Late 5E989 to Early 5E990
[The Present]
Straight into the teeth of the hot southwestern wind rode Aravan and Faeril on one hajîn, Riatha and Gwylly on a second, and Urus on the gelding, each dromedary trailing two pack camels after. Out into the Erg they fared, aiming now for an oasis marked on Riatha’s map, an oasis some one hundred forty miles hence, a journey of perhaps some four days. It was but the first way station on their long trek, the distant goal being Nizari, the Red City set on the far rim of the Karoo, eleven hundred miles away as the raven flies. But their plan called for travel of some twelve hundred miles in all, their route zigzagging from oasis to waterhole to well for their passage across the sand.
As they rode, the wind blew hotter, a fine grit lashing at them. They drew thin scarves across their eyes, seeing out through the mesh. Even so, now and then a tiny grain would penetrate, seeking out an eye.
Faeril, blinking and squinting, tears washing away one of these grains, asked, “What about the camels, Aravan? Won’t they get sand in their eyes, too?”
Aravan smiled. “Nay, wee one. Thou hast seen their thick lashes, thick enough to stop most sand. Yet couldst thou get close enough without risk of being bitten or spat upon, thou wouldst see that even should granules get through, each eye has an inner lid to protect it and push out the grit.”
“I am relieved, Aravan, for I would not relish being the one to bind an ill-tempered camel’s eyes against the blowing sand.”
Aravan barked a laugh, and onward they rode into the rising wind.
They camped that night in the lee of a stony, rock-laden hill, the wind yet warm upon them, blowing harder still.
* * *
An hour before dawn, Urus came down from the hilltop and awoke all. Wind moaned past, and he had to shout to be heard. “A black wall comes, blotting out the stars.”
“Shlûk! Sandstorm,” cried Aravan.
While Aravan and Urus pulled the camels into the shelter of boulders, the others gathered up all the belongings at the campsite and stowed them behind the rocks as well.
Aravan just had time to call to each of them to cover their faces, when the blast was upon them. Faeril leaned her head against Gwylly’s and shouted, “Oh, Gwylly, I do hope that Halíd doesn’t get caught in this, too.” Gwylly reached out and squeezed her hand, and they hunkered down behind their boulder, black wind shrieking past.
* * *
For ten hours the roaring wind hammered at them, but even so, both Gwylly and Faeril dozed in fits and starts. So too did the others, the shlûk howling them to sleep. But as suddenly as it had come, just as suddenly did it go, leavings behind a silence that seemed almost deafening in its utter stillness.
Aravan was the first to his feet, and he trudged toward the hilltop, his boots scrutching loudly upon the grit. Urus hauled Riatha to her feet, and together they followed, casting long shadows down the slope behind them, the afternoon Sun shining in a clear sky above. Gwylly and Faeril busied themselves with shaking sand from all of the belongings. “I’m hungry,” said Gwylly. “What say we break out something to eat?”
* * *
It was late on the night of the fourth day of travel that they came to the oasis, the camels sensing the water first, surging forward.
As they pitched camp, Aravan said, “Here we should stay this night and the next as well, for the camels need to graze, and we could do with a respite. The next watering hole is some one hundred leagues hence, and though we may find suitable forage along the way, we should give them some time to feed before moving on.”
“The circle of Elves can only grow smaller on Mithgar.” Riatha stirred the embers of the fire, though the full Moon sliding down the western sky shed enough light to see far and wide. Faeril sat with the Elfess and they spoke softly so as not to wake the others. “With each one slain, we are diminished. With each that returns to Adonar, the circle here is diminished again, for the way back to Mithgar is sundered.” Riatha looked at the damman. “And as thou dost know, we cannot bear young here on this world.” Riatha’s eyes glittered, and Faeril reached out and took her hand.
“Someday you will have a child, Riatha.”
Riatha’s gaze flew to Urus, the Man asleep. “But I would have the child of Urus, Faeril, and that can never be. He is mortal and of Mithgar; I am immortal and of Adonar. I cannot have a child here, and he cannot go there…and even should he somehow find his way to the High World, still we could not have a child together, for love between mortals and Elves is ever barren of offspring.”
Faeril started to reply, but ere she could say a single word, Riatha’s hand flew to her throat. “Swift!” hissed the Elfess, casting sand on the fire, smothering it, “wake the others. The warding stone grows cold.”
