1"Well, isn't this quite a change from Visiral?" observed the young lady with a strange ardour, hopping from the carriage doorway to the sandy platform with skirts and sun hat in hand. Harsh sunlight flitted across its metal shell as the train hummed to a halt a few moment after her ejection. With a delicate, slender hand she shielded her eyes from the desert and looked beyond the austere station out at the vast city which sat in the valley below. The city churned with people, the blanched linen of the citizens which circulated like a rough stream, clearly defined against the wood and mud brick architecture. At its centre a large circle of vivid green marked the city's oasis in which the most opulent of accommodation was found. Her accommodation.
A boy who had been awaiting her arrival on the platform did not comment. Although he appeared to be the only person in her company, he knew this statement could not be addressed to him, but must be a statement to herself. A woman of her class would never converse so nonchalantly with someone of his. He stayed quiet, his gaze caught not on the bustle and hustle of the sand city as hers was, but on the hulking mass of luggage that he had been appointed to see to.
"It's a change alright Miss Ciara. A welcome change though, im not so sure." This incredulous response came from the carriage door where a gaunt man now stood. With stick insect legs he stepped off the train, boots effacing a sizeable portion of sand and eyes swinging from side to side over the city as Ciara's were, though listlessly in comparison to her observations.
She turned to this man who stood more than a foot higher than herself and could not have been more than four or five years older and a soft glare crept across her face. "Oh, lighten up you. I don't want to have you moping around after me all day." She said this with a teasing mirth, tossing her hat playfully at her newly assigned travel companion and bodyguard.
With considerable ease he caught the hat against his pale face, closing a large hand around its top and slowly removing it. A hurt frown quickly peeked out from behind its rim. "Hey, I don't mope. Do you really think your parents would hire a moper?" Her reply was a pert grin as she turned back to admire the view of the city with its high craterous walls that embraced it on all sides.
He shuffled up to stand beside her, lolled, large hands plunged deep in his pants pockets. "C'mon. All im saying is, why would a kid with as much money as you, want to use it to move to a desert colony?" "Its not as if im intent on staying here forever, Langer" she corrected, using his last name with a hint of irritation. "Think of it more as a vacation. I don't even know how long ill stay for. It could be less than a week-"
"Or more than a year," her companion finished with the subtlest discontent.
They looked out at the town in an uncomfortable silence, Langer scuffing his boot in the sand and Ciara fingering one of her earrings. "You look ridiculous in those pant things by the way," Ciara noted, glancing down at the three quarter pants with the lightest mocking smile. Three quarter pants and a scruffy white button up shirt was Langer's idea of casual yet fashionable dress. Though it seemed Ciara did not agree. Langer raised an amused eyebrow, "huh, that's quite funny coming from a person who's preferred choice of clothing is a few kilograms of jewellery and a sheet."
This time is was a real scowl gracing her make up covered face as she cried, "this is not my choice of attire! Mother and father demand I wear it!" "Suuuure" Laughed Langer, poking at one of the gemstone earrings that dangled down close to her shoulder like a wind chime. She swatted his hand away lightly, "I'm serious. Besides, this is the appropriate dress of the nobles in this country. They wanted to make sure I am treated with the respect I deserve." "Oh, and im sure you will, though, you must stay close to me when we are in town." Ciara gave him a puzzled look, "why is that?" "Well, I wouldn't want to get you mixed up with a pile of junk, I'd be looking for you forever."
Through a look of contempt, the slightest amusement could be seen on Ciara's face, solidifying Langer's theory that this "vacation" would be quite different from previous endeavours. "Oh you can be infuriating," she huffed, trying her best to keep a straight face. It was to no avail and before long she found herself smiling at this raffish man of unusual proportions. "I have a feeling we shall get on quite well, Mr Langer." Langer bowed his lanky frame, grinning from ear to ear, "as do I Miss Ciara."
"Ex-excuse me Miss. Um, it's getting close to midday, so we should probably be getting you to the hotel soon. Er, my manager, I mean, the manager would like to meet with you before you settle in." Another boy had joined the one in charge of luggage and had urged his companion to speak for him. "Ah yes, I think the boy has a point. Lead on!" Langer impelled with sudden alacrity, placing his hands on the escorts shoulder and pushing him in the direction of the city. It took only a moment for Ciara to realise that Langer had taken control and to take off after him and the boy, who by this time was pleading Langer to be more careful in his decent down the worn mountain path towards the city. "Hey, wait for me! Langer, im in charge, not you!"
When they had sunk out of sight down the hill the luggage boy looked up again at the mass of bags that sat compacted in a holding area above the train. He wiped his brow with a dirty sleeve and when regaining eye contact with the luggage, his sullen countenance held a look of helplessness.
Needless to say the vagabond was prudent in accepting a ride from someone who had just scarcely avoided running him over. Though, he was generally a forgiving young man. He had been meandering through the desert, sheltering himself in a daydream to escape the ache of his thousand mile worn legs when, as if impetuously, a vehicle had conjured itself out of the sands and bore down upon him. It bounced its juggernaut dimensions over a small dune before half turning, half skidding to just barely leave its potential passenger conscious to appreciate the gesture.
With the splashes of rust, grey of bare metal and flippantly applied paint job of dark green the vehicle held the colour of twisted camouflage. It appeared to be some sort of semi trailer-truck hybrid, owing to the fact that the driver had a good three or four foot drop from the sidestep. A gentle wind caused a browned, hard hand to hold back the strands of black hair that were creeping across her thin face. An air of confidence was visible through her strong stance and the self-assurance that she held a few years in experience and wisdom over the young man before her.
