When Opportunity Knocks (original) (raw)

So we're all slacking majorly. I for one, have not written a sentence of literature since my last post. Just even more vague and boring notes. So this post is kind of a cheat, but at least it's something, and I hope to get started from this point more this week and the rest of the summer.

This is the desert story I started... oh probably two years ago. There's not much to it yet, but I do have a lot planned out. I am posting what I have to this point, with hope that new additions will soon follow. Bon appétit!

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A hot, scorching wind blew out of the desert, causing Zenna to scowl in pain. She squinted as she listened to the odd, strummed notes of a stringed instrument somewhere behind her. It played a tune that was hardly a tune at all, but was more disjointed notes plucked over a soft, lulling hum. The player sang words equally disjointed and in a foreign tongue, making them altogether indiscernible to Zenna, who cared not either way.

She stood at the edge of the market, built right up against the wicked glare of the desert. Her eyes, though irritated by the brightness before her, remained focused on the distant whirls of sand. Old childhood tales of a paradise beyond the wastelands flitted across Zenna’s memory. She silenced them with a disdainful sigh, not interested so much in the lands beyond, as in what they were sending to her.

Well, not quite to her, but to the market. Still, she thought of them as coming directly to her. She had been promised a secret. The savage man in the alley had sworn on the Name that she would receive one if she let him live. Zenna was not so naïve as to trust one such as him, but by the Name he was bound to deliver or face death.

Secrets were always for sale in the market. They came with the wares, the food and the wine, the wild, bright fabrics and the dark wooden furniture. You had but to say the right word, show the right sign, and a bit of knowledge known only by a chosen few became yours. Divine whispers from far off lands, or from somewhere so close you could hardly grasp their implications.

But the treasured lore were not without their dangers. For one, they were usually carried by the most fearsome of characters. Muscled warriors, blackened by the desert sun, could tell you of wars and kings. Assassins, sharp as the myriad of blades they concealed, would slit your throat before you blinked if you betrayed their confidence. The consequences for breaking a secret’s keep ranged from losing appendages, to torture and death, and beyond. And it was said that no one who told a secret kept could walk more than twenty paces from the deed without being faced by their punishment.

This last was a wild rumor, one that Zenna, nevertheless, did not intend to chance. She did not expect that her secret would require telling in any way for her part. It had not occurred to her that once the secret became hers, she could easily become a carrier. For one who knew a secret was bound to share if given the proper sign or word. It did not take a wild imagination to guess what fate would befall a carrier who did not deliver.

A bored drop of sweat beaded beneath Zenna’s midnight blue head-scarf and slid, heavy with the gravity of her expectation, down the bridge of her nose. She swiped the tickling drop from her face and shook her head to clear it of her wandering thoughts.

Another caravan had solidified on the horizon, taking shape from the dazzling mirages of the desert. Zenna watched it intensely, hoping. Was that a fleck of red? A spot of yellow? Her eyes ached with the strain. The dirty, savage man whose life she had spared for a trickle of words had told her to watch for a caravan bearing a flag with a red snake on a yellow field. So far, every caravan that day had at first appeared to bear colors of red and yellow, but had morphed to other colors once the distance had closed enough to prove her imagination fooled.

As the caravan drew closer, it unwound to reveal nearly twenty wagons. More than any other caravan since the twin moons traded horizons. And the flag waved red and yellow, bold and stubborn. This was it.

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Certain now that the approaching caravan was the one she awaited, Zenna grew impatient with its slow crawl across the desert sands. She knew it was bound for the market, and finding something to pass the time would make its arrival seem quicker than standing and waiting. With this in mind, Zenna slipped away from her hard-won viewpoint and drifted into the dusty crowds.

Bustling mothers, laughing children, arrogant youths, and sun-hardened men all strolled or wandered about. Slick merchants hawked their wares while visitors of all shapes and sizes scrutinized the tempting possibilities. The Ahrian Market was known for its wild range of goods and characters. Everyone was unique thus making it hard for anyone to truly stand out. This suited Zenna nicely as she was not fond of drawing attention to herself. Her robes and scarves were dark blue like the deepest night, generating heat but not unwanted interest. She adjusted them carefully around her face for the events of the day had caused them to loosen.

A jolly vendor in a drab red tent laughed heartily at a customer’s joke. His laughter drew Zenna’s eyes and though the people did not interest her, the merchandise did. She angled toward the tent, weaving through the crowd and stopped to peer casually at the cases of polished glass. There were jewelry and ornaments, vases and jars—mostly expensive trinkets for which Zenna had no use. But because she had never owned any of them, their sparkle often enticed her for a long look. And as there were many in the tent occupying the merchant’s time, she allowed herself to spend a while browsing.