Faeril awakened Gwylly and Aravan, while Riatha raised up Urus.
Long they waited in the night, a circle facing outward, peering through the moonlight. In the distance beyond the oasis, Faeril thought she saw dark shapes running across the dunes, yet when she called for the others to see, the shapes were gone.
Slowly the chill went from the blue stone amulet, the danger fading away.
After the stone returned to normal, Faeril, Gwylly, and Aravan took to their bedrolls, Riatha and Urus remaining on guard.
But the damman found sleep eluding her, her mind shuttling between sadness at Riatha’s plight and apprehension at what could have caused the stone to grow cold. After an hour or so of restless tossing, she moved over to Gwylly and curled up against him; the buccan snuggled closely and held her tightly…and in moments slumber reached out to clasp her as well.
* * *
In the early morning light, Gwylly climbed up a long, sandy slope to look for tracks, Faeril accompanying him. As they stood at the crest, the damman pointed at a nearby dune. “What’s that, Gwylly? Looks like a…a toppled pillar.”
“It does at that, my dammia. Let’s go see.” Gwylly turned and whistled at the others in the distance below, and with a series of piping signals he told them of the find.
As they trudged toward the object, they came across sets of impressions dimpling the sand, running east and west. “Well, something was here, all right,” said Faeril, “but what it or they might be, I cannot say, for too much sand has trickled down into these prints.”
Gwylly squatted beside the trail. “More than one something, love. Several, from the looks of it.”
Urus, Riatha, and Aravan caught up to them, but none could say what made the impressions, though Urus hazarded a guess. “Four-legged, I deem. Running east, I would think. Smallish.”
After a moment, onward they went, toward the slope of sand ahead. When they reached the dune, they found a huge, partially buried obelisk lying on its side, some forty feet or so visible before it disappeared under the sand, strange pictographic carvings in the stone. Gwylly asked, “Can anyone read this? What does it say, I wonder.”
None knew the language, though Aravan said, “’Tis my guess that it was placed here by some Human King, seeking a kind of immortality.”
They brushed off additional sand, revealing more pictographs but no more knowledge. Birds, dogs, horses, camels, other beasts were carven thereupon. Shocks of wheat, boats, Humans, pottery, wheels, chariots, bows, arrows, and the like, all manner of people and items could be discerned, though no Elves, Dwarves, Warrows, or Folk other than Humankind appeared.
Aravan said, “In Khem, south and east of here, Men have erected great stone pyramids, burial chambers, memorials to their eminence, as well as stone monoliths and other structures to last for all time, conferring immortality unto their names.”
Gwylly shuddered. “Ooo, immortality or not, I would not like to be shut up forever in hard, cold stone. Instead, bury me in soil…or better yet, offer my soul up to Adon on the golden wings of fire.”
Faeril reached over and squeezed her buccaran’s hand.
Aravan made a vague gesture easterly. “Pyramids, monoliths, monuments: all intended to confer everlasting fame, but most are as this obelisk—bearing inscriptions that no longer have any meaning unto the living.”
Urus rumbled, “Immortality they may have, yet recognition they have not.”
* * *
“What if Mankind were immortal, thou dost ask?” Riatha looked down at the damman. “Aro! With his lack of discipline, he would soon o’erburden the world and drag it down unto destruction with him.”
Faeril rinsed the clothes she washed in the oasis waterhole. “Like lemmings? Aravan told Gwylly and me about lemmings and their rush to destruction.”
“Worse than lemmings, Faeril. Much worse. Lemmings have not the intellect, the power, the ability to destroy the world. Mankind has.”
Faeril handed the brussa to the Elfess. As Riatha hung the shirt over the line tied between trees, Faeril took up a pair of pantaloons and plunged them into the water. “Will Man ever change? I mean, will he ever see that he is part of the world, and what he harms, harms him in return?”
Riatha shook her head. “I know not, wee one. I know not. But this I do know: Man is clever, inventive, and can he extend his life, he will. Yet, adding years without also adding a sensitivity to his effects upon the world can only lead to a disastrous ending. Can Man overcome his insatiable appetites, then there is hope for Mithgar. Yet should he retain his greedy grasp, then this world will not last.”
“Yah hoi!” came Gwylly’s cry. “Fruit for each and all!”
