Oasis

Zachary Stratton

I was jolted awake by the thump of wheel into rut. I had been dreaming of my
real parents again. The surrealism of waking from the same dream, for the same
reason, in the same place escaped me as I fumbled my way back in to the world of
the awake. The ochre dunes, dyed bloody red with the newborn sun, stretched
endlessly into the horizon behind the ancient and equally endless granite wall of a
medium sized city. Just as they had at the last city. And the city before that.
My wagon drew to a halt with some muffled shouting and the whinny of a
protesting horse. Shaking myself into a more recognizable sort of awake I stood
from the stubby wooden stool that I had wedged between a musty bolt of cotton
cloth and the rough burlap of a sack of flour. Abandoning my alcove of rest I began
to wrestle bits of tent from the back of my wagon and on to the warming sand.
Thoughts of my parents, my real parents, plagued my mind. Who were they? What
did they look like? Why did they leave me? The daily mantra of my unknowing. A
hoarse shout broke my moment of introspection
Felix! The hell are you doing?
I snapped to, not realizing that I had been staring into the sand caked square
of canvas that would soon become my roof for the night for some unknown quantity
of time. Apparently too long for the likes of my pseudo-Father, Pax.
Sorry I mumbled. Got lost in my thoughts for a moment.
Pax shot me a sour look, opened his mouth as if to shout, but instead sighed and
lumbered away towards the cook fire. Presumably being too tired to reprimand me
in earnest. I let out a sigh of my own and quickly finished arranging canvas and
poles in to a laughable caricature of shelter, careful to avoid putting weight on the
vaguely mango colored bruises smattering my shoulder still left from Paxs most
recent punishment.
I dont think Pax had ever really understood me. He tried once, tried to ask
me why I wanted to find the parents who had already proven their unwant for me.
He always went on and on about how dangerous cities could be. Nothing bad ever
happened to me, though. Pax was always furious when I returned, and presumably
when he realized that I had left. Rubbing the bruises that stained my shoulder didnt
help anything there was always something wrong with the food: too watery, too
cold, bread with bits of sand baked into it, rice too crunchy. Why couldnt Pax get
something good for a change? I sighed and slurped it down regardless. We sat in
silence as we usually did, going about our breakfast ritual with mutual introspection.
The daily observance was quickly broken by his voice.
Felix, dont sneak off again. I wont wait for you this time he said.
I raised my eyebrows with my head, only to find Pax sitting quietly as he
usually did. His eyes looked heavy, drooping to match the hard line of his chapped
lips. I had never seen him looking sad before, but what was there to say? My gaze
dropped to the bowl of gruel in my lap. I was still going to sneak off, this new
promise of abandonment was nothing but an empty threat. If I was late it would be
worth a few more aching badges of my adopted fathers anger. The scrape of my
wooden spoon against the bottom of the equally wooden bowl signaled that the
meal was concluded. I stood to finish setting up our meager encampment, already
plotting my excursion into the city.

Although I had never met them I often dreamed of my parents. Not faces or
bodies, just a sense of love accompanied by hushed voice that, despite my most
earnest efforts, remained just short of any significant meaning. Soon I would sneak
away from Pax and ask anyone who could listen if they knew of my parents. This
had become somewhat of a ritual between us, he would find me missing and be
forced to carry his own weigh for a day, and I would find him waiting when I
returned to camp. I knew how futile the whole escapade was. Most of the cities we
stopped at to trade were too large for me to talk to everyone who might know
anything, and even then it wasnt like I had any real description of my parents to
offer. I pushed aside my doubts as I pressed a tent-stake into the sand with a
calloused heel, I only had to find them once.
Our two tents went up slowly, rising like twin domed beasts frozen in some
great mutual migration. Pax had retired from the backbreaking post of watching me
work to rest up. He usually took a nap before his day of trading trinkets and musty
cloth usually no one realized that they had paid too much until we had moved on to
the next town. Now was my chance. Mustering all my stealth I scurried away, not
that there was anyone around to care about my comings and goings aside from Pax,
who seemed preoccupied enough serenading the desert with his snores. There was
some escape in pretending there was a chance I would be caught.
The citys gates had just finished opening, nobody spared me a second
glance as I strode by a sun bleached banner that read Oasis. Not that anyone
should have, I was just another sandy looking shoeless urchin. The gate loomed
overhead as my feet passed from the hot yet forgiving sand to the cooler and far
harder stones that paved the road within the gate.
Cities always stank. Of sewage and bread. Of roasting meat and rotten fruit,
of poverty and prosperity. The smell of life and death. It would be poetic if it wasnt
so damn revolting. Raged homes passed by. Home wasnt quite the right word,
these mud and wooden huts were barely more than shacks, packed wall to wall,
presumably those who stayed here couldnt afford anything better.
My parents couldnt have lived here, I had no idea why they left me, but they
wouldnt have dont it without a good reason. Maybe I ran away, maybe Pax stole
me when they werent looking, maybe they were dead and I would never know,
maybe maybe Apparently I had found my destination, as my feet had stopped
moving. I shook off the residue of my mental tirade and looked about. The squat
huts had metamorphosed into less squat sandstone buildings. A ways down the
street a wooden placard embossed with a flagon hung above a decrepit looking
storefront. The homey smell of bread and ale battled for dominance in my mind with
the crooked door and pockmarked faade. Two patrons populated the room, lit by a
few dim lamps that managed to create more shadows than they vanquished. One
was drinking watery breakfast beer from a slimy cup while the other mumbled at
him through a mouth of ancient looking bread. I took a seat at the bar, the tender
poured some sour smelling water into a cup of questionable cleanliness. He seemed
somehow concerned for my wellbeing that I had turned down the same skunky beer
that the other patron was enduring.
What brings you to my establishment? the man asked.

