Between two ends
Fiction ·I haven’t ever, let me emphasise that, EVER given a shot at writing (fiction/fantasy) short stories before. I got back into a lot of reading this year and that naturally segued to “Hey, why not try writing one?”. I must say, I (hugely) underestimated the efforts that go into making a short story work. This experience has taught me a lot of things but most importantly, the process of getting this through has been one of the most fun things I’ve ever tried.
This is the first part of this short story/novella (I really don’t know how long this is going to be, but I hope it will/can be classified as either of the two I’ve mentioned). The goal is to complete this story entirely, so more chapters will be released. Enjoy!
Florentius walked into the bakery, fingers drumming against the counter. The baker emerged from the oven room, grinning sheepishly. “Not ready yet. Give me ten more minutes.” He gestured behind to the oven room. “The oven’s running slow today.”
Florentius sighed, waving his hand. “I’m in no rush today.”
“Appreciate it.” the baker hurried back in.
Florentius shook his head, walking out of the bakery. The morning sun warmed his forehead. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a pipe and flint, his mellow blue eyes studying them for a moment. He lit the pipe, then gazed into the city, lost in thought.
Six years in this city, and the view never changed. The domes crowned basilicas, glistening in the sunlight. Ships arrived and departed from the harbour, each adorned with decorations from distant lands. The mansions of the wealthy that rose above the common houses, their broad terraces and golden-tiled roofs impossible to ignore.
He left his village behind six years ago with his wife, drawn to this city by stories of fortune and opportunity. Neither had happened. Perhaps it did, just not to him.
They had a child now. Old enough to want to try, but too young to help. Business was modest. He’d profited once from vegetables brought in from a village when crops failed in the city. But the emperor’s tax reforms had killed his pottery venture. Life could be better. But he made do.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts.
“Bread’s ready,” came the baker’s voice.
“At last,” Florentius let out a sigh of relief. They went back in. Florentius took out two copper coins, placing them on the counter.
The baker shook his head, pushing a copper coin back, “For the wait. One copper coin only.”
Florentius raised an eyebrow. “Charitable. Thank you.”
“You’ve been patient. Good day to you.”. The baker handed over the loaf of bread.
Today was bread with lentil stew, a delicacy he would not delay any further. And so, Florentius nodded, stepping out of the bakery and heading down the street. Turning left, a riot of sounds reached him:
“Silk from the east! Feel the quality!”
“Last of the day! two for one!”
“Master, may I interest you in some fresh fish?”
“No no no, Earlier you said it was 3 copper coins. I will not accept any higher.”
“Hahaha, she must be hiding over there!”
Market Lane was in full swing. It almost always was. Stalls were set up on either side of the lane, teeming with customers. The smell of fresh produce and spices hung in the air. Children darted from stall to stall, chasing each other.
“Master, come have a look at my fine selection of pots!” a merchant stepped in his path, gesturing towards the copperware. “Your wife will thank you”.
Florentius ignored the merchant as he continued pushing through the crowd. A cart nearly knocked him over, the owner glaring at him as though it were his fault. He shook his head. Anyone else might’ve called this walk an adventure, but to him, it was just another morning.
He left the lane behind, walking into a narrow alley that ran behind shops. The air here smelt of rotten old produce. Workers from neighbouring shops gathered here, away from customers. They’d grumble about their morning annoyances, take breaks, and trade gossip about the latest imperial decrees.
“Florentius!”
A man approached.
Florentius recognised the man as Cyril, a trader he partnered with on a few deals.
“Did you hear about the latest tariffs?”, Cyril asked.
Florentius frowned. “No. What tariffs?”
“Grain from the south. Announced this morning. Nearly double.” Cyril shook his head. “Bread prices will jump by next week.”
“Tch” . If bread prices rose, people would have less to spend on everything else. His vegetables were already a hard sell.
Cyril sighed. “Let’s hope we can move our stock soon enough.”
Florentius nodded. He thanked Cyril for the news, before moving on.
He continued walking, mind racing. He’d need to sell faster. Maybe lower prices to move stock before—
His thoughts came to a sudden halt as his foot caught on a protruding stone. He stumbled before hitting the ground hard. Pain flared in his palm.
Crack.
Wincing, he pushed himself up from the ground. Someone nearby asked if he was alright. Florentius waved them off, barely listening.
His hand went to the amulet on his neck. Pulling it forward, he examined the damage. A crack ran through the stone.
Florentius’s expression turned grave. It had been in his family for three generations. His father had given it to him years ago, before he passed away. “It will protect you,” he’d said. Florentius had worn it every day since. A crack meant danger. For him and for his family.