To the waterhole came Gwylly and Aravan and Urus, a cloth bag filled with clusters of ripe dates. Gwylly’s mouth was stained brown. “Watch for the seeds, love, they are like long, skinny peach pits and are as hard as rocks.”
As Aravan squatted beside Faeril and took up clothes to wash, laughing, he said, “That buccaran of thine, Faeril, has monkey blood in his veins. Just like the one thou didst see entertaining for coins in the streets of Sabra.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Gwylly. “Urus alone boosted me more than halfway up.”
Riatha took up a date and bit into it, smiling at its sweetness. “Had we time, we would dry some of these to bear with us across the Karoo.”
* * *
As the full Moon rose above the horizon, Gwylly began humming a tune. Faeril cocked an eye at him, and he pointed at the rising yellow orb and broke into words.
“Fiddle-de-de, fiddle-de-di,
The cow jumped up so high in the sky,
Up through the air and over the Moon…
‘Oh, look there,’ said the dish to the spoon.
The spoon stood back and upward eyed
Then after a moment solemnly replied,
‘’Tis odd, I’ll agree, most unexpectedly at that,
As queer as if the dog were to dance with the calico cat.’
No sooner said that the fiddle sawed,
And the dog led the cat in a promenade,
And the cow fell down from above the Moon,
The frightened dish ran away with the spoon.
I laughed so hard that I cried,
The dog laughed, too, at my side,
The cat did wail loud and long,
As the fiddle screeched a different song…
…But the cow with a crash tumbled down on my head,
And that’s when I woke, falling out of my bed!—
Thud! Whump!”
Urus’s guffaws belled out into the night, completely drowning out Faeril’s giggles and the laughter of Riatha, Aravan, and Gwylly.
When a modicum of quiet returned to the oasis, Faeril asked, “Where did you learn such wonderful nonsense, Gwylly?”
“My father—my Human father, Orith—used to sing it to me to put me to sleep, though I laughed at it instead, and Nelda, my mother, would chide Dad for keeping me awake…though she was the one who sang it to me when Dad was away in Stonehill. It was my favorite.”
Suddenly, Aravan held up a warning hand and reached for his spear. “Ssst! The stone!”
Again they took up station in a circle facing outward, standing next to date palms.
Long moments passed, and once more Faeril saw silhouettes loping through the night. She gave a low whistle, and her companions turned to see. In that instant, clear in the moonlight, atop a dune a mottled, doglike animal appeared, pausing to look down at the comrades among the palm trees. Then it whirled and raced away, following the tracks of the others, disappearing beyond seeing among the dunes of the Erg.
“The stone grows warm,” said Aravan, “the peril wanes.”
Gwylly turned to the Elf. “What was it, Aravan? I mean, it had large round ears and its fur was splotched. Yet it wasn’t very big. Why would the stone grow cold at such a creature?”
“It was a wild dog of the desert, Gwylly. And in a pack they can bring down nearly any beast. The stone knows well the hazard of such.”
Faeril looked toward the scrub growth. “Oh my! What about the camels? Are they in danger?”
Aravan shook his head. “I think not. The stone should hold the pack at a distance.”
Riatha sat back down. “’Tis good we leave on the morrow, for I deem we keep the dogs from their water, and stone or not, they will come when thirst drives them so.”
Aravan nodded, agreeing. “Aye, Dara, thou hast the right of it. Some things are too virulent to be affected by the stone—Vulgs, Loka, Rucha, and other Spaunen, Drakes, monsters of the deep, to name a few—”
“The wyrm of the well,” interjected Gwylly.
“Aye, Gwylly, the wyrm, too.
“Other things are too desperate for the stone to hold at bay—creatures driven by hunger, thirst, a need to defend themselves or their get, a need to escape, to flee.
“The wild dogs are among these last, for they will come regardless, when their thirst grows great enough.”
Urus gazed out into the moonlit dunes. “Then I say we sleep this night away from water’s edge. If they do come, they will find the way open.”
* * *
Five days later, in the afternoon they camped alongside a oued where grew cacti and thorny shrubs, for again the camels had gone awhile without sustenance.
Gwylly and Faeril climbed up a long, stony slope to see the land about. “Hoy! Look at that!” cried Gwylly as they reached the crest, the buccan pointing at the horizon. “Ships! And an ocean!”
