The Man's Journey

The man crawled through the desert, the hot, grainy sand livid on his flesh, searing his skin. Long had he walked and endured the sweltering punishment of the blazing sun, but now he could endure no longer. His throat was parched and his lips cracked, yet he crawled toward the only thing his eyes could see. Alone he walked, his caravan long gone. Others had chased off after an occasional oasis in the distance. Several times his thirst nearly got the better of him. But his resolve was stronger. Others would be drawn away by mirages and empty promises of relief, but he continued onward toward the only sure thing he knew.

A sandstorm kicked up, casting fragments into his face. His eyes stung but could not cry, as he was too dehydrated to even sweat. He choked on the sand that had flown down his gullet and he wretched dry heaves upon the dune. Losing his balance, his rubbery legs gave out beneath him and the man tumbled down the backside of the desert. In the basin, he began to sink into the sand as though it were liquid. His weary muscles tried to be still, but they trembled with exhaustion and so the man began submerging beneath the sand. Slowly he tried to reach solid, but even his arms succumbed to the draw of the quicksand. As his eyes finally went beneath the sand, his fingers met with rock. He grasped it with all his might and hauled himself forward. The rockface began to incline, but the man's hope was being overtaken in desperation. He was running out of air. Pulling and pulling, his lungs began burning in withdrawl. Just as he was about to give way, his face broke ground and he took a gasp of air. Forcing himself up out of the sand with such a great force, he hit the rock quite soundly with a maw of sharp rocks welcomined him into their clutches. With every roll and rip of his flesh, the man cried out and moaned as the last reserves of moisture in his body were being let upon the ground in dark crimson smears.

The man crawled across the rockface toward the direction of his goal, feeling the scrapes every inch of the way. He grinned through the agony as the rocks weren't so sharp any more. His spliced belly screamed agony through his mind, but there was comfort the smoothness of the ground beneath him.

Rattling rose up all about him. He turned his head and saw fangs dripping with venom not a few inches from his head. Among the rattling a shrill hissing began to rise, as did fear in the man's heart as it dawned on him that he had crawled right through a nest of snakes.
The hissing stopped just before he felt an excruciating sting on his face which grew into a burning fire that spread across his head. Awash with pain, he flopped about in shock, with so many strikes afflicting his body. He knew the end was near, yet he forced himself up to his knees and crawled like a dog across the desert floor.
His vision blurred and his eyelids became heavy. The bites from the snakes went past agony into numb shock as his breathing became quick and labored. His chest felt like it was going to cave in or explode, he couldn't be sure which.

Clouds flooded the sky above him and darkened in deep color as rain cascaded in downpours. The man lifted up his hands as the cleansing rain washed away his poisoned blood stains. His laughter was drowned out by a massive thunderclap. Hail began pelting the man as he ran around, seeking shelter. His arms were bruised from the sleet. The man fell to his knees and raised his head, screaming at the sky in futility.
Another peal of thunder followed a bolt of lightning flying through the air and striking the man right where he stood. The lightning sent him careening down another monstrous, duney hill, away from the rain and back into the sweltering heat.

As the man looked up, he saw the goal which had brought him to the point of death. In the distance, over the crest of the hill and down in another wide basin, was a large tent blasted with sand, standing erect and noble in the midst of a harsh and unforgiving wilderness. Knowing that this last effort would kill him, he embraced the haste of death and rose up with one last burst of energy. His legs barely responding but obedient nonetheless, the man ran helter-skelter toward the big tent, his breathing coming in quick, pulsing bursts. Vertigo set in and the man nearly fell several times, but he refused to fall down and quit. Death would come soon enough and he would go fighting.

The man was close enough to see the tent had a court around it, linen fabrics forming a barrier against the stinging wind. One more dune to descend and he would be at the base of the linen barrier. His body finally gave way to dehydration, fatigue, poison, and loss of blood. Falling headlong down the edifice, the man rolled and felt bones crack as he bounced down to the entrance of the encampment.
He looked up, fighting against the darkness encroaching on his peripheral vision, and upheld a hand toward the tent before his lungs released the breath that moved him.
"I tried..."


