The Keys to Paradise, page 29
‘Someone’s grim idea of humour,’ Keja muttered.
‘Just the reality of the desert,’ Giles said.
They paused only briefly at the cairn. There were no signposts, and they turned eastward after Giles had examined his map once again.
‘For someone who could memorise a map of the coast of Bandanarra, you certainly refer to that map a lot,’ Petia said shortly, the heat beginning to wear on her again.
‘Into the unknown,’ Giles said, folding the map. ‘Can you imagine how your homeland has changed in a hundred years?’
‘A lot more than this country has changed, you can be sure,’ Petia replied. ‘The Trans War made sure of that.’
A somber mood settled on them as they turned east from the main track. More than once they turned to look back at the cairn dwindling from their sight. When they could no longer see it, they faced steadily eastward, and settled into their own thoughts. Giles nervously fingered the cloth beneath which the map rode easily. They had left the only place where any possibility of seeing humans existed. They had made the turn, the decision.
They were truly alone in the desert.
Seven
The terrain began to change within a few miles as they proceeded down the Track of Fourteen indicated on Giles’ map. Their lirjan’s hooves crunched differently, revealing less sand and a more solid ground. Before they knew it, they were walking on a wasteland of solid granite. The large boulders that had plagued their passage gave way to fantastic formations of wind-carved rock looming above them. Shadows created canyons of dancing darkness and light, yet the coolness they expected never quite made its presence known. If anything, this bizarre land of lacy rock sculptings and impossibly hard ground was hotter than the desert sand ever had been.
‘Look,’ said Giles, pointing. Petia and Keja said nothing. Anji still rode a pack animal, fitfully sleeping. Giles decided it was just as well that the child didn’t see the mummified corpses of lirjan, desiccated vestiges of failed caravans long past. Occasionally Giles saw packs and other remnants of the baggage that had been transported great distances to end up at this lonely, death-filled spot, but most were empty, shells from which the goods had long been removed. Perhaps the caravaners had redistributed the goods, or animals had carried off foodstuffs, leaving only empty cloth.
Probably the caravaners had died and desert scavengers had done the looting.
Throughout the morning, the companions kept a sharp lookout. By the midday break, their eyes ached from sand, heat and the twisting patterns of light and darkness playing against the rock formations. They sat, knuckling their eyes.
Keja was the first to put feelings into words. ‘I don’t care if we’re attacked or not, I’m closing my eyes. The glare is killing them.’
‘Put some water on a cloth and hold it against them,’ Giles said. ‘That will help some. I’ll keep watch.’
Giles wandered away, seeking shadow, hoping to find some small oasis of coolness. He knew it had to be degrees cooler in the shadows, but it was not a noticeable difference from the heat reflected off the stony sculptings.
Ahead Giles saw more mummified lirjan. He had become accustomed to finding them along the Track of Fourteen. Lying beside the bleached bones were two humans, dead for many years, mummified by the preternaturally dry heat. The packs, still roped to the lirjan, caught Giles’ eye. They contained the caravaners’ cargo.
Giles bent over the dead animal and cut the ropes with his dagger. The pack rolled slightly, allowing him to pull open the cover and reveal a mound of desert garments, fine weaves unravaged by time’s hot, groping fingers. A long, slender bundle, wrapped in a kind of canvas and tied with dried tendons, attracted his attention. He lifted it from the pack and cut the ties. The stiff canvas fought back as he unwrapped the heavy bundle.
He let out a low whistle of appreciation for the swords he found. The highly polished blades betrayed not a speck of rust. The hilts were of beautiful workmanship, joining the blades as if forged from a single piece of steel, the finest steel Giles had ever seen.
‘Amazing workmanship,’ he said, barely allowing himself more than a reverent whisper. ‘And there are five! Never have I seen one sword this fine, and I stumble across five!’
Giles picked them up, one by one, he examined them closely. Four were nearly alike, the only differences in the decorations adorning the hilts. The fifth sword had a florid inscription beautifully engraved on the blade near the hilt. He brought the sword closer, attempting to read the script. The language was not familiar.
