Wow. Long time no see, huh? Well here's another chapter, this time with or heroes apart, but not without a few special guests. You just enjoy, alrigLoved-Rudefool
At night, the desert glowed with an unearthly luminescence. Above, a river of stars, sprinkled generously from some great diety's hand, pierced the dark veil of the sky, below the ocean of sand reflected the light of a heavy moon, pale and bright, full of glittering granules. It was cool at night and the sand would shed its heat, dimming from red hot to cold blue as the sun set. The wind stilled, the day died and the world quieted to the hoarse whisper of the slightest breeze carrying crystals over endless a bed of silky sand, Duck viewed the vista of stars that reflected in her clear, wide eyes. Uzura nestled next to her, blinking away sleep, attempting to stay awake and watch the heavens with her older friend. Duck thought of the universe. She thought of herself, of Uzura, of everyone back in Rhine land, of Fakir. Behind her was her cart full of books, ready to be sold and that ridiculous banner that she had promised to change. Even further back was Abd-Al-Rashid and every other town she had journeyed through. And beyond that was her old life, familiar, boring and completely devoid of any chances for Duck to prove herself.
The only way was forward. Duck pointed to one of the few constellations she knew of in that part of the world
"Look Uzura. That cluster of stars is called Cygnus. It's the swan constellation."
"What's a constellation 'zura?" their conversation was as hushed as the softly shifting sand that traveled grain by grain, across the vast openness.
"They're a group of stars that could be millions of miles apart but they still mean something and they're still connected because they are part of the same picture or story. " Duck whispered and gently tugged Uzura closer. "It's like you and me, Edel and father and... Who else... ah! And Fakir! We're all stars in the same constellation and no matter how far away we are from each other, we're all part of the same story."
"What about the other stars 'zura?"
"I dunno... Maybe they're people we haven't met yet. Our story never ends and there will be so many new people to help us along the way." she smiled up at the sky and then at Uzura, who returned the grin in the bright darkness.
"Like Fakir 'zura?" Duck paused and thought about her surly savior. He was by no means, a storybook hero, but she recalled him in an overly gallant fashion that was usually reserved for those types. Blushing, she mentally chastised herself for such silliness but responded with undeniable affection.
"Yeah. Like Fakir."
In the light of the day, the desert was blinding. The sand, tinted pale gold, hugged a deep, sagging horizon of blue. It was as if some great hand had drawn a crooked line and then divided it between sky and land, giving each side unbearable brightness above and below. From high up, the sun loomed and swept over a dry dusty land with piercing, rippling rays. It was hot.
Fakir stood starkly against the bleached landscape, his figure, dark and wavering on the road. Air rose in musty spirals of heat and dust, and lifted high into to cloudless, blue sky, swirling about him in a hot, dry wind. All around the day drifted but never at an acceptable speed. Alone, on the sands, Fakir felt directionless and empty, much like the land around him and he was further bothered by the fact that this was a new problem. Something happened recently that caused this need of companionship. Something Fakir couldn't seem to get his finger on and his thoughts would inevitably turn to the annoying book merchant, Duck. The reasons for the directions of his mind were also eluding him, but his hands were drawing nearer to the small blank tome stowed away in his satchel.
The urge to write had left Fakir for years after his parents had died at his hand and his pen. He was shipped off to the monastery and kept with the monks who feared and condemned Fakir's gift. Not that he blamed them. The power to bring words to life had brought the young man nothing but pain. They taught Fakir to be a faqr because it was his destiny to help and heal people and it was his duty to devote his life to his faith. The Brahmans taught him Hindu texts and pushed him through the monastery door at age 17. Both the monks and his three years on the road had prevented him from writing words of his own. That ability scared them almost as much as it scared Fakir; it was a gift that put him amongst the Gods and no one- not even the Deities themselves- wanted a mere human to have that much power.
But how that little blue book called him! Did Duck know what a position she had put him in? No, that was impossible. Maybe the gift was the Gods' message to return to the world of the written word. Fakir nearly whipped the book out at that thought. It beckoned and pleaded with him, demanding to be opened, hungry for sentences and phrases and characters. The yearning was an extension of Fakir's own want, he felt himself in the blank leaves ready, to be filled.
