Rule of Three Blogfest - Part 2

The golden town - Part 1.

Protagonist: Rina
WC: 600

Prompts:There is an argument AND There is fear of an impending misfortune

The golden town - Part 2.

Protagonist: Mr Cluthe (aka Cluthe)

WC: 600

Prompts: Someone is killed or almost killed

  He watched the child disappear into the sparse forest. She was small, but packed a powerful punch when running at full speed.

  Her pursuers appeared – their tension was palpable. A woman stepped forward, ‘Did a little girl run past here?’ She had a mother’s fear in her voice.

  ‘She ran that way.’ Cluthe indicated the opposite direction.

  The oldest man took charge, ‘Rollick, take the inner Kris, you might reach her sooner. Dora, go with him. The rest of us will follow behind her.’

  While they were distracted Cluthe shot a look over his shoulder; the tell-tale bobbing of the heavy fir branches had ceased.

  ‘Can I help?’

  The groups took off at a trot ignoring his faux offer of assistance. None of them noticed the leather bound book tucked under his arm, if they had things might have ended very differently.

  Alone again Cluthe turned and followed in the footsteps of the girl. Within minutes he was at the base of the Major Gauche at the start of a narrow path that climbed its side. Even though he moved slowly his feet slipped on loose shingles.

  The path felt steeper than it looked, boulders of perspiration rolled down his face. High up he came to a platform wide enough to take a rest, he was not fit, his legs were wrecked.

  Since arriving in Renaissance he’d found that suspicion was rife, so had taken notes and made sketches as discreetly as he could. When he’d been caught sketching the etchings under the golden orb at the town’s centre he explained that he was an artist. The raised eyebrows he received in answer told him they thought him deluded by his talent. He’d maintained a friendly smile, it didn’t matter what they thought as long as they didn’t discover the truth.

  As his breath returned to normal he heard another sound, whispering. It had an eerie quality. He found that he could only hear the whispers whilst crouched; the quietest way to travel at this level was on hands and knees. He grimaced with every movement; the shingles were small, with sharp edges.

  A large rock covered an opening; the whispering was coming from in there. Only one word was audible, an emphatic Venti. As a linguist the only meaning he knew for that word was the Italian for 20.

  He crawled through the opening and found himself in a vast empty cavern. Instinct told him that he was not alone. He picked up the small jam jar in the centre of the chamber; a clear warm light emitted from its liquid contents, a mere centimetre of fluid. The light was akin to a summer’s dusk and didn’t reach the far recesses of the space.

  He understood what this water was, and needed to find its source, that was why he had come.

  He heard a noise behind him and turned just in time to see a small foot disappear through the entrance. He moved quickly after her.

  Outside again he saw her running with sure feet down the tricky path. His only thought was catching her. It took only a few steps for him to lose his footing and plummet over the side of the mountain. Before he hit the ground a broken branch pierced his lung.

  Taking ragged breaths blood bubbled from his lips, pooling in his nostrils and streaming down the sides of his face.

  Garrett was a child, but looked down at him with an adult’s hatred.

  ‘Please help me. Take me to the well.’

  The boy looked surprised.

  ‘I know how to save your town.’