Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,6

at whatever the cost.

He had not been hungry as he left the plantation, but hunger soon began to grow in him; he thought of the bread and water he received regularly on the farm, and how that was now a comfort of the past. The road leading away from the plantation was formed of dirt, and lined by green and gold shrubbery that outlined a dark red wood on either side of the path. He followed the path steadily into the morning, hearing the forest wake up for the coming day. From childhood he recalled strange memories of forest tales, stories whose origins were long forgotten. They were stories about curious things; tales of wolves and wizards, elves and trolls—the sort of lore that was meant to be believed for only the first quarter of your life. Stuff like magic and spells. He didn’t believe in any of it, though he thought he would rather like meeting an elf. He had always heard elves to be loyal creatures of the forest, living at one with nature. The elves had no rule or slavery; they lived in harmony away from anyone else’s concern, the fables told. Such was the kind of tall tale that had sometimes made him long to personify the stories, and embody a noble elf of the Red Forest.

Eventually the path led to a fork that split off heavily east in one direction, heading into what looked like a hot, sand filled horizon. The other direction jerked back and up north, deeper into the Red Forest. Relief came in not having to travel the wooded path any longer, as his quest called for him to move eastward. The entrance into the heart of the dangerous Red Forest is what the northern trail had been, he knew from tales, though the path itself was not labeled with any signs. The tales said that the Red Forest was full of evil things, and no sound-minded human should enter it alone. But the forest path was averted, and he made his way in the other direction toward a gloomy desert, slowly gaining glimmer as the sun came up. The weeds and grass around the path began to intertwine with patches of yellow sand, and a distinct smell arose; it was totally unlike that of the Plantation, not a pinch as vile. An aroma of warm bliss flowed in a delicate wind toward him, carrying the fresh smell of the dunes westward. The path leading out into the now cheerful desert seemed less than a few hundred yards, he realized.

Then, impulsively, he stopped walking for a moment, and glanced back one last time. Facing the direction of the life he was leaving behind, he felt his lingering stare hold all his memories in a single instant, one intense second of recollection, before melting away into passion. After several minutes, he looked away from the past, and set his eyes back upon the desert.

* * *

Adacon was a slave. Slaves did not get an education, especially any form of vital knowledge about the world or its geography. Slaves were given essential information needed to perform their duties. The information taught to a slave was always functional—it pertained either to how to use farm equipment or how to follow order. There were a select few whose dynasties were traced back to the most ancient times, slaves were told. These were the blood born rightful owners of Darkin. He was taught that the owners were gracious in that they allowed the poor to live on their land, and not only that, but offer them work on their farms. There could be no opposition because opposition meant death. No great powerful lords to control the great land of Darkin meant starvation and hunger for all, a good slave knew. It meant the absolute end to civilization. Still, he had always felt his mind was his most valuable asset, though it was restricted almost wholly. He had learned on his own to write, and had worked on his reading skills at night, absorbing books stolen from passing trade wagons.

He marched on, slowly starting to feel fatigued from the bloody scuffle he’d just survived. The sun rose slowly up and up, and soon the heat began to burn his skin. He wrapped his arms in a tight bundle, attempting to hinder the strong sun, but it didn’t seem to help as the hot rays continued to scorch. He’d read about the desert before, yet never had it seemed