Faeril gasped, for there in the distance before her, two lateen-sailed boats, dhows, plied the sea. Then she shook her head. “No, Gwylly. Like the lakes we’ve been seeing this too is a mirage.”
“I know, love, but isn’t it marvelous? Oh my, the other need to see this as well.” Gwylly turned and whistled down the slope, signalling to those below.
* * *
That evening, Aravan said, “Once when my crew and I were tramping across a desert in the land to the west, from a high ridge we saw a mighty forest. Down from the ridge we marched, aiming to reach the sanctuary of the trees by nightfall. When we got to where we thought the forest stood, all we discovered were fallen logs lying in the sand. We made camp, and lo! when one of the Drimm warriors took an axe to a log for firewood, the blade chipped! The log was solid stone! All the logs lying in the sand were stone!
“‘Mayhap,’ said the warrior whose axe was broken ‘mayhap a Kötha did this.’
“When I asked what a Kötha might be, he replied that it was a dire creature whose gaze could turn living things to stone.
“We left the next day, marching onward, to the great relief of all the Drimma in the company, for though most thought the Kötha nought but fable, they were not willing to test the truth of it.
“Yet the fallen forest of stone is not the strangest part of my tale, nor even the legend of the Kötha. Nay! The strangest thing of all was that when we came back through that territory, returning overland unto the Eroean, to ease the minds of the Drimma, we skirted ’round the region where lay the trees of stone. But when we climbed back up the distant ridge where first we sighted the forest and looked hindward along our track, once again we saw green and growing a mighty woodland afar, there where we had found nought but a field of stone.”
* * *
Days and days they travelled across the endless waste, stopping to let the camels forage whenever they came upon desert grass and cacti and thorn bushes, small stands of twisted trees and other plants.
Ten days it took to travel from the oasis to the watering hole, some three hundred miles in all. And another five days were spent to reach the well one hundred nine miles beyond.
As they left that well and headed for the next, there came a torrential rain, and dry oueds filled to overflowing, the thundering water rampaging down into the flats below.
The desert burst into bloom, plants rising where it seemed nought but dry weeds stood, the whole world aflower. And wonder of wonders, they came to a small, shallow lake teeming with tiny fish!
“How can it be,” asked Faeril, “that fish swim in the desert?”
“Adon knows, wee one” was the Elf’s answer. “The world is filled with strange things, and this is but one of them.”
Faeril twisted about in her saddle. “Strange things? Such as…”
Aravan smiled down at her. “Such as sea shells embedded in stone atop mountains.”
Faeril cocked her head. “How can that be, Aravan?”
“I know not, Faeril. Some say that the mountains were once at the bottom of the sea, rising up long past, bringing the shells with them.”
Faeril faced front once more. “Oh, you mean that just as Atala sank, so, too, could somewhere else rise?”
“Just so, Faeril…yet that is not the only explanation. There are other tales as to how shells of the ocean got to the mountaintops. Hear me:
“There is a small desert Kingdom to the east of the Avagon Sea. There the priests say that once long past their god, Rakka, became exceedingly wroth over his errant people and caused endless rains that flooded the world entire, the oceans rising up to cover all, their waves rolling above the inundated peaks. And during this time were the sea shells deposited upon the mountaintops, and Rakka locked them in stone as a reminder to all that his word was law.
“When I first heard this tale, there was with me a Drimm who asked several pithy questions of the priests. First he pointed out that there were some mountains that were over two leagues high, six or seven miles. He then remarked that to cover the earth over with water to that depth, it would take more water than was in all the oceans of all the world.
“His first question was, ‘Whence came this volume of water?’
“His second question was, ‘Where went the water after?’
“His third question was, ‘Would not a god who is vengeful, wrathful, who slays old Men and Women and children, the halt and the lame, the newborn and the aged, the strength of the Nation’s manhood, the flower of its womanhood, who would drown not only the people of that desert Kingdom but all the peoples of all the world, and all the animals of all the lands, and all the land birds as well—for what would they eat?—and all the freshwater fish and other water dwellers of streams and rivers and lakes, and all the trees and flowers and plants, who would kill all the life of all the world except for the creatures of the sea, and who would poison all lands with the salt of the oceans, would not such a god be evil?’
