Ancient

• Eva Jones, Grade 6, Alstonville Public School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

The tremor shook the earth, catapulting rocks and breaking down huts in its path, destruction was left as the powerful force slowed.
A wall had sprung up, emerging from Mother Earth’s domain, blocking the weary traveller on horseback.
The close sanctuary of Delphi was enticing enough without the thought of food and the inevitable tiring days off course to venture ‘round the strong barrier.
The traveller’s mount was dripping with sweat and exhaustion as was he.
When the messenger eventually walked into the ruined town of Delphi he was amazed to hear laughter and shouts instead of sounds of distress coming from the hall centred in the village.
The young King was smiling and clapping his hands as he sat on his modest wooden throne. Around the tables the children of Delphi were dancing with one another as though they had no clue that just outside were the remains of their homes.
Suddenly the music stopped as everyone in the hall turned to stare at the shocked intruder standing in the doorway.
The messenger abruptly started walking towards the King. At the foot of his throne he bowed, the strange thing was he did not bow to the King as a subject or one from lower class might bow, he bowed as an equal would. A murmuring started in the room, gasping at what the stranger had done.
Then the traveller began his story.
“I have come from Athens to deliver a message to the King of Thebes. I was warned that there were many savages along the roads and that I was to go twice the distance, past Delphi, to avoid mishaps.” The strangers voice was rasping, “I am from the High King’s guard. When the earthquake came, a wall was created, a barricade that I cannot travel over. I have come to you to seek shelter and rest for a few nights.”
“Then you are blessed my friend.”
A small girl screamed in horror from a corner of the hall as she glanced out the window. Outside the room a silent army was gathered, thousands of men dressed in white armour. Four Delphian girls were strung up to eight tall saplings bent to the ground by some of the men.
“Don’t let the children see!” Murmured the traveller; he had already drawn his knife. Not one person moved. “COVER THEIR EYES!” The ferocity of his scream shook the villagers into doing as he said.
The pale men let go of the saplings, watching as they flew up with a horrible ripping noise. Warm blood and ripped flesh splattered the army.
The King of Delphi saw the slightest glimmer of laughter in the general’s eyes as he turned around, revealing the grimacing messenger behind him and the knife stuck in his back.
The general simply pulled out the knife from an invisible wound, its blade clean, and thrust it in the messenger.
Then the ghost army vanished, leaving behind the word ‘oracle’ engraved on the cursed saplings.