Scrolls of the Prophet
Book I
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New Unjust Robbery
MAGGY's warnings from those days had still echoed in my mind. Just the idea of some unforeseen force, some spirit from her past, guiding the fate of her success in life, it was unsettling. And yet, something about it made sense. What did I have to lose? My life had been nothing but a series of trials and tribulations, and at times overbearing. Burdens which I had never asked for, but just the same, they had somehow managed to shape me nonetheless.
Still, the thought of my fate being secretly manipulated by the use of unforeseen hands, it troubled me. I had to protect her, even if it meant confronting something even darker than I could imagine. I could only hope that in the end, the heavens above would look favorably on my tasks. Take pity on me. After all, "hadn’t I been dealt with enough sorrows by now..?"
In the months and years that followed, I had found myself in the market-bazaar often. The daily grind of my survival had become as familiar to me as my walk to the town market itself. I had sold whatever I could—trinkets, stone tablets, anything that might fetch a copper-”talent” or silver-”shekel” in my efforts perceived.
The market was always alive, never quiet. vendors shouted spiffs about their wares as they haggled over prices, and negotiated over the costs of delivering the goods directly to those who had already traveled far from distant lands.
The air smelled of spices, oils, and the strong odors of animal dung which continuously accumulated as the creatures themselves awaited their sale in the nearby stalls and pens. The market’s energy was contagious. It was a place of endless movement, always shifting, always alive.
One morning, as the sun rose over the “Jordan River” and cast out its long shadows across the breadth of the valley, I found myself again nearing the third-gate of the market. This location, while not the busiest, it had offered out to me with a singular vantage point that I had grown to appreciate.
I could see everything from here: the merchants, the haggling, the townsfolk walking by with their over-filled baskets, and the children who bounded alongside, there would also be the occasional traveler who would pass through the gate all alone, they themselves seemingly lost in their own given thoughts while contemplating their intent on a particular destination, barter or trade.
Maggy, she had arrived early on that day, just as she so often did. Her presence like a quiet ripple on the surface of a stormy sea. She was once again being drawn into my offerings of stone-tablets, and she inspected them discreetly with her familiar intensity.
The tablets though worn and weathered, and ancient—they had never looked like much to behold, but there was something about them still, something that made people sometimes stop and look twice. Perhaps it was the size and weight of the stone-plates, the ages they spoke of, or the stories which they kept hidden within the crevices of their deeply etched lines? I had always hoped that someone would recognize their worth, but that was a past vessel that had yet to be filled.
I couldn’t help but notice how different she was from the other traders I had dealt with. How her quiet demeanor stood out in stark contrast to the bustle of the market. While the vendors around us shouted, bargained, and gestured in wild motions, Maggy just seemed to observe her surroundings while she took it all in. She had a way of making herself, though present, silently unseen. And as her gaze grew fixed on the tablets, her fingers brushed against their faces softly as though she were deciphering their rough surfaces. As this went on, for a moment, I just wondered if she could see something that I surely couldn't—if there was a deeper meaning being stored that was only for her view.
As the minutes passed, the market began to fill. The noise about the place began to grow louder, it became more frantic as the day’s first deals were already being struck.
I watched in admiration as the patrons about me bargained for food, cloth, and many other household goods, their voices rising and falling in the heat of the morning sun. But Maggy, ever patient, she just remained beside the stone tablets, her focus unwavering.
I could see the determination in her eyes. "Surely she wanted something from the stone plates", I thought, "something more than just trade or equity..."
More time had passed as the heat of the sun grew increasingly warmer. A light sweat appeared on my brow and it began to drip down into my eyes. Annoyed, I wiped it away with the back of my hand. The market was a maelstrom of people now—everyone set so eager to make their purchases and to gather up their goods before the day’s sale ended. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.
The air was thick with anticipation and I felt myself charged with a strange energy that I just couldn’t quite place. Then, completely out of nowhere, a commotion broke out near the fourth-gate of entry. A loud crash came followed by shouts and curses which rippled through the air and startled the crowds.
People began to gather around the source of the disturbance. Curiosity spread like wildfire, and in moments, the market was a sea of people who were all jostling for a better glimpse at whatever had caused the original ruckus.
I turned toward Maggy to see if she had noticed, but she hadn’t moved an inch from her in-depth appraisal. Her gaze being still hard-fixed, her fingers still tracing at each line which had been scratched into the face of the tablets.
