The Keys to Paradise, page 27
The afternoon was much the same, although to the west Giles spied rounded hills and sand dunes. The midday meal sat uneasily on his stomach as he endured the lirjan’s punishment well beyond the normal dinner time when the caravan master finally called a halt. Giles wanted only a light meal before the sandy horizon swallowed the sun.
Small fires burned around the perimeter of the camp, the lirjan tethered inside the circle of humans. The caravan master insisted on posting guards to watch for brigands; Giles said nothing about the Harifim. As nervous as the master appeared, he might put them out of the caravan at the slightest hint of impropriety on their part.
‘Are you all right, Giles?’ Petia asked.
‘Just tired, Petia. I’m getting too old to take a beating. I’ll be all right, unless I get more bright ideas.’ Giles snorted. ‘Can’t imagine why I tried to take on all the Harifim by myself.’ But he did know why and it irritated him even more than the beating. Keja and Petia were so young, so agile. What did an old and tired soldier like himself have to offer? He remembered younger days and all he’d done then. There had been some good times interspersed with the stretches of bad, and he had tried to bring back those with a bit of derring-do. He had known Ryilla’s men watched him; he had seen the eyes peeking through the tent. But he’d thought he could conquer all.
Just as Petia and Keja thought they could.
‘My hip joints will never be the same.’ Petia laughed. ‘Want some tiffa? With sugar?’
‘I’ve had enough for now. I’ll just lie here and tell my ribs to quit hurting.’
Petia returned to the small blaze, and sat cross-legged in front of it. ‘Petia?’ Keja looked at her for a time. ‘Why are you so aloof? We’ve been together for quite a while now, and you must know what sort of fellow I am. I need more than just simple companionship. I think you do, too.’
Petia stared at him over the rim of her cup. ‘You’ve known too many others. I don’t look forward to being cast off like an unwanted garment. You see, Keja, I don’t trust you. We are both thieves, but I don’t think we have the same ethic.’
‘Who are you to talk of ethic? Thieves have no ethic.’
‘Perhaps not. But this thief knows better than to become involved with another thief. And a Trans must be careful with humans. Do you think we have forgotten the Trans War? That any of us can?’
‘I don’t care about the War,’ Keja said. ‘I care about you. And I care that at night my blankets are lonely.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Petia said. ‘Creature comforts. There’s more to it than a moment’s pleasure. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?’
Keja lowered his head and glowered at the flames, his mouth set. He knew that if he spoke he would say something for which he would be sorry.
Anji snuggled next to Petia and pointed away to his left. A figure moved along the perimeter of the camp. Petia looked up from her cup. The caravan master strolled along, making small talk with the travellers.
Petia nudged Giles, who groaned and rubbed his eyes. ‘The caravan master?’ he whispered. Anji nodded. Louder, Giles called, ‘Good evening, Master. A cup of tiffa at our fire?’
‘What strange land do you hail from? I am the dhouti. No one calls me master. That is blasphemy against…’ His voice trailed off. With an abrupt change of topic, he said, ‘I would like the tiffa. All well here?’ The dhouti sank to his haunches and accepted a cup from Petia.
‘As well as one might expect after a day of torture astride a lirjan, a beast unknown in our country.’
The dhouti laughed and sipped loudly from his cup. ‘A ride one must be born to, I fear. You may become accustomed to it, but you will never be comfortable. You must be born of the desert.’
‘Then we have a long journey ahead of us. Can you offer advice?’ Giles pulled the map from his tunic and spread it out before the dhouti.
‘I bought this in a shop in Kasha. The shopkeeper said that the routes shown are no longer used.’
The dhouti leaned forward and studied the map, frowning. ‘Yes, that is true. An old map.’ He lifted his head and looked out into the desert night. ‘Forgotten cities there and there.’ He pointed to either side, but his fingers conveyed distances of many days journey.
‘I’m curious about the old roads and the lost cities. Why are they no longer used?’
