Return To Ages

Prologue: Vengefull Spirit

The piece of land had giant blades of wheat shooting through their stems. The patches of blue skies remained unmoved by the strong gust of wind. They moved turbulently across the ocean and swept shells over the pristine beach. One could hear splashes of water as the waves curled over, rolled in and broke, lapping on the seashore. As if on cue, the wheat on the field undulated beautifully to nature’s rhythms. All these happened, right above a piece of land.

In Dean-Suradean city, an ancient settlement in the Nubaa Hills – northeast of the old Sudanese Kingdom, a white man groans on his sick-bed, knowing that his fate had taken a bad twist. Shortly, a cool breeze swept across the wreckage caused by the hurricane as his eyelids gradually covers his eyes.

Across the road, a Sudanese sat on his horse, his head covered with a black veil. Two weeks earlier, he had been an enthusiast of the white man, their customs and values. But now, all that had changed. A sly grin adorned his face as the memory of his victory over his only concern flashed through his mind. He had sworn that no man would ever come between him and his heart’s desire, Princess Farida. Those who tried tasted the fury of an enraged mind. It had happened, it just happened, it would happen again. The executioner was the dreaded poisonous powder, shelateen. He let out a weird shriek first, followed by laughter, as he disappeared into the bowels of the earth across the horizon.

Thousands of miles away, in a dark, chilly cave beneath Echo Rock, the ghost of a dead man loomed in the dark, haunted by unfulfilled dreams. It had been a few hours since he died and was buried unceremoniously. It had been a few hours since he died and was buried unceremoniously. Far back in the land of Dean-Suradean, his life had been cut short in a manner rid of mercy, at the point of achieving a dream that had meant more than life to him.

Silently, he transformed into his physical form. His face was an expression of intense anguish. Beside him – on a circular table which was hewed from the rock – was a crystal ball. He turned towards the globe and moved his pale palms over and beside it. The image of an African-Arab, riding on a white horse with a black veil over his head, appeared. He stared at the man thoughtfully for a moment and then moved his hands over the crystal ball again.This time, the image of three teenagers and a young man appeared. He regarded them for a long time, much longer than he did the first image.

“Come,” he suddenly began with a raspy voice, ‘‘come, I say! Come quickly, for you will be the executors of my vengeance! COME! COME!! COME!!!”

The unearthly cry shook the walls of the cave precariously. Duke Claytone was back! In the distance, the living heard a loud cry; four ephemeral beings were steeped in fright. They stopped in their tracks, sending furtive glances at one another. They had just begun their treasure hunt.