دبي مون The Wild East

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  • Posted By : abdulrabkhan
  • Posted On : May 09, 2012
  • Views : 193
  • Category : قصص » قصص الغربية
  • Description : Nikolai crunched through the endless blizzard.  Bearskins pulled tight around his shoulders, a fraying rope around his emaciated middle and increasingly sodden fur boots around his feet (inside which, seal skins provided waterproofing; a godsend that he gave thanks for on a regular basis).  Aside from his indispensable insulation, Nikolai’s general clothing was tattered and worn.  He had been stalking away from his burned out village and dead family for nearly two weeks.  He had travelled, variously, by horse, by troika and now, for the last three days, on foot.He had no food, he had little water, he carried some shelter.  The rage drove him.Nikolai knew where he had to get to, and how to get there.  He also knew that he would finish his journey.  He would reach his destination, even on the meagre means that currently carried him.  The concern for Nikolai was not getting there, but once there, if he would satisfy his aims.  He had left the small hamlet on the outskirts of Chemashi at nightfall on the second day of the rampage, silhouetted against the flames that licked the buildings and cremated his fellow villagers.  He had hidden in undergrowth , covered in mud as the marauders, led by Solinken, had sped past on their war horses, with the heavy artillery of imported Western cannon being towed by pairs of hulking bulls rumbling n the rear.  He had hidden his body, his mind and his dignity in the undergrowth, alternating between cursing himself for weakness and cowardice, and stoically maintaining an intelligence that now was not the time for confrontation and revenge.  Now was the time for survival.The journey to Tugiyany was easiest if he followed the broiling river; the route would naturally take him to the port city far in the north of the country.  However, it lengthened the journey considerably.  Not normally an issue, the fast approaching winter meant that within a few days of tracking the shadow of carnage left by Solinken, the snows had begun.  Flurries at first, chill gusts, mostly at night.  Frozen mornings greeted Nikolai with a preternatural stiffness, requiring longer and longer bouts of stretching of his bruised and scarred limbs before he began the routine of dusting down snow from his shelter .  Once clear, and relatively dry, he rolled the oilskins around the oak poles and fastened them underneath a papoose he carried that kept trinkets and memories from his past life, along with the necessary rations and tools for his mission.Winding up along the wet marshlands that were flooded though the overflows of the seas to the north,  through Protochnye and Sureyskiye, Nikolai’s reward for his perseverance and endeavour was grim horror and a putrefaction of civilisation. Villages presented broken down housing, pock-marked with cannonballs.  Horse remains smouldered, vegetable fields were razed, bodies were heaped in blackened pyres, blessedly relieved from unfortunately imaginable horrors.  Nikolai no longer weeped for his countrymen.  The journey had taken emotion from him, and he had lost his soul to the trail.  The stench made him heave, the only nod to abnormality on the Russian plains.Nikolai stood on the bluff that marked a steep slope down to Tugiyany.  From here, he could see candlelight in the windows of the shacks below,  winking through the rarefied, arctic air.  This was the first township he had encountered without any exterior damage.  Solinken was here. He placed his papoose on the ground, and undid the greasy strings that held the remains of his life.  Fishing inside the inky blackness, he retrieved one, two, three items.  Pocketing them individually, he undid and then re-tied his frayed belt, pulled his ushanka down over his ears and felt a comforting warmth above his eyebrows that motioned fatigue to overwhelm him.  Nikolai strained against the fatigue, and began his descent.A short time later, Nikolai stood at the edge of the village, underneath a wooden arbour with a sign reading “T gi any”.  The arbour swayed slightly as a frozen wind swirled down behind and through Nikolai, bring an iciness that had accompanied him from Chemashi.   He reached into his left pocket, pulling out a cowskin drinking flask.  Unstoppering the container, he took a final draught of the vodka/water liquid, then shook the drops that remained into his mouth before throwing the flask to his right.  He then reached into his right pocket and pulled out a length on material, some sort of kerchief or hair scarf.  He raised it to his face and breathed deeply with lightly closed eyes.  He tied it around his right wrist.  Reaching down one last time, he slipped his right hand inside his boot, and pulled out a rusted old revolver.  He checked the breech for a bullet and grunted his satisfaction.He leaned against the increasingly fierce wind and shot his eyes from side to side.  The street was empty, most candlelight now extinguished.  At the far end, a saloon was still very much open for business, and two large, harnessed bullocks were peeking from a secure hitching rail around the back of the low-roofed building.  Nikolai made his way firmly towards the door, and calmly opened it.  Heentered the smoky room and leaned firmly against the door, shutting out the cold.  As he leant, he glanced around the room and spotted Solinken sat at a table, being entertained by his entourage.  No one paid him any heed, and he walked calmly to the wooden table that served as the bar for the revellers.   The seated barman was shepherded to his left by full bottles of vodka, the empties to his right. “Vodka”, said Nikolai.“1 Rouble”, said the barman.Nikolai looked at the vodka, and looked back at the barman.  Moments passed.“Solinken”, said Nikolai.The barman poured a slug of vodka into a dirty wooden cup.  He nodded to Nikolai, who sipped at the alcohol to feel the burn in his throat before downing the rest.  He kissed his wrist with his damp lips and placed the cup back on the table.  Turning, he moved directly towards Solinken, who noticed him drunkenly swim into view.Nikolai drew the pistol.“Natalya”.