‘Ahh.’ A long sigh from the dhouti. ‘Dangerous. Dead cities inhabited by who knows what. Ghosts? Spirits? Nothing along those routes but abandoned cities, windows like empty sockets looking out at nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘Great cities once. Long, long ago. Nothing there now.’
‘What of these beasts illuminating the edge of the map? Are there stories about them? Legends?’
The dhouti pointed at the pictures with the short stick he carried for authority. ‘These? Yes, beasts of the desert. They exist out there in the places where men no longer travel.’
Giles laughed. ‘We might be strangers to your land, but we know a joke.’
‘No jest. In the desert–’ he flicked the tip of his stick over one shoulder’ –beasts such as these still exist. Perhaps they live in the forgotten cities. Good night, sirs and lady.’ He rose and thumped his thigh with the riding crop, then continued his rounds of the encampment.
For a long time Giles stared at the map with the animals marching in bizarre ranks around its borders. Finally he snorted, ‘Nonsense,’ and put the map away.
* * *
The days settled into a routine that consisted of endless sun, an endless track, the endless rocking of the lirjan beneath them. If the day brought a sameness, the nights were even more boringly identical. A plain meal, innumerable cups of strong tiffa, reading and writing lessons for Anji, Keja sulking, the dhouti making his rounds. The only positive change was that Giles recovered from his beating more each day.
For five days the lirjan followed one another like animals performing at a fair. Desert heat and the rocking motion and the animal’s anus in front was all they could look forward to after a quick breakfast eaten standing. Giles finally understood the importance of much that the lirjan broker had insisted upon. If he had to ride along peering up an animal’s backside, it had best be in good condition.
Keja became more sullen. He spoke little and seemed only to be enduring the journey, withdrawing into himself, cutting himself off from those around him. One evening Petia tried to speak to him, but he turned and walked away into the desert. Giles grumbled about this, wishing he could have chosen his travelling companions as he’d done the lirjan.
Then Giles wished Keja’s petulance and Petia’s anger at the small thief was all that he had to worry over. The attack came at mid-morning of the sixth day. The dhouti’s sharp eyes centred on a swirl of dust on the horizon. How he could distinguish the dust raised by riders from that of a small dust devil, Giles would never know. Orders were yelled from the front of the caravan to form a circle as they did for the evening camp. Initial confusion gave way to a methodical plan to defend the caravan. It didn’t surprise Giles that the caravaners had experienced such attacks before. They stayed on their animals, facing outward to allow each rider enough space to wield his sword.
Keja and Giles drew up on either side of Petia. ‘Get the boy down,’ Giles yelled. ‘You’ll need to be able to swing your sword unhindered.’
Anji slid off without a word and ducked behind the circle of lirjan.
Keja pulled back the sleeve of his sword arm and, throwing back his hood, tied a scarf around his head to keep his sandy hair out of his eyes. Petia shifted nervously, obviously worried more about Anji than herself. Giles said nothing. He had faced too many battles not to know how to prepare himself mentally. The old doubts rose; he forced them away. His hand gripped firmly on the hilt of his sword.
The dust cloud moved closer, an inexorable advance dictated by fate. They saw the horses and their riders when they came within half a league. At a hundred yards they saw the drawn swords. The desert men swept by fifty yards away, brandishing weapons and yelling vile insults. They made no move to attack. They rode the complete circle one time, as if showing their force to all sides of the caravan.
Petia muttered, ‘Why don’t they attack? What are they waiting for?’
‘You’ve never been in a battle before,’ Giles said grimly. ‘There’s always a little game that takes place first. They’re showing us how many they number, how swift they are, how well mounted. They keep outside the distance of a spear thrust or an arrow’s flight, although these people don’t seem to use bows and arrows. So they are safe. They have the advantage and can take their time.’
‘And we just wait?’
‘We can’t attack. The lirjan are loaded, and they aren’t fast enough to catch their horses. So, yes, we wait. We have no choice.’
Keja shifted his weight. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you got behind us. Giles? You’re not well enough to fight. You’re still not healed.’
