The beginning of this story I wrote five years ago. I have rewritten the story to make it easier to read. I will be working on the next part of the story. I am reposting the first part because five years is a long time to remember what you read.
The world Skari lived in had been one of the first prototypes of its kind. No one knew how old this world was or Skari, but everyone knew of her.
Skari danced her heart out each day on the steps of the river. Calling to all the grey life around her, beseeching all to feel again. To feel anything. Even hatred would have started to waken the sleeping world.
Skari, reaching into her soul, poured out all her love and longing to see color again. Praying for one plant to show the rainbow of colors she remembered. A memory now like an old dream tucked away in the recesses of her mind. Skari knew she was the last to remember.
She danced in the river daily, hoping the world would return to what it was long ago. What the world was meant to be.
Every morning, with the rise of the next planet, the world found Skari swirling, swirling, swirling. Ice-cold water spun from her feet to cover all grey life within her reach.
Rumor said if you ended up with some of the sprays from Skari's wild dancing on you, your skin would turn the same shade of peach as hers. Once you turned, there was no blending into the land or the crowds of people.
A turned person would be shunned from the villages for causing danger to all around them. They would find themselves kicked out of the Village for the rest of their lives, fending for survival.
The day wore on, with Skari never taking a break. If anything, she seemed to move faster, faster, faster as the next planet made its way over the world, shedding what little light it could on the inhabitants of the place Skari called home.
The ripples in the river, caused by Skari dancing, started to glow from the light shining down over the world as the day wore on.
The water bounced through the air, shooting diamond glitter flecks of light off in all directions. Sparks shot up into the sky, colliding with each other, shooting off again to land as soft raindrops upon the grey inhabitances daring to come near the river. The foliage found near the river beds received life-giving raindrops as well.
Skari, deep within her mind and soul, danced without awareness. She was now in the deepest part of her trans-like state. If someone had tried to speak to her, she would not have heard them, so far into her daily dance as she was.
In her dreamlike state, color returned to her world for only her to see.
Skari soaked into her being all the beauty she could, knowing deep inside this dream would only last a few short moments.
This was the one gift she had been given. This was her hope, her renewal, bestowed upon her, in her, to help in her fight to reverse the discord that came into her world so long ago.
Evening snuck in, and with it, a horse could be seen slowly making its way along the river banks. The horse, while magnificent in form, was grey from head to hoof, blending well into the land. No one would have been able to see the horse without the swirling rainbow of light radiating from the twisted horn protruding from the middle of the noble beast's head.
You could see Skari nudged by the glorious beast in the last dim light being shed worldwide. Singling her time for today was at an end. Skari's last spin ended with her arms wrapped around her one true friend left in her world.
She rested her head alongside his neck, arms circling, hands entwined in the long flowing mane. Exhausted beyond all reason. This daily ritual kept her from falling into a wasted heap on the ground.
Pathos carefully lifted his head, bringing Skari along with him. He slowly raised one hoof and swung his neck to the right, bringing Skari's feet gently on top of his cannon bone. Skari tightened her grip on Pathos mane, ready for the last step in achieving their goal. With one final twist of his neck, Skari soon sat atop her noble friend, lifting his hoof even higher.
Pathos slowly crossed the river with great care while many of the world's inhabitants watched for what they knew would be coming.
Making it to the top of the stairs, the raging sea on one side, grey vegetation on the other, the two stopped. Waited. Swirls of wind started to pick up around them as Skari's arms raised above her head one last time.
Golden light shimmered down from the swirling vortex enveloping them both. Off in the distance, you could hear the deep sound of a horn being carried on the wind.
Pathos took one step forward and vanished. The world quiet once more.
Minutes passed as the inhabitants were again in awe of the beauty they had just witnessed. Reality soon came into play as a small cry from a baby woke everyone from the trance they found themselves in.
Women and men sprinted to the river, knowing this was the only chance they would have to safely fill barrels and jugs full of the clear river water. Once the barrels and jugs were full, those needing bathing took turns in the water. Mothers and wives were seen washing babies, husbands, and clothes before it became too dark to see.