"Sorry about that kiddo. Sometimes this old girl can be a bit reckless." Though her language fit the stereotypical trucker, everything else about her contradicted this. Her voice was sweet, almost melodious, her figure, toned but thin, halting any thoughts that perceived her as fragile. The vagabond smiled, "that's quite alright Miss. If anyone is too blame it is me, seeming as I was a million miles away daydreaming about the dozen oceans encasing Triasida, when I should have been watching out for traffic."
It was then that the look the vagabond had been given uncountable times before once again reared its head on the face of the truck driving woman. The thought crossing her mind was plain to see, yet the vagabond continued to smile, and hope that she wouldn't leave him there.
What a strange person this is.
She looked him up and down, taking in the brown sheet with a hole in the centre he had draped over his torso and the lighter shirt he wore underneath. The stained pants of the same fabric as the shirt and perhaps the most unusual of his attire, the large brown brimmed hat that stretched out over even his broad shoulders, casting his face in a thin shadow. His skin was not as tanned as her own, she thought upon looking at his hands, which seemed strange to her as she was sure that a young man with his lifestyle would be exposed to the sun far more than herself.
He was a vagrant alright, she decided. And a cute one at that. "Well," she began, turning back to the open door of her monstrous vehicle, "no sense in leaving you out here to make you're way on foot. Jump in." The vagabond hesitated for only a second before bowing his head in gratitude, "Thankyou kindly. Walking frivolously was beginning to tire me out just a tad." She gave a short laugh, scaling the side of the vehicle with the skill of a rock climber as the vagabond began to approach the back of the truck, which was piled high with crates and tarp covered objects. "Not in there kiddo, nowhere near enough room. Grab the passenger seat. Salright, I won't bite." He gave her a smile and made his way around to the passenger side. He mimicked her display of climbing, dropping himself into the seat only moments longer than it had taken her.
"You're pretty good at that. Got merchant blood in you?" she asked with a strange eagerness. Her companion shrugged as he moved various maps and charts from around him onto his lap in a neat pile. "I merely had an adroit example to follow." Another short laugh, this time not so noticeable over the powerful engine. The vehicle lurched before taking off over the next dune, the suspension straining to keep the load level over the sloped sand mountains. To the vagabond's surprise the vehicle's interior was cool, well, far cooler than outside had been.
"So we're you heading?" asked the woman, keeping her eyes on the vagabond more often than the roughly cut track which twisted though the desert. She offered him a bottle of water, which he accepted with another nod of gratification, and took a long swig. "Actually, nowhere in particular. I'm sure that wherever you are going will make a fine destination for myself." She smiled at his casual manner. It was as if he was unaware how many travellers with predetermined destinations and the equipment to take them the distance had perished in these deserts. "Well, I'm heading towards Raijima to sell these goods and hopefully pick up a mountain of Shaded Crystals for a good price." The vagabond nodded. "Raijima? The city of sand. Sounds quite nice. I'm indeed lucky that our paths crossed when they did." so, she's a merchant freelancer, he thought with intrigue. "Yeah, I've been here a few times, good place for a bit of rest and relaxation."
The sun had climbed close to its zenith before the first signs of a city became visible. Hovering billboards raving about the expensive yet opulent accommodation in the oasis, the diverse and delicious foods found in the city and the odd boasting of it being the most popular trade outpost in this region. They flicked by at distance intervals, holding no real interest for the vagabond. Yet he took their words in anyway, in case its information may come in handy whilst he is situated in the city. One in particular caught the vagabonds eye, making this decision not so pointless after all.
Just two days until the annual Festival of the Sands. Have you got your PassCard?
"Would you happen to know anything about the festival?" the vagabond asked. The merchant gave a sly grin, "I know im going to it. I've got a friend who can make me a fake PassCard and another who can slip my name onto the register." "Nicely done," he praised, mirroring her expression. He pressed a little harder, more curious now that its prestige was apparent. "So what exactly happens at this festival?" An uninformed frown crossed her face, "you know, im not totally sure. They don't list any of the events because the only people let in are the real wealthy and respected buggers. Just one big mystery to most people. Should be fun as hell though by my guess, and if not, well, it was free."
"Sounds like a win-win situation and it does sound exciting," the vagabond agreed, looking back out the window to the passing billboards. The city was coming close now, he could see the train station and twin posts marking the vehicle entrance to the town flanking it. "Why don't you come with me?" the merchant suggested, "won't cost you a single durrah, I guarantee." "The vagabond thought about it for a moment and then replied "What a fantastic idea, though I am still unaware as to what activities I will be involved in in this city over the next few days."
The cargo truck pulled up just outside the entrance. "Ok, well, I've got to drop this stock at my reserved loading dock. If you just follow that path leading down from the train station, you should find yourself in the market place." She stretched a hand over his form to point to the station where three people stood. The vagabond smiled, "I can't hope to repay you for what you've done for me. I thankyou ever so greatly." "Well, if you come to the festival with me, we'll call it even," she grinned. "I'll see what I can do," he replied, his smile seeming to tell no lies. "Well, I'm staying with the friend who's doing the PassCard for me, so if you change your mind just drop on by and they can make you one to." She gave him the address on a piece of paper and he slipped it into his pants pocket, nodding a thanks.
The vagabond leapt from the vehicle onto the soft sand, turning back to say a farewell to the merchant. "Oh yeah, I never caught your name kiddo," she said as if it had just came to mind. He hesitated for a second, as if he had trouble remembering it. "It is, Farren. "Nice to meet ya Farren, the names Effie, at your service." She gave a little salute. "Pleasure meeting you Effie and I hope we will meet again." The vagabond turned and made his way across the ridge of the crater towards the path Effie had pointed out, where now three people who had been waiting at the station were running down it with unusual urgency.