FICTION
Midnight Merchants
Part of a futuristic mythology-oriented story cycle “The Fading”
Some roads, though even the most familiar ones, are still to be avoided during the darkest nights. For the night brings out the worst in them and in us.
Two men walked down a dusty gravel road, though it was hard to see dust in the darkness of the night. Only a tiny beam of moonlight reached through the thick pine trees, guiding the way for the midnight travelers.
“We shouldn’t have gone out so late in the evening,” said one man.
He was taller and appeared stronger. Probably that was the reason why he carried a large leather bag, filled with water.
“Then we wouldn’t have pure spring water for the market tomorrow,” said the other, scratching his bald head.
Two smaller bags hung around his neck, tied by a rope. He pulled up his baggy grey pants.
“Keep walking, words won’t help your legs.”
The tall man shook his head, knowing that leaving the communal village after hours was prohibited. Marshal Manuell was right to ban all late escapades, he thought. With trees that thick, one could get lost, and who knows, maybe never return. He then tried to push the grim thoughts away.
The night was gloomy enough.
For another hour, they walked in silence, broken only by a distant owl hoot. Suddenly, a very clear sound of cracking twigs came from the left of the road. Both men stopped for a minute.
“What’s that?” said the tall man. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Neither can I, but I suppose we shall keep going,” the other merchant pulled his pants again and started walking.
Just as he did, a figure appeared on the road. A tiny ray of moonlight fell on its black robe.
“Ancients! Who’s wandering here at this hour?” said the bald man.
“Hello? Might you be lost at this time of night?” he shouted to the figure.
The dark silhouette took a few steps forward until both men could see it clearer. The figure then pulled back its hood, revealing the face of an old man with cold, sad eyes.
“No, I’m not lost,” he said.
The tall man cringed a little. What a soft, yet uncomfortable voice, he thought. The old man then looked at the water bag.
“But I do feel thirst from a long walk. I see you carry water with you. Would you share a few cups with me?”
Both merchants shared a quick glance.
“I would love to, old man. But this is clear spring water, for the market. We need to sell it and take care of our farm. I hope you understand. But there’s a spring a few hours down the road,” said the bald man apologetically.
He didn’t mean to be rude, he was only honest. Although he could spare a cup, he was afraid that a little extra spring water might be needed tomorrow. It’s best to have a little extra, that’s what he always said.
“Very well. I understand,” the old man nodded. He then pulled his hood back on. “Safe travels”
“Yes, you too,” said the tall man. Both farmers watched as the thick darkness consumed the hooded figure.
“We better hurry. It’s still a three-hour walk.”
Another hour passed slowly. The bald man began to feel the weight of the water hanging around his neck. My back is not as good as it used to be, he complained to himself.
He then decided to think about the sky. Those thoughts always helped him overcome undesired fatigue.
“Hamish. Hamish, help me!”
The bald man snapped out of his thoughts and turned around. He saw his comrade knee-deep in the mud, helplessly trying to free his legs. As it appeared, they were sinking deeper every other second.
“I can’t free my legs,” said the tall man, panicking.
“What is this? It wasn’t here before!” said Hamish and rushed to help his friend. But the mud had a strong grip, and as Hamish tried to pull the outstretched hand, his comrade went below the surface with a loud gulp.
Hamish, still clenching the hand, pulled as hard as he could. The weight of the water bags around his neck started to drag him down.
He then saw the large water bag slowly going under the mud. For a moment, he thought of letting go and grabbing the bag instead. But then his comrade started to shake the hand in agony, apparently going out of breath.
Hamish grunted and pulled the bags from his neck, throwing them away in the mud. He braced his feet against a tree root and pulled as hard as he could. Slowly, the head of the drowning merchant finally surfaced.
They lay on the road, breathing heavily. The tall one was covered in mud from head to toe. He coughed.
“Thank you, Hamish,” he whispered silently.
“Thank me for nothing,” said Hamish. “The water is gone. Now it all was in vain. Maybe you were right, Carney. We shouldn’t go out in the dark.”
The night was still deep and dark. Soon tiredness started to overcome the travellers. ith it came thirst. Oh, a cup of water would be so good now, prayed Carney. I could wash this dirt off my teeth.
He spat and saw Hamish standing still.
“What is it then?” he asked.
“Look, the old man is back,” said Hamish, pointing south. There, a black figure appeared in the distance once again.
Both merchants ran towards the figure. When they caught up with the old man, they saw he carried a large leather bag with him, seemingly full of water.
“Old man! We are so glad to see you here!” said Hamish. “We almost died a few kilometers down the road. And now we have nothing left. But we ask not for much. Could you spare some of your water, just a mouthful for each of us?”
The old man didn’t pull his cape this time. He just turned his head slightly.
“I would love to. But I hope you understand, this is clear spring water. And I don’t have any to spare.”
Both Hemige and Carney stood in silence as the old man walked away with the bag.
“Hemige,” said Carney. “Hamige, I think he carried my water bag.”
“Forget about it. Your bag is at the bottom of the bottomless pit,” Hamige rubbed his shoulder. “He’s a strange man. If you ask me, I think it’s best that he’s gone. I don’t like him. Not one bit. The strangest things happen at the darkest hour. Let’s hurry home.”
“We shouldn’t have gone for water tonight,” said Carney.
The Fading is a collection of short stories and novellas about events taking place in a very distant future. In the future where there are no more wars and global catastrophes because the Earth is no longer global. Humans now live their last centuries in small communal villages, scattered across the remaining land. Surrounded by oceans and deep forests, they rarely communicate. Despite the isolation, they persist in their existence and hope still resides within them.