Deep within his bag, Fakir's fingers connected with the warm, soft, suede and it became obvious the only way the hand would be withdrawn would be if it were closed around the book.
He was tugged in so many directions, all of them, he had to face alone and he cursed and blessed Duck for the gift that caused so much inner conflict but made him feel a little less solitary.
From the depths, Fakir extracted the book, cradling it, as Duck had, between both of his hands. His walking slowed, eyes focused singularly in the blue cover. Solitary on the hard-packed road, book in hands, covered in dust, hungry, tired, Fakir stood with one thought:
He really needed a pen.
The man cringed at her sign, his feline eyes crinkling to a squint. He was a tall sort with a crop of neatly trimmed black- almost violet hair and a face made for impressive displays of emotion. Sniffing, he voiced the distaste he felt for her banner in a high, whining manner.
"Ms. Geflügel I presume?" He had a foreigner's voice possibly from the British isles. Duck nodded in affirmation "You sell animal skin bound books?" she nodded again "Well! That sounds absolutely atrocious!" The young merchant nearly bobbed her head again but stopped with a sharp noise of surprise.
"Would you like to buy one?" came her tentative question.
"Would you like to marry me?"
"Oh great! Books this size are 6 dinars. Smaller books are- wait... What?"
"With this sign, your business surely must be awful. Don't you think the stability of marriage would help you stay afloat?"
"Huh? But- but, marriage? I'm too young! I haven't even talked to my guardians yet! And Uzura! What would I do about her? I can't marry you!" there was a long extended, pause in which Duck ceased waving a book she didn't realize she had been waving in the first place.
"Never mind Ms. Geflügel. I will not buy a book."
"Oh."
"Please fix your banner."
"Yes."
The man set off after he was finished being entirely rude to everything in Duck's establishment. Watching his retreating form, she sighed feeling particularly disappointed. No book had left her inventory during her entire trip, save for the small, plain blue one she gave to Fakir about a week before. What would she tell Edel and Father when she returned with a cart full of tomes and pockets completely devoid of money? Duck had wanted to prove herself. She wanted to show everyone that she could do anything. Uzura came from behind the cart and gave her a pointed look.
"You promised to change the sign 'zura." Duck groaned and sat heavily on the sturdy diagonal of the cart's hitch. Uzura had the strange ability to keep her elder's priorities in order and kept the two of them some-what organized.
"Well... We may as well buy some canvas." Duck suggested grumpily. They packed the cart haphazardly before coaxing their camel to the front. He was a temperamental animal with an unfortunate fondness for spitting. He didn't yet have a name either- possibly a contributing factor to his foul disposition. Duck huffed and prayed to what ever deity she saw in Fakir's bag that maybe things would start going her way. The odd elephant one with too many arms- maybe he was the God of sales or books or merchants or obedient camels.
Crawling deeper into the vast market space of Jiddah, Duck parted the crowd, her cart the vessel and the constant swirling mass of people the sea. She felt little buoyance, though, it was more akin to descending into an abyss. The bright cloth around her was dizzying and individuals shouted in raw sounding Arabic for Duck to get out of the way and stop blocking the path. Duck was eager to avoid the chaos; she dragged her entourage to a far corner skirting an alley way. The spot reminded her of the hiding place she had used a week ago in Abd- Al- Rashid. The fleeting expectancy fled when Duck spun on her heel, surveying with no glimpse of her surly traveling monk. Feeling disappointed, Duck backed into the shadow of a squat building only to connect with another body. The two fell to the ground in a mess of bright cloth and long limbs while noises of frustration left angry dust clouds in the air. Uzura watched avidly. They both scrambled up and Duck spouted frantic apologies. The woman she had so skillfully knocked over stood with far more grace, rising like the plumage of some great dark bird. The violet of her robes glittered in the half-light, much like her eyes.
Duck was momentarily speechless. This woman was beautiful.
"Do you even look where you're going?" the trance broke.
"Hey! You bumped into me too! You weren't watching out either." she finished in a sulky mumble and the woman raised a tapered, arched brow.
"And who exactly are you?"
"Duck Geflügel."
"A foreigner hmm?" Duck didn't respond "And what are you doing in Jiddah?"