“Their responses to all three questions were always the same—‘Only Rakka knows, for his ways are mysterious, beyond the ken of any. Rakka is beneficent and he loves you, so fear him and revere him.’
“The Drimm was disgusted with their response, and stalked away. ‘You are an infidel and are lost forever!’ shouted the priests after. ‘Better an infidel, O priests, than to worship such an evil god!’ he shouted back, and returned to the Eroean.
“But I stayed awhile longer, asking questions of my own ‘When came this great flood? And if all was destroyed whence came all the animals and birds, creatures of the fresh waters, all the trees and flowers and plants, and all the peoples of the world?’
“‘As to the when,’ they replied, ‘it was some four thousand years agone.’
“‘But I have been on the world longer than four thousand years, and no flood o’er the whole world did I see But e’en had I not been on the world that long, other civilizations have, and their records predate that time. How explain ye these things?’
“‘Your memories are false, emplanted by the Evil One to question our faith, just as the records you speak of are false as well.’
“‘What then, O priests, of my other question? If all was destroyed, whence came all the animals and birds, creatures of the fresh waters, all the trees and flowers and plants, and all the peoples of the world?’
“‘As to the saving of life, Rakka in his great love for all Mankind saved a single Rakka-fearing family, sealing them in a great cave, and they took with them two of each living thing.’
“‘Even the locust, even the worm? Even the fly and the flea?’
“‘Verily, even the locust, even the worm, even the fly and the flea, and all other living things as well…two of each. Whether they walked on four legs or slithered on their bellies or hopped, whether they flew through the air or burrowed in the earth, be they insect, worm, or creatures too small for the eye to see, or creatures as large as the elephant.’
“‘And the green growing things, the trees and shrubs and flowers and grains and all other possible plants?’
“‘Rakka gathered seeds from all and deposited them in the cave as well.’
“‘Even those creatures and plants which are found only in remote places throughout the world?’
“‘Even those.’
“‘I alone have seen thousands of different kinds of creatures, and tens of thousands of blossoming things, things of leaves and blades, twigs and barks, branches and roots, and other things without, all growing, each distinct…and I have not seen one scintilla of all that this world has to offer. Know ye just how many different creatures and seeds were shut in that cave? And how large the cave would have to be to hold such?’
“‘Nay, we do not. But Rakka knew and arranged for such.’
“‘Where is this cave? Where did he store this vast menagerie?’
“‘It is now lost, but hear me, O faithless one: Rakka provided!’
“‘What of this, O priests: all know that when animals are interbred and interbred and interbred for generation after generation, such breeding causes fatal weaknesses, dying lines, animals with flaws beyond saving. And if but two of each type of animal were sealed in the cave, to survive while all others perished, then would not their descendants today be defective past redemption?
“‘And lastly, had there been but a single family saved, would not their children have had to intermarry and intermarry and intermarry, brother to sister, father to daughter, mother to son, cousin to cousin, uncle to niece, aunt to nephew? Would this not weaken their blood as well, cause all manner of deformities, enfeeblements not only of the body but also of the mind? And would not all be descendants of them? All the red Men, the black, the yellow, the brown, the white, the seal-hunting peoples of the far north, the brown-skinned natives of the islands in the eastern sea, the small Men of the deep jungles, the tall Men of the north. And what of the Dwarves, the Elves, the Utruni, and others—whence came they?’
“‘Only Rakka knows, but to Rakka all things are possible. Hence, Rakka provided. Worship him, fear him, for he loves you.’
“‘One last question do I have, and it is this: tell me, O priests, what did the shrews eat?’
“They did not understand the import of such a simple question…but their answer was, ‘Rakka provided.’
“It was then that I, too, left in disgust, and their calls of Infidel! and Damned! followed me out.
“I was glad to be gone from that place, for they listened not to simple reason, looked not at the world about them, sought not the truth, believing instead in the literal words of ancient tales—truths, history, parables, myths, legends, fables, and facts intermingled and recorded on their ‘infallible’ scrolls.”
Aravan and Faeril rode along in silence for a mile or more, but at last Faeril spoke. “I would ask two questions of you Aravan: First, is there not some truth in their tale of the flood? Second, do not we also say, ‘Only Adonknows’? How is that different from saying, ‘Only Rakka knows’?”
