Deserted (6 page)

The thought of him encouraged me
onwards. Kay and my father were clearly not here and neither was my horse;
staying here any longer would be pointless. I sighed as I
squinted
my eyes towards the sprawling wasteland, the wind now puffing out a few mild
gusts but nothing more. I didn’t exactly want to continue travelling the desert
on my own but what choice did I have? Nothing will be accomplished if I don’t
keep moving forward. And so I did; I wandered the never-ending wasteland,
finding myself lost in the vast nothingness of sand around me. I found myself
wanting to go home; a thought I didn’t think that I would ever have.

“Home is where the heart is, as they
say.” I scoffed.

My heart was definitely not
back
home. So why did I suddenly long for it? Am I really
not strong enough for this? I had never really thought about the repercussions
of leaving. I just assumed that I would find what I was looking for, yet now
I’m all alone. Where is
Ponika
? Is he doing okay,
wherever he is? I hope he’s somehow found food out here...maybe he found his
way back to town?

“He’d be better off there anyway.
Maybe I should never have come out here...” I swallowed hard and cursed.

Maybe my homesick feeling was coming
from something else? I had gazed at the towering dunes now surrounding me;
dunes much larger than I had ever seen before. I could see paths darting
between their enormous frames and my mind constantly thought onto my mother and
the Dunes back home. The Dunes - a vast stretch of deserted land behind my
house that seemed to continue on forever. We didn’t see dunes too often out
there; the desert around us was more of a wasteland of hard, cracked sandstone
than anything else, so the nickname for that particular stretch of sand was all
too easy to come up with. Vicious sandstorms would often rip through there,
lasting for days. I always found it somewhat mesmerizing to watch, though, as I
would drift in and out of my thoughts. People got lost out there all the time
and the storms were quite dangerous…but I loved to ride through them all the
same. It turns out my mother did too.

My
mother and I may have barely even noticed each other’s existence most days but
every so often I would find her riding her horse, Rose, through town. She would
smile at me as she sauntered past, nodding slightly and challenging me to a
race. I was always a little confused when she asked; she would never even look
my way if I passed her in the hall but suddenly, now, she wants to chat? I
enjoyed the idea, though, and had excitedly agreed. Without waiting for a
response I had taken off and by the time I got to the starting line we made in
the Dunes, my heart was racing. Finally...I could put all my training to use!

My
mother, as always, had sat there, cool and collected with only the faintest of
smiles passing her lips as I had waited for her, fidgeting quite noticeably on
Ponika’s
back. As usual, I had no saddle; I felt it would
be too constricting and I wanted my horse to always feel free. My mother,
however, had a large saddle bundled with blankets and a small canister for
water that she hung off the side. It was a fine leather saddle that she refused
to ever ride without. Rose, however, being an older horse, may have preferred
the comfort anyway so while I may have tried to convince my mother otherwise, I
never pressed the matter.

My
mother had slowly made her way beside me and glanced shortly in my direction.
“Ready?” Even her words felt slow and drawn-out.

“Definitely!”
I almost shrieked the words back at her in my
excitement.

Oddly
enough, she laughed; something she usually never did.
“Alright,
then...on the count of 3?”
I nodded at her and hunkered down on
Ponika
, ready to take off as soon as I heard the number.
“1...2...” she started and then paused as she watched me twitch excitedly in
anticipation. She laughed once again and finally yelled, “3!” and I was off
like a bolt of lightning.

Even
with my mom’s collected demeanour she was on my tail in a matter of seconds;
old Rose really had more energy to her than I thought she would. I always
managed to keep the lead, though, and we twisted through the large sand hills
as we made our way to our target destination: the gulf on the other side. That
was our halfway point; we would slightly dip into the gulf and then charge back
to the starting point. There was no set path to take but there wasn’t really a
shortcut, either; the dunes often shifted in size and location with each
passing sandstorm, making it impossible to ever map out a route as you went.
That added to the fun of it, though, as my mother would suddenly disappear from
behind me and reappear at a dune beside me, trying to sneak her way past. I
wasn’t sure if it was of
Ponika’s
own determination
and competitive streak or if he could sense my own urge to win but he would
charge forward even faster as my mother and I laughed into the wind.