As the chaos settled, I could feel a strong pull of fate. I had spent a long time wondering, “Just what my sole purpose in life would be...what place in this world would be mine...and why at this time...had the fate from the gods at this very moment not offered out to me with something far greater by now..?”
I felt a sudden urge to leave my booth and move toward the noise of the former disturbance, but before I could step, make a move toward the scene, I heard Maggy’s voice call out in a low and calm tone, “Stay..,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let the world run as it must...”
Her words held me in place. And for a moment, I felt as though the crowds had been put to silence. The bustling market, groups of shouting vendors, the rising tensions—it all seemed to fade. Only this girl and her quiet presence remained.
I glanced at her, puzzled. She didn’t look up, but I could feel the weight of her gaze upon me. Like a mother.
“Trust in these stones..,” she added. “They will guide our souls to freedom...” I didn’t understand. "What could stones possibly have to do with this moment..?" But for some reason, I trusted her.
The disturbance at the fourth gate had now faded away and the buzz of the crowd returned with its more normal crescendo of shouts and bartered cries. But despite the chaos, I found myself being drawn into the stillness of the “stone-tablets” as Maggy's words echoed in my mind: “Trust in these stones", and though I didn’t understand what she meant, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something beyond the ordinary offering of the day was now currently at play.
As I stood there, I bent over slightly and brushed my fingers over the rough top-edges of the “stone-tablet” closest to me, I felt a sudden shift—a subtle hum, there was something that seemed to resonate within my skin. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there, and I could feel it, it was as if the very stones themselves were alive, pulsating with a hidden energy I could not comprehend. I looked down at them with a more stark focus, my heart raced. "How was this possible..?, and to what was its calling..?"
My breath became pressed and I coughed from my chest as the air around me seemed lightly dusted. The market’s noise, the shouting, the commotion—all of it became distanced.
It seemed as though I was being suspended in time as an eerie-calm had surrounded me in a sharp contrast to the frantic energy of the world. For a moment, everything became distant, blurred, all except for the combination of the “stone-tablets” and the strange small figure which now knelt down before me.
I didn’t know how long I had stood there, my fingers lightly tracing the dull top-edges of the stones while I remained laxed in the morning air. Maggy stood in her same spot, unmoved, her gaze still solemnly fixed on the tablets. Her expression unreadable, but there was a sense of an unspent finality in the way in which she held herself. I took a hesitant lean forward and moved slightly closer toward her form as my mind raced at every move.
“What had just happened..?” I asked, my voice tight with fear.
Maggy slowly turned her gaze to meet mine. "Did you feel it too..?", she said softly, “These stones were meant for this moment...for you and for me...” Automatically I swallowed hard, my throat cast to dryness.
She then leaned in closer, her eyes never leaft the tablets, “The world will turn and we must find ourselves readied..!” Her words arrived in a determinedness that I couldn’t discard. Somehow she acted as if she were more aware than me, and I rose my gaze from its pit of pure awe.
The blur faded and the open-air-bazaar returned once more to the forefront as it again grew alive with the hum of negotiations and the scents of spices, meats, and freshly baked breads.
The ground about the place was uneven, rough, and dusty. It was patterned with patches of bare earth which peeked through from the makeshift tables and pens which were positioned by vendors, and the bulk of their goods.
All around us were the casts of wooden crates, splintered, broken and worn from use, they formed the barriers between the different vendor-stalls and those people who moved between them like rivers in flood season. They rushed here and there, eyes always scanning in their search for new bargains.
Loud voices rose up above the fray, a gifted call being sent out to potential buyers, each vendor in turn trying to draw the patron in with their promises of goods, tidings and offered-out discounts that were to good to be true.
“Best price for fresh dates!...Best price in “Madaba”..!” a voice boomed out from a far distant corner. “Only here..!, Only today..! You won’t find them cheaper..!”, another vendor gave boast in retribution.
"Fresh figs, ripe from the sun..! Bring your copper, bring your silver...and don’t leave the market without your own taste of pure heaven..!”, another man shouted out from the road's opposite end.
In charge of the bazaar was a man named Master Izzy, and I always found it curious to how his wealth seemed to reside in everything but his personal appearance. His clothes, while well-worn, had clearly seen better days. It was like his chosen fabric of the day was reluctant to part, unwilling to admit that its time had been passed. He would wear the same drab tunic for weeks—sometimes months—his chest always rumpled and puffed out in his show of false-pride, like the old garments themselves still retained some semblance of dignity.
