6.They buried Run the next morning before moving forward. They also had a wounded guard, but his wounds were not grave. All in all, it could have been said the price was not too high – one dead, one wounded, out of thirteen – in exchange for safe crossing and a dead sand-siren. Kassir did not see it that way. He could not stop thinking about Run. He had been only a few years older – and that was far too young.
“Did he have any family?” he asked. “He said once his father was a merchant.”
“He has two younger sisters, too,” Batar replied heavily. “I know the village where they live – it’s not a wealthy village. Run joined the guards because his father had a poor haul this year. That’s the usual reason for young men to join the guards. I’ll have to tell them when we get back.”
Kassir glanced at Batar, noticing his face was set. It was probably not the first time he was forced to deliver unwanted news to the families of his guards. But Kassir almost wished he was the one to tell Run’s family. After all, Run had died protecting him. Then he thought of his own family. If something happened to him, no one would bring the news to Rashed and Malna. They would never know. For what it was worth, he was already dead to them.
The dwindled caravan set out again. Nights were cheerless now without Run’s stories. Kassir often thought of him in the evenings, of his talks about the World Without and his fascination with the City of White Marble. He knew what a fervent follower of the desert Gods would say – that Run had said something to offend them, that his death was a punishment or a warning to anyone who thought too much about the World Without. But Kassir did not believe that. He did not think any gods worth serving would punish someone so severely just for having an open mind.
For a few days after the incident with the sand-siren, the caravan travelled without further attacks. Indeed, there was hardly any life at all in the desert. No creature that could survive that infernal heat had the energy to stalk and ambush a caravan. The heat of the burning sun was proving to be a fatal danger in itself.
It was Kassir who felt it first, even though he could not tell what it was in the beginning. He woke up one morning feeling strange. The world was too clear and bright, yet at the same time muffled and remote, as if he was looking at a detailed painting that was not real and could melt away at any moment. He swallowed and found his throat painful. It did not surprise him much. Water was severely rationed as they did not have many chances of finding a spring before they reached the Temple of the Sun Gods. Many of the others were disoriented too, and some stumbled, as if hitting unseen obstacles.
That day proved a torture. At midday, Kassir was sure he had been set on fire. He nearly begged Tar to stop a few times. They could not go on like that. They had to rest until the sun was lower in the sky.
It would have indeed been much better if they could move only in the evenings and at night, stopping to rest during the day. It would not have saved them from the sun, but at least it would have spared them from moving in that hellish heat, bending their wills to the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other until they had nothing left to give. But this was the caravan that bore the yearly tribute to the Sun Gods, not a merchant’s convoy. There were laws to be observed. One stated that the goods were to be transported in the full light of day. They were for the Sun Gods, after all.
That night, Kassir felt slightly better. Yet he could not sleep, and when he did manage to drift off a little, he had strange dreams that made no sense to him. The next morning, he noticed that Tar eyed a few of the caravan guards, shaking his head. Kassir did not know what made the caravan master uneasy, but he felt a little on edge himself. Tar was a hard man. He did not let things bother him unless they were worth bothering about.
The next day was even hotter. The very air was sweltering, and the ground burned beneath their feet. They walked all afternoon when suddenly one of the camels carrying the tributes fell to its knees. It did not try to get up again. Tar went to inspect it. He shook his head. His face was set.
“Unload the goods,” he said. “And load them on another beast. Then start moving again. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I am done.”
At first, Kassir did not understand why Tar was sending them away.
“Why doesn’t he want us to stay?” he asked while he was working together with the others to redistribute the goods among the rest of the camels.
“He doesn’t like having us around when he does it,” Batar said grimly.
“Doing what?”
Batar pointed to the fallen camel.
“The poor beast’s sun-struck. It’s had it. The kind thing to do now is put it out of its misery – end its suffering before it gets worse.”
Kassir was horrified. It was one of the baggage camels – not his own Windrush - but it felt like losing Run all over again. There had to be another way.
“But...” he began, when Batar cut him short.
“Don’t start,” he said sharply. “It’s the way of desert crossings. You lose – people or animals. You cannot cross the desert without a sacrifice to it.”
Kassir thought of pointing out they had already offered a sacrifice to the desert. But maybe Batar thought it had not been enough.
The caravan was again on the move. Two hours passed before Tar joined them again. He made no mention of what happened. He acted as brisk and business-like as ever. But Kassir spotted a trace of sadness in his eyes. Whatever Batar said about the rules of desert crossing, it was clear they were not as resigned as they liked to let people believe.
Kassir was feeling despondent and overwhelmed. He thought of the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses. People said they protected the desert folk. If so, then why did they have to undergo so many hardships? Desert crossings in the hottest season to bring tributes to the Temple of the Sun Gods; those with gifts forced to leave their homes and serve the Gods, never settling down; people exiled to the World Without, far from their loved ones because their journey lasted longer than the priests decreed. Those were not the acts of fair gods. The young Light-tender quickly shook his head until he felt even dizzier. He glanced surreptitiously at Rhea, half-afraid something on his face could betray his thoughts bordering dangerously close to blasphemy. But Rhea was not looking at him. She was too busy keeping herself upright.
