Just a couple notes: One, on just what this is about, I'm a big fan of the game Prince of Persia, the Sands of Time, but I was always curious what effects the Sands had on events outside the palace. So, this is a story, no idea how long yet, about a village affected by the Sand's curse. Second, for legal mumbo jumbo, Prince of Persia is the property of Jordan Mechner, Ubisoft Montreal, and SCEJ. All characters and plot devices, aside from those created by me, are property of the above listed people/companies. I'm not getting paid (hah!) for any of this, so please don't sue me. Thank you.
Victims of the Sands
Chapter 1: The Curse
It all started, and ended, in an instant. The sudden wind, the sting of sand against ruddy cheeks, then nothing. Blackness. He was no one. He was nothing. Or was he? A memory, a thought, came back. A dimly-lit face, smiling at him from across the street, an image symbolizing warmth and safety. It seemed forever ago, yet he knew that it was not. He then realized that he must be something, for nothing could not remember. Feeling as if the simple act would drain him completely, he opened his eyes.
He was not nothing, he was Shak. He was Shak, son of Kazh. He was Shak, the begger. He was Shak, the street-rat. However, upon opening his eyes, he came to wish that he could become nothing again. All around him, in the empty streets, chaos ruled. What had been a lazy evening in the bazaar had in the course of an instant been transformed into a nightmare. Where a crowd of people had stood but moments ago, now there lurched a mob of terrifying creatures. The people- men, women, and children- had been warped, twisted, and perverted. Their eyes glowed with a sickly inner flame, there skin was twisted and warped beneath a fine layer of sand. Their limbs had elongated, their hands turned to claws, and their mouths widened and filled with fangs. Awful as this sight was, worse was that at their feet. A safe assumption would be that some lucky souls had been spared these miserable wretches' fate, only to have their luck turn sour quickly. The bodies were hacked and mangled, and if the number of creatures were great, greater still were their victims. People surged through the streets, trying to escape the mob, but the streets were crowded and the creatures followed relentlessly, cutting a swath through the panicked throngs.
Shak sat for quite a while, paralyzed with terror more profound than he thought he would ever experience. The creatures did not seem to notice him, instead chasing down the fleeing survivors. He gazed about himself, terrified, his eyes seeking something familiar, something tangible he could anchor himself to amid the chaos. He found it, but not as he had wished. The face, from a memory that seemed so distant now, lay across the street. Her eyes saw nothing, her hands- hands that had so often offered Shak a cup of water or a reassuring hug- lay limp by her sides in a widening pool of blood.
The next thing he knew, he was screaming. He knew he should not, knew that to do so would likely alert those creatures still shambling about the area, but he simply could not hold it in. No words came from his mouth; nothing decipherable, at any rate. The eyes of three sand creatures near Shak turned, centering on him. His hysterics died down and he groped by his side, look for something, anything, to ward off the beasts now advancing on him. He leaped up from the ground as the monsters neared, flailing wildly with a wooden pole, likely part of one of the ruined kiosks that littered the streets. He bashed each creature about the head and neck, but for all the noticeable damage he did, he may as well have been brandishing a twig. The creatures kept straight on, ignoring the hits, until in desperation Shak swung low, at the legs of the creature to his left.
Down the monster toppled, and Shak didn't wait for it to right itself. He leaped over the prone form, hurtling down the street as quickly as he ever had. He heard the footsteps of the beasts behind him, saw several in the streets and alleyways he passed, but he simply kept running; he didn't know what else to do. He passed many possible hiding places, but none to which he would trust his life. Finally, salvation appeared. He spied an old shed, low to the ground, with piled boxes atop it leading onto the roofs of the houses. He ran, leaped, climbed, and grappled his way to the top, then took care to kick the boxes to the alley floor. He doubted the creatures could climb, but didn't want to take any risks.
Safely atop the houses of the city, Shak could finally think; however, there was little to make sense of in this world gone mad. He looked out, to the east, where the Palace of Azad stood proudly silhouetted against the moon. He looked to the west, to the vast expanse of desert. He looked up, to the stars, if only because he refused to look down. He knew what he would see, knew the horrors occurring in the streets beneath him, and had seen enough of that in his mad dash away from the creatures. However, he could not block out the screams, and he knew that the noises of horror he heard that night would stay with him for the rest of his life.