He wasn’t an unattractive man, per-se, though his sense of self-worth had been clearly inflated. His hair was thick and matted in a color of fine rust that seemed far to permanent to be natural in occurrence as it fell in uneven waves over the rounds of his face. And that face, the face he had, it never seemed to belong to someone truly in charge, even despite the fact that he was. There was a kind of miss-fit energy about him. His large, protruding ears, and his perpetually surprised expression, they seemed to be at odds with his position of power. Even his speech—tightly wound and almost in staccato tone at times—he sounded as though he had been designed by the gods to be someone’s court jester. Yet, here he was, a man about town and in charge, the one who held dominion over all of the market bazaar, and the one who controlled the ebb and flow of “Madaba's” main source of commerce.
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I remember the first time I’d crossed paths with Master Izzy at the market bazaar. It was years ago and just after my beloved mother Marseda, had been taken from this world. My purpose was simple: I needed space for my wares, and I had a good amount of copper-”talents” saved up, enough to secure a steady presence at the market. But that was not all that I needed from him. There had been an exchange—a quiet, heavy one—when our eyes had met in the sternness of our dealings in such things.
Master Izzy had known what had happened to my family. “After all...wasn't he who had been the owner of the old cart which had broken free from its tether and brought my mother to the ground, it sending her on her journey to the gods' in afterlife..?” This was his first reasoning for renting me a spot. Perhaps he had not expected me to return over and over again, as I had. Or perhaps he was indifferent—like many of the traders in the market—to the small losses of individuals, for all were just figures to be dealt with in their ledgers of achieved good gains or badly bartered losses.
And yet, there remained a certain fondness between us, one that had come built from a mutual understanding and unspoken trust. The market lord had always referred to me as his "most loyal customer..”, and though, in truth, our arrangement was as much a business interaction as a prearranged consignment which was based out of silence—of things left unspoken.
We chose to rather speak in the language of copper-”talents” or expressed silver-”shekels”, rather than words. No apologies. No explanations. Just the sharpened clink of metal-rounds or small clips of exchanged coin-chips.
Still, as time passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Master Izzy was always just one step ahead of me in our bargaining and he knew more than he would let on. He had a way of getting under your skin without ever actually saying anything of consequence. His eyes were full of secrets and the half-formed truths which they offered.
I could never truly tell if he was a fool or a mastermind, or perhaps some mix of both. There was a level of cunning beneath his haggard surface, a desire to be seen as something greater than a man of only humble origins. It wasn’t just about the market fees anymore; it was about power. Control. And maybe in truth, that was where the humor lay strung.
Despite his appearance, Master Izzy had amazingly woven himself into a position of control over “Madaba’s” trade. He held a set of tight reigns over the flow of goods—everything from barley to gold—all making him indispensable to the town's folk and their clerics, and without him, the whole system would collapse.
Yet, for all of his power, Master Izzy’s personal life seemed forever relegated to the confines of his home. A house full of servants and an abundance of wealth. But still, in my eyes, it was a miserable existence, and a strange thing to think that someone with so much, could allow himself to remain so, under-inspiring. And yet, in his home, amidst all of his treasures, there was a loneliness one could not ignore.
Every time I paid my dues, I saw it more clearly. It was in the way he would speak to his servants from an exaggerated state of authority, his voice raised just slightly, more than necessary, and his hands always shaking ever so subtly. Even the servants seemed to avoid his gaze, like they were belittled by his awareness while left all too familiar with the cracks beneath his facade. He had no family. No wife, no children, and no one to acknowledge his life's work and achievements. Just empty walls, as though the walls themselves were his only companions.
Sometimes, after I’d settled up with the fees and received the ticket for my space, I’d catch myself thinking—perhaps with more bitterness than was fair—that Master Izzy was no different from any of the other vendors. He had his shiny trinkets and goods to sell, but in the end, he was still only trading in disks of copper and silver. His true worth only ever being measured in the exchange of many coins.
Still, it was amusing, the way we both understood one-another's games. He was a man of wealth, yes, but at the end of the day, he was also a man of small stature, and like me, a prawn in the sea of a much larger scheme. And I, despite my own loss and burdens, was just another player in these same contentious games.