"I sell books. They're very nice ones! Not atrocious at all!" this woman demanded respect and Duck had no idea how to communicate with her. Thoughts flashed through her head and almost all were smacked down like birds with stones. The silence between them served as further annoyance. Duck fondly recalled a meeting similar to this about a week ago. It hadn't turned out so bad. Maybe she could make another friend.
"Uhh... What's your name?" the woman blinked at the sudden amiability.
"I am Rue Nagi. You will call me Ms. Rue Nagi, Duck."
"Huh. Ms. Rue Nagi. Is it alright if I just call you Rue?" The woman before her scrunched her face in minor distaste while slightly shaking her head. Her hair bounced with the small motion, dark tresses framing each cheek. Duck just gave her a slow, easy smile.
"No. You will not address me so informally."
"But Ms. Rue Nagi is so long." came the long whine. Duck wasn't sure if the annoyance displayed on Ms. Nagi's face was a source of joy or embarrassment, but the drawn out syllables did little to change the other woman's expression.
"Ms. Rue Nagi. Why do I have to say your name like that? No one calls me Ms. Duck Geflügel." then to herself "Should I make people call me that?" Duck then considered how her name would sound issued repetitively from mouths unfamiliar to the German language. She was glad she didn't insist on such formality. It would be an all together unfortunate ordeal. Maybe Fakir could manage the pronunciation though. That errant thought sent her on another tangent, wondering if they were destined to meet again- not in some spectacular way, just a 'Hello how is it going? Have you been using my gift?' and 'Is a child still guarding your cart? Did you fix that idiotic banner?' sort of way. Maybe he would do some of those faqr tricks she had heard a couple of traders mention. Like walking on hot coals or getting buried alive. She thought briefly about these performances and then thought better of her desire. It wouldn't be nice if Fakir git hurt because she wanted a show.
Rue huffed before relenting, the sharp noise drew Duck from her daze.
"Fine. I guess I'll just have to deal with your disrespect. I am only accepting this because you are a foreigner."
"Huh? What?"
"Is it tradition for people from you county to not listen to others, Duck?"
"Ummm... No?"
"Well. Then you should be pleased to know I will allow the great disrespect of you calling me by my informal name." Duck's eyes brightened at the woman she had only just met.
"I am only doing this because I will probably never see you again and because I have never heard someone say my full name so stupidly before."
"Oh! Um thanks Rue!"
They watched each other for a few seconds with drastically differing expressions. It was not clear whether the two should have met or not.
Behind his eyelids, the world was teal and rose and orange. The breaking rays falling on the sandy dunes like waves of a distant ocean, almost refracting in crystal grains. The heat of the day waned, fading from his skin and drawing back for the chill of night. The light was ending, born again in the morning with a roaring bright ball, eating away at darkness like the vengeful demons he had read about during his time at the monastery and preached about in his public recountings of Hindu stories. Presently, that wrath hid under the mountains of sand illuminating the far of depths beneath him. Another day passed, another night before him.
Fakir was so tired of the desert. Walking the purple road in darkness and that blinding gold one in the light, never stopping, he was always in some undetermined direction with some predetermined fate. Fakir hated it. He had spent the last three days stumbling about in the blinding vastness, nothing to eat and drops in his canteen. This carelessness sprouted from the still untouched book deep in his pack. It was immensely distracting, causing Fakir to waver at the crossroads between Mecca and Jiddah for a good half a day. All for a pen! Since when had he become so indecisive? The whole thing was infuriating and it was all Duck's fault. Stupid bird.
Fakir felt childish blaming the girl. She had the best intentions- in fact, she was probably the nicest thing that had happened to him during those three long years. She didn't know how much turmoil was born from that little blank book. Those unassuming pages got Fakir lost, pacing circles around himself between endless dunes.
He closed his eyes against the sunset's glare and found that teal, rose and orange world.
Jiddah drew him away from Mecca, down the well trod trade road and the red rays of the sun descending into night. Fakir was coming closer to something- a nameless thing. It was a solution he could feel it, smell it on the dry winds. He would find out how when it had pulled him in, enveloping him in a new destiny.
Fakir would buy a pen in Jiddah.