He rewrapped the swords and pawed through the pack. He found only more clothing. The others could look at it before they went on. He carried the bundle of swords back to his lirjan and slid it under the ropes holding his supplies.
‘What did you find, Giles?’ asked Petia. ‘Anything to make the glare go away?’
‘Intriguing goods on that pack animal,’ he said. ‘Good clothing still in the pack farthest from here. Go and see if you want anything from it while I take care of this blinding light.’
‘The glare first, then the looting,’ said Keja, squinting. Giles nodded and began carving slits in small, flat pieces of bone he’d picked up from the lirjan skeleton. He unravelled some thread and tied it to a pair of bones with the thin slits carved in them. He tossed one set over to Keja.
‘Try these.’ Giles watched as Keja fastened the thread around his head. His eyesockets took on the aspect of a death’s skull, showing only bone white with a tiny black slit running the length of each. ‘Well? Do they work?’
‘I can’t see too well,’ Keja said, ‘but they do reduce the glare.’
‘Over the span of a few days, your eyes will adjust to the narrowed field of vision – and with the glare cut down, you won’t be complaining so much.’ Giles went ahead and fashioned the sun slits for Petia and Anji, then finished with a set for himself.
They looked like eerie, blind creatures risen from the grave, but their vision cleared. Before the end of the day, they discovered one additional benefit. The slit prevented blowing dust from caking their eyelids shut.
That evening Giles piled dried animal dung on the fire and huddled closer. Coming with the typical desert cold was a strong, gusty wind.
Across his lap he held the wrapped bundle of swords. ‘A present for you,’ he said to the others.
‘I wondered if you were going to share this fine booty, whatever it is,’ Keja said. ‘I saw you hide the package on your lirjan’ ‘No holding back, remember? We’re partners, even if we don’t trust one another overly much.’
Giles began to unwrap the bundle. Petia and Anji moved closer to him in anticipation. Giles enjoyed the suspense. It reminded him of the solstice celebrations in his village, the gift giving, the anticipation of youth for what they might receive.
When he finally revealed the blades, which flashed in the firelight, the others murmured in appreciation. Anji audibly caught his breath. ‘The swordmakers of Hamri,’ he breathed.
‘Who are they, Anji?’ Giles asked.
‘I have seen two such swords in the market in Kasha. One cannot mistake the workmanship, Master Giles. They are most expensive. Hamri was a place far to the east, on the coast, I think. Very famous swordmakers. But the town is gone, destroyed because of the evil that lived there, it is said. There are no more swords of this quality. See.’ He pointed to a small mark below the hilt. ‘The mark of the Hamri swordmakers. The little symbol to the right is the signature of the master craftsman who made the sword. Very expensive, priceless! They are said to be brave in battle, such swords.’
Giles lifted one sword and handed it to Keja. He gave a second to Petia. ‘See how they feel.’
The two rose and hefted the weight of the new weapons, going through both offensive and defensive movements with them, parrying, lunging, twisting and turning in mock battle. The ring of steel on steel was more than musical – it created a symphony that brought a tiny tear to Giles’ eyes. Never had he heard or seen such perfection. Keja was the first to return to the fire.
‘Incredible, Giles. It’s as if it were made for me. Beautifully balanced.’
Petia handed her sword back to Giles. ‘May I try another? This one is too heavy.’
Giles handed her the shortest of the five. It took only a moment for Petia to know that this sword was better for her. She smiled and ran her fingers along the blade. ‘A nice find, Giles. Thank you.’
‘I’ve reserved one for myself.’ He lifted the sword with the intricate inscription on the blade. ‘I don’t know if it’s right for my style or not, but such beauty appeals to me.’ He rose to test it. Never had the old warrior experienced such fluidity with a blade; it made him feel years younger wielding such a finely tempered weapon.
He, too, rubbed his thumb along the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness. Giles bent closer, examining the delicate script near the hilt, fingertip tracing the fine engraving.