‘I’ve fought in worse shape than this.’
The riders continued to circle, their cloaks flowing behind them like giant bats. They brandished their swords and howled maniacally in their desert tongue. It added to the eerie tension of the waiting.
One raider slowed his horse, certain of his own safety surrounded by his comrades. He studied each potential opponent as his mount danced daintily, hooves raking the air.
The rider – Giles decided he had to be the brigands’ leader – stopped opposite them, made his decision and raised a long ululating call. Immediately the other riders wheeled and gathered behind for the attack.
The dhouti watched impassively from his seat atop his lirjan. When he heard the call, he raised his own cry and pointed. Giles and the others found themselves on the edge of a wedge pointing at the attackers.
‘Wait,’ Giles protested, not wanting to be used as shock troops against the brigands.
‘Attack or die, cowards!’ came the warning from a grizzled old caravaner.
The riders moved forward slowly, gathering momentum like a boulder rolling downhill, then broke into a trot.
Giles turning to Keja and Petia, Giles called, ‘Go with the attack. If we break rank now the entire caravan will be laid open.’ Giles saw Petia’s lips move in the single name, ‘Anji.’ Then the Trans let out a feline howl of rage and kicked her animal forward. Keja found himself hard-pressed to keep up with her, and Giles led the way on the right side of the wedge.
The leader of the raiders raised high and stood in his stirrups. He searched for something. When he didn’t find it, he veered off, racing at a tangent to the caravan circle. His men swept after him and circled into the desert. They slowed and the leader once again stared at the caravan, searching.
Finally he halted and, standing in his stirrups, shouted, ‘Dhouti.’ There followed a long statement in the desert language directed to the caravan leader. When he had finished the brief statement, the leader brandished his sword once more and turned away, leading his band of raiders into the desert.
The dhouti shouted, ‘Halt the attack! Halt, all halt!’ Giles reined in swiftly, but Keja had to grab Petia’s sleeve and almost tug her from the back of her animal before her bloodlust quieted and common sense returned. She couldn’t follow and attack the brigands alone.
The defenders broke into a gabble as if they could not believe their good fortune. They slapped one another on the back and let out a shrill, rising cry that made Giles wince. It was their way of proclaiming victory.
The dhouti rode slowly toward where Giles and the others sat atop their mounts. Giles dropped his animal’s reins and slid to the ground. The dhouti squatted and beckoned them to come over to him.
‘What are you to the men of the desert?’ he asked, gazing coldly at them.
Giles lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the ground opposite the dhouti. ‘We are nothing to them, as far as I know. We arrived in Kasha less than two weeks ago. This is our first trip into the desert, as you can plainly tell.’
The dhouti’s hand waved toward the vanishing cloud of dust. ‘That is not what Seifal says. He says you seek something in the desert that is not yours, that it will bring your death. This foray was a warning. He could have cut my caravan to bits. What do you seek that upsets them so?’ His face came nearer to Giles until they were eye to eye. ‘Do not lie to me. I will have your head if you do. I will send it to Seifal as a gift.’ His dark eyes did not blink.
Around him, Giles could hear the caravaners pulling the lirjan into position in the caravan once again, preparing to continue along their way.
‘We look for the forgotten cities,’ Giles answered.
‘And then?’
‘We may find things discarded when the inhabitants left. Things that will be worth much in the markets of Kasha.’ Giles’ gaze met the dhouti’s unwaveringly. Keja and Petia stood to one side, listening.
‘You lie,’ the dhouti said without emotion. ‘You seek a single object, yes? What is it? You may as well say, for I abandon you here, in any case.’
Giles looked up at Keja and Petia, then turned back to the dhouti. ‘We seek the key to the Gate of Paradise.’
‘So. It is no wonder the Harifim attack. You walk into danger stupidly and with eyes open. My caravan will not be a part of it. We seek only safe passage to Kuilla. You will leave it here and now. I will give you some water and a compass. You have your own map. I wish you luck. Not in finding the key, may you be eternally cursed, but in keeping your lives.’ The dhouti rose and walked away.
