One Day on a Sunburnt Road

26 4 1
                                    

CW Talk of fire

The cart jostles beneath me, bouncing slightly on the bumpy road, my back against the rough wooden wall. I sigh, touching my damp forehead. I didn't expect this place to be so humid, since it is a desert. Looking around the cart, there are 8 people crammed in here, three sitting on the same rough bench as me, squished together, four on the other side and one sat on the floor between us facing the door. Most of them look to be having about the same time as me, but two of them are sharing a large water flask. My last flask is only has enough to make a slight sloshing sound when shook, but the poor sod on the floor didn't even bring one. At least there's only a few more hours left to the city.

I turn to look out the small window, the only source of light into the enclosed cart besides the small sliding window by the driver. I'm not tall enough to look down through it, so the only thing I can see is the unchanging bright blue sky. I close my eyes again. It's simply easier and the others keep me upright.

I start humming a small tune, one of the latest clues I found. Or, a potential clue. "One day the walls burned down, walls burned down, walls burned down, one day the walls burned down, a house made in the fire." An old children's song, a simple tune with 3 verses. "First night the shard was found, shard was found, shard was found, first night the shard was found, a king of wood and timber." So far everything else has been a dead end, but I have hope for this one. "Last night a king was killed, a king was killed, a king was killed, last night a king was killed, the sun a happy actor." For children the last part was changed to "Last night a king was crowned, king was crowned, king was crowned, last night a king was crowned, a night of gin and laughter." My fingers run over the worn down leather book containing years worth of notes, my tired mind wandering and pondering.

"Pretty tune," someone says in a soft and deep lilting voice, breaking my train of thought. "Seems slightly familiar." I look around and see that the person who said it is the person on the floor, who looks up at me with a weak smile. They have plump lips, one of the first things I notice, and closed eyes, their black skin glistening faintly in the dim light and coily red hair tucked into a cap.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" I reply. I had never considered it for its worth as music, only for its worth as a clue, and either way never had any real proficiency with music. "It's an old children's tune. Pretty widespread. Your parents may have sung it to you." Their smile changes slightly, from a bored, half interested smile to a more wry smile.

"Yeah, maybe," they murmur. I smile back awkwardly, not knowing what to say outside of storytelling. I notice a fray in the strap of my sandal suddenly.

The original song dates back a millennia, but is in reference to a similar legend.

"What do you like about it?" the person continues after a few seconds.

I don't know how to respond. What had actually caught my interest was the reference to a shard, hopefully referencing a shard of a wish as described in the legend of Fin and the Dropped Wish, the singular legend that permeates every page of this book. I could recite ten, maybe eleven different versions of the legend word for word, some even with regional spellings. It's been my life for the past 5 years, traveling around the continent looking for clues. The book is a record of my recent life.

"The lyricism," I lie. "Especially how the lyrics play with the concept of time, referencing days and nights out of order and with different methods of relativity." At this point I say words and hope they make sense. "Where do you think you've heard it before?"

"Oh, here and there. I travel a bit." So do I. Hundreds of towns, dozens of cities, only in the past year, and the best I have is a children's tune.

My Wish at the End of the WorldWhere stories live. Discover now