Eran's Journey

Many years ago on our green and blue planet was a never ending road. It stretched out for infinite miles and was as circular as it was linear. The peoples of the world all knew this road and walked upon it, some only a few steps and others vast distances. While all knew it and beheld its wonders, no one could say where it started nor where it ended, only that it was there and it affected every living thing just as every living thing affected it. The origins of the road were left for people to speculate on. There were as many theories as there were tongues to articulate the origin and ending of the road. 

The Neg tribe that populated the fertile plains of Wenga believed that the unending road was an eternal carpet laid out for the goddesses and gods of their tribe to walk along. Each step they took imbued the ground with magical vitality. Living under the shadow of the mighty J’Neer Mountains, the tribe held that their goddesses would on occasion step down from their celestial thrones onto the footstool which was J’Neer’s summit and walk across all creation; blessing those that needed blessing, fixing all that needed fixing and simply marveling at their doing. The Neg tribe were charged to behave the same as they too were gods and goddesses on earth. 

In these times, civilization arranged itself along the road in some fashion, according to the peculiarities of their environment. Villages and towns with their own distinct ways shared reverence for the road for they knew the benefits of doing so and the consequences for not. On this thoroughfare they had access to trade and adventure. It was to all their benefit to simply maintain it, for the road sustained itself. 

The aforementioned Neg tribe were an agrarian society given the fertile plains they inhabited. Fruits burst off the branches and vines and crops shot out of the ground to towering heights. They ate well and entertained themselves with games and sporting events such as wind riding, kinetic boulder racing, astral relays (whereby two or more individuals astral projected out of their bodies on earth to commune amongst the stars) and fishing. Many generations of Neg had called these fertile plains home and upheld their oath to preserve the road like good stewards. 

It happened that amongst the Neg was a young boy of approximately 16 years (though in these times they called years “cycles”). The boy yearned to walk the unending road as far as his mortal body could take him. It was a dream that had kept him up excitedly every night and though he was quite happy with his life on the plains of Wenga, he ached to walk the road and see all he could see along it. So fervent was the desire he was certain that if he didn’t follow the urging of his heart he would be forever beset with regret. 

As young as he was, he knew that while the road was endless, his time to explore it on earth was not and so he resolved to do it. Though he was happy and loved at home, there was an inner agitation that only walking the road could satisfy. 

He decided that at the beginning of the new cycle, he would embark on his adventure. His family cried but the tears they shed were not exclusively tears of sorrow. They cried tears of pride for it was a brave and worthy thing the boy endeavored. He promised to always meet with his beloved family in astral conferences and this brought joy to all their souls. The boy’s name was Eran.  

On the day that Eran set out, he was lavished with gifts and well wishes from his family and the greater tribe. His father gave him his own anorak which was still formidable against the nastiest chill despite its age. Eran had buried his tiny face into the thick hood when his father used to carry him around as a little boy. The gesture and the coat would warm him for eternity. He thanked his father and was honored to see his tears.

His mother baked many loaves of bread and a dozen cakes for him which she carefully wrapped to keep them fresh for as long as possible. Eran looked at the impressive spread of food. He had a cache of delectable treats to trade for other things he’d undoubtedly need along the way. He blessed his mother for her love which stretched into eternity just like the road that awaited him. 

The village flocked over to give him an assortment of things, from tools to last minute confessionals. A girl of about his age professed her love for him with tears coursing down her face and Eran blushed. He asked her if she was skilled in astral projection so they could liaise amongst the stars and she wept bitterly for she wasn’t. She wished him well and ran back home where presumably she cried some more. Eran kicked himself for not realizing she liked him. It was too late though for the road beckoned.    

By the time all had come around to say goodbye, his sack was overflowing with things. He hoisted it over his shoulder to test the weight and while he was a strapping young man, walking around with such a weight was more a hindrance than help. And so while it pained him to leave people’s goodwill behind, he took what he needed on the path and left the rest for his aging parents to trade or do with as they saw fit. The family embraced him and his whole tribe lined up to wave and cheer him out of Wenga. And so Eran embarked on the journey of a lifetime along the never ending road. 