By consigning them to the desert, he had sentenced them to a quick and painful death.
Six
‘At least that mouse turd left us a waterskin.’ Giles hunkered down as he made a quick inventory of their supplies. He finally shook his head and sighed deeply. ‘It could have been worse. We won’t starve or die of thirst yet.’
‘Always the optimist, eh, Giles?’ Keja bounced around, filled with nervous energy. ‘What are we going to do in the middle of the desert? We don’t know where we are, we have no protection. What if those raiders come back?’
‘We do know where we are.’ Giles pointed to the track ahead and behind. Worn smooth by thousands of lirjan passing along it for more than a hundred years. ‘We can follow it back to Kasha or ahead to Kuilla. There is some danger in staying on the caravan track but probably less than if we take out across the desert. At least we won’t get lost.’
Petia sat down on the ground and Anji squatted beside her. She looked at the two men. ‘You might as well sit down, too. It’s time to make another decision. Do we go ahead or do we return to Kasha and give up the search for the key?’ She handed the compass to Giles.
Giles sat down; Keja continued to pace.
‘Giles, I didn’t count on being abandoned in the middle of a desert.’
‘Neither did I.’ Giles looked from Anji to Petia. ‘And you have the boy to think of, too.’
‘The boy will be all right,’ she said defensively. ‘He knows more about this country than we do. I’m more concerned with us. Can we survive out here?’
‘We survived near drowning in the Flame Sorceress’ cave in Trois Havres,’ Giles said. ‘Can we survive this heat? We have supplies for ourselves and the animals. We have water, thanks to the dhouti. How long it will last is hard to say. The central question to answer is: how badly do we want the key?’
‘I’m not ready to give up yet,’ Petia said quietly.
‘Nor am I. How about you, Keja?’
Keja stared up toward the glowing sun and shook his fist. He looked at the other two. ‘You’re going to have to blame quitting on someone else. I’ll stay.’ He grinned, teeth flashing in the sunlight. ‘But I reserve the right to grumble.’
‘All right.’ Giles pulled out the map. ‘Let’s see if we can figure out where we are.’
A half hour later Giles felt more confident. He knew approximately where they were. If they continued along the caravan track for several more days, they should arrive at the place where Giles had planned to leave the caravan – the crossroads of an eastern caravan road to Masser.
When they gathered the reins of their lirjan, they could still see evidence of the caravan ahead of them. To either side the desert was empty, but ahead of them the dust drifted upward and to the east.
‘Anyone averse to walking?’ Giles asked. ‘It’ll be easier on the animals and may save water. We’re not in a hurry, anyway, are we?’
They tugged on the reins and the lirjan seemed startled that they were not being ridden. The track was wide enough for two animals, and at first Giles and Keja walked together as Petia and Anji behind. They talked little, reserving their strength. Still, it felt good having someone to walk with. For Giles it brought back the days during the Trans War and the comradeship in the ranks.
His mouth turned even drier when he remembered that, with the camaraderie, had come sudden, messy death.
* * *
The days settled into the monotony of rising with the sun, walking with animals and camping in the evening. They conserved their supplies, grudgingly became accustomed to the heat and began to feel more comfortable with the desert. But occasional strange occurrences kept them on edge. At times during the day, they heard eerie, unidentifiable sounds. ‘There, there it is again!’ Keja grated out. He wiped sand off his chapped lips. ‘The sound.’ He shuddered.
‘It’s just the wind whistling through rocks,’ Petia said. No one contradicted her, though the wind was deathly still.
At night the sounds came more frequently. Even Giles began to fidget and glance over his shoulder – only to find the same barren expanse that lay in front. Empty, silent and giving no clue to the source of the sounds. At times the moans were like human voices, lost souls, tormented beasts. At other times they were unlike any sound produced by dead or undead that they had ever heard. ‘What can we do about it?’ Petia asked.
‘I don’t know. Nothing. We’re committed to going on,’ Giles replied.