The blade leaped in his hand as if the sword assumed a life of its own. He felt a vibration of energy run through his hand and up his arm, giving a power he had not felt even during his prime. He staggered to his feet, clutching the sword as if it might escape. An aura of the purest blue surrounded the blade, shimmering as if heat radiated from the steel.
Giles wondered if he should throw down the sword. Moving his left hand toward the blade, he felt the energy. Then his common sense took hold and he touched the script once more with his forefinger. The sword’s radiance vanished instantly. For a brief moment, it lingered in his hand and arm, then it, too, was gone. All that was left was a slight odour of ozone.
Giles sat down by the fire once again. The others stared at him curiously.
‘What was it, Giles?’ Keja asked. ‘Did you hear something?’ He leaned forward, a concerned look on his face.
‘You couldn’t see?’ Giles asked. Their puzzled expressions gave him answer enough. ‘The blade came alive when I touched the script. Let me try it again, now that I’m prepared.’
Giles held the sword in his right hand and touched the script once more. Again he felt the vibration, heard the angry buzz. He held the sword in front of Petia and Keja. ‘Can’t you see the energy shimmering off the edge of the blade?’
‘No.’
He thumbed the script again, then held the sword out to Petia. ‘Feel normal?’
‘Yes, a little heavier than I like,’ she answered.
‘All right, now touch the script with your finger.’
Petia touched the letters, stared uncomprehendingly at the blade, then touched them again. Wordlessly, she handed the sword on to Keja. His reaction was much the same.
‘Did you feel it?’ Giles asked. ‘It’s like a… it’s magic! You can feel the energy of the sword. I have no idea what it will do in combat, but it makes me want to find out.’ Giles sobered and shook his head. ‘It’s been years since I said anything like that. Wanting to go into battle.’ He shivered in reaction, but the feeling lingered within his breast. The sword was magical. He knew it.
‘Keep that sword for yourself,’ Keja said. ‘I don’t like the feel of it, not at all.’
‘I’ll be careful until I find out exactly what it can do,’ Giles said as he placed it back into the bundle. He had been raised with stories of youth stumbling across weapons too powerful for their hand and of the dire consequences of their misuse. Being too cautious with this fine sword didn’t seem possible.
Giles drifted off to sleep, his hand resting on the wrapped sword.
* * *
The days marched stolidly, one after another. The Track of Fourteen wound its way out of the monstrous sandstone formations and into another plain, this one dotted with boulders and knee-high raska bushes, which provided their lirjan with succulent green leaves.
Almost hypnotized by the terrain, it took several seconds for any of them to realise that the odd noise carrying over the plain had to be running footsteps. By the time they had turned on their mounts, a beast had reached the rearmost lirjan. Twisting its tail, it pulled the caravan animal off its feet, spilling Petia and Anji onto the desert floor. The slavering, long-fanged beast loomed over them, taloned claws tentatively groping for the helpless pair.
Without bothering to stop his mount, Giles slid to the ground. He ran, tugging at the new sword, which now hung in the scabbard at his side. It slid forth easily. He thumbed the inscription, feeling the thrum of energy.
The beast’s taloned paws flashed down toward Petia and Anji. It stood on legs as massive as stumps, planted wide apart. A mane of red hair billowed around its neck and flowed down its back.
Giles saw he would be too late; his legs couldn’t pump fast enough to give him the speed needed. ‘Aieeee!’ he shrieked, the old battle-lust rising within him. All thought of personal injury, of aching joints, of anything but saving Petia and Anji fled his mind.
The beast turned and faced the oncoming man. It was weaponless; with those teeth and talons it didn’t need more.
Giles raised the sword and swept forward like a human tornado swathed in steel. Keja followed a dozen steps back, approaching cautiously, waiting to see what developed between Giles and the beast.
The beast backed away from Giles’ insane blood-crazed rush. As Giles slashed, it dodged to one side with a speed that belied its size. It scrabbled in the sand with taloned hands, as if searching for something. It picked up a stone, then stood, facing Giles.