Im looking for someone, my parents, they left me when I was young and
Ive been looking for them ever since. Do you know anyone who lost a child? Who
gave one away? I replied.
The bartender blinked slowly, eyed me up and down, a smile spreading to
reveal tobacco stained teeth and a more concentrated odor of his foul brew.
I might know someone like that. Come upstairs, boy, we can talk in my
room.
He held the door and motioned for me to sit in the rough-hewn chair
occupying the center of the room, the sting of a splinter worked its way through my
pants. I sat facing a desk that struggled to hold itself together as the door clicked
shut behind me.
So, no parents, eh? Then who takes care of you? he said.
A man named Pax, I said, He took me to work for him after he found me in
some town outside of two rivers.
Ah, I see. So nobody to worry about where you went? he said
Why should that matter? I just want to know about my parents.
A hand gripped my shoulder. As I turned, out of reflex more than anything,
the mans crooked teeth came around to greet me.
Boy, I dont know a damn thing about your parents, but I can guarantee Pax wont
miss an ungrateful little thing like yourself.
Another hand pressed down into my flesh, binding me to the chair like a
shackle. The situation seemed to come into focus. This man wasnt trying to help
me. He didnt know anything about my parents. Now he was going to hurt me
unless I did something. Naturally I was not my most composed self.
What do you want? I said
Dont see many pretty boys in this part of the city, especially not ones as
unsupervised as you. He replied.
There was a knife at his hip, jangling against a brown coin purse embellished
with a darker brown stain. My body announced the scrape of a belt buckle against
my cheek. I tried to stand, but before I could rise more than an inch a savage shove
seated me. An almost forgotten splinter grew roots in my leg. The bartenders voice
carried another blow of spoiled beer to my face.
Dont fight this, just let it happen he said.
My hand seemed to drift up. I grabbed the knife and planted it in his hip,
something inside crunched. It was hard to say which of us was more surprised,
together we stared for a moment at the dull shine of unpolished steel that rose like
a flag of defiance from this ruffians leg. Bolting upright proved more useful this
time, the bartender seemed preoccupied with something.
You stabbed me. He said