 Eran walked along the road and perhaps it was the sheer excitement of the occasion but he felt like the sun, trees, ground and stars at night welcomed and watched over him. Beyond the boundaries of Wenga where he had hitherto lived all his life, Eran encountered a ghost zone. The zone was so named not for paranormal denizens but for its lack of human inhabitants. However, the absence of humans didn’t equal the absence of life. The first few days of his journey, Eran was faced with a whole host of animals, some of which were familiar to him. Grazing animals looked upon him with curiosity but expended more attention to the presence of predators that lurked in the grass.  

Eran too, had to be wary of hostile interactions. Though humans and animals mostly ignored each other, deadly conflict wasn’t unheard of. Growing up Eran had heard rumors of travelers getting attacked on the road by both beast and man. It struck him as absurd that any creature would harm another in the midst of the teeming abundance all around them. Yet it was said that certain portions of the road mourned loudly from the blood spilled along it. Eran accepted that death was as natural and mysterious as the very ground he walked and hoped to stave it off for as long as it was in his power to do so. There was much to see and nearly seven days after he first left Wenga, he had the bright idea to document his journey. These are the writings of Eran.

Nature and Life. 

I am Eran, son of Juust and Kima of the Neg tribe. It is the sixteenth cycle since the great storm and I have started on a journey that will hopefully last a lifetime or give me a lifetime worth of memories. Seven days ago I set out to walk the road that has been called never ending. This has been a dream gnawing at me since I can remember. I must know what lies beyond this step and the next and the next! Knowledge and understanding are my dearest loves that I pursue. Already my own senses are stretched to keep up with the wondrous things I see!

Upon crossing the bounds of Wenga, I saw a herd of water buffalo that numbered well into the thousands. Before then, I’d seen no more than five buffalo which were kept and herded by old man Hanef. Those animals behaved much like trained children; going out to pasture in the morning and being guided back to the village in the evening by Hanef. The buffalo I encountered were not like this. I doubt they can be governed by an old man with a whip. The buffalo I saw roamed freely and ate of the abundance of the land. They didn’t sleep in an enclosure. Come to think of it, neither did I! It was incredibly humbling to sleep under the stars!

 Over the next few days I walked a fair distance behind them as they made their way to the river to drink. Along this course, I encountered a fellow traveler. He wore a shawl made from animal hide over his shoulders and leg garments cut at the knees, not dissimilar to the style worn by my people. The man was muscular and stocky in frame, deep brown in complexion and had a head full of curly black hair. He didn’t look any different to the people of Wenga! My people.

We observed each other briefly before he advised me to be alert because where there were buffalo, there were sure to be fierce animals that eat buffalo. Sure enough, a short time later, a pride of lions circled the herd which stirred into a great panic. Thunderous was the noise as the herd stampeded to escape their clamping jaws! The other traveler was skilled in evading and when the herd charged in our direction, he took my hand, closed his eyes and next I knew we were bounding forward on the wind! A mighty cloud of dust rose into the air and we heard the despairing wails of the buffalo as one of their own was picked off by the fearsome lions. It was unlike anything I have ever faced.   

With our feet firmly planted on land, the man introduced himself as Dalo. He had been sent out to scout the migration of the water buffalo and report back to his tribe. Dalo is of the Brato tribe and they subsist on the animals of the plains. Much like the fearsome lions, the Brato lie in wait for the water buffalo and pick off a few for their own purposes. As of this writing we are two days out from the bounds of Brato and the water buffalo aren’t too far behind.  

Brato. 

Dalo and I arrived to a large gathering. They all awaited word on the progress of the herd and were pleased to learn the animals were not far away. The buffalo scout was a person of esteem and Dalo’s return along with the word of the approaching buffalo was reason to celebrate. I was welcomed with a song and Dalo’s family hosted me in their hut. I was served endless cups of aceta wine and after a point I had to simply decline anymore as my legs began to shake like river reeds! They teased me good naturedly but I am not accustomed to much drink. I shared the aceta cake that my dear mother baked for me and they remarked that although their tribe also baked aceta cakes, my mothers was superior. Mama was incredibly happy and proud when we caught up in the astral plains. That night I slept under a roof.   

