespera knew the way better than he did.


So he put his total trust and faith into her and continued on his path towards Terrastella.

T U R H A N  ~  
skull to dust