A Stranger Passes Through
Flint & Steel Full Circle Writing Challenge
The stranger walked into town alone. Bent nearly in half under the weight of his pack, his feet kicked up tiny clouds of red dust with every labored step.
We stared at him from the safety of the schoolhouse. My two sisters and I had stayed behind to help clean. Once we caught sight of him, however, we tossed our rags and brooms onto the floor. We pressed our faces against the window and watched the stranger shuffle down the road.
My younger sister Mary had to stand on her tiptoes to peer at the man. “Is that an Oat-Brand pilgrim?”
“Oathbound,” Claire corrected. She was the oldest and the first to know the answer to any question. Her nose wrinkled as she watched the stranger. “I think so. He’s headed toward the desert.”
“He must be thirsty,” I said.
The pilgrim trudged to the well that marked where the two main roads crossed. With slow movements, he removed his cumbersome pack. A plume of dust swelled as it fell to the ground. He straightened his posture and stretched his arms out. His loose sleeves fell away, revealing the mark of the Oathbound.
“Is that what’s going to happen to Jenna?” Mary asked.
I glanced over at Claire. Our eyes both fell on the ink-black birthmark that covered my left hand. Some people said it looked like an eclipsed sun. Others said it was a serpent swallowing its own tail. Everyone agreed on one thing: the mark sealed your fate.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my dress. “No,” I insisted. “I won’t walk the endless path. No matter what anyone else says.”
Silence fell over us. We turned our attention back to the stranger. He took long swallows of well water and wiped his sweat-drenched face against his sleeve.
Would it be his last drink? I wondered. Would he take his final steps on the red desert dunes? Or would he make it through and continue down the endless path?
“He’s moving,” Mary exclaimed.
Sure enough, the man had already resettled beneath the burden of his pack. He gazed out across the small town. Not a soul dared to step outside. Not until he’d passed through.
His focus landed on the schoolhouse. I dug my hands deeper into my pockets. The Oathbound mark had written the story of my life before I’d taken my first breath. My journey would be like the hundreds who came before and the hundreds who would come after.
Unless I fought my fate, I’d become a wandering stranger. Feared and worshiped. Adored and despised. Part of a cycle that no one understood but no one dared to challenge.
The stranger waved a thin, sun-scorched hand. “I’ll see you on the path, my dear.”
With that, he turned down the dusty road and shuffled toward the desert.
This story was written in response to the Flint & Steel Full Circle Writing Challenge.
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