The news of the Old man from Lore had reached the palace; his death and the death of a thousand threw Morden into panic. I and Sir Walter were summoned before the King and we narrated all the events that occurred.

How are we sure this is not someone disease? A plague of some sort? said a plump man with a bald head and treacherous eyes. He fixed his gaze on us like we knew the answers. 

I knew what this meant. A subtle suggestion to the King for our immediate execution. It was tradition to kill those who had any form of contact with victims of a plague. It was no wonder we were almost walled off from everyone in the castle while the King and his Royal entourage sat on a platform quite far off, shouting questions from the distance and demanding answers. 

We do not know said Sir Walter. But he said something. 

Shoe di?? I do not know the word but it sounded like that. 

Wait! What did you say? said another man who looked as frowsy as the peasants scowering the streets of Morden but with a peculiar glint in his eyes, an eye of boldness and of wisdom.

Shoe.. Di... repeated Sir Walter.

Su'ukedi. The Ancients... in ancient Salami I believe that means,  the Evil.

A LIFE WITHOUT ITSELF

Nature made itself a tree

For birds to weave their nests

Their talons to find feet

On boughs' landing to tightly clutch

Even leaves make for a fortress

A canopy to spare their feathers from rain

But when all the foliage drops

And the tree rids of its lush

When the boughs go dry

So old,and brittle they rot

Then the tree is only wood

And lives to burn itself to ash

What if the Sun never shone

Betraying both Earth and Moon

Or the sea was of sand

Within it fishes finless

I have never heard of such a thing

That The Sun lives only to scorch and

All sea is land

And home for the finless fish.

For whilst you may touch the skies

And Ride the winds 

And hold the Sun within your palms

A life without itself

Is no Life at all.

By Ik Inyang.