Part 6 The years of service
1.Kassir and Rhea left the next morning. No one saw them off, the Sun Priests being busy with their own devices. Adar had not sought to talk to Kassir again, and Kassir could not help feeling relieved. Although he still remembered the tempting visions Adar had presented him during their first talk, he also thought of the High Priest’s cold and distant stare. And a small voice that went almost unheeded was whispering to him that he should be careful, that he should think twice before crossing certain lines, otherwise he might become just as dead inside as the leader of the Sun Priests.
The first part of the journey was uneventful. It was still hot, but not as stifling as before, and the sun no longer shone so brightly. The fear of wild beasts remained, and Kassir was more nervous, since now he wasn’t travelling with a caravan. It was risky, he thought, two people journeying like that in the desert. Rhea told him that she had travelled in the desert alone plenty of times and had found the road no more dangerous than with a caravan.
“It is true that there is safety in numbers,” she conceded. “But it is also true that two people have more of a chance of passing unnoticed than a caravan. In the end, our fate is in the hands of the Gods.”
For a while, the Gods were kind. During their seventh day, though, they woke up to find the sky grey and cloudy. Kassir frowned at the change.
“It’s not going to rain again, do you think?”
As the rest of his people, he was irrationally afraid of a second rainy day. But with him it was more. He could not help thinking that the rain was sending him messages, pursuing him, and offering him signs of things to come.
Rhea, however, shook her head.
“These are not rain clouds,” she said.
That should have been enough to put Kassir at ease, only there was something in Rhea’s voice that was far from comforting.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is wrong?”
“I’ve seen clouds like that many times. These speak of desert storms.”
That was bad news indeed. The village of Red-stones had seen only a few such storms, and all had been mild. Nonetheless, Kassir had heard the stories. Out here, in the open desert, sandstorms were vicious. People went mad from them. Some were even killed.
“Could we not hide somewhere?” he suggested. “Find a crack or a cave where we could remain and wait out the storm?”
“We cannot. There are no caves here. Only miles of empty desert between the settlement and the Temple of the Sun Gods. There is nothing we can do but face the storm head on. It can be done.”
Kassir looked at Rhea curiously.
“Have you done this before, then?”
“Not I. I knew someone who had - many times. We used to say the storms were chasing him; he was caught in so many. But he always escaped. In the end, to everyone’s surprise, it was a shadow-bear that killed him and not a storm.”
Kassir would have liked to find out more about this remarkable person chased by storms, but something in Rhea’s voice told him not to ask. Perhaps she had been fond of the man, fonder than she should have been, for servants of the Gods belonged to no one on earth and there were some relationships they were not allowed to pursue.
That afternoon the clouds scattered. There was a strange smell in the air, like something burning. Kassir thought he could see moving shapes in the distance – specks of dust joining and scattering on the horizon. It reminded him too much of his first sight of the sand-siren. They walked on and evening came. The sun sank low, red and dull. Such a sun was a bad omen for the people of the desert. They said that few that saw the sun like this lived to see it rise again. Kassir stopped abruptly, looking around him uneasily. Rhea glanced at him.
“What is it?”
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
“There is something,” he said. “I do not know what. But there is some tension all around us, ready to burst.”
Rhea’s eyes narrowed.
“It means the storm is about to start.”
“Then we can’t stop for the night?”
Rhea gave a quick shake of her head.
“We’d be buried in sand if we do. We still might, anyway, but our best chance of survival is to keep moving.”
Walking at night was a dangerous thing in the desert. The light of the moon was faint – it would not reveal sinkholes or cracks or the roots of long-dead trees that could trip them. Of course, Kassir saw better than most in the dark, but he did not know if that would help them much in a sandstorm. Still, he did not want to appear discouraged in front of Rhea.
“We will manage,” he declared with a confidence he did not really feel. “It will take more than a sandstorm to prevent us from our work.”
Rhea might have guessed that his words were only bravado and nothing else, but she was kind enough not to let it show. She even graced Kassir with one of her rare smiles.
As they walked on, darkness descended upon the silent world. The burnt smell was becoming suffocating. The earth vibrated beneath their feet, as if something was trying to escape from underground. The wind began to blow. It was a strange wind, powerful, but completely silent. It was more an invisible force that battered them, sending them this way and that than a true wind. It did not come from a single direction but was everywhere at once and they could not tell from where it was going to attack next.
