The Holy Sword part 1

*warning: Everything you read here are works of fiction


                 Hameed kneeled, grabbing the ashes of the dead in his hand. The smell of charred corpse, of burned beams and the sight of blackened city ballooned his chest with sadness. He closed his eyes long and turned his head up to the sky. His mouth murmured, praying for the dead to be at peace. He clenched his fist tight, his teeth grind, pressing hard on his gums. He gulped.

                Hameed let the overwhelming feeling settled down in him. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and watched the weightless patches of white above him moving carelessly. He sighed and placed the wet ashes in his hand back to blackened cobblestone road. He murmured prayer for the dead again and got back to his feet. He had seen enough of the destruction. Now he needs to get back to the reason why he came to the ruined city in the first place.

                Hameed makes his way deeper into the destroyed city. The smell of burned corpse, like the thick smell of vomit and puss burns his nostrils yet he endured. He gulped a few times and held his breath for as long as he could. Once he found himself no longer able to stand the smell, he pulls out a white handkerchief from his robe pocket and wrapped it around his face, covering his nose and his mouth.

                In front of him, amidst the rubbles of burned and destroyed homes and shops, stood a small fountain. It's head broken but its base still intact. The walls on the base of the fountain had cracked, but there was no sign of water flowing out. Hameed vaults over the cracked walls of fountain base. His eyes jumps around, watching and scanning from one end of the fountain to the other.

                He frowned and dug his hand into his robe pocket, pulling out a small leather bounded book. He flipped through the pages of the book and scanned the area again.

                Then he saw it.

                A small metal grate that act as the fountain's flush hole.

                Hameed closed the book and shoved it back into his pocket. He smiled. He broke into a jog towards the metal grate and kneeled beside it, carefully sliding his fingers underneath the edges of the grate. "Here it is" he said. He wiggled his fingers and pushed the metal grate up. It rebelled at first, pushing back hard on Hameed's immense strength, only to screech and threw itself open.

                Hameed looked down the hole. Something is reflecting the light back to him. He frowned and jerked his head forward. He shifts his position so that he is facing the light and finally he saw what it was. "A stream... running underneath the city" he said. He rubbed his chin nodding his head. "No wonder this city had never have any trouble with water supply".

                He looked back up, giving the destroyed city one final glance before finally taking a plunge into the darkness of the hole.

                An old man makes his way up the winding stairs made of white marble and dark teak hand rails. He stopped on one of the steps, looking up and taking a breath before continuing his way up once again. His lips moved faster than his feet could carry him up the stairs. In his hand he held tight a small book, bounded by leather with a gold lock on its strap.

                As his breathing short winded, the old man wondered how the grand cleric could have walked all these steps every day all these years. The thought marveled him and gave him a faint acceptance in his belief.

                The old man climbed the last of the steps and stopped in front of the two burly guards guarding the large oak door looming in front of him. He fell to his knees. "Finally..." he said gulping his breath. He let the pressure from his chest out before finally he pushed himself up. Still feeling the strain in his calf and thighs, the old man staggered his way towards the large oak door, bowing at the two guards in front of him. "I am here to see the Grand Cleric" said the old man.

                The two guards looked to each other and then bowed back to the old man. The turned to face the large oak door and pushed it open, ringing the whole tower with its powerful screech.

                The old man covered his ears and closed his eyes until the screeching stop. Slowly, he opened his eyes back again and make his way inside.

                A lone figure sat hunched flipping through the pages of a small book in his hands.

                "The Grand Cleric?"

                The figure's head rose revealing a pair of red eyes.

                And a smirk.

                Hameed landed on the water almost losing his balance. He quickly slammed his hand into the water and held his body from falling. He coughed and wiped the droplets of water caught to his face when he landed.

                The dank smell of moss and rat feces filled Hameed's nostrils. He tightened his white handkerchief and placed his hand on the damp side wall, touching lightly at the moss he could not see. "Too dark, I need light" he said. He pulls a small dagger from his side and a small container from the inside of his robe pocket. He scraped the moss on the walls bare and scratched the stone wall with the blade end of his dagger as hard as he could.

                Orange sparks flew around his dagger and it was all he need. He twists the container and breaks it into two, revealing a small cloth inside. He sat the cloth close to stone wall and scratched the stones around it with his dagger. The sparks caught on the cloth and a small orange flame lit up.

                Hameed smiled.