That night, Kassir had strange dreams again. He could not understand most of them, but they troubled him deeply. He dreamed of the City of White Marble, vague and formless, as if it was a city of fog. But he could clearly see gigantic white shapes circling it. They looked like dragons – or giant eagles. He could hear voices calling him. Some he recognised – Rashed and Malna and Lusa. Others were foreign to him. At times, he could hear the roaring of a fire and the barking of a dog.
His eyes snapped open when he felt something touch his brow. It was still dark outside. Tar was leaning over him. Kassir frowned.
“Don’t move too much,” Tar told him. “You’re feverish.”
His thoughts and dreams had a simple explanation, then. There was nothing ominous or prophetic in them, just the results of a fever. He must be sun-struck. He recalled the camel that day. He shivered. Tar patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t go looking so frightened,” he told him gruffly. “You’re not that bad off yet. It could go away in the morning. And we’re getting closer to the temple. We might reach it before this gets worse.”
Then Tar gave him a little water and told him to go back to sleep. Kassir fell back into uneasy dreams.
The next day, he did not feel any better, but at least he could walk, and his head was mostly clear. One of the guards – the oldest – collapsed that day and had to be tied to his camel. Two other guards looked sick. Rhea’s eyes were wild. The effects of the fever were upon them. This was their second test. Although the sand-siren had not killed all of them, the sun very well might.
7.On the following days, they lost two guards and four camels to the sun. Luckily, they still had enough strength to carry the tributes between them. Most of the time, Kassir barely knew who he was. He did not know where he was going, either. All he knew was that he had to keep going. If he kept going, perhaps they would escape the sun. At other times, fear gripped him, and he thought that they were moving closer to the sun. Then he thought the only way he would be free of the heat was if he went back and found a way out of that hellish desert.
He must have said that out loud. He remembered some of the others looking strangely at him, as if afraid he was possessed. He was lucky Rhea was almost as out of it as he was. Otherwise, she would have had something to say about his blasphemous ramblings.
After a few days, it got worse. The only good thing was that they came across an underground well. It did not hold much water, but it did help. Kassir was feeling much better after a fresh drink. He was more aware of what was happening around him, even though he was still a little dizzy.
That night, as he lay dozing in their campsite, he overheard an argument between Tar and his son. They were speaking in low voices. Clearly, they thought he was asleep, or they would not have had this talk at all.
“Things are going badly, father,” Batar said.
Tar grunted.
“They could be worse.”
That was Tar. One did not survive twelve desert crossings without developing that kind of mentality. For someone like him, every loss was expected - every defeat could always be worse. Batar was less experienced than his father and was beginning to panic.
“Tell me how it could be any worse,” he said. “Look at us. We’ve lost camels. We’re barely trudging on with the tributes. I’ve lost three men. They were my guards, under my command and my responsibility. As for our Light-tender, he’s... he’s…”
“A little worse for wear.”
Batar snorted, shaking his head at his father’s assessment.
“No,” he corrected bluntly. “He’s more than a little worse for wear. He’s sunburnt and feverish. He’s delirious at times. You’ve heard him. He might be dying for all we know.”
There was a silence and Kassir held his breath. He had not been aware that he was dying.
“I have heard it say that it takes more than a simple desert crossing to kill a Light-tender,” Tar commented calmly.
“But it might take less to kill a sixteen-year-old lad.”
This time, Tar did not contradict him. Kassir strained to hear more. He hoped they would keep talking. They had frightened him quite a lot, but he hoped they would say more.
“What do you think they will do to us if we do not manage to bring the Light-tender safely?” Batar asked. “Will we be lucky enough to escape with only some time in the dungeons? Or will they send us away?”
“I do not know. I do not think they would be too hard on us. We are doing all we can. Rhea can tell them.”
Batar snorted again.
“Rhea doesn’t remember her own name right now.”
They stood for a while in silence and Kassir thought that was all they were going to say that night. Then he heard Batar’s voice again.
“It is not really that I am afraid of any punishment that might come from the Priests. But this is not just any Light-tender. This is Kassir – our Kassir. I have grown quite fond of the lad in the past month. And he saved us, Father. He saved us from the sand-siren – risking his life and managing something no one has before. We would not be here now, had it not been for him. We owe him. We need to pay our debt to him.”
“And we are paying it, son,” Tar said softly. “We are doing all we can to get Kassir safely to the Temple of the Sun Gods. It is not a long journey to the temple now. Only a few days. Kassir can surely hold on until then. He’s strong – and it is not only that. I do not think our young Light-tender is one to be killed by a mere desert crossing. He has the look of one fate has plans for. What those are, it is not for me to know. But he must be alive to fulfil them.”
The two did not speak anymore that night. The world was silent now, as Kassir’s fevered brain tried to make sense of what he had just heard. The thoughts were jumbled in his head. Only one stood out from all the others. Tar had mentioned that he was one chosen by fate. It could have been only the sunstroke and the fever, but Kassir felt that was right. He felt he was being led towards a destiny even the Desert Gods could not control.
Copyright Simina Lungu 2022
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