Disease crept through the village, with the oozing tendrils of Death flickering at the village-goers. It became apparent that this was a true problem after a pattern had occurred, though, and by then it was too late. The choices were to split and evacuate, or stay and die. Most chose the latter option. The common theory was that it was caused by a contaminated crop, but the sicknesses still arose from crops other than those of the village. Therefore, the village was deemed unclean.
This left four families to fend for themselves. They could not travel north, as mountains barred their way, and they decided to who east. While heading east, they would keep a reasonable distance most of the time, and meet up at the end of the day. The Sistan family was poor and servants. The Punjab family was the wealthiest in the village, as landowner, though now the land was lost. The Xizang family had a writer, who used cuneiform. The father of the family who wrote also could draw maps with a fair accuracy. From the start of the disease, he had written about it. The last group was the Moldova family, which was not very fond of the other families. They were pottery makers.
They left the timber houses standing, as an old memory, a friend. Otherwise, they took all they could carry on their back to travel, which was not light and easy. They would need to sell many possessions when they arrived to make enough money to start anew. They also took crops, since they knew now that the crops were not the problem.
The general idea was to travel east, northeast, until they hit a city, which they would inhabit the outskirts of. The journey would be long and hard, and few would live to tell of it, but they knew not, yet.
That night, the families celebrated, danced, sang, and tried to be merry, as they knew the future was too grim to ponder. The Moldova man told his wife to fetch him his Oud (stringed instrument) which the wife brought back. He played. All were almost merry.
The families crossed deserts and plains, and came near the ocean once, but then realized they had traveled too far south. All this time, the man of the Xizang family had been writing out a map. He was not fooled from the impression that they would all stay together. He knew that something would go wrong, and when it did, the families would split. The question was where, when, and how many families would be lost.
It happened on a spring morning, 3 weeks after the journey began. Tensions were growing between the Punjabs and the Sistans. The Punjabs still ordered the Sistans around, even though they had no more wealth and nothing to pay the Sistans. Therefore, when the chance arose, the Punjabs were quick to take it.
The assumption was that the disease had been left behind them, so when a member of the Sistan family died from it, there was panic. The Punjab family immediately argued that the Sistans should be left behind. The Moldovas supported this thought. The leader of the Xizang family gave a big sigh, and agreed, knowing he was outnumbered, but on one condition. Everyone had to give a small portion of their food supply to the Sistans. The next day, when a small hamlet was reached, the Sistans stayed behind in an area near Iran. At this time, Mr. Xizang put a dot down on his map. He then wondered whether the Sistans were the first family to leave, or the first family exiled? How many more times would the families quickly turn on each other?
That night the man of the Xizangs recorded in his journal. He knew the story of his people would one day be lost without him, so he wrote, and wrote. In the next part of his journal, he wrote down the rules for proper procedure when a family decides to leave or is exiled. This included a share of food, water, and supplies. Father Xinzang wanted to keep this as fair as possible.
While mulling this over, leader Xinzang wonders when his own family will leave the group. Will his family leave unified, or separated? Will they leave exiled and shamed? It was only a matter of time.
Two weeks later, the families were parallel with the Caspian Sea. At this point, a Xinzang fell ill. The other families knew they were nothing without a leader, and unofficially, that leader was father Xinzang. They decided council would be held the next day to determine what to do next.
The other families needed the Xinzangs, but they also needed to live.
That night, father Xinzang pondered before sleep. He had come to the great conclusion. The disease had not followed them, but they had brought it with them. It stayed in waiting inside them, and expressed itself when the body was most vulnerable. This meant that the disease festered in their land long before people died from it.
At the council the next morning, this fact was told to the other families. The Moldovas didn’t believe it, while the Punjabs were on the fence. If what leader Xinzang said was true,then there would be no point in exiling him.
But they didn’t see the logic.
The logic they saw was that the hunting was scarce when all the families alternated it while traveling, but now it would be easier, with no competition.
A fight broke out, with long suppressed emotion roaring out. It was decided that the Xinzangs would stay in the Tocharian area. The Moldova’s were to travel around the Caspian Sea and away, as far as possible from the families as they could get. The Punjabs would travel south to the Indic area. They would settle in the rivers that lead into the Indus River Valley.
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Everything had been recorded in the diary, and the father had taught all these skills to the eldest son, who soon became the head of the family, and a family of his own, who had a family of their own. His job was to find the families and record how they had changed over the years. That was the father’s dying wish. That was a year ago.
The eldest son Xinzang was dreading seeing the Punjabs and the Moldovas again, so he started with the Sistans.
He watched from afar first, before he walked up to them and told them what happened and his new journey. The family had changed. The 3rd generation barely spoke any of their language, and the 4th generation spoke none of it at all. Most of the family were still servants, because they knew nothing else. Their religion had changed, too. The 2nd generation wasn’t affected as much, but the 3rd generation barely held any similar beliefs, and the 4th generation was unrecognizable as anything resembling the family’s old religion. True religion. The Sistans were assimilating into the new culture they lived around, and were losing their old ways of life.
The Punjabs were next, but they were not wealthy, they were dirt poor. They had no proper skill to earn any money, and knew not the culture they lived around. They were forced to change quickly, and yet this was not quick enough. The parents were dead. Only the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th generation was left. Without the parents to hold them to their beliefs and remind them of their culture, they changed into the city’s culture as much as possible. The son Xinzang did not even notice at first who they were.
The last family on the list was the Moldovas, who the son Xinzang did not have a map to. He grabbed his own son, younger Xinzang, to accompany him on the trip.
It was the dead of winter. They traveled light, to get to their destination faster, but this was a mistake. As they traveled further and further north, the colder it got, and soon they met snow, which they had never seen. It was no wonder, but something weighing them down, freezing them to the bone.
The eldest son Xinzang died that week, but not before giving specific instructions for when this event came to be. The son would travel on and find the Moldovas. And he would report back.
He did find the Moldovas while huddling in a cave that night. They didn’t make for good conversation, and the younger Xinzang wondered why they hadn’t made it to their destination.
They were dead.
2 comments:
Sorry, Mr. Wojo, there are some spelling mistakes in this post...
Once again, all I can say is... whoa.
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