All too soon, another horn, higher in pitch, could be heard in the distance. The villagers, as one, stopped what they were doing to gather their belongings and family close to them to start the short trek back to the Village and safety.
So ended a typical day in a world that was one of the first prototypes of its kind.
No one alive today remembered what the world was like when it first appeared. Stories, handed down from generation to generation, soon changed over time in the telling. How do you make someone care about the color green and all it stands for when more life-threatening changes are happening worldwide.
Seeing any color other than shades of grey brought fear to those hoping to glimpse something out of the corner of their eye. Color meant not being able to blend into society. Color told you that you were a danger to your loved ones. If any happened to see the rare trace of color, they soon learned to keep it to themselves.
On a typical morning, Roork woke up, went about his morning routine, then headed off to work at the blacksmith shop. He was, by far, the best blacksmith in the area, which meant he was always busy.
The people trusted Roork. They knew he had the immense skill to complete a job right and on time. He was a soft-spoken man who enjoyed his solitude.
Today he had to finish one last horseshoe for the town Mayor. The man was a pain to work with. Always in a rush. Making his job all the more dangerous. An injury of any kind was always at the forefront of anyone's mind living in this day and age. Having to hurry through a job didn't help matters.
Roork being too valuable a person to waste on the mere shoeing of a horse meant as soon as the shoe was done, it would go on to an apprentice to finish the job.
Getting an early start meant the threat of hurrying would soon be gone from his day, and Roork could return to his easy ways in the silence he craved.
A short time later, the coals in the forge finally glowed the right shade of grey to Roork's trained eye. He started on the last shoe. Heating, pounding, heating, and pounding could be heard through the Village in the rhythmic tones of the blacksmith shop.
Roork went to make the last blow on the newly formed horseshoe. While beginning his last downward swing, a bellowing voice spoke from behind him. Rork's aim ended up off just enough. He smashed his hand instead of the horseshoe.
He didn't even bother turning around to talk to the man behind him, nor did he say a word but stood in shock, looking on. Having only seconds before all was too late, Roork quickly grabbed a few splints of wood and cotton cloth an inch wide. He began straightening, slowly and carefully, each finger. He made sure the joints of the knuckles were aligned as straight as he could.
One would think he was a great man to suffer the horrible injury he just received in silence, but, in truth, Roork could not feel a thing. Not bothering to look at the Mayor behind him, Roork wrapped his hand in protective cloth and started the long journey to the river to await nightfall.
Holmfirth was the farthest town away from the river. Roork, having been injured in the early morning, had plenty of time to make the trek today to the river at a safe pace. Following the well-worn smooth path, he skirted around the many small hamlets along the way. No one dared stop Roork.
No one dared touch him. Too many people depended on his skill to interrupt him on the long walk to the river.
During the midday sun, Roork finally made it safely to the river. He sat near the edge of the bank and watched Skari dance. He was in awe of the grace of her dance. She showed no fear as she twirled about the sharp rocks under her feet. He had never come across a living human that did not show some fear inside them.
Roork had never been to the river this early. For a man as large as Roork was, it was a miracle he had lived as long as he did. Cradling his hand in his lap, Roork leaned back against the boulder to take in all of Skari's glory while he waited for the setting sun.
Today the dance had taken Skari deeper into the colored world than ever before. The green and blues called to her soul. She started to cry as she felt the sun's pull, knowing her time in the world of color was almost over again.
Tears streaming down her face, she gave one last twirl sending water spraying father than ever before and right onto Roork just as he was lifting his arm carefully up off his lap. His face looked up as the river water, mixed with Skari's tears, landed as tiny sparkling golden jewels all over his body. He froze, nestled back against the boulder, and waited.
A grey mist appeared to the left of Roork, making him turn his head.
Pathos appeared as if made from the fog that now surrounded them both. From the light, Pathos's twisted horn thew off, Roork could now see his body covered in the many colors he had only heard about from bedtime stories his grandparents told when they were alive.
All photos are mine unless otherwise stated.
