Artaqifa by Eric K. Hasler (most motivational books .txt) 📕

The cool south eastern breeze rolling in from the ocean was beginning to pick up speed. Black clouds had started to gather out on the horizon and were quickly rolling in with the wind. The deep thick rumbling sound of thunder could be heard and was seemingly coupled with bright electric blue forks of lightening frantically and aggressively stabbing at the ocean, as if it were desperate to cause some form of tidal wave. The way the ocean was rolling methodically back and forwards was proof the lightening forks and thunder were succeeding. The mesmerizing movements of the sea was creating such a hypnotizing effect that if there was anybody brave enough to whether the storm and stare at the ocean they would suffer from motion sickness. Day was quickly becoming night as the sun rapidly retreated from its domination of the sky, and started to hide behind the western mountain range far from the hypnotizing effect of the ocean, and its two violent aggressors. As the black clouds raced closer towards the south eastern city, known as Yippar Tarin, people rushed about tying the shutters tight to cover their windows from the wind and flying debris. There were shouts throughout the entire city cutting through the wild stormy wind like a hot blade through lard, “Storms coming! Get to your houses!”

Artaqifa both loved and hated storm nights. She loved them not because her mother was frightened, but because her father would appear as a tower of strength. He would stoke the fire and gather his wife and daughter close to him to speak words of encouragement. Artaqifa would snuggle in under his left arm while her mother would cling firmly to his right arm weeping; she knew more than her daughter. The repugnance Artaqifa had for storm night was because her father would have to leave them and venture out into the torrential wickedness. Artaqifa thought this was a righteous thing to do, to leave his family in search for those who may not have made it home safely; to make sure that everybody else was safe in their houses and to keep everyone feeling safe with the knowledge that he was out there doing this task. She was proud of her father. Not because he was a tower of strength for her to shelter under, but because he was the captain of the guard. Every night, not just storm night, she would watch as he prepared to go outside and protect the people of the city. He would put on his leather armour, strap his quiver to his back, put his blades into their sheaths, give his family a kiss and courageously walk out the door.

His armour and weaponry were different to the rest of the guards. He carried no bow or even swords. His quiver was instead full of short sticks with feathers at one end and a metal barbed point at the other end. They looked like a cross between a javelin, a spear and a dart. Perfectly balanced and reasonably light they could be thrown with unbelievable speed, force and accuracy. These are very deadly short to mid ranged weapons, which he was the master of. In his sheaths were two interesting looking daggers. The handles for these daggers were in the centre, and at each end were blades that were slightly curved in the opposing direction. These weapons were to be used in close combat, which is something that the captain of the guard should supposedly steer away from. However, this guard preferred to lead by example and because of that he was the most feared man in the city. The metal embossments which studded his boiled leather armour were a different colour to the rest of the guards. His were a shiny mixture of red and gold while the other guards were just plain shiny silver. These were not to distinguish between the ranks, but were instead proof that he was the most deadly man in the city. Once every thirty days Artaqifa would notice a new red and gold shiny embossment. She saw this as a matter of honour, however her mother knew better.

As he kissed his wife and daughter there was a knock at the door and in walked Kyson the city leader. “Good, good Tysicka” he said, “You’re ready to go then?” “Yes my friend. Come, let’s talk outside,” he replied. As both men walked out into the ferocious storm and the door slammed shut after them Artaqifa’s mother started to cry loudly. “It’s alright mom,” said Artaqifa through her beaming smile, “father will be back before you know it.” This didn’t help matters and her mother burst into a hysterical crying fit. Artaqifa pulled her mother into her arms and started to sing softly into her ear until she started to settle down.

Outside things were beginning to get worse. The fears that Tysicka’s wife had were drawing nearer with each ferocious howl of the wind. With each crack of thunder Artaqifa would shudder and her mother would moan. Every flash of lightening illuminated a new fear deep within her mother which could be recognized by her moans transforming further into a raging hysterical crying. The door burst open. “Quick, get your things. We have to leave now!” shouted Tysicka. Like a strike of lightening her mother jumped out of Artaqifa’s arms and gathered the sack of clothes which she always had prepared. As Artaqifa jumped to her feet lightening flashed and for the first time she felt fear. Fear because of what she saw in that flash, her father was covered in blood. His armour had cuts through the shoulders and mid-section which was producing a slow but steady flowing stream of blood. “Father,” she cried out. “Not now honey,” he replied, “we must make for the hills.” He grabbed hold of his wife’s hand; she grabbed hold of their daughter’s hand, but Artaqifa rejected her mother’s hand saying, “I must get my bag of ingredients.” She ran to the far corner ignoring her mother’s pleas, grabbed her sack and then returned to grab her pleading mother’s hand. With a strong sharp pull from Tysicka both ladies were whisked out the door.

