After a long day's travel, the boys reach the glimmering city of Turbeszan, their backs beaten thoroughly by the sun. Bright lights shone like diamonds in the presence of these two young explorers, they thought of Turbeszan as their calling.
Turbeszan's identity was shrouded in mystery by those who lived within her. She was known as the "City of Kings" or "The Oasis", a rest stop for the poor, home to a vast majority of the middle class, and playground of the rich. A sprawling underground market supplied the mingling population with every kink imaginable, activity flourished underneath the well-kept canopies of the wealthy salt moguls, fat cats with an excessive appetite for power; whose families had first discovered the finite treasure thousands of years ago, and maintained to hold onto the trade.
But, contrary to popular belief, these canopy dwellers are never seen in the markets conducting deals or trying to assimilate with the local culture, indeed, these individuals move in silence. A pyramid scheme rules over all the businessmen in the land, and Hoslo has just been introduced to the game.
Cobblestone corridors felt good on the boy's feet, but Sanni, although awed by the magnitude of the King's City, was trembling with fear; at this time of night, the streets started to fill with the shouts of desperate shopkeepers trying to make quick change and the distant laughs of the drunkards that perched on the balconies like buzzards. Regular people, like you and I, flooded the streets, looking for a pipeline dream, whether it be drugs, sex, or money. Everyone was looking for something.
Hoslo and Sanni made their way out of the streets. The tiny bag of salt was clutched tightly by the big brother's sweaty hand. They made their way down an obscure corridor, the little boy walked next to his sibling with endless fear; the path seemed to go on for hours as they passed a series of buildings that gave off a very uninviting aura, unkempt shells that used to be businesses and homes to families, now painted over by squatters and old-time residents who refuse to leave.
Without warning, Hoslo stopped. The boy looked around to assure himself of his surroundings and gave off a heavy gasp. The foggy filament bulb radiated weak light, flickering on and off, Hoslo knew they were at the salt slave's "palace." Salt slaves were those who rejected their humble roots in exchange for meaningless fortunes. Hoslo's uncle was once a prestigious salt slave. Humble, his name rang recognizable to any local, he was well-known. Well, as Hoslo learned day by day, fame was the scent that led the vicious dogs to the butcher's shop. Many men envied Acerso Jahn's wealth, including his closest workers. Acerso had a kind but foolish heart, he came to trust everyone, but that was his true demise. When his workers laced his tea with cyanide, he left nothing on this earth except bundles of precious salt and his blood ridden silk robes.
This broken filament illuminated a metal door, with Hoslo and Sanni precariously standing in its way. Hoslo was nervous, he shouldn't have brought brother along, but he needed security, something in Sanni's innocence put Hoslo's tensions at ease.
"Wow Hoslo, can we-"
"I need you to keep your mouth shut."
"But I-"
"I don't want to hear it, no. Keep quiet or you'll get in big trouble, got it?"
Right as the older boy raised his clenched fist to knock on the metal door, it swung open, revealing a huge character, a wall of a man, looking down to them.
"What'd you want," said the man, unintelligibly.
Hoslo was unprepared, but now was the time to speak. As he stared up to the large man, he confidently assembled, "I, humble Vredo, come walking a thousand steps to deliver a package to the most honorable son of the deities...sir." Sanni stood next to his brother, feeling quite hopeless. He thought of his brother as the epic hero in a bloody epic, where he would always come out in a triumphant hand, but as he examined the scene, he could see that was no longer the case; with one blow of the man that stood in front of them, Hoslo's skull would be crushed, killing him on impact. This thought sent chills down the little boy's spine, forcing him to lock his knees in shook, but to hide it, nonetheless.
The giant mumbled once again, this time signaling the boys to follow is path down a candle lit hall. The place was not suitable for a child, to say the least. The smell of lust and sinful giggles filled the air, Sanni covered his nose and mouth as he followed his brother's steps. With a sharp turn and a couple of flights up, the man stopped to 2 big doors, wood this time. The man knocked three times, waiting for a guard to near the door.
"Accessible?", asked the giant, in a friendlier tone than he'd started off with.
The man on the other side spoke to the man in a different language, nothing like the boys had ever heard before. A gargling, maybe tribal Turbeszani, thought Hoslo, although he read in an old textbook that there were only a few fluent speakers now.
In agreement, the two men stopped talking, the locks opened from the other side, and without hesitation, 2 guards, alike in appearance to the first guard, held the doors open, with rifles in hand.
The lone guard looked at the other men, nodded, and pushed the boys inside the salt slave's office. As the door closed behind him, Hoslo could hear the low chuckles that came out the guards' black ski masks, the men's hard hands grasped firmly to both of the boy's arms, and they were led closer to the self-proclaimed god, the salt slave.
A balding man with a thin figure was well dressed in his red silk robe lined with gold thread, a truly unoriginal sight. Sanni was terrified, but Hoslo wanted to burst out laughing; this man, a low ranking salt slave, regarded himself to the highest standards even though his shelves were bare, no salt jars to be seen. His power was not based on the respect the boys held for him, or the title his masters had bestowed upon him, no; his real power came from the rifles the guards were holding.
"Ah, my dear boy," the deity announced, exposing his crooked and rotting teeth, "what treasures have you for me on this fine night?"
"Well, your honorable deity-" Hoslo started. He began using his keen sense of wording to tell the deity, that well, he could barely find any salt. At this time, Sanni's mind checked out due to over complications, and just looked up at his brother. The high-strung young man looked to sound personable and charming, but oftentimes stumbled upon his words. The deity. with an eagle's stare, analyzed Hoslo's speech and slowly Sanni could see the man's face turn from bright adornment to cold and expressionless disturbance.
A shroud of dilated black and blue veins covered the expanse of the man's head, the bad news that he'd been avoiding was finally there to meet him; the older one made his way to the deity's desk and plopped the minuscule bag on his table, all while the small boy stood there, in the middle of the room, trembling to the bone.
To Sanni, it seemed, everything was happening in slow motion. The salt slave picked up and inspected it with his ravenous eyes. In anger, he drops the bag, and strikes Hoslo in his jaw, blurting out an unintelligible bark. Sanni's hero, his tall and formidable brother, now lay on the floor, bloodied from the bash, rendered useless. A guard, giddy from watching the beatdown, approached Hoslo, and took him away. Right as the small boy saw this, he too, was being taken by the men with black ski masks.
"Useless at best, no? Don't be like your brother." the guard spoke to Sanni as they were dragged off to the outside dump.
Instantaneously, lead cut through Hoslo's brain, draining him of all his life.
"You, boy. Run now, don't come again."
