There are small window openings, well not exactly openings, barred windows that led to the view of an extraordinarily beautiful valley with dry river beds and red stones. The light on the inner side of the wall with such windows is dim, mostly naturally lit. On the outside however, the outburst of the heat and light from the sun led to such extreme temperature that even the soil radiated light. The only shades seen around were of the shadows from the dead tree logs that still stood erect. The sky only had white patches of clouds scattered across the horizon meaning no rain any time soon.
There wasn’t much time for Zaka but the keen eyes of a hunter and warrior noticed all the details around. Ojo sat across the room against the wall, his hands chained to the bars of the small windows. Zaka found himself chained to the other window. He looked around and found a full metal door with only a keyhole. He examined his blood stained palms trying hard to remember how he ended up in a prison. But a strong jolt brought him back to his senses. Men dressed in grey covered from head to toe with guns and swords filled the room. The gunmen had their weapons pointed at both of them. The sword holders had their hands ready to draw the swords when needed.
The men got the two prisoners cuffed and ready to be paraded out. Vivid scenes of large fire, beautiful women and splendid rivers flashed the mind of the hunter –
In the land of the big rivers, forests are common. Every river was banked by forest that spread throughout the island. Huge trees hundreds of feet tall, so dense a storm could be tamed with them and rich with all kinds of wild life and flora. But towards the mountains on the south, the desert dominated the landscape – the only part of the island unknown to man. Nothing every came back that once entered the area. The towns spread across the landscapes connected by small tracks of continually used routes. The women and men all worked a share load of responsibility to keep the communities running. The children were taught to fight and hunt. Skills of different kinds were to be mastered by everyone. Everything seemed perfect, but the crimes in the island were increasing at an alarming rate.
Flashes of sparks flew off from the contact of swords, the guns blazed blindly hitting the stone walls and the screams of the injured men filled the corridors with echo. Then, everything went blank – no light, no sound, no consciousness – nothing.
Zaka found himself in a relatively favorable place to be. The sun was about to set. Some teen-aged girls plucked flowers from the garden across the street. The men in groups walked into the restaurant while the old man read poems out loud to his old cat on the bench just beside him. The women walked by him with food for the evening. He looked around to see a different kind of architecture. The houses were all built with stones but didn’t look like the prison walls; the windows didn’t have any metal bar across their openings. He looked down to himself. His heavy leather boots, the ripped animal skin pants, the weapon hoist and the black thick chest cover made him peculiar in a place where people wore scarves in the shades of white. As he walked into the street from the alley he was in, he noticed the increase in the attention he attracted. Before he could totally understand the situation a female voice called out his name. Surprised, he looked back. A woman, most probably in her mid 20s, came walking to him as he tried to recall her face. She wore a scarf to cover her chest while another scarf around her waist was held on by a belt that hung a sword with a knot. Her face wasn’t familiar to him; he did not remember seeing her ever. She stopped a few feet away and ordered her men to fetch the unlikely stranger.
Zaka found himself in a noisy room when he woke up. The room was filled with glasses of wine, women and men laughing, cheering, talking and pointing at him while they discussed something in secrecy. He was at the center of the room, but not chained. He tried to walk but he couldn’t. Something was holding him back. Somehow he managed to exit the room and enter a larger hall that led to a corridor. Some women passed by staring at him and giggling among themselves. As he looked around in the dizziness of the long sleep he had just woken up from he heard a familiar voice coming from the corridor. Ojo.
They sat on a bench in the lawn of a tremendously large palace. I never thought I would see you again. Everyone believes that there was some kind of magic involved in your disappearance. I disappeared too, but a little late. But I did not go back or ahead in time, you did. And I still don’t know how it happened. In the prison, you killed one third of the guards. Now that’s a big crime, but nevermind. It took me 4 years to come here. But you are still the same as I saw you last, in the prison cell. The marks of your wounds… well you still have the same wounds. Nothing has changed in you in four years. But it all happened within two days. There must be something very peculiar about this. But first, let’s wake up.
P.S.: Editions also on whackytalky
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