Nanowrimo Pt. 1

Niniveh, Nin, Ni. Names became shorter as the group journeyed on. The lack of fresh food and water was beginning to weigh them down more than the statuettes they carried. Oriman was leading them to the great water arch. He bragged about the many times he had visited and participated in the many rituals in the surrounding caves. Niniveh smelled dishonesty throughout Ori’s stories, but he went along with his people, and said nothing. He also smelled less and less greenery and the yellow dust swirled around more as each day passed. Oriman’s confidence declined as did his protruding belly, in which he carved out the head of a bull years ago to symbolize his position as prince of the tribe. Because of this, many of the younger children, who were still struggling to roll their R’s, called him bullgut. The children were the most hardy of the group. Although leaner, they still found the energy to play pranks on each other. Twelve days ago one of the younger children stole a leather pouch filled with crushed fire-dust from Niniveh and threw it at another child. The charcoal stuck to his skin and water was too precious to wash with, so even now the afflicted child was covered in black patches, as if he had just climbed up from the underworld and was a child-demon too innocent and too young to devour them.

Niniveh mourned the loss of the fire-dust, but he quickly became more concerned with the direction of the journey. If they did not reach the great water arch, firedust would be useless. He was down to his last bits of dried bos. The fatty bovine meat could sustain him for days, but the arid environment was making him especially hungry and he found himself consuming it too fast. The sun beat down harder than Nin had felt before. He knew of tribes and peoples who worshiped the sun. The sun did give life to plants and the plants gave life to the animals, but in this sandy desolation, there was just sun, and no life. Niniveh had long considered the sun-worshippers to be right, until this journey. Now, the night and star worship of his people gained clarity. In the evening, it would become cool, and his sun-burned skin would relax and feel soft nightwinds cradle his body. The stars, so gentle in their brightness, reminded him of his people.

There were three mothers and eight men in the group, but three of the “men” were just boys – men only by name. This was the last of Niniveh’s people, and they had crowned some of the older boys as men before their journey, hoping it would make them brave and unafraid. The rest of the group was children – about twelve and one still suckling at the breast. This youngest babe was also named Niniveh, the name of the great changing orb of the night. Nineveh watched it as he fell asleep, whispering a prayer he had heard long ago. He wondered if the gods were ever hungry, or thirsty. He wondered if they felt anything at all, or if they were unmoving stone beings, infinitely useless, and eternally magical.