He checked the loaf of bread. Miraculously, nothing had happened to it. “At least I can still have my favourite meal today.” He sighed, but the relief was hollow.
The crack couldn’t be ignored. Who worked with silver nearby? He looked down the alley, thinking. A name surfaced.
Georgios. Yes, his workshop was just ahead. The old craftsman worked with stone and silver. He’d be able to fix this.
He’d go there first before going home. Picking up his bag, he headed down the alley.
Upon arriving at Georgios’s workshop, he noticed only his apprentice was around.
“Master has gone to the quarry to restock on stone. It will be a week until he’s back.”
“Of course…” Florentius muttered.
He composed himself before asking, “I cannot wait that long. It is a family heirloom. Do you know of any craftsmen around that can fix this?”
He handed over his amulet to the apprentice for further examination.
The apprentice had a troubled look on his face.
“You will need a specialist to fix this one for you. Most craftsmen here do not work with silver and religious pieces.”
He paused before saying, “There’s a specialist near Marmara. Master mentioned him once.”
Florentius frowned. Marmara was quite the walk. It was uncharted territory.
But the amulet couldn’t stay broken for a week. He’d have to go. But home first. Theodora needed to know he’d be gone most of the day.
He thanked the apprentice and turned towards home.
He arrived home a little while later, knocking at the door. His wife Theodora opened the door. Beside her, their daughter stood grinning.
“Papa!” Irene ran forward hugging him, with a doll in her hand. Florentius knelt, wrapping his arms around her.
“Where did you go?” she asked, pulling back.
Florentius showed her the loaf of bread in the bag. “For your lunch!”
“Bread for lunch!” Irene beamed.
Theodora smiled. She tapped Irene gently on the shoulder. “Go play now, my dear. Let me talk to Papa.”
Irene nodded. She rushed back to her room.
Theodora turned to her husband.
“Your amulet…did you hurt yourself?” Theodora reached for the bags.
Florentius showed her his left palm. “No, it’s alright, just a small scrape.” He then touched his cracked amulet. “Georgios isn’t there. He’s gone for a week. But there’s a specialist in Marmara who can fix this. I must go there today.”
Theodora frowned. “Today? But that’s across the city.”
Florentius sighed. “I know. But the amulet cannot wait. And I have work tomorrow. Cyril just told me about the tariffs. We need to move our stock as soon as we can.”
Theodora looked at him torn.
“Please be careful.” she said, her voice resigned.
“I will,” Florentius said, managing a smile.
He glanced out towards the east, then met her eyes again. “Save some extra stew for me, won’t you?” Florentius then stepped out and headed down the pathway. Theodora watched him go, her hand on the doorframe. She locked the door and went to start the stew.
Marmara lay to the east of the city. It was where many successful people had settled down. Rumours even had it that three of the seven aristocratic families maintained estates here. Florentius shook his head thinking about it, revealing a bitter smile. He could barely maintain one.
His journey eastwards led him through neighbourhoods that reminded him why he’d come to this city. The streets grew cleaner and wider. People dressed in silk robes, strolling leisurely. Modest Iron-bound entrances became grand doorways with intricate carvings and patterns. This was the prosperity that’d drawn him to this city. He stopped twice to ask for directions—once from a labourer hauling bricks, once from a man in fine robes who barely glanced at him.
His hand kept drifting towards his cracked amulet. How much was it going to cost him here?
By the time he reached the gate, the morning sun had shifted. He stopped at a merchant’s stall to ask one final time where the craftsman’s workshop was. The merchant pointed to a building just past the gate. Florentius thanked him, heading towards it.
He reached the workshop, weary from his journey. He stood at the counter, waiting. Moments later, a grey-haired man stepped out, wrinkles lining his face.
“Can I help you?”
Florentius showed him the amulet. “Can you fix this? I was told you’re skilled with such work.”
The craftsman held out his hand, and Florentius handed it over. He studied it for a moment.
“Yes, it should be fine,” the craftsman nodded, examining the amulet.
He paused for a moment, then asked, “Heirloom?”
“Family, yes,” Florentius nodded.
The craftsman looked up, eyes level with Florentius.
“It needs some extra care. Fortunately for you, I’ve got the right materials. It should be done by sunset.”
Relief washed over Florentius’s face. He glanced outside. The day was bright. He had time.
“Thank you, I shall be back by then.”
The craftsman nodded, going back to work.
Florentius heading out back into the afternoon sun. He intended on exploring this part of the city.
