Chapter 1
In the land of eternal dusk, where sun never shines and the moon never rises, shadows roam. Trapped in the half-light and boiling atmosphere, hunched figures skulk amongst the shifting sands and dust devils. Desert cloaks envelope their identities. It doesn't matter. They are defeated images of a civilization crumbling into nothingness, crumbling into the clutches of power, greed, and ruin. They glance at the sky, eyes peeping through goggles, faces masked against the blistering heat and raw sand, and against a dry air that sucks the very water from your lungs. What they see is a endless expanse of red dust. Cyclones, near and far, tower above the wasteland, stirring even greater billowing clouds of death. Eyes search the sky for the tell-tale signs of a descending cloud. If it came, the winds would shriek and sand would turn to daggers, destroying even what was already a ruin. Threatening, the swirling mists thousands of feet above glower but do not descend. The sharp eyes of the sand people, the Manga Qi, scope a more unsettling vision instead. The glint of an unknown object, none could decide whether it be man or beast, twirled in the deadly storms above, tossed on the billows. A flier reaching that altitude seemed improbable, but obviously something or someone had found enough Aiki-chi to survive such heights.
The deep, melancholy hum of the village horn turned the Manga Qi homeward. In the sacred adobe, Mother Jerusha would have answers. Cloaked figures appeared in plenty as the multitude approached a central building embedded deep into the earth's foundations and enveloped high in sand. Shuffling heavily down the flight of stone steps into the building, the flood of bodies dispersed into a large, circular room. A skylight in the high ceiling flooded the room in a deep red glow. As a sign of respect, each individual removed the goggles and mask protecting her delicate face from the wind and sand. Each face a woman's face. Each face deeply bronzed and hardened. Each eye glowing with violet light in the red half-light.
The multitude seated themselves separately or in small groups, each to her own clan, but the expansive room appeared not even half full. Large gaps and empty spaces testified of the impending extinction. The women's soft eyes searched every empty seat, seeing the writing of doom on every solitary soul.
"There has been news of an Unknown aerial above us." The rasping voice of a very old women echoed throughout the cavernous hall. "It has inspired fear in all of you. It is written on your faces and emitted by your hearts." The audience moved uneasily. "We were once a proud people thrilled at the sight of new science, strong Aiki, and new heights. Now, we scurry among the dunes, seeing evil omens in every unknown being and sign. Is this what we have become? Fearful rodents amongst the desert caverns? Quiet your fears Manga Qi. We are the sand people of Gomorrah, adobe dwellers. It is not our way to fear the unknown. Even now, the aerial falls to the earth, deep into the dunes past the West Walls. The aerial is a being unknown to our world. He has come far to seek the Manga Qi and will bring us good tidings." A disturbance in the audience turned all heads in the direction of the counsel seats where a burly woman stood. "Yes, Motto Qi?"
"With all due respect," spat the contemptuous looking woman, rugged in appearance and a permanent grimace chiseled into her features. "You're words of both censure and inspiration fall short of our expectations." Murmuring broke out among the people. "We have neither the time nor the faith to go beyond the West Walls into a murderous desert in search of an Aerial, despite your promise of fortune." Assent whispered from many faces, but disgust and irritation radiated from much more.
A young woman dressed in a blue robe jumped to her feet, but Mother Jerusha raised her wrinkled hand before a word escaped her lips. "Blue Manga Solstice, control yourself." The Blue Manga's glowing eyes sparked with contempt, but she reluctantly returned to her seat. Concern etched the Aiki-chi master's face. "Motto Qi, please do not release despair among your people. I feel deeply for your losses, but we all have reason to mourn. I do not ask those who are without the will to take upon themselves this trek. There are those qualified to seek out this aerial. Even Fate, it seems, has found fit to call upon only one to venture forth." The wizened face scanned the crowd of tired adobe dwellers. Her frazzled eyebrows lowered in amused contemplation; a smile flitted across her wrinkled lips. "But, where is she? Where is Red Manga Morenhei?"
Several miles West of the Manga Qi temple, the Red Manga warrior Morenhei surfed on high winds in her flier. A simple aeronautic invention, the flier acted as a kite in the tumultuous desert cyclones. Attached to her torso and shoulders by iron bands, the wings stretched out about four feet in length on either side. A metal compound, both durable and strong, formed a comb-like frame for the wings. A foot of space remained between each 'tooth', and within this space, a fabric element formed by an energy force field caught the air currents and created lift. On her manmade wings, Morenhei could reach heights of 150 feet, but any higher and the cyclone temperatures would decimate her both body and wing.
