"Indeed, men are like ibises. Squalor is throughout the land, and there are none indeed whose clothes are white in these times.

Indeed, the land turns around as does a potter's wheel. The robber is a possessor of riches and the rich man has become a plunderer."

- Ipuwer Papyrus

Dark clouds had engulfed the sky and produced a thick shower of crushing rain which transformed the dusty gravel path, Eliyana was scaling, into a muddy slope.

It was a fight to get the heavy cart up the step hill, Eliyana was constantly going back and forth between pushing the cart from behind and whipping the tired mule into compliance.

Every inch was a struggle and every inch took more of her strength, her ankles burned with pain and her shoulders were nearly dislocated as the heavy cart lost traction and slipped back down.

She pressed herself against the crushing weight of the wagon, she could feel the mule at the front doing the same as it struggled, fighting against the carts pull.

The wooden planks ripped open the exposed skin on her arms, her legs were struck by bolts of pain as her buried feet encountered large stones amidst the mud she was pressing against as she tried to find purchase.

The cart finally stopped, so did Eliyana, just a moment she stood there pressed against the carts weight, catching her breath, heart beating, blood running down the cart into the cold mud, wet cloth clinging to her freezing body.

She walked around the cart to see what had happened.

Her heart sank as she discovered that one of mules leather straps had been ripped off by the pressure.

The animal looked at her, agonized by the ever pulling harness and the pouring rain, his hooves buried in mud.

She patted its head and wished she could explain why she had to torment it this way.

As she let go, a heavy feeling overflowed her heart, the reality of her situation came crushing down upon her soul.

She leaned into the cart to see her boy.

In cold sweat he lay, surrounded by moving puddles of water which had sipped trough the makeshift tent, the air was thick filled with a sink kind of heat, which stunk of sweat.

She touched his burning cheeks and mopped away the hot sweat on his forehead, she could leave him.

The thought came from deep down, creeping his way up.

She could just leave him here, she still had the girl, there could be another start somewhere, there were miles between her and the city, she didn't know if she could even get off the island to reach Larna.

She felt so alone, as this giant mountain rose up between herself and her sick son.

Would the people of Kremnos even help her?

What if she was to die here?

A wrong step, a stone giving way and she could be mangled between the carts wheels.

As she thought this, she noticed she had moved away from the cart, her legs felt light and her breathing was easier now.

She just stood there in the downpour becoming aware, as her feet were slowly covered by mud and pebbles, the splitters in her flesh made themselves noticed and the cold darts from above, began to sting as cedar needles hailing down on her exposed flesh.

She couldn't move as her mind fell into a blank state before the towering question that had arisen before her.

A moan from the cart ripped her out of her apathetic state and before she knew it, she was running on numb knees to her son, he was turning and mumbling.

Hot tears run across her cheeks as she kissed his forehead trying to whip away the thoughts which were so abhorred to her now.

"Father" the boy mumbled and a burning anger took hold of Eliyanas chest, as she thought about Apollas and his madness.

He was never to see his children again, there was nothing in this world which could justify his actions, he was undeserving of his boys love and their daughter was never to learn it.

A rope replaced the broken strap on the mules harness and even though the knot buried into the animals shoulders it was alleviated by a strong push coming from the back of the cart.

There was no whip, both woman and animal gave it their all and the cart slowly rose back up even though its wheels were engulfed in heavy mud.

Gone were the thoughts of the mountain before her, every fiber of her being was concentrating on conquering the inch before her and then the next one after it, no thought was spared to think of what was to come, all was in the current battle.

Eliyana nearly fell to the ground as the cart rolled ahead and it was only then that she realized that she was in Naca, atop the mountain.

And she cried tears of joy for the mountain was defeated.

"Help! I need Help!" she tried to scream, but her voice cracked, she ran into the villages square, running from house to house banging on doors to find someone to come to her aid, helping her to reach Kremnos.

But nothing moved, only the rain answered her cries for help with his ever droning torrent of crushing downpour.

Eliyanas knees gave way and she fell to the ground in the middle of the village, as she realized the doors would remain barred, even if she and her son were to be slaughtered in these streets before their inhabitants eyes.

In silence she returned to the cart and continued through the village to the path which was to bring her to the shore, were she was to find a ferry and get to the mainland and from there she would reach Kremnos and she was to get there even if ten more mountains were to rise before her.

The boat was smashed, gripped by the rising waves and pulled from its landing into the raging the sea. The vessel though still tied to a pole, was crushed by the unyielding rocks the ever rising waves had rammed it into. This had never happened before.

Apollas knew this was no normal storm, there was something unnatural about it, summoned by the thing inside the sword it would not only cloud the sky but also the minds of people, he knew of its power, everything would stand against him now, but there was no stoping him he would reach Kremnos and end this curse for all time.

And no body of water would stop him, he knew how he could cross.

The fireplace in the little shack was lit and the aroma of the herbs inside the pot was streaming inside the old mans nose.

He waved them in as he closed the little box again inside which he stored his treasured herbs.

He was bare of possessions and friends, living his life as an eremite and occasional Ferryman, he was not much liked, seen as queer by the folk he had to carry over.

One of his few pleasures was the taste of his herbs brewed in boiling water.

He hide the herb box under the planks for it was the only thing worth stealing in his shack.

It was a moment of peace, safe from the rain, before the warming fire.

Loud was the knock, as a heavy fist banged against the door and great the surprise of the ferry man.

"I will not cross today my friend, not in this kind of weather, but you are welcome to spend the night here. I've got the fire going and..."

The old man replied as he made his way to the door, but he frozen as he opened it only to encounter the demon which had haunted his sleep for all these years.

"You will bring me to the other side."

Apollas replied to the old man whose face had become as white as bone.

Still he could grab his mantel and they left for the ferry.

The old mans thoughts ran wild as he untied the knot which held the ferry, why had he returned, was his intend as evil as the last time, why could he again not resist?

He looked into the waiting demons face.

What was he to do?

The demon did not even recognize him, not even a footnote he was to him.

The readying of the ship, trained movements, the Ferryman did not need to spare a thought about what he did with his hands, his mind was focused on the man before him.

Only when he kicked himself off the landing stage and the enormous push of the mighty waves nearly threw him from the steering oar did he realize what water he tried to cross.

Jet black waves threw the boat around, there was nearly no controlling the small vessel between he vast towering columns of water.

I am going to die today, was what the old man was thinking, the demon comes to ride with me into the tempests maelstrom down into the lake of the dead.

Justice for for what I have done.

At the front of the ship, Apollas clawed his hand into the railing this storm was not to conquer him, there was more to defeating him then a rough sea.

He saw the old Ferryman struggle and so he grabbed the sail and made sure the vessel was not be swallowed by the sea.