Sand was blowing in their faces, invading their eyes and nostrils, knocking against their bodies. It blinded and suffocated them. They felt as if they were slowly being turned into moving statues, repositories of sand and dust, monuments to the cruelty of the desert. Whoever said the Desert Gods were merciful had not lived through a sandstorm. No merciful gods would unleash such horrors on their subjects, not even as a test.
But Kassir and Rhea took it exactly as a test, one they had to pass. No one failed a test from the Gods and lived. So, they went on, sometimes falling but never stopping, always picking each other up and moving on. They were staggering and spluttering lightheaded and almost blind. They did not know if they were going in the right direction anymore. They only knew that they had to keep moving. As long as the storm lasted, they had to keep moving.
It felt like an eternity, but in truth the storm only lasted the night. The sky was brightening when the wind stopped. It did not lessen gradually, but simply ceased, as if the previous night had been nothing more than a dream.
Kassir stopped, looking around him uncertainly. He could not believe the storm had passed. He was afraid this was nothing more than a trick, a way to lull them into a false sense of safety before it descended upon them again with even greater fury than before. Rhea staggered for a few more paces until she was level with him and patted him clumsily on the shoulder.
“It always ends like this. Suddenly. As if it was never there.”
Kassir did not say anything but patted the hand Rhea still kept on his shoulder. They stumbled a few more steps, then cast themselves on the ground. They lay there for a while, too exhausted to sleep, comforted by the sound of each other’s breathing.
2.The next day, Kassir and Rhea resumed their journey. They were tired but hopeful and glad to be alive. They had survived the desert storm and the world held more promise to them than before.
There were no more mishaps, and the rest of the journey went on smoothly. After a few more days, they found themselves looking at a handful of huts huddled together around a small spring. The village, isolated deep in the desert, was not much to look at. But Kassir, who for months had known only the company of Tar’s caravan and of the Sun Priests in their forbidding temple, thought it was the fairest sight his eyes had looked upon in a long while. He glanced at Rhea, and noticed her face was tense. She did not look forward to her homecoming.
They entered the village. People received Rhea well enough, although there was a hint of fear in their eyes. It was unclear if that was because of her connection with the Sun Priests or because they had always mistrusted her. Kassir was introduced as a hunter Rhea had met on the road. She did not say a word about his work for the Sun Gods or his status as a Light-tender.
The villagers were friendly with him and plied him with food and drink in exchange for news of other lands. Kassir spent a week in that village. Someone who did not know him would have said he did nothing other than chat with people and drink their ale. But his ears were always open and his eyes always sharp. He stood late into the night listening to talk people thought was only between themselves and friends they trusted.
It did not take long for him to track down the villager who had ties with the World Without. It was a merchant who had been out of the desert many times – certainly more than the priests recommended. He brought many things from there – some were harmless enough, but others were considered dangerous, writings and paintings and detailed maps. The priests usually confiscated such things. He spoke of the World Without as a place that could be good and beautiful – and that was dangerous talk.
Normally, Kassir would not have considered talking about the World Without in such a manner alarming. Run had done the same plenty of times, after all. But the merchant went even further and said people should move there since it did not hold the many hardships the Desert Gods saw fit to throw at them. He even said the next time he left to do his trading he might not return. Some of the merchant’s friends tried to make him fall silent, telling him sternly that he was talking treason. The Desert Gods heard everything, and they were bound to punish him. Not all, though. Many agreed – more or less reluctantly – with his ideas.
“It is true,” Kassir heard an old man remark one night in his house, “they do live better than us over there in the World Without. And it is strange to me at times that we are supposed to be the chosen and they the damned, when their lives lack the hardships we endure every day.”
Kassir heard all and wrote it in a letter for the Sun Priests as he had been instructed. He gave the letter to Rhea the day before she returned to the temple. Rhea took it without opening it.
“You have done well,” she told Kassir. “I am sure the priests will be very pleased with your work. Next year, when you visit the temple again, they might even reward you for this job.”
There were only certain times when a Light-tender could enter the Temple of the Sun Gods, and that was during the Festival of the Sun. Otherwise, Kassir would have to send news through the priests of the settlements he visited, or through other servants of the Gods, when he met them. He had known before leaving the temple that he would not be returning too soon. He did not mind too much. But he also knew that he could not stay in Rhea’s village too long, either, and he was left feeling oddly directionless.
