The Sign on the Road

(This remains till date, an unsubmitted, and possibly incomplete, short story I once though I’d submit to my school magazine. I think I balked at how the ending had unravelled and it seemed without a satisfying end. I recently discovered it in my email drafts with the note: “I think I lose it somewhere in the end.” Posting it now, unedited, written by my 2014 (or 2017) self because I had never put it up, as well as because I think my younger self was onto … something)

The scarf covering most of the warrior’s face whipped in the wind; save his eyes, everything else was covered. Dust, whipped up from the dry ground of the desert around him, dancing wildly about him.

No, this is not a desert. What was it then ? Something in between.

Starting south from the cold snowy mountains, he walked alone, on the Path his village elders had decided for him; he had descended into green lands with endless farms and people generous enough to welcome a stranger inside their homes. Gradually his predetermined Path had led him a bit West, and though now it was evident where the change had begun, he had never noticed the countryside around him shift from green farms, a lot of game to hunt and streams abound, to one with dry trees, nothing to hunt and scarce water, with the occasional hill thrown in.

I must be nearing the Settlement, he thought looking at the Sun’s position in the sky. The old man had been sure enough. But then again, when a person clad in all black, with a sword sheath at his hip, a spear used a walking stick, and a bow and quiver full of arrows meets you in the country, walking all alone, you can be forgiven for being preoccupied while answering his query.

So what if the sword he carried in that shining sheath was a wooden one ? So what if neither his spear nor his arrows were sharp ? If his bow couldn’t even be strung ? Carry your own tools and weapons, his mother had said, the Elders will teach you to be proficient only with what you bring to them. They will show you the path to Success in life. Not that it had done his father or brothers any good. They had all followed this same path to this very Settlement, among the tens of others, and had failed to be, what the world called, successful.

When his last brother had returned, he had said the Settlement of Elders here was on the verge of falling apart, what with none of the previous disciples or warriors opting to return to the glorious legacy of teaching young minds. It was just how the world worked these days.

He had started from home months ago. That disintegration might have already happened. If tales were supposed to be true, he would arrive to ruins and an intolerable manner of things; he would have to look for another, which was good enough for him, still flourishing, and would willingly accept him. He would not, could not go back and make it in the world if he did not achieve this mastery of arms.

There, a little ways up ahead, he saw a small sign crudely dug into the dry earth. As he neared it he saw a background of dried up wooden boards with two arrows drawn, in black charcoal, pointing to opposite directions; large words “Settlement” and “Town” were hastily marked up below the arrows, in the charcoal too. He promptly turned towards the Settlement.

A few miles further into the dry land, he came upon a village on a hill. It was more a collection of small huts, but in the flat land of the desert, the hill stood out like a boil on a face. No sign of any activity was visible.

Finally !

There was very little light left when he reached the village, after having made the difficult climb to the top.

A test ? Of what ?

He entered the village. A few ruins stood at the boundary of the village with garbage spilling out of broken walls from inside. Dust covered every house and every object within and without. He blinked.

He saw something resembling a path run through the center of the ruins. He followed it as it led him further in. Here and there, he saw a few broken spearheads and maces, completely abandoned, no thought of repair or preservation or reusing the metal.

A few houses on his left had pages and parchments lying about here and there.Must have been the masters’ rooms.He had heard a lot about the masters who not only taught from their weapons but also from parchments and books. They had left their paper all too quickly.

He saw pots and pans lying about on firepits and stoves, beds and cots rotting about. It was as if people had left in a hurry, not caring what happened to their belongings.

A few houses where walls had fallen in showed rooms with discarded belongings. Decaying, infested weapons and the rusting forge of a smith lay abandoned.

His uncle was a smith. He loved his forge probably more than life itself. He was the best smith he had known. Before coming here he could never have imagined that any true smith would ever abandon his forge. The thought was unforgivable !

He looked over every hut. None was wholly standing. Each had something missing. He tried to see whether some wood could be salvaged. He would need to build a fire.

This way he traveled through the village, meeting no soul, seeing all around him the withered remains of a once great academy, one of the greatest Settlements known to his kind. Only after he had seen the entire village empty did it finally hit him - the Settlement had been vacated and left for good. He had nowhere left to go.

He thought of settling down for the night here. He was too tired. But he could not shake the hopelessness and anger which the ruins around him evoked from within himself. No, he had to leave. Rest would be after he was out of here. He would camp as he had so many nights before. Or he could move towards the town. But he had to leave.

Tears of frustration and anger and helplessness sprang up in his eyes.

He had to start, now, all over again.

He left the village, the hard work of the climb down barely distracting him from his distraught self. As he reached the sign on the road, he looked back towards the Settlement all his hopes, his desires, his aspirations for the future he had seen for himself projected in that last glance. Then he turned around and walked towards the town.

There was only one arrow visible on the sign now.