The next morning, the wobbliness had left my legs and moved to my head. Dalo gave me water to drink and this seemed to help my strange condition. When I felt steady on my feet, Dalo showed me around their village. The huts were big, round structures with thatched roofs. They were arranged in a concentric pattern with all members of the tribe living in fairly close proximity to each other. Additionally, they had smoking huts in which they dried and smoked their meat. These huts had no windows or openings except the door. Smoke seeped out the slight crack at the bottom of the door, carrying with it a most flavorful aroma. My mouth watered. I may take on meat eating more regularly. All around, the tribe went about their day. Children played and ran to and fro while men and women gossiped in the shade. The atmosphere was not dissimilar to my tribe and being there made me yearn for the plains of Wenga and my own family. 

Continuation. 

I have spent five days amongst the Brato and must continue on my journey now, lest their hospitality dull me from my own purpose. A big feast is being prepared and it is my understanding there will be a big party in the evening. Dalo and many others have shared useful information to help me along my walk and I feel ever more equipped to go ahead. I believe this is my purpose, to learn and grow continually. 

I’m both excited and terrified to see the Yera forest. Rumor of this forest reached Wenga but I wasn’t aware that this is a real place! By all accounts I must fortify myself and guard against the urge to explore this sacred forest. Yera possesses a certain power that even the most seasoned explorer can succumb to. The road continues to lead me. If I stay on its course, I will be alright. I am powerful. I can control myself. I will not be sucked in by Yera. 

Yera. 

It’s been three days since I departed from the Brato tribe and the road still goes on. I am on the fringes of Yera and it feels eerily quiet. As I’ve walked these many miles, I have seen the landscape of my youth gradually change, from Wenga to Brato and now the boundaries of Yera. Here the grass takes on a deeper hue of green and lowers its height. A predator would be hard-pressed to hide and stalk prey in these parts. Yet within the grass is not where menace stays. The grass stretches out and gives way to a fortress of tall, sturdy trees that spans for untold miles. From the periphery of this great assembly of trees, I can only see more trees and a mist that seems to rise from the middle of the forest. Light is fading as night creeps in and I cannot be sure that my eyes aren’t deceiving me but it definitely looks like a sheet of mist hangs between and over the tree canopy. I write this with no hint of jest but the mist seems to glow in bright colors! What could cause a hanging mist to shimmer like this? I struggle to pull my eyes away so I can document what I’m seeing. Can I trust what I’m seeing?

The Secrets of Yera.

I don’t recall going to sleep the night I first arrived at Yera forest. I do recall the vivid dream I had. A floating entity with enormous wings and a terrible gaze drifted through the forest, seeking humans to snatch up and put in its quiver. Once the quiver held a certain number of screaming persons, the entity flew up high into the sky, well above the trees and took out a large bow. Like a skilled archer, the entity would reach back into its quiver, draw out a person and launch them one by one into the roaring sun. Once one batch was complete, the entity would swoop back down to the forest and once again patrol the forest for more human arrows.  

I woke up in a pool of sweat. Somehow I was able to restrain myself from heading towards those shimmering lights but just barely as I woke up mere feet from the forest’s edge. Dalo and his family said in no uncertain terms that I mustn't, under any circumstances, enter this forest. This of course goes against my adventurous spirit and I told them as much. However, they were so grave and somber in their cautions I have to at least think twice before charging in. 

The wind blows through the forest, rustling leaves and swaying branches. Tonight I have only the full moon for company. I can’t compose myself enough to astral project, my nerves are just too fraught. I have decided to walk through the night. I take a path parallel to the forest which is as long as it is wide. All the while I feel the eerie beckoning of the forest and I fear that my mental resolve will be broken and my feet turned by an unseen force into the sacred forest.

Yera Inn.

 At daybreak, I came upon a wooden barn. A sign with “Yera Inn - You Can Come In Here” hung over the front door. I thought it was dark and funny given the sinister nature of the forest. I told this to the innkeeper who smiled but disagreed with my choice of words. According to him Yera forest isn’t sinister, simply self-preserving. He explained that as human beings grew in number and ambition it was inevitable that more and more space would be needed to accommodate the species. So in the name of preserving itself, the forest lures humans in, suffocates them and spits them out a stupified mess, incoherent and incapable of plunder. If they come out alive at all, that is. It makes sense. Other living things want to continue living too just like us. I ordered a bowl of hot porridge and slept off the latent effects of being so close to Yera forest.