Aravan laughed. “Ah, Faeril, now thou dost seek what I can only speculate at, yet will I try to answer all.
“As to the truth of the flood: There are many legends from around the world of a great deluge. Some of these legends come from places where now and again mighty waves race over the ocean to flood the hindering lands in their path. Other tales come from places where island realms have sunk beneath the sea. Still others come from places where vast cyclones spin inward from the ocean, driving rain and great tides before them. Some legends come from lands below the mountains above, where all rain is funnelled down the slopes and into the vales, and when a great storm strikes and lasts for days, their world is flooded. Lastly, there are rivers which heavy storms cause to overflow their banks. At times, massive rains upland and down will swell these streams beyond what has e’er been encountered in the living memory of Mankind.
“As to the desert Kingdom, I suspect that long past a catastrophe occurred in the Avagon Sea. A great shifting of the earth, a sinking island, a detonating firemountain, who can say? In any event, mayhap waters from the sea rushed o’er the land, slaying nearly all in its path. Perhaps a family did escape the destruction, fleeing to a high cave, taking the best of their stock with them—ram and ewe, cock and hen, bull ox and cow, buck goat and doe, mayhap more than these few, mayhap less. Taking, too, seed grain and vegetable stock. And when the flood subsided, they emerged safe and whole and gave thanks to their god.
“If I am right, then this example or something just as plausible is the basis of their legend. And like many self-centered peoples, they believe that what has happened to them must have happened to all of the peoples of all the world, and that it was their god, angered by the sins of his people, who caused it.”
“Then, Aravan, if you are right, they have taken a legend, caused by some natural catastrophe, and have attributed it to Rakka.”
“Oh, wee one, I did not say that it was a natural catastrophe…only that it was a catastrophe. Natural or not, I cannot say. Yet I do say that it was not worldwide, regardless as to the claims of the priests of Rakka-who-loves-you.”
Faeril nodded. “Hmm. No matter what they say about Rakka’s beneficence, it seems to me that he rules through fear rather than love.”
“Exactly so, Faeril. According to the priests, Rakka expressly says, ‘Fear Me and obey Me, for I am the Lord of all.’ Yet I say of any god who uses fear to cause obedience he is no better than the Great Evil, Gyphon Himself!”
“All right, Aravan, I accept that. But what about my second question? I mean, we say, ‘Only Adon knows.’ How is that different from the refuge taken by the desert Kingdom’s priests when they say, ‘Only Rakka knows’?”
Aravan laughed and clapped his hands, declaring “Faeril, thou hast answered thine own question.”
Again Faeril twisted about to look at the Elf. “How so, Aravan? How so?”
“Just this, wee one: When the priests said, ‘Only Rakka knows,’ they were indeed taking refuge behind their faith letting it protect them from a search for the truth, using that answer to keep hard questions at bay, giving distorted meaning to the saying, ‘My faith is my shield.’ For to hide behind doctrine and words recorded in ancient scrolls means refusing to look at alternatives wherein a believer would have to explore new ideas or speculations or facts which run contrary to hidebound literal orthodoxy. They believe that to search for truth is to question the god himself and demonstrates an appalling lack of faith, and that the Evil One is directly at the root of a curiosity that questions the tenants and tales of the ‘one true way to salvation.’
“Yet when we say, ‘Only Adon knows,’ we are admitting an ignorance of the moment, believing that somewhere, can we just ferret it out, we can discover the truth. We believe that Adon encourages curiosity and upholds the search for truth, no matter where such a search may lead, for He has nothing to hide.”
Faeril threw open her hands before her. “Oh, I see,” she exclaimed. “In the one case, the saying is used to shield a person from discovering a truth that might cause him to reevaluate his faith, perhaps overturning his entire set of fundamental beliefs; whereas in the other case, the saying is used as a jumping-off place for the search for truth to begin, regardless as to what changes in faith its finding might bring about.”
Aravan reached down and squeezed Faeril’s shoulder. “Exactly so, Faeril. Exactly so.”
* * *
The rain that had fallen upon them days past had left wide pools of water standing on low-lying hardpan, and the companions took every opportunity offered to replenish their canteens and goatskins as well as to drink deeply themselves, but only after assuring themselves that the water was fit, for some they found was not.
As they travelled through the renewed desert, the camels grazed every night, and in those places where the growling, grumbling beasts even though hobbled might wander far, they were staked out on long tethers ’mid the vegetation.