If anything, the neighbourhood grew wealthier the further he went. He gaped at the bronzed railings, gilded roofs, and marbled statues. Sounds of laughter echoed from behind a gate as he passed a home. Through the gates, he could see children running around a marble fountain in a sunlit courtyard.
He continued on and came across a series of stalls set up on either side of the pathway. It reminded him of Market Lane back in his neighbourhood. However, the chaotic roar he always associated with Market Lane was absent. Customers conversed with the merchants in a polite manner, unwilling to bargain. He walked over to a fruit stall to have a quick peek at the prices.
He gasped.
“6 copper coins? For five pomegranates?”
The trader’s eyes narrowed, assessing him.
“Quality costs. The price is the price. If you are not satisfied with it, perhaps the lower market might suit you better,” he said.
Florentius walked away. “Such rudeness…” he muttered. The other stalls were the same—high quality, high price, and many of which he had no reason to buy.
He left the market, walking into a quieter pathway. Something ahead caught his eye. A shop, its sign unlike anything he’d seen before. It had silk banners placed by the entrance, with writings in an unfamiliar language. A crystal chime hung from the roof, glimmering in the sunshine. Ceramic pieces were arranged in an oddly sacred manner. The imagery was completely foreign to him.
Intrigued, he decided on exploring what the shop had to offer.
Entering the shop, Florentius walked slowly, observing the items around him. Glass so thin it seemed translucent. A large statue of a three headed man, every eye looking like they followed him. A half silver, half gold mirror with intricate carvings on its edges. None of what he’d seen here belonged to the world he knew.
He continued moving slowly through the shop, continuing to study each piece. But one item in particular drew his attention: a vase as white as snow. Its surface depicted scenes he couldn’t interpret. He approached it, unable to resist reaching out.
“Theodora would love to have something like this…” he whispered under his breath.
Suddenly, an old man emerged from the back of the shop, smiling. “Welcome. I see the porcelain vase has caught your attention?”
Florentius looked up, startled.
“My apologies, I did not mean to alarm you,” the merchant chuckled. “My name is Farid. How may I assist you?”
“Florentius,” he said, still feeling the texture of the vase. “What did you call this material?”
“Porcelain,” Farid repeated.
Florentius carefully set the vase back on the shelf before turning towards Farid, who stood behind the counter.
Farid looked like he’d seen more than most. His weathered, sun-tanned skin gave the impression of someone who lived a life of travel and exploration. His clear green eyes and long beard were uncommon in these parts. He spoke fluently, albeit with an accent.
“I must say I have never seen anything like these. Might I ask where you acquired these?” he asked, pointing to the goods around them.
“Many say that,” Farid nodded. He gestured to the pieces around them. “Everything you see here, I acquired during my travels.”
“Must have been a lot of travelling then,” Florentius concluded, a hint of marvel in his voice.
“You could say that,” Farid said, smiling. “Fortune has smiled on me, I suppose.”
He moved to a nearby shelf, picking up a curved dagger with an intricate hilt. “This one… I won it in a game of cards with a Persian guard captain. He was convinced I was cheating.” He chuckled. “I wasn’t. I’m just very good at cards.”
“And he just… gave it to you?” Florentius asked, smiling.
“Not without considerable protest, no. But a bet is a bet.”
Farid set it back on the shelf, then gestured to a jewelled belt locked behind glass. “That one, though.”
He stared at it, lost in memory. “A merchant gave me that. We found him in the mountains, lost and freezing. He would have died if we’d come a day later. He thanked God with every step we took back to safety.”
Farid paused. “When we reached the pass, he insisted on giving me something. Said he was already blessed enough that we had found him.”
“Timely,” Florentius said.
Farid nodded. He then pointed to another item. “Now this one here—”
Time passed as Farid continued sharing his tales. A jade seal from a Chinese merchant. A woven tapestry from the eastern mountains. An ancient coin from a ruined temple. Each relic had its story, and Florentius found himself drawn in. They’d been talking for over an hour. Farid’s latest tale came to an end.
In the brief silence that followed, Florentius ventured, “Every tale you have shared has been nothing short of remarkable. But tell me, what’s the strangest thing you’ve encountered?”
He noticed Farid’s smile fade slightly.
“You would think it would be one of these items,” he gestured around the shop. “After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve acquired…” His voice trailed off. He shook his head slowly.
“It wasn’t an adventure. It wasn’t a gift. It wasn’t an item I traded for. It was a simple conversation with someone who I did not understand back then.”
Farid’s expression turned sombre. His eyes grew distant, lost in memories.