He tried to acclimate himself to the now somewhat useless leg. Shifting his
weight to several different positions didnt seem to make it any better.
I stabbed you? I replied. Sorry?
Purple rage tinted his continence, he seemed to sprint towards me, if one can
sprint for half a step, before his freshly-ordained leg gave out. He was still able to
clamp his arms around my waist and wrestle me to the uneven floorboards. His
blows barely registered in my mind as I thrashed about, my foot crashing against
the dagger. This seemed to elicit a scream from my would-be harasser. He looked
pale for some reason, like all the color had drained out of him.
A Gossamer haze hung over me as I landed underneath the second floor
window. The bartenders screams had abated with the creak of the door scraping
inward and the muttering of two concerned voices. My feet pounded away at the
sandstone blocks beneath me. Passers-by stared at a blood soaked boy, their
eyebrows raised, mouths round. Most just went back to their devices after I had
passed. The guard at the gate called after me, I didnt stop to listen. The deserted
stretch of sand where my wagon should have been rushed up to greet me. Barren
except for the twin ruts, scars of a second abandonment. I was crushed by the
enormity of the days implications. Their weight drove me down until it was all I
could do to find a yellowing palm and collapse in the shade. I reached up to remove
an offensive bead of sweat from my cheek, only to find my hands soggy with a
strangers blood. Naturally I rolled over and emptied my gut onto the sand. The sun
hung a few degrees west of noon, yet the mornings meal with Pax seemed a distant
and only half important event. With nothing left to do, no longer excited to find my
parents, no beating to receive, no gruel to eat, and the too-intimate stench of blood
invading my sinuses, I promptly fell asleep.
Something very loud was happening. I woke up piece by piece, stretching my
legs, back, arms, neck, until I could manage standing. It was very windy, and there
was a cacophonous noise emanating from the city. The noise sat precariously on the
edge of music, threatening to fall one way and become a choir or fall the other and
become a collection of discord. Either would have been better then neither.
Bells, why are there bells? I muttered to myself
The answer presented itself with a sharp sting on the back of my leg. My
head whipped around, hands ready to swat away the offending insect, then I saw it.
The city with its little banner and closed gate loomed off to my left, on my right a
wall was sprinting towards me. The dirty nebula loomed skyward, tearing at the
serene blue overhead with heart wrenching ferocity. Blood trickled from my calf
where the wind had launched a clump of sand in anger of my presence. I tore my
shirt off and tied the rags about my face, I had to get inside. Thunder pounded in
my throat, fear surging through my veins, fueling my flight towards the sanctuary
within those gates. Light drained from the world as I sprinted towards the portcullis.
Behind me the dunes had begun to die from their golden splendor, like great fires
fading to burgundy embers, as the storm swallowed the sun. Bells no longer rang.
The gate was deserted. Nobody could hear my hands pounding the oaken slab.
Nobody could hear my gasps against the throat- clotting sand. Time faded with the
last of the worlds color, only darkness and the winds silent roar accompanied me. A
blanket of desolation, of raging winds and the softness of night, equal parts

beautiful and terrifying. My only hope was to curl in to a ball, face pressed against
the corner of gate and wall, and wait for the sandy talons to abate their assault on
my bare skin, praying that someone would find me.
Oi, you dead or?
The disembodied voice snaked it way through my syrup filled consciousness. Of
course I wasnt dead, Im breathing and Im thinking how could I possibly be dead?
All my lips were able to articulate was a hearty numph followed by a
determined shake from my head.
Well thats better than dead I suppose, the gate guard found you outside, all
bloodied and mouth half full of sand. He drug you in here. He said.
The room was furnished with two stout stools and the table on which I lay, if
there was a door to a separate room I couldnt see it. The dirt floor smelled of the
noon sun, the walls that spread down to meet it were the inside of an earthen jug.
Your skin is mostly fine, just ripped up and dried out a bit he continued the
sand stopped up the bleeding, and once you get covered with it its not like it can
keep cutting you. Its a miracle you didnt choke to death though.
I tried pushing my chest off the uneven boards, only to find my back crinkling
like over-dry leather. The pain was just shy of excruciating, but the feeling that
someone had crumpled my skin in disgust and not bothered to smooth out the
wrinkles before replacing it brought on a wave of nausea.
Take it slow, youll be fine but youre pretty beat up my savior said
The man was plain. Thinning brown hair, skin the color of old honey where it
wasnt sunburnt, his expression was neither happy nor sad, angry nor benevolent. I
was just something that he had to do today, another task to be completed. His
whole world was probably this shack and some rotting corner of the city, and yet he
still helped me. This is exactly why Pax never wanted me to leave. The bartender,
my birth parents, the storm. I had always been safe, always had more than this tiny
room with its awful table, my nurse probably used it for a bed.
Ill be alright. Do you know where the trader that came in this morning
went? He had a wagon parked outside the southern gate, I might be able to catch
him. I said.
An old wagon with two canvas tents? He didnt leave, just moved to the
other side of the city when it looked like a storm was coming through. Probably still
digging the wheels of the sand. He said
The relief I felt brought with it a wave of embarrassment, I had been a fool.
Pax was misguided, he was angry, but he had never done anything but try to keep
me safe from the dangers of the world.
Thats my father. I have to find him, tell him Im sorry.