The harsh environment demanded that each adobe dweller wear thick wraps from the navel to the top of the head, leaving the face exposed. A simple airy robe covered their shoulders and torso. Some of the Manga Qi preferred full length robes with banded sleeves at the wrists to keep out sand, but these often snagged and inhibited motion. Most of the Manga Qi youth preferred wearing the warrior garb. Their robes had short sleeves, which they tucked into long gloves just above the elbow, and the top ended in vertical, free-flowing strips of fabric at the waist instead of full length gowns. From the navel down, they wore pants spun from the same fibers as the gloves, much like soft leather. The fibers came from a desert dwelling mammal, the Rue rabbit, an animal who's fur was both hardy and light. Most of the sand people wore special shoes made from this animal's pelt as well. The desert sands shifted so easily that any other kind of footwear sunk into the sand in minutes. The warrior garb allowed the youth full body motion, protected them from most of the fierce Gomorrah climate without inducing heat exhaustion, and still allowed them to fight or flee when threatened in any circumstance.
Morenhei was well aware of the Aerial, or Unknown. She had been one of the first to spot it. But, unlike many of the women in her village, curiosity rather than fear took hold in her breast. Naturally an impulsive individual and slow to reflection, she had taken her flier to the West Walls and leapt from those heights to catch the air current. Without looking back, she headed westward. Now, she jumped from cyclone to cyclone, gaining altitude and then escaping from the circulating air until she was swept into the next one. By now, she had lost sight of the unknown. She had watched it glide through the sky thousands of feet above the West Walls and knew that it would soon be thrown out of the heavens into the desert. The Western skies held the greatest scorn of those on two legs. It never ceased to boil with sand and scalding heat. That was why the West Walls were the last walls standing of the now ruined city of the Manga Qi. They had built that wall the highest and the thickest as protection from the western storms. Now, it was also the last barricade against a more imminent ruin.
Nothing stirred in the dusky desert dunes. Even Morenhei's heightened vision did little against the twilight. Rolling hills stretched out before her, shifting in the wind and heat. Ghosts of wind and water played over the sands like gleaming streams of water, but she knew they were only mirages. There was no water in this desolate land. If the mirages became defined, she knew she would need to land immediately and find shelter, but for now, they remained wispy and uncertain.
Twilight soon progressed to a deepening scarlet night. The fires burning deep within the belly of Gomorrah set the landscape aglow and the sand-filled night sky reflected the ominous shade. The temperatures fell to a bearable range, an uncomfortable warmth, which, to the ancient sand people, seemed pleasantly cool this night. Rain in the form of sand swept over the land, falling on the cool currents of air. The wind became so thickened with particles that Morenhei knew it was time to land. Falling from the gentle undulation of a cyclone, she glided gently to the tops of the highest dunes. Hunching vertically while skimming the ground with her agile feet, she avoided catching the wind on her wings and soon came to a halt. The energy force fields retracted into the frame, and the wings folded neatly into a manageable carrying case on her back. Out of breath, swimming in raining sand, and fairly clueless to her location, Morenhei decidedly scoured the dunes for a good campsite. All her glowing eyes could perceive in the scarlet wasteland was dune after sifting dune. Stumbling down the giant dune's bank and nearly washing away in an avalanche of sand, she settled into a nook between dunes. The wind had sculpted a pleasant cove that mostly rebuffed the nightly sandstorms battering the surrounding area. Her meal consisted of jerked Rue meat and seeds, a substantial meal despite its bland flavor. She didn't concern herself with a fire, seeing that she had no reason to cook, no reason to add more heat to the stifling land, and no reason to make herself vulnerable. Why trouble herself when fuel was near non-existence anyway? She was no Aiki-chi master. She couldn't produce fire from thin air or water from sand, not yet.
Grasping her staff in one hand, she slipped into a plain canvas bag large enough to fit a small automobile. Once inside, she raised the staff in the middle to act like a center beam. The tent was somewhat large, secure, and inconspicuous. Finally removing her face mask, its vents and tubes looking grotesque and alien, she sat on the tent floor and stretched to relieve the tension in her shoulders and neck. After stretching and meditating for a time, she began to unwind her shrouds - long strips of raggedy fabric wound about the torso, neck, and head and worn sometimes for days. Pounds of collected sand fell from the crevices and creases while she rolled them into neat bundles. Relieved of the restrictive corset of wraps, she breathed in the stifling air. Stripped down to her robe, she finally laid completely down on the floor, groaning inward as the fatigue overcame her. In the night, near silence encased the land. Only the falling silt and moaning wind broke the spell of quiet. No animal or being ventured out of hiding, or dared to utter a noise. There was no knowing who or what might hear you.