Before she knew it, Zenna heard the approach of the large caravan with the red-snake flag merging with the sounds of the Ahrian Market. She turned eagerly to leave the red tent, but before she had taken three steps her eyes caught sight of an unusual object in an inner case. Among the many trinkets there were necklaces, earrings, and tiny animal figures. They each glittered in the bright sunlight. But lying inconspicuously between a brilliant diadem and a feathered string of beads was a single, tarnished silver chess-piece. It appeared to be a knight, but it was flat so that it would likely not stand upright. And the mane of the horse was notched like a key, however if it really was a key, it was the most ridiculous and useless key Zenna could possibly imagine. But she could not tear her eyes from it.

As though the design of the flat knight connected directly with some innate idea deep within Zenna, it held her entranced for several minutes until the vendor took notice. He began to ask her if she was interested in making a purchase but his interruption of that connecting force snapped Zenna back to herself and she immediately disappeared into the crowd, silver trinket forgotten, intent once more on reaching the newly arrived caravan.

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“By what sign do you ask my secret?” said the dark-skinned foreigner. His voice was thick with a rough yet curling accent, but deep and powerful to match his large, muscular shape. He would have been intimidating to even the most self-assured warrior, but Zenna was intent.

She lifted aside her midnight robes to offer the man a handful of ice-pink sand. Colored sands were common enough but this particular shade was not often seen in the desert country. The filthy man in the alley had taken her hand from his throat and trickled the pink sand into her palm as carefully as if it were diamonds.

“This is the sign. If you lose it, you lose the secret,” he had cautioned her. She had kept it safe in a twisted piece of leather which once held coins. Now she offered it boldly to the dark stranger who towered above her.

An unexpected sigh of great relief slipped from the man’s lips as he accepted the sand. “I feared the next carrier would lose courage and not come to me.” His voice lowered as he continued. “For our secret is one that shall bring a great many to their feet, and many more to their death.”

Zenna’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. It was common enough for the bearer of a secret to dramatize and exaggerate its significance, but the man’s great anxiety seemed worryingly genuine.

“Allow me to complete my duty here and walk with you a ways. It would not be wise for us to share here among my people.” The man waited briefly for Zenna to acknowledge his request before turning away to help unload a wagon full of carpets in which he had been riding.

While the man worked, Zenna considered the strange way she had picked him out of the caravan at first sight, somehow sensing that he would be the sharer of her promised secret. She had hurried through the crowd to the end of the market where new stalls could be set up for recent arrivals. The first travelers she saw were busy caring for their animals or unpacking tents and merchandise. She had ignored them without a second thought and continued looking until she found the dark, hulking foreigner with the ring in his left eyebrow. She knew at once that he was the one.

Now he was finished with the carpets and had spoken quickly with the wagon master who relieved him of his position in the caravan. He returned to Zenna and gestured toward the busy streets. She nodded eagerly and walked silent at his side for a ways. They moved unhurriedly, but there was a tenseness between them that continued to build until the man stopped in a relatively calm side street. There he pointed to an empty table at a cheap café which hid in the shade of the building behind it. Zenna took a seat and waited for the man to speak.

“I have concluded that you are not the original carrier for whom this secret was meant. You do not have any idea of even the nature of the secret.”

“A secret cannot be kept from the one who shows the sign!” Zenna snapped defensively.

“True enough, but you seem not to realize how dangerous and vital my knowledge will be.”

“I have the right to your secret! Once the knowledge is mine I will know for myself just how troublesome it may be. Until then it is just as likely that you are making more of this than you ought.”

“Very well, I cannot keep it from you. But you may regret your eagerness. Lean close and I will tell you.”

Zenna waited a full moment, her eyes locked on the stranger’s with intense ferocity, so that he would know she’d not stand for any treachery, before leaning in to hear his words.

“South beyond the desert, there is a sea. Beyond the sea lies a beautiful island. From the center of the island rises a great mountain. A palace sits high on its summit. In the center of the palace, there is a tiny room. Inside that room, a war rages. The war must be won by he who locks the rider by the Name. Or else Time will fold in on itself, and all will be lost to Darkness.” Shadows danced across the stranger’s eyes as he delivered his secret in all its clouded but honest truth.

Zenna listened fiercely as he spoke, but when no more words issued forth, she sat back abruptly, anger blazing across her countenance. “What is this!? Do you think I am a fool??? That was more riddle than secret and you expect me to accept it with no question!?” She was disgusted and incensed at his blatant assumption of her stupidity.