Giles dropped en garde, ‘Come and throw yourself on my sword tip, monster,’ he snarled. He didn’t care if it understood him or not. The beast backed away, glancing to see where the others were. Without warning, it raised the jagged stone and charged at the man. Giles extended the sword and waited for the charging creature to run onto it. As the beast reached Giles, it skipped athletically to one side and threw the stone at Giles.
Giles was caught by surprise. In his experience, no animal save man moved laterally with such quickness. The stone grazed his head, staggering him. He saw that the beast had stopped to pick up another stone and charged when the hairy creature bent over.
Giles’ sword caught the beast in the shoulder as it straightened, a new stone in taloned hand. The beast staggered. Blood oozed from the wound, and its thick body trembled. It shivered, tried to clap a hand to the wound, and fell to knobby knees.
Petia had struggled to her feet and reached Giles’ side, her sword ready. They stood, waiting, for a new attack, but the beast sagged. It attempted to stand, lifted one knee off the ground but wasn’t able to get any farther. Tremors ran through its body.
‘It’s had it,’ Keja cried, taking his place alongside the other two. Anji had gathered an armload of lirjan chips, and danced around, pelting the kneeling beast with the clods.
Keja started forward to administer the killing thrust when the beast muttered, ‘I surrender.’ One hand lifted weakly as if to ward off Keja. ‘I surrender.’
‘It can talk,’ Keja whispered. The small thief took a step backward, lowering the tip of his sword.
‘So it seems.’ Giles went to the beast, put his hand under the beast’s elbow, and helped the creature to its feet. ‘Keja, get a fire started, so we can boil some water. Petia, something for bandages. We can’t let him bleed to death.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Keja. ‘He tried to kill us. Slay him now!’ but Giles grabbed Keja’s wrist and stopped the lunge.
‘Let’s talk to him first, then decide,’ Giles said, a snap of command in his words. With ill grace, Keja backed away.
When the beast’s wound had been attended, and mugs of tea had been made from the last of the boiling water, Giles lowered himself to the ground, facing the beast. ‘Now, tell us who you are and why you attacked us.’
The beast peered at them nearsightedly. ‘I thought you were skeleton men. I hate the skeleton men and their Lord.’
‘Do you mean skeleton men come out here into the desert?’ Giles and the others exchanged puzzled looks.
‘You know of the skeleton men, too?’ the beast asked.
‘Two were pointed out to us in Kasha. Do they live out here?’
The beast nodded. ‘In Shahal.’ He gestured eastward with this head.
‘What is Shahal?’ Petia asked.
Anji spoke up. ‘A lost city in the desert.’
‘It’s not lost,’ the beast said, looking oddly docile now that he wasn’t attacking. ‘I know exactly where it is.’
Anji drew himself up proudly. ‘In Kasha they say that Shahal is a lost city.’
The beast stared at Anji. His myopic, unwavering eyes disconcerted the boy, who finally looked away into the dust.
‘The city is not lost. How can it be when I know it is many days travel to the east. It was my home. Once.’ The beast paused and stared off into the distance, remembering better days. ‘It was the home of many beasts, a magnificent rock city, Shahal. Cool during the day, pleasant in the evening when we could look across the desert from our balconies and watch the setting sun.’ Sadness and nostalgia tinged his voice – and bitterness.
‘You said it was your home,’ Keja said. ‘Why isn’t it your home any longer?’
‘The Skeleton Lord stole it from us. He and his army of skeleton warriors. They outnumbered us. And the skeleton beings are difficult to kill. They have no blood, they did not bleed when we fought them; they kept coming. We were driven out and the Skeleton Lord took our city for his own evil purposes.’
‘What did you do then?’ Giles asked.
‘We scattered into the desert. When we tried to go back, we were turned away by the skeleton men.’
Giles pulled the map from his tunic. ‘There is no city named Shahal on this map.’
Giles leaned forward and placed his finger on the map. ‘This is where we are now.’
The beast grabbed the map away and held it closer to his face. ‘Look, look,’ he cried. ‘My friends. See, these are my friends!’
