The Rodeo

Dear Reader,
let me impress upon you a tale of adventure into the heart of the city. It is a tale of woe, not of mirth, and the details may make you quiver in fear, but take heart, dear reader, as the hero has emerged beaten, but not destroyed, and all the stronger for facing his fears in this test of courage and strength of will.

The tale begins, as so many do, with a girl…

She stirred as the hero awoke, the morn of his journey’s commencment arrived. Our intrepid hero arose, dressing for the journey ahead, unsure of what conditions he would face, weather fair or foul would not stop him. He kissed his beloved and then left, checking for any last well-wishing messages from his family and friends, before eating his meager meal of wheat biscuits in silence as he surveyed his intended route.

He had received word of changes taking place along the path. Of interchanges and tunnels. Of roads guarded well trolls intent on taking travellers’ hard-earned coin. Of these, he worried but a little, this hero’s journey could not be halted by mere words.

The hero’s son awoke whilst he donned his boots. A final embrace of his wife and child was all that stood between him and his beast. He felt the warmth radiated by his small family as they huddled together, and then turned and strode towards his ox.

The beast rumbled to life and he led it to the nearest driniking hole, where a young lass charged him dearly for the privilege of refreshing his steed. He took the blow to his purse with a smile, knowing this would not be the only time today his funds were to be asked of him. With a final look towards his hometown, the hero rode forth, leaving the comfort of familiar surroundings for the hostile city roads.

The first stage of his journey was not particularly hard, following the well-trod, well-defined highway down from the mountains he called his home. These roads were easy, and the traffic light. They are the roads one should travel, and often, as they are restful roads and presented the hero (and others like him) a simple path through the villages. Once on the plains, however, things took a turn for the worse. A large number of fellow travellers turned on him, hedging him in, denying him the space he so desparately craved. He rebelled against this crushing foe, stetching forth his foot and driving his ox onwards, spying a break in the assembled enemy, he darted forward, daring the giants who now surrounded him to react.

A small steed, with an even smaller woman driving, hesitated, she looked lost, but our hero could do nothing for her now, as the throng pressed in once again with its attack, surrounding the woman and driving for their next victim. He seived the opportunity afforded by his unknown companions sacrifice and raced forwards, reaching for the small path that would allow him to escape the deadly highway.

He took a moment to thank his maker for his mercy as he stumbled onto the pathway. A small caravan of travellers was passing ahead of him on this new, narrow, path. He joined them at the rear, hoping they would lead him to his destination.

After following these travellers for some time, he saw the signs on the road ahead that indicated a toll would be charged. A sacrifice would have to be made in order to proceed. Our young hero prepared himself for the worst, knowing that the booths inhabited by the road-guarding trolls (relatives of the bridge-guarding trolls he would have to face on the return journey) would be a particularly difficult foe to face.

Or so he thought.

The troll who stopped the steed did not even look at the young face as the fare was thrust towards him. Our hero was puzzled. This deadly troll did not wish to take any further steps to hinder him. Slightly worried, but still relieved, our hero decided to press on, not worrying himself with the uninterested troll, but delighting at the ease of his passing.

Once the troll booth was hidden by a curve in the road, the young man breathed a sigh of relief. The troll was too far away to be a bother any more. However, while the young man took his rest, he was suddenly set upon by numerous travellers, rushing and jostling him on every side and forcing him in a direction he didn’t wish to go. It took all his strength but he managed to regain his path, spending some fair time trapped between two great beasts, who sat against the side of the road and swallowed up the many pedestrians who happened to stand there. There was nothing our hero could do for those men and women in the bellies of the great beasts. But they had no interest in him, and he moved off to the great maze.

The maze in question was of gigantic proportions, ringing the city, but also travelling through it, forced lanes, and evading turns, together with the great throng amassed to get to the centre. It was some time before the lad could find his way. He was no Alexander who could slice through the Gordion Knot, there was no blade at his side that could pierce the pitch labyrinth’s many lines.

He looped to and fro, often circling the same area, seeing the same people, harried and restless, whilst he tried to gain entrance to a resting place for his ox. It took all his strength of purpose not to just leave, and all his strength of mind to not go insane and lose himself in the writhing mass.

But in the end he prevailed, finding a resting place for his faithful ox, he secured the beast and headed towards the market. What adventure lay there is another story, and shall be told another time.

RodeoClown: is not particularly looking forward to the trip home.

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