The dark man sat quietly, unaffected by her dramatic reaction. “This is your first secret, or else you have not believed those who whispered of impossible riddles which carriers were not meant to understand. Calm yourself and realize that you are not the End of a secret, but merely its holder until the End presents himself or you are given the sign to pass it on.”

A total of two secrets had passed through Zenna’s grasp in her twenty-some years of life. Neither had been a riddle, and neither had been at all alarming. They were both some mystical truth that merely served to generate a sense of superiority and exclusiveness among the holders of such truths. Rumor said that sometimes secrets made even less sense than mystical truth, that sometimes there were riddles which were never solved, but most people seemed to think such rumors were just that, merely rumors. Never before had Zenna considered accepting the possibility of acquiring a riddle in place of a secret. Unless it could be solved, and no one ever said one could be, a riddle secret tended to alienate and infuriate the more proud and assuming carriers to which it came. Those who accepted that they would not understand their secret carried it passively and delivered it with relief, just as the dark man before Zenna appeared to be doing.

Looking at him from a sadly disappointed posture, Zenna sucked in a deep breath and nodded. She had sunk back into her seat, slumping to the side and resting her chin on her fist as she began to accept the reality of her secret. It was vulgar and ridiculous and she hated it, but she nodded dutifully.

“You are right, dark stranger. Your secret, however much a waste of words and thought it might be, has been delivered and you are free of its sharing. In the Name, I pray that you will be rewarded for your faithfulness. Go now and return to normality.” She said this last with a hint of sarcasm as she lowered her eyes to the table.

But the man did not return the proper formality or get up to leave. He was waiting for her to look up at him again.

“What?” she said tersely, ignoring the few manners she had been taught.

“Forgive me for not completing the usual ceremony, but this is not a usual secret. My name is Berlin.”

Zenna tilted her head to the side, bewildered. “I don’t understand… Why do I need to know your name?”

“So that you will not be alone on the journey.”

“What journey? I’m not going anywhere. You’re breaking the rules and if you think for a moment I will hesitate to defend myself you are sorely mistaken.”

Berlin held his enormous hands up in surrender. “I mean you no harm, only help. A journey lies ahead, and you will survive much longer with a companion than without.”

“…I have to travel to deliver this secret, is that what you mean? When you said I would likely regret your knowledge, you truly meant it, didn’t you.” This last was not a question, but a statement full of resignation.

“You have no idea.” Berlin gingerly tested a small smile. The expression did wonders for his appearance, making him at once friendlier and more pleasant. He did not seem nearly as intimidating with a shy smile upon his face.

His tentativeness eased Zenna ever so slightly. She felt he might even be a trustworthy companion, after all the meaning that had just passed between them. And he had not left. Any man who knew as much of the danger of his secret as Berlin seemed to would be more likely to deliver and be done with it than stick around and offer to help. Yet he had stayed.

“Make no mistake,” Zenna said cautiously, “I don’t trust you. But you’d make a better traveling companion than the sniveling cutthroat who tricked me into this position.”

“Tricked you? True you seemed a might eager to have my secret, but I’d wager you are more worthy to carry it than whatever bastard would fritter it away to relieve the pressure of your knife at his throat. And you can be sure, I don’t trust you either.”

In that moment, they were friends.

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Having relieved the immediate tensions caused by the dangerous secret, the two ordered a light meal from the café. As they were finishing their flat, flaky bread with meat sauce –a strange new dish to Berlin's tongue—Zenna returned to the topic of their journey with new interest. She had now had some time to digest the idea and the riddle and was beginning to feel a flutter of excitement.

“So do you know exactly where we are meant to travel and how we are to get there?” She took a sip of cool berry juice.

Berlin shook his head slowly. “No... But there is only one sea to the south. I do not know how far along the path we are meant to go, but I believe we should start by heading in that direction. Is there a shop in this market that sells maps, uh---?” He stumbled in his speech as he realized he had failed to acquire an important piece of knowledge.

“Forgive me, I am ill used to sharing my name. You may call me Zenna. And yes, there is a paper and map vendor I know of.” Tasting her own name on her tongue and hearing it aloud added to the air of strangeness about them.

“Ah, Zenna is an exotic name for a child of the desert. We should see this map vendor shortly.” Berlin licked the last vestiges of meat sauce off his large fingertips.

“I doubt that you intend that as an insult, but my size should not misinform you of my age or my strength. I have made my own living in this harsh land since my twelfth year of life, and that was over ten years ago.” If Zenna was to travel with Berlin, they would have to understand each other's capabilities –at least to some extent.

Berlin nodded solemnly. “My apologies. If you took this secret from another by knife then I assume you can easily take care of yourself. As we begin our journey together we will learn how to balance each other for when the need to defend arises.”

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