“Years ago, I met a man. He looked like someone who had fought in a war – scars, weathered hands. He seemed at peace with silence. But his eyes… they had a sadness in them. The kind you see in someone who’s witnessed something they shouldn’t have.”
Florentius looked on in silence, listening.
“I asked him about his travels. He answered terse. But what he said struck me like a thorn lodged deep into my skin.”
“What did he say?” Florentius asked, intrigued.
“He looked me in the eye and said, “A man can walk a thousand roads seeking answers, only to stumble upon something far stranger when he finally stops.”
“I must confess, I failed to understand his words. I could only nod my head in approval. I really wanted to ask what he meant, but something in his expression stopped me.”
Farid paused. “I still think about it. What he must’ve seen to speak like that.”
Florentius frowned, trying to make sense of it.
“But after all these years, I think I finally understand. Maybe. Maybe not, but I’ve found my own meaning to it.”
Farid fell silent, his gaze drifting to the back of his shop.
“Some say prophecy is planned out. That it reveals hints to events much earlier than they happen. In a way, I cannot argue against them. For what I’ve seen is far stranger than any man could imagine.”
“Strangest?” he asked rhetorically. “The strangest relic I’ve found has been right here. In the basement, hidden away from the world, left forgotten. Until one day, when I stumbled upon it, learning what it really was.”
He studied Florentius. Moments later, he revealed a slight smile, his sharp gaze fixing on Florentius.
“Would you like to see it?”
Florentius glanced out. The afternoon sun had shifted, but he still had a few hours until the craftsman would be done.
He hesitated. A part of him wanted to say yes. The mystery, the chance to understand what Farid meant. Farid had been welcoming and hadn’t given him any reason to distrust him. But another part held back. Why hidden in the basement? Why not here, amongst everything else? Something about it felt… different.
Farid seemed to read his hesitation. “I promise you, it is nothing sinister. As for why it is in the basement… it is better kept out of sight. Not everyone who walks into this shop should see it. It’s also the kind of thing that cannot be brought up here… you shall understand when you see it,” he said with a slight smile.
He then reached into his robe and withdrew something small, placing it on the counter between them.
A coin.
Florentius picked it up. Freshly minted. Gold. Everything about it felt right: the weight, the texture, the size. He could even read the words on it. But the emperor’s face… he couldn’t recognise it.
“From another kingdom?” he asked, uncertain.
“Look closer”
Florentius examined it. The wear, the marks, everything about it was authentic. And then it hit him: the date.
His breath caught.
“That cannot be right…”. He looked up at Farid. “This is dated twenty years from now?”
“Or it will be,” Farid said quietly.
“And the emperor… Twenty years from now?”
Farid nodded. Silence hung in the air.
“Follow me downstairs,” he said, already moving towards the back of the shop. “I’ll show you.”
Florentius looked at the coin one more time, feeling its weight in his palm. Then he followed.
The merchant led the way to the back of the shop and down a set of dimly lit stairs.
At the bottom, the basement sprawled before them. An array of items flooded his vision – rusted antiques, worn-out rugs, gleaming silk. But nothing caught his attention more than a strange door, standing upright in the centre of the room. It stood alone, unattached to any wall or frame. It shouldn’t have worked, yet it did.
Florentius raised his eyebrow. A look of confusion washed over his face. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
Farid, expecting the question, nodded.
Florentius approached the door, drawn by curiosity. His gaze was fixed on the centre, where a carving caught his eye. It depicted two faces, each looking the other way. The face on the left had a youthful look, an expression of ambition with a hint of naivety. The face on the right was expressionless, with wrinkles running across his face, with a beard.
“Janus?” he said, uncertain.
Farid’s eyebrows rose. “You know?”
“Vaguely…” he replied, not daring to touch the carving. “A god, but of what I do not know…”
“The God of Beginnings and Endings,” Farid said quietly. “What was and what will be. Looking both directions at once.”
“I suspect this is the result of theurgy.” he added.
Florentius was taken aback. He wasn’t unfamiliar with theurgy. The Church taught they were dangerous. But he’d never stood before an artifact imbued with divinity.
“Are you certain?”
“I am,” Farid answered. “It explains the mystical nature.”
Florentius continued examining the door. It had two brass knobs on either side, like it could be opened either from the left or the right. But otherwise, it was no more special than a piece of old wood—weathered marks across its surface and paint peeling off its edges.
He stepped back. Silence took over.
Farid broke it, though his gaze remained distant.
