Sands Of Time Flowing

• William Green, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2018

The boy sat on the desert sands, not noticing the heat. His brown hood and trousers were excellent camouflage. He did a final check of his inventory; a canteen of water, spare bow strings and a plethora of arrows sharpened to their extent. Today was the day he would get the answers he longed for. Doubt tried to manipulate him into cowering away, its power immense. He shrugged off the feeling, not letting it take control. Assembling his items and mustering his courage, he trudged to the top of the high dune. He saw a small, calm village on the other side of the sandy mound, many people milling about. This is it, he thought. No going back.
Councilman Lathe’s black cape dragged along the sand, leaving behind alien patterns. His spiked, metal gauntlet and his chest plate were forged from the strongest of metals.
“He really thinks he can defeat you?” asked his advisor in his raspy voice. His pale white hair stretched down to the back of his neck. It was always neatly kept and went well with his purple coat. His eyes had an aged look and he always had a mad smile adorned.
“Unfortunately, Blaine,” Lathe answered, his deep voice sounding like it came from Hell. “I almost feel sorry for the boy but his overconfidence is beyond sickening to me. Why does he want it so badly?”
“Want what?”
“That is none of your concern.”
Silence filled the air.
“Get my scimitar. I’m putting an end to this.” As if on cue, a ferocious sandstorm lashed at the village. The citizens scrambled into their homes. Perfect atmosphere for a fight, Lathe thought.
The boy searched for any signs of the councilman. The flying sand made it impossible to see further than five feet. Then he saw it, a tall, dark figure holding a very large weapon. He couldn’t tell what it was but its purpose was the same either way. He carefully traipsed towards it, noticing that it was curved titanium sword encrusted with a crimson ruby.
“I knew you would come back,” Lathe noted over the sound of the roaring gales. “There was never a shadow of a doubt. You were only ten when we last faced off. What do you think three years is going to do?”
“It won’t work,” he said sternly.
“My dear boy, what you have failed to realise is that it already has…”
The boy discretely notched an arrow as Lathe continued to taunt him. He let go. Lathe effortlessly deflected it with his gauntlet. “My turn…” He rushed at the unknowing boy. He kicked him to the ground and extended his blade. The boy was completely helpless.
“At least tell me my name before you slaughter me,” he begged, tears streaming. Lathe sheathed his weapon.
“Leave,” he ordered. “Come back in three years.”
“But…”
“I said GO!”
Knowing that Lathe wasn’t going to comply, he silently walked away.
“We will meet again, Elroy,” Lathe whispered to himself…