I caught up with Sam at the market place, where the Trader was deep in argument with a merchant.
"You haven't got the wits of a drunken goat! There's no amount of bullets worth that cheap piece of plastic." The merchant's mask was navy blue, but it was only a three-quarters mask, leaving a piece of his flush faced open to our gaze.
"I don't deal with fools, Mister. You got one more chance to accept my deal before I go to that stall over there." The Trader jerked a chin over to a stall covered by bleached canvas. "I reckon that one knows a good deal when he sees it."
"Go then." The merchant flapped a hand at us as he turned away. "You're wasting my time."
Sam's lips tightened into a thin line and I was sure that the merchant's items would soon be shattered on the pavement. Instead, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, face relaxing into the blank canvas I was accustomed to.
"What were you trying to trade?" I asked as we walked away, hoping to dissipate the strange bout of temper. The Trader's stride was long and fast, making it a trial to keep up with my still healing foot. I had fallen behind a few paces by the time Sam turned to look my way. The remorse was clear, and the long strides shortened significantly until I caught up.
When we were side by side once more, Sam pushed the object in question into my hands. "It's a relic I found a while ago. It was a part of a weapons stash I came across but I don't know how it works. I figure it's a weapon of some sort, but I don't want to fuck with something I don't know how to use. I've been waiting to hit a bigger city before I traded it."
The object was twice as large as a chicken egg, but weighed about a pound. It was perfectly round, with a handle jutting out alongside a small circular ring. I ran my hand along the smooth metal surface. It was a drab color, the kind that made your eye skip past in search of something more interesting.
I handed the metal sphere back to Sam. "How are you on supplies?"
"Don't worry." Sam swung the bag on her back around far enough to tuck the relic away. "I've got a few more things to trade before we go, but even if I can't we should be good for another week."
"What way do you think we should go?"
Sam shrugged. At the end of this journey, I would surely be able to make conversation solely on Sam's shrugs. "Six of one, half dozen of the other. You're the one writing the book."
Indeed I was. I was also the one under an edict from a God to evacuate the premises as soon as humanly possible.
"There's a caravan moving south today. We're welcome to join."
Sam didn't seem to be listening, instead digging through the backpack and drawing out a small figurine. It was a girl balanced precariously on the very edges of her toes and dressed in a frothy pastel nightmare. "'S up to you, kiddo."
I stood back and watched as Sam approached the merchant under the bleached canvas. As I watched, object after object was liberated from the seemingly bottomless black bag to be paraded on the merchant's table. Sam argued, bargained, bickered, and wheedled until the bag was nearly full with ammunition, rolls of shiny grey tape, and strange metal pieces. When Sam turned back to me, a wide smile creased the normally blank features of the Trader.
"Right, then. Where to, kiddo?"
Along with the strange surges of anger also came these rare moments of warmth. A simple word said so much, and I didn't think Sam even realized it. It was strange, how the inflection of a single word could convey so much warmth. I heard Sam say "kiddo" and it seemed as though the Trader would walk through fire for me. In a moment of fancy, I imagined the two of us surrounded in a hopeless stand-off. The imaginary me knew Sam would charge into the masses, guns ablaze, so I charged for Sam, the lead piercing my body until I couldn't move under the weight and pain.
"Kid?"
I opened my eyes to the present, where Sam held my shoulder with a firm hand and snapped fingers in my face. Dark green eyes met mine, squinting lines etching concern onto a tanned visage. "Come on back, kid. Where are we going?"
"South," I managed finally, my mind still on futures that never were. I could feel the shot weighing down each breath, but it was a good weight, the kind of weight that meant some one else was alive. "There's a caravan. We can hitch a ride."
"Right, then." Sam grabbed my shoulder firmly. The grip brought back memories of my youth, when my father still seemed to understand me...
I shook off the melancholy and Sam's hand in one sharp movement. "Let's go."
This is supposed to be an almanac of travel through the aftermath, not a childish diary of feelings. I want to expend words telling my story to the reader, but I must restrain myself. The deal was not to provide a blow by blow detailing of my personal trials, it is to assist the traveler in surviving the radical changes from domain to domain. But too much of me wants to chronicle my own personal feelings, adding unnecessary bias to this document.
You the traveler do not need to know these facts about my life. They will not help you survive the trials you face in transitioning between kingdoms. But a part of me aches for understanding. This understanding is not achieved by cold facts told without personal connection. I cannot tell you this story without telling you about me.
I made a deal. I want to tell you how to survive.
I want you to survive.
Please.
Take these lessons.
Take them.
Survive.
Live.
Thrive.
No comments:
Post a Comment