“It was a Wednesday, twenty-five years ago. The Kingdom had just declared war with the Caliphate a few days earlier. That afternoon, I felt unwell, feverish. Weak, I decided to close shop and head home.”
“As I locked the door, I heard knocking. From the back of the shop, somewhere downstairs. I feared someone had broken in, wanting to steal my goods. I rushed down here and… noticed the sound coming from the corner, where the door lay, rusting.”
“I approached it. Was I hallucinating? The fever kicking in strong? I asked these myself. But the noise was all too real. I tried opening it while it lay flat. It would not budge. With great difficulty, I stood it upright. Moments after, one of the knobs twisted by itself. The door swung open.”
Florentius listened in silence, unnerved.
“A woman stepped through. She looked at me but said nothing. She just hurried past, desperate, urgent. I called after her. She didn’t answer. I sat there, expressionless, unable to make sense of what I had witnessed.”
“But I remember her clearly. Her clothing was… wrong. The style was something I hadn’t seen before.”
Farid went silent for a moment.
“That coin,” Farid said, gesturing towards Florentius’s hands.
“It was from her?” Florentius asked, his hand feeling the coin.
Farid nodded. “More or less. She dropped it.”
Silence hung in the air.
Florentius stared blankly at the merchant, then at the door, taking turns.
“This could all be… staged,” he said slowly. “The coin forged. The woman an actor. An elaborate ruse you—”
Farid, silent, walked towards the door. He twisted the left knob open, the door pulling towards him.
“Look, but do not step through.” He gestured towards the open door.
Florentius hesitated. He approached the door carefully, looking at the scene. It was the same basement, but… cleaner. He saw an ornate metal astrolabe lying on a wooden surface.
“That… that astrolabe,” he pointed towards it, fingers visibly shaking. “It’s not here now.”
He peeked to the side, trying to see around the door’s edge. But there was nothing, just emptiness.
Farid’s eyes fixed on where Florentius was pointing.
“Yes. I sold it to a wealthy collector years ago.”
Florentius continued noticing the slight differences. The walls cleaner, rugs that did not exist then, antiques missing or extra. He stepped back from the door, confused, shocked. He was unable to process what he just experienced.
Farid closed the door. “What you just saw was the basement as it was twenty years ago.”
Questions flooded Florentius’s mind.
“And that woman…”
“From the future perhaps.” Farid seemed to read his mind. He pointed to the right side of the door. “Opening it from the right shows you the future, 20 years from now.”
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Florentius was visibly shaken. “Have more people come through?” he asked, in disbelief.
“Yes.”
Farid continued without giving Florentius a chance to ask further.
“Over the years, more travellers emerged from the door. They’d step out, wish me luck like I’d known them for years, and hurry out, desperate to do whatever they came for. Some came back for the door, some did not. They must’ve returned to when they came from, but I do not know how.” He paused.
“Through observation and conversations, I began understanding the nature of this door.”
His hand moved between the two knobs.
“Past or Future. Twenty years in either direction. But you have to choose. The moment you twist the knob and step through, that’s it. No going back.”
Farid continued staring at the door.
“And you get forty-five minutes there. Don’t ask me why, I do not know. But when that time ends, both logic and fate conspire to return you. You cannot fight them both.”
Florentius absorbed this slowly. “So I could step through this door. Once. Go back twenty years or visit the future, twenty years from now.”
“Correct,” the merchant replied, validating his assessment.
“I could visit myself. Find him, talk to him?”
“You could, yes.”
Florentius went silent. He reflected on his journey to this city so far and how life had treated him since.
“And I could go back and convince my younger self to make a different choice.”
Farid smiled slightly. But his eyes held a warning.
“You could try. But remember, you are what you are now.”
Florentius frowned, trying to decipher the meaning in Farid’s words.
“Have you used it?”
Farid’s eyes drifted towards the door.
“Perhaps someday. But not yet.”
His expression turned solemn. “I’ve seen what it does to people. The weight they carry when they return. Some talk to me about it, some do not. But they always come back learning something new.”
Florentius, intrigued, asked, “What did they learn?”
Farid’s gaze grew distant, sifting through decades of memories. “Everyone learns something different,” he said quietly. “Let me tell you about a man who stole from his own future self.”
NOTE: Thanks for taking the time to read this! I’ve got a couple mini stories planned out for the next parts and I hope you’ve enjoyed the read so far.
I should emphasise that this is a draft and so, it’s not published anywhere else except here for free reading. I believe all of plot will remain the same (I don’t expect readers to come back and read everything from scratch lol, unless you want to ofcourse), some parts may be restructured/reframed but the overall concept will remain as is.