As I returned my gaze back through the market, I looked past the rows of gleaming goods and flashing trinkets, I could feel Izzy’s presence like a shadow behind me, his tiny figure not far off. He'd be watching, waiting. We were locked in our own quietly-hidden display of unrepressed negotiations.
When engaging with Master Izzy for the acceptance of a potential space, it was always wise to keep all my inner thoughts carefully sealed away. To let him see the workings of my mind would have been a grave mistake. I knew all to well what was the price for revealing too much, too soon. His sharp eyes were like those of a hawk, and he was always on the lookout for any sign of subtle weakness, always on the ready to pounce on any hint of hesitation or my presentation of uncertainty.
When I would stand before him and make my humble request for another day's allotted placement in his market, I would keep my thoughts well-guarded. There was no room for honesty in our business of barter—at least, not in the way that Master Izzy and I had practiced it. I would always aim to be clever, to twist the conversation in a new direction and steer it toward my advantage. It wasn’t that I wished to outright deceive him, but rather, I simply wanted to make sure that I wasn’t the one left to be seen as being short-changed in the end.
I often thought of our transactions as something akin to a game of chess—one in which I was seldom the favored player. Master Izzy was the grand-master, always setting the board pieces up in advance so that they leaned in his favor, but I played my part just the same. A slightly given smile here, a carefully timed silence there. A feigned hesitation, and a look of innocent confusion when he named a price which I considered to be just a touch too high. It was all part of the dance, the unwritten rules of the market bazaar that I had learned to navigate like the back of my hand.
Master Izzy, for all of his posturing and his ever inflated sense of importance, he was not an unwitting fool. He had been around long enough to know that everyone—no matter what their station—was trying to outwit him. He may have been the lord of the market, but I too knew how to play the game squarely. When he looked down at me, sized me up with his beady-eyes, he surely had the upper hand. He was the one who controlled the flow of favor, the one who could make or break a vendor’s full season. To his way of thinking, I was just a small fish in his very large pond.
But that didn’t stop me from pushing, of course ever so gently, to get the likes of one last copper-”talent” off the price. Every little victory would add up in the end. And the success of our barter would be tricked in the details—making him think he was the one who was winning, when in truth, we both were taking small bits from each other. I would give him the illusion of a better position, of superiority, and in exchange, I would secure the space I needed for my wares at a price just low enough to keep my margins still healthy.
Some would have called it deceitful, the way in which I twisted the negotiations to suit my own needs. But in “Madaba's” town market, deceit was a currency more valuable than copper. This was the subtle art of survival, the art of the deal, and the method by which one had maintained his place in a world that cared little for your personal worth.
And so, the negotiations would proceed...
A series of small victories and those of quiet defeat...
At-least until the term had been completed and a deal was struck. I would walk away with slightly less copper-”talents” in hand, and feeling both victorious and defeated in equal set measures.
Master Izzy would smile and watch me go, no doubt his mind savoring the fact that he had in a way, in some small fashion, come out on top as well.
I couldn’t help but think that my victories, though small as they were, would add up at some point to more than their price. Even if, in the end, it might feel like a defeat or some cast of a new unjust robbery...
...Select Next Scroll...
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Thank you valued Rider's Vault Members..!
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CURRENT VOLUME List:
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Scrolls of the Prophet...historical/biblical/adventure/coming of age
- Awakening
- Gathering
- Binding
- Bloodline
- Prophecy
- Phoenicia
- Future Dig
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Scrolls of the Past...historical/adventure/coming of age
- Amen Rey (Egyptian)
- House of the Fawn - (Greek)
- Spice Road - (Persian)
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Dominatrix...sci-fi/thriller/action/space adventure/coming of age/assassin
- Domina
- Bisal
- Alaran
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Terraformation..sci-fi/action/adventure/alien love story/space travel
- Terra-Form
- Terra-Rise
- Terra-Site
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Quest of the Seeker..thriller/murder mystery/afterlife/coming of age
- The Key
- The Clown
- The Seeker
**Hint: The Seeker is the Grim Reeper's brother...:)
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The Cleaner..action/thriller/coming of age/assassin
- The Child
- The Woman
- The Teacher
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Ready The Yeti..children's series/adventure/life lessons
- I Am Ready
- I Am Sassy
- I am Abominable
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◆ all volumes ◆ all titles ◆ unedited ◆ edited ◆
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