-*- -*- -*- -*- -*- -*-


In the last vestiges of life before shedding the mortal coil, the man closed his eyes and dreamt of what could have been. Had he made been victorious.
Yes, he would have walked regally up to the encampment and announced his entrance. He would've been welcomed and honored. Trumpets blowing, people gathering, cheers rising. It would have been wonderful...


-*- -*- -*- -*- -*- -*-

His body had stopped moving, his breathing long still. In the eternal slumber of death's inescapable embrace, the man's soul was stilled and fading. The life of even his memory seemed to be fading, and soon there would be no form of him to speak of.
But then... was someone approaching? He could not tell, as his eyes, ears, and even sense of feeling were deadened to him. His soul fluttered in hopeless anticipation; had someone found him?
Words unspoken flashed through his cosciousness.

Here you are, lost, forsaken, forlorn at the very gates of the one who promised you comfort. Having endured all this only to be cast aside at the end; are you such a fool to perish and fall forever when the truth has been made so clear to you? Shall your mockery be set in stone? Curse the promise you were given and I will give you release.

Who are you, he thought.

You know who I am. I am the one who promised your companions comforts and pleasures. I am the one who resisted your coming here so that your desires would be fulfilled in the land you have departed. Curse this liar and betrayer, and I shall give you rest!

The man felt the icy fingers of confusion grasp his thoughts. Remembering the sullen heat of the desert, the cold was tantalizing at first, but the frigid grip increased and he felt pain deeper than any agony he could before recall.

What are you doing to me, he thought.

I am doing nothing. You are doing it to yourself. Accept my offer and be free!

Although his thoughts were becoming much less linear and more disorganized, he refused to believe the voice. Pain increased as he felt himself slipping away from even the darkness of death...


-*- -*- -*- -*- -*- -*-

"Hang on," he heard someone say. "Stay with us."

Wait, he heard! His eyelids slowly parted but his vision remained blurry. There was a bright light above him, but a dark limb moved it away. The man blinked several times and realized it was a lantern that someone relocated to a better position.
The thought of sitting up crossed through the man's mind, but in attempting to sit up, his body immediately protested.

"Calm down, now," the person said. "You've been hurt pretty bad. It's nothing short of a miracle that you made it here."

More than you know, he thought.

"Rest up. The Caretaker will want to see you soon."

"Who's that?" the man asked.

"Hush, now, and rest," the midwife said. He immediately fell back against his pillow and again fell to the darkness of sleep.


-*- -*- -*- -*- -*- -*-

"Rest, my son, for you are home."
The man couldn't open his eyes as he was still asleep. But the comfort of the familiar voice penetrated even the deepest sleep. He continued to drift in dreamland.
Pain.
He felt a knife cut into him, but the pain was minor compared to the ordeal he had spent in the desert.
Water.
It was flowing around his body, cleansing him. The water hurt as it touched his wounds, but the irritation made the throbbing pain ebb away.
His arms, shoulders, and legs were overcome with pressure as they snapped and moved. The pain was excruciating, but the resting places they were left in were much more comfortable than before.
Oil.
It was hot and thick, and it covered his entire body, lulling him back to the depths of incognizance...