They ran through the city towards the southern gate. There were no people heading in the same direction, and no women or children to be seen on the streets. Shouts and screams mixed with clanging sounds echoing throughout the night could be heard coming from the northern gate over the top of the storms thunderous assault. Just outside the southern gate fifty men and women were gathered huddling together with about twenty five children clinging desperately to their mothers. These were the important people of the city. “By the fates, am I pleased you made it back with your family Tysicka,” said Kyson in a relieved tone as he stomped forward to embrace his friend. He turned to Artaqifa, placed his right hand on her head, scuffed up her hair and said, “You’re a strong young lady, but you’ll have to be extra strong tonight. Can you do that my dear?” Artaqifa look him in the eyes and said “of course I can! What do you take me for?” Kyson shook his head and smiled. “The city folk,” he said in a serious tone, “need you to protect and help all the other children as we head into the hills toward safety. Can you do that for your friends?” Artaqifa looked into Kyson’s big brown eyes; she saw both fear and hope. “For you my leader I will walk through fire!” Kyson was startled, and yet impressed, not by her words, by her truthfulness. He bent down on one knee, put both hands on her shoulders and with a tear in his eye he said, “You’re most definitely you’re father’s daughter. I know you’ll do the city folk justice.” She embraced Kyson tightly.

Kyson broke the embrace and held her at shoulders length, “Listen to me carefully,” he said slowly, “All the mothers have the same instructions. You’re to help them in leading the other children up the Path to Nowhere. When you reach the second clearing head towards the big trees on the other side, get down low on the ground and stay hidden.” “Where will you and father be?” she asked. “We will be right behind you making sure you make it to safety.” “What’s happened Kyson?” He smiled and said, “I’ll tell you when we meet again.”

The Path to Nowhere was hard for the mothers to find. They spent most of their time doing house duties and had forgotten where they use to play as youngsters. Artaqifa hadn’t forgotten. She spent most of the day in this area as she was always looking for new flowers, roots and other likewise things to pick. She loved to take them home, dry them and then grind them into a powder with her mortar and pestle in hope of discovering new ingredients in her everlasting quest to create new potions. She had succeeded more than once; however she considers the first success a failure because when she tried to heat it up in hope of turning it into a liquid she accidently set the kitchen table on fire. One time she created a white powder that she considered to be very pretty, and worth keeping until she knew how to correctly mix it into a potion, however when she tipped it from the mortar she somehow managed to get some on her arm. She would never forget that mistake because it hurt. It started to bubble and burn, the pain was excruciating. It didn’t matter what she attempted to wash it off with it still burned. She was in so much pain and there were so many tears in her eyes that she couldn’t see what direction she was stumbling in, she bumped into her father’s wineskin spilling wine all over her, and the pain subsided. She wiped away the tears with the other arm and looked at her wound. She was both shocked and impressed at the same time. She stated to smile, the smile turned into giggling, which proceeded into hysterical laughter. Through the laughter she started to shout, “I did it! I did it! Woohoo!” She started to dance around in circles, but was stopped when her mother grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her asking, “What is it? What did you do?” Artaqifa showed her mother the mess she had made of her arm and then showed her the powder. Her mother was not happy to say the least, and banned Artaqifa from playing with her mortar and pestle for one full moonth.

Tonight her quest was different. While the mothers were fumbling around in the wrong place she just walked to the small tree that had all its branches reaching straight up towards the sky in a perfect circle, which looked similar to that of a crown. Standing beside the tree she started to giggle and called all the children over. Huddled together with the children Artaqifa’s giggling became infectious. All the mothers turned to see the giggling cluster of children, which from their perspective seemed like they were laughing at them. The women were not impressed, and they made sure that Artaqifa knew. “Stop it!” said one of the mothers, “Now’s not the time for games. We must find the Path to Nowhere. Now hurry!” “Why not ask me where it is?” asked Artaqifa in a defiant tone. “Why would we do that?” scolded one of the mothers. “Maybe because she’s standing beside the entrance,” snapped Artaqifa’s mother who hadn’t enjoyed the way the others were speaking to her daughter. “Don’t you dare talk to me in that tone! Just because your husband is best friends with Kyson doesn’t give you