Still the days were hot and at times they would travel among barren dunes. Yet always they managed to find suitable grounds to camp. And inasmuch as it was now December, the nights in the desert were cold and the morning dew rich.
Five days after leaving the watering hole, they arrived at their next goal, a well, late in the night.
The following day they spent resting, and that night, Year’s Long Night, beneath the moonless stars they stepped through the solemn Elven ritual celebrating the winter solstice, Urus joining Riatha and the others in the stately dance.
* * *
At dawn they set out for the next goal, a well a hundred thirty miles hence.
In mid of day on the fourth day of travel they came to where the map proclaimed the well to be, yet were found nought but dunes thereat. Aravan again sighted on the Sun and looked at Riatha’s map. “Either the marking on this chart is wrong or the well is gone…or mayhap it never was.”
Riatha glanced ’round at all the sand. “Mayhap, Aravan, the well is indeed here but buried ‘neath the drifting dunes.”
“It matters not,” rumbled Urus. “No well, no water…yet we still have plenty. I say we press onward for the oasis beyond.”
And so they continued forth, now heading for the first of the three remaining oases marked on the map on their zigzagging route to Nizari.
* * *
Down they went through the desert, the nights cold, the days hot. The wind began to blow once more, and as they went, the greenery and blossoms wilted, and in mere days were turned brown. Yet there was forage for the camels, and the first oasis they came to and the one after were shaded and green and thriving.
As they drew nigh in the morning to the last oasis before Nizari, they saw a caravan leaving, heading into the Sun. And when the companions came in among the palms, there breaking camp was a young Man anxiously peering easterly after the distant receding silhouettes.
All five dismounted, and Aravan stepped to the Man and spoke to him. Clearly the Man was unnerved by Aravan’s tilted eyes, and he held his right hand on the hilt of his curved knife in its scabbard, the fingers on his left hand curled in a sign of warding, his gaze nervously darting at the other four. Yet he answered Aravan’s questions; both were speaking in Kabla, the tongue of the desert.
Finally, Aravan stepped away, and the Man loaded the last of his goods and mounted up. And crying, “Yallah! Yallah!” while whacking his camel with a long riding stick, he galloped off, his dromedary hronking loudly in protest at such ill treatment, the camels of the companions groaning and turning their heads and malignantly eyeing the five suspiciously, as if expecting some dastardly deed.
Gwylly, his emerald eyes aglitter, asked, “What did he say, Aravan?”
Aravan glanced about at the others. “The Man was frightened, not only of us but of the Red City, or of something which preys upon the dwellers therein. People are disappearing—”
Stoke! exclaimed Riatha and Urus together.
“Mayhap,” continued Aravan, “yet not only are people vanishing, the city guard seems to be stopping everyone, asking after their identity, wanting to know their skills, their place of trade. It goes hard on those who cannot prove who they are or what they do, those who cannot get others to vouch for them.”
“Akka!” spat Riatha. “They will never capture Stoke that way.”
“Perhaps it is not Stoke they are after,” suggested Gwylly. “Perhaps instead it is they, the guard, who are causing these ‘disappearances.’ It could be that Stoke is not in Nizari at all but somewhere else entirely. After all, we do not know that the city of Faeril’s vision is indeed the Red City. It could be another place altogether.”
Faeril looked back at Aravan. “What else did the Man say?”
“That he had left because he was afraid he, too, might ‘disappear’ one night. As well, he detested the guard…which leads me to believe that this young Man was not an upstanding citizen with a worthy trade.
“He also said that Nizari was some seventy-five leagues west southwest, which agrees with our map.”
Urus crossed his arms over. “Was he telling the truth, do you think?”
Aravan nodded and laughed. “I believe that he was afraid to lie, else the evil Djinn before him would summon over the huge Afrit to tear him to tiny shreds.”
* * *
Forty days and forty nights after setting out from the Ring of Dodona, from the crescent gorge of the Kandrawood, just after dawn they topped a ridge and came into sight of Nizari, the Red City of Assassins, crimson buildings clutched against dark, ruddy mountains, a high red wall encircling the town entire. And as the rising Sun glanced off the dome of the scarlet citadel above the city, Faeril turned to the others and softly said, “This is the place of my vision.”