I
remember vividly that first race and seeing the dip of the valley in the
distance. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face even I had wanted to as we
neared ever closer, my mother always one small step behind. Barely even
touching the earth,
Ponika
galloped through the edge
of the gulf and turned, seeing our small village on the horizon as our new
racing point. We danced through the dunes once again, trying to lose my mother
on our trail yet always seeing her emerge somewhere behind us. She was a
surprisingly good rider but I knew she would never be able to overcome me.

I had
reached the finish line mere seconds before her and I cheered into the blowing
winds. I hopped off
Ponika’s
back and hugged him,
thanking him for a job well done and congratulating him; it was more his win
than mine, anyway. I had turned, beaming, to see my mother and Rose trotting
over the finish line and coming to a slow stop behind us. She was still
smiling, which surprised me; I had always assumed she would be a sore loser, as
she never showed much interest in fun before.

“You and
Ponika
make a great team,” she had said finally.

“Ah,
well, you’re not too bad yourself.” I patted my horse, doing my best to
downplay how uncomfortable I felt at the rare compliment that my mother gave
out.

“Your
training clearly shows, though.” She stepped down from her horse and started to
walk Rose back to the house.
Ponika
, still full of
energy, pranced behind his mother as he followed. “You’ve really learnt a lot
over the years.”

“Yet you
managed to keep up quite well. You’re a natural,” I said and saw my mother
suddenly freeze. “Did you ride before the Reckoning?”

“No.”
She hastily replied and urged her horse forward, suddenly leaving me alone in
the Dunes; a feeling I was now reliving.

She had
ignored me for the rest of the day, as per usual. I’ve never known what caused
her sudden mood changes but I was well used to it; her mood often shifted
without notice. As the large dunes around me started to cast their shadow upon
my path, I thought with a small smile on how much my mother would enjoy a race
through here; it would be like travelling between mountains. The only time she
ever seemed to care about me was when we raced and as much as I hated to admit
it, I often lived for those moments; a time when I didn’t feel so alone. I
think it was that same loneliness that pushed me from home…that led to the day
I finally left. As I wandered into the cold shadows of the monstrous dunes
around me, I thought back to that day - the day I finally took matters into my
own hands.

My room
was basked in a light glow as the sun slowly decided to rise for the day. I had
casually watched the horizon start to burn with the fiery ferocity of a
wakening sun, enjoying the last time I would see such a sight from a familiar
place. I was merely wasting time, I know, but a goodbye like this was hard to
cut short. My fingers traced the wooden frame of my window as I looked down at
the corral waiting for me. It was a hand-built corral that my father had
surprised us with when I was little. He somehow managed to get all the supplies
necessary to build it and brought back two horses with him: my colt at the
time,
Ponika
, and his mother Rose. I never questioned
it as a child but it often wanders through my thoughts these days…just how
exactly did my father manage to get whatever he wanted from the Provider like
that? What did it matter now, though…really? He was gone and soon enough I
wouldn’t have a Provider either. I had watched my horse as he stirred ever so
slightly but Rose was still sleeping soundly. Maybe
Ponika
knew something was going on today? I grabbed my hiking pack from its spot at my
feet and hurled it onto my shoulders; I had already packed my things the night
before. I readjusted the small satchel I had attached to my belt as it had slid
down uncomfortably when I grabbed my backpack and I double-checked the satchel’s
contents. Thankfully, everything still looked good; my medical supplies were
contained within and I would hate for anything to happen to them. Would it be
enough, though?

‘Stay
another week or two,’
I had
thought,
‘pick up more supplies from the Mediator and Provider before you
go.’
I immediately shook my head at the idea though. No…I’ve procrastinated
long enough.

