Comfort

Three straight days of riding had tired the man, and sapped the strength from his aging arms. Once he might have made his journey in half that time, but the winds had grown weaker over the years, and so had he. Still, the people of Ka Lan had always paid him well for his wares, and that at least would not change. By the time he arrived at port, the sun was already set and the market closed. He gathered his goods and went for the nearest inn, a modest place he had stayed at many times before, not because he liked it but because it was convenient. The man had lived much of his life that way. Tomorrow he would rise and make his way to the market square as he had always done, and he would stay in Ka Lan until his stall had been emptied. His wife would be waiting for him at their home, the same home he had been raised in, that his father had built and died in, and that his son would inherit after his own time had come. This thought comforted him, but it also made him feel a strange sort of sorrow, as if mourning someone he had never even known.   The next morning, the man awoke at first sun, welcomed by songs of tailorbirds outside and the smell of prawns cooking downstairs. He dressed himself in his finest presentation, and readied his stall to be wheeled down-road to the market; the best spots would be taken early, so he headed straight there, skipping breakfast. He could eat later - business was more important. As he pushed his cart towards the square, he watched as the town began to wake. Most of the men had left before dawn to go fishing, but now the children were rising too, heading to the rivers to bathe as their mothers prepared breakfast; stacks of smoke could be seen ascending from nearly every home. The man passed by a group of vagrants cooking a rabbit in an alleyway. He identified them as Solari by their accent, but he did not stop to ask how they had gotten so far from their home. He had heard enough stories before, and he decided theirs was probably not very interesting. He kept his pace, and soon he could see the empty market square before him. It was quiet, and the crowd would be small until the men returned with their morning catch, but the man did not mind. He sat at his stall and made idle talk with the other sellers, who trickled in as the hours went on. Most of them were men like him who had worked this way for many years and knew nothing else, yet some of them were young, as he had once been. Some of them were traveling merchants, who snatched up all the curious things they saw along their travels and brought them far away to sell at a profit. Others were magnificently talented artisans who had mastered their craft many years ago and were now reaping the profits. Many of the younger traders were their apprentices, with dreams that reached far beyond the markets of Ka Lan, to lands unknown and treasures untold. They were ambitious and hopeful, as he had once been.   As the traders spoke, the market slowly came to life and their conversation dissipated while they focused on drawing the attention of the townsfolk. The man went through the ritual of trade which he knew so well, and even as he dealt with his customers, his mind wandered elsewhere. He pondered the journey home, and wished for strong winds that he might make it there sooner to the embrace of his wife and the love of his children. He wondered whether they would follow in his footsteps and become wealthy, successful merchants, or if they would forge their own paths through the twisting labyrinth of life. He feared that they might end up as penniless vagrants like the strangers he had seen earlier, but for a moment he thought that it may not be such a poor fate. They had surely seen places and things that he never would, and impoverished as they were, they were bound to neither family nor duty, and in that way they were freer than he had ever been. Still, he had a roof over his head and enough coin to keep his family fed and safe in his absence. If his children could live comfortably like he did, that certainly could not be a bad thing. He set his thoughts aside to attend to his stall, and soon the day had passed just as simply as it began, and he returned to the inn to dine just after sundown. It occurred to him that he had not eaten at all that day, and he took his meal ravenously, partaking in a single goblet of wine alongside it, which he had always done after a long day of work. As he sat and drank his wine, the seats around him filled and men began to eat, drink, shout and fight as they had always done. Years ago he might have joined them, but he had no interest in shouting or fighting any more. He felt that the fire which lived within him, as it did with all men, had dwindled and was now merely an ember - still alive but fading with each passing day, until soon only ashes would remain.