-*- -*- -*- -*- -*- -*-

"Wake up," came a stern voice. "It is time."
The man sat straight up and looked around, realizing he was in the same room as before. And he was able to move.
"Where... where am I?" he asked.
The one who spoke to the man just gestured for him to follow and then went through the tarp draped over the door. The man realized his injuries were gone and that he felt fit and healthy as could be. He hurried after the other and realized he was in the court of the big tent.
Near the entrance was a big rock. The man became fixated upon it when the other yarded him by the collar and dragged him within the big tent and cast him on the floor.
Inside, there was a table with food laid out, as well as a large lamp and another boulder similar to the one outside burning with incense. The man also noticed the myriad of armed men standing in a semicircle around him. He began trembling with fear; had he endured the most dangerous journey of his life only to be hauled before a warlord and executed? Nonsense. He wouldn't have treated his wounds only to kill him.
"Forgive the abruptness," came a deep voice from further within the tent. "I ordered you brought here in haste. My messengers perform my will with the utmost loyalty and devotion."
"Where... where am I?" the man asked.
"You come all this way and not know what or whom you seek?" the hidden voice asked.
"I... I came because I heard... of a refuge," the man answered.
"I see. And have you found it?"
"I..." the main paused. "I don't know."
"That is a problem, is it not?"
"One I want fixed," the man said.
"Good answer," the hidden voice replied. "What would you give in exchange to be fixed?"
The man looked at himself, his treated wounds and healed injuries. "Sir, am I not already fixed?"
"Are you?" the voice asked. "If there is nothing you seek here, then why remain? You are free to leave."
The man was shocked. "I gave up everything to come to this place, and I don't even know what it is!"
"Some might call that foolish," the voice replied. "What do you call it?"
"I call it... desperate," the man sighed in discouragement. Maybe this wasn't what he wanted after all...
"Desperate men will do desperate things. Like give everything they have for an unsure thing. Would you do this?"
"Sir, I have nothing," the man squeaked through sudden tears. "I am destitute, even more so upon coming here, for I am in your debt merely to be standing before you now."
"Ah, a humble admission. And an honest one, too. This combination will profit you much in life. I ask you again, will you give everything in exchange for an unsure thing?"
"I have naught which to give," the man repeated in humiliation, feeling the eyes of the guards boring into him.
"You have your life," the hidden voice suggested.
The man gulped as his eyes widened in terror. He was right! "You... you would take my life?"
"I would."
"But... but why?! You tended to my wounds... why would you do this only to kill me?"
"That is a good question," the voice conceded. "You claim to have naught to give, yet your heart beats within your breast. If you are truly a desperate man with nowhere else to go and you desire that which can be found here, then you must give me everything."
"For an unsure thing?" the man asked.
"I offer no guarantee of your approval," the hidden voice said. "I only offer an honest trade."
"My life... for?" the man asked.
"That which you seek."
"But I don't know what I seek!"
"Then I cannot help you, can I?"
"You must!"
"Then step through the curtain."

The man trembled in fear, unsure of what to do. He looked back at the opening of the tent and the courtyard beyond. Nothing but sand and death out there. He looked back toward the curtain. There was death in there, too, but a mysterious prompting drew him. He was scared, but the man stepped through the curtain nonetheless.

Inside, he saw a golden chair with an imposing man sitting there. His eyes lit with the fire of the sun and the depth of the darkest night, the man's voice was all the more thunderous within the inner sanctum.
"Approach, my son."
The man was taken aback, but could not refuse the gentle command of such a formidable one. Taking a knee before him, he awaited the man's actions.
"You have chosen to accept my bargain. I will take your life, as agreed, and will give you something in exchange."
The man's lip quivered as he said, "In exchange for what?"
Reaching within his cloak, the king removed a rod. He held it in some coals nearby and removed it as it glowed with a bright red luminence.
"Do not move," the king said as he pressed the hot tip against the man's forehead.
The man gritted his teeth against the seering pain as it pierced his skin directly into his skull. After an eternity, the hot metal was removed and his forehead burned with such an intensity he feared the painful grimace would be permanently etched into his face.
"It is done. Your life is forfeit unto me," the king said.
The man blinked. So he was to be a slave. Well, that is better than death.
"I would rather be a doorkeeper in your house than dwell in the tents of my people," the man said, bowing reverantly.
"Indeed," the king mused. "But now for my end of the bargain. I told you that you would trade your life for that which you could only find here, and so I know offer this to you."
The man was dumbstruck as the king removed his headdress and place it upon his own head. Taking his hands, the king stood the man up before him.
"You see, I had invited all those in the deep wilderness to come enter my house and join my family. Most did not come, however, you are here, and as you have pledged everything you have-- yea, even your very life--- to me, I now give you my own house and everything within it. This is what you sought and did not know, that which you could find only here."
The new prince began weeping, not believing what he was hearing. "Am I dreaming? Tell me this is not another false hope!"
"It's not, my son," the king replied. He turned his head and shouted, "Come, bring robes for my son. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. I call for a seat to be set next to mine, at my right hand. Let a feast be prepared as well, for there is much celebrating to be done!"
The prince could not believe his ears, but he trusted the look in the king's-- his father's-- eyes.
Taking him in a strong, warm embrace, the king whispered, "I love you, son."
"But... but you don't even know my name," the prince protested, heart still unsure of all that had happened.
"Of course, I do!" the king chuckled merrily, eyes twinkling. "I have known you all along. Your name is >Your Name Here<."