I had
doubted I would receive any more supplies anyway. The town was well stocked
with medicinal supplies, making them no longer a necessity and therefore not a
priority. The Provider rarely cared about non-essential requests. It would be
as much a waste of time as my current loitering. I had sighed inwardly and
reached for the old, rusted dagger that lay on my bed. As I prepared to put the
dagger into my sheath I had noticed that a small section of hilt had been
chipped off. When did that happen? The answer came to me before I could even
finish my thought: my mother. She did not take my father’s leaving too well and
had once thrown his things around the house in a fit of rage, including many of
his handmade pottery and collectables. I had come home one day to see my
father’s clothes strewn about the living room and my mother sitting on the
couch, five drinks in. There were shattered pots around her feet, pots I had
once helped my father make in our basement. She was huffing and sweating and I
merely looked at her in disbelief. Hell, my heart went out to her a little bit,
although I’ll never tell her that; I struggled with my own anger at my father’s
disappearance. I had reached down to pick up one of my dad’s checkered blue
shirts and she had immediately snapped at me.

“Don’t
touch it!” She snarled and I jumped in surprise; she had never spoken to me so
harshly before. I had said nothing and merely stared at her, wide-eyed. She
didn’t even look at me as she continued her drink and I ran upstairs to my
bedroom. I didn’t see the dagger in the mess my mother had created but it most
certainly must have been there; my father’s sculptures certainly were.

I grumbled.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

I tucked
the blade into the sheath on my hip and shook my head of the memory. I had
tightened my ponytail and took one last look around the room to ensure I wasn’t
missing anything. Making sure my father’s bandana was tight around my neck, I
headed for the door and took one last look at my room; I was surprised that I
actually felt a little sad to see it go. My room was still draped in darkness
although the window was ever so slowly becoming brighter as the sun herself
started to wake. My oaken four-post bed was made and the pillows stacked neatly
on top; I even folded my grandmother’s quilt perfectly and rested it at the
foot of my bed. My vanity was finally cleared of every little knickknack that
my mother always yelled at me for leaving out and its creaky wooden chair was
pushed in as far as it would go. The dark hardwood floor was swept and clean
and the dark red rug atop it was freshly washed as well; my mother would not
have to do anything to my room in my absence. It was the least I could do for
her, anyway; in her state she can barely crawl out of bed, let alone keep a
tidy house anymore. I opened the wooden door to my room and closed it very
slowly behind me, afraid that any small sound could wake my mother from her
fitful rest.

The
hallway was the complete opposite of the room that I left immaculate for my
mother; it was a mess. The hardwood floor was scuffed and dusty and the long
rug that ran the length of it was upturned on various sides. I shook my head when
I noticed it; it had been that way for weeks now. The piles of clothing that
lined the walls were steadily getting larger but at least they were shoved to
the side; I once had to swim through a sea of clothes just to reach my bedroom.
I took one last look at my mother’s bedroom door that lay opposite my own,
leaving a last thought for her as I started to leave. Surprisingly, her door
was slightly ajar; she usually locked it behind her. I took a passing glance
into her room as I made my way towards the stairs and saw her sleeping in a
rather uncomfortable position atop a heap of my father’s clothes. The blankets
were draped over the side of her bed and the pillows were scattered across the
room. The large wardrobe that my parents shared was open and most of the
hangers lay broken on the floor around it; sadly, this was all a sight I was
used to. The faint, green glow that escaped her bedroom is what caught my eye,
however, as I noticed a small green vial sitting on the bed-stand beside her. I
had seen it before, but only once. I was a child at the time and when my mother
caught me watching her hold it she screeched at me and I hurried away; I was
only little then and her harsh tone scared me for days. I was never sure what
exactly it was but the liquid inside that green bottle always seemed to swirl
in rapid movements when my mother held it. I think I had even heard voices at
the time. My father didn’t know what the vial was and denied it even existed as
he had never seen her with such a thing. I was only a child; I quickly let it
go. Whatever it was, my mother must have been gazing into it again before she
slept last night, as she would never dare leave it out in the open like that.
Then again, I was rarely ever home; what did she need to hide anymore?