نظرة عامة

  • Nikolai crunched through the endless blizzard.  Bearskins pulled tight around his shoulders, a fraying rope around his emaciated middle and increasingly sodden fur boots around his feet (inside which, seal skins provided waterproofing; a godsend that he gave thanks for on a regular basis).  Aside from his indispensable insulation, Nikolai’s general clothing was tattered and worn.  He had been stalking away from his burned out village and dead family for nearly two weeks.  He had travelled, variously, by horse, by troika and now, for the last three days, on foot.He had no food, he had little water, he carried some shelter.  The rage drove him.Nikolai knew where he had to get to, and how to get there.  He also knew that he would finish his journey.  He would reach his destination, even on the meagre means that currently carried him.  The concern for Nikolai was not getting there, but once there, if he would satisfy his aims.  He had left the small hamlet on the outskirts of Chemashi at nightfall on the second day of the rampage, silhouetted against the flames that licked the buildings and cremated his fellow villagers.  He had hidden in undergrowth , covered in mud as the marauders, led by Solinken, had sped past on their war horses, with the heavy artillery of imported Western cannon being towed by pairs of hulking bulls rumbling n the rear.  He had hidden his body, his mind and his dignity in the undergrowth, alternating between cursing himself for weakness and cowardice, and stoically maintaining an intelligence that now was not the time for confrontation and revenge.  Now was the time for survival.The journey to Tugiyany was easiest if he followed the broiling river; the route would naturally take him to the port city far in the north of the country.  However, it lengthened the journey considerably.  Not normally an issue, the fast approaching winter meant that within a few days of tracking the shadow of carnage left by Solinken, the snows had begun.  Flurries at first, chill gusts, mostly at night.  Frozen mornings greeted Nikolai with a preternatural stiffness, requiring longer and longer bouts of stretching of his bruised and scarred limbs before he began the routine of dusting down snow from his shelter .  Once clear, and relatively dry, he rolled the oilskins around the oak poles and fastened them underneath a papoose he carried that kept trinkets and memories from his past life, along with the necessary rations and tools for his mission.Winding up along the wet marshlands that were flooded though the overflows of the seas to the north,  through Protochnye and Sureyskiye, Nikolai’s reward for his perseverance and endeavour was grim horror and a putrefaction of civilisation. Villages presented broken down housing, pock-marked with cannonballs.  Horse remains smouldered, vegetable fields were razed, bodies were heaped in blackened pyres, blessedly relieved from unfortunately imaginable horrors.  Nikolai no longer weeped for his countrymen.  The journey had taken emotion from him, and he had lost his soul to the trail.  The stench made him heave, the only nod to abnormality on the Russian plains.Nikolai stood on the bluff that marked a steep slope down to Tugiyany.  From here, he could see candlelight in the windows of the shacks below,  winking through the rarefied, arctic air.  This was the first township he had encountered without any exterior damage.  Solinken was here. He placed his papoose on the ground, and undid the greasy strings that held the remains of his life.  Fishing inside the inky blackness, he retrieved one, two, three items.  Pocketing them individually, he undid and then re-tied his frayed belt, pulled his ushanka down over his ears and felt a comforting warmth above his eyebrows that motioned fatigue to overwhelm him.  Nikolai strained against the fatigue, and began his descent.A short time later, Nikolai stood at the edge of the village, underneath a wooden arbour with a sign reading “T gi any”.  The arbour swayed slightly as a frozen wind swirled down behind and through Nikolai, bring an iciness that had accompanied him from Chemashi.   He reached into his left pocket, pulling out a cowskin drinking flask.  Unstoppering the container, he took a final draught of the vodka/water liquid, then shook the drops that remained into his mouth before throwing the flask to his right.  He then reached into his right pocket and pulled out a length on material, some sort of kerchief or hair scarf.  He raised it to his face and breathed deeply with lightly closed eyes.  He tied it around his right wrist.  Reaching down one last time, he slipped his right hand inside his boot, and pulled out a rusted old revolver.  He checked the breech for a bullet and grunted his satisfaction.He leaned against the increasingly fierce wind and shot his eyes from side to side.  The street was empty, most candlelight now extinguished.  At the far end, a saloon was still very much open for business, and two large, harnessed bullocks were peeking from a secure hitching rail around the back of the low-roofed building.  Nikolai made his way firmly towards the door, and calmly opened it.  Heentered the smoky room and leaned firmly against the door, shutting out the cold.  As he leant, he glanced around the room and spotted Solinken sat at a table, being entertained by his entourage.  No one paid him any heed, and he walked calmly to the wooden table that served as the bar for the revellers.   The seated barman was shepherded to his left by full bottles of vodka, the empties to his right. “Vodka”, said Nikolai.“1 Rouble”, said the barman.Nikolai looked at the vodka, and looked back at the barman.  Moments passed.“Solinken”, said Nikolai.The barman poured a slug of vodka into a dirty wooden cup.  He nodded to Nikolai, who sipped at the alcohol to feel the burn in his throat before downing the rest.  He kissed his wrist with his damp lips and placed the cup back on the table.  Turning, he moved directly towards Solinken, who noticed him drunkenly swim into view.Nikolai drew the pistol.“Natalya”.