“What am I to do now?” he asked Rhea. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“To the next village,” she replied. “And the next and the next. Go wherever people are gathered and look at how they live. Join caravans and listen to their stories. Observe how the people speak of the Gods and then have word sent to us. If you are needed in a certain place, you will be found and told. But, until then – go anywhere in the desert, for you will find things to report wherever you find people.”
Kassir felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. It was one thing to listen in on merchants and travellers who had clear dealings with the World Without. He could see Adar’s point that these could bring unwanted influences on the people and needed to be set straight. But spying on people who wanted only to be left to live their lives in peace without offending the Gods did not sit well with him. He was sure that Adar would say that, if they really did not offend the Gods and Goddesses, then they would not be bothered by the fear of Light-tenders listening in, as they had nothing to hide.
Kassir noticed Rhea looking intently at him. He could tell that she guessed what he was thinking. Strangely enough, even though Kassir was expecting a rebuff and a reminder of who his masters were, neither came. Rhea had changed after the sandstorm, showing less and less of her fanatic devotion to the Gods. Perhaps she trusted Kassir enough to present him with another side of herself.
“It is a hard life, that which you will lead,” she remarked sympathetically. “With long journeys and few friends met along the way. But you will do well, Kassir. I see it in your eyes that you have the determination for great things.”
Kassir smiled slightly. It made him feel down, though, knowing he was saying farewell to Rhea. During their journey to the Temple of the Sun Gods he had been wary of her. But then they were caught in the sandstorm, and he had started to see her in a new light. It was too bad they had to go their separate ways now.
“Will I see you again?” he asked hopefully.
“I do not know,” Rhea answered frankly. “There are many dangers for those treading the paths of the desert and some of us have less time than we hope for. But I do hope we will meet again and perhaps more than once. You were a good companion, Kassir. I would not have survived the desert without you. May the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses keep you in their thoughts.”
“You too,” Kassir replied in kind.
A rare smile brightened Rhea’s face. It vanished quickly, and she looked as hard and stern as ever. She turned and walked away without another word. Kassir did not stay to watch her go. He should be used to it, he told himself firmly. This was only one of the many partings of the last few months, and he was beginning to realise that the only things he could rely on from that day forward were the empty roads of the desert.
3. Kassir left the village the day after Rhea’s departure. There was no reason for him to stay there, now that his mission was over. His feet bore him almost against his will to the south-eastern path. He knew there was a small oasis a week’s march away and there were several settlements there, huddled close together. It sounded like a good place to go.
After a week, he found himself there. The journey had been without incident. After the siren and the sandstorm, he thought nothing could faze him much. Be that as it may, the road had been mild, and nothing waylaid the Light-tender. Kassir had done nothing but walk all day and find a place to sleep during the night. In truth, he had found the journey quite pleasant. Perhaps he was starting to get used to his new life. It was lonely, but, if he was honest with himself, he would say that he had been quite lonesome in Red-stones, too.
The first village he stopped in was bigger than Red-stones. He would soon learn that in oases the settlements were larger and wealthier. This one, for example, had tall wooden buildings fashioned in a manner that was entirely unfamiliar to him. It was a village of traders and they had copied the building style they had encountered in their travels in the World Without.
“It might be sinful, or so the priests would have us believe,” the village master confessed to Kassir. “But I think that, since it is our lot to spend our lives in this hellish desert and never leave, the least we can do is make sure we are comfortable. Do you not think the same?”
Kassir muttered a few non-committal words. He knew he had to earn the people’s trust or else they would be suspicious of him, but he did not know how much he was allowed to dissemble. What if he said something wrong and attracted the wrath of the Gods? He needed their support in his desert crossings. He would have to discuss the matter with the priests when he found himself back at the temple. Thankfully, the village master did not appear to mind Kassir’s uncertainty. He chuckled indulgently.
“I forgot. You are a hunter. To you, comfort is a foreign concept, and you think everyone must enjoy the same adventurous lifestyle.”
“It does have its advantages,” Kassir agreed, this time more readily. “But tonight, I will be more than glad to enjoy the comforts you so highly speak of.”
The village master grinned and pounded Kassir on the shoulder.
“I like you, lad,” he remarked. “And because I think you have an open mind, I will show you something I usually hesitate to show strangers – afraid that they might share it with the wrong person.”
Kassir looked up in interest. It appeared that he would not even have to use his skills much in that place. The village master was quite willing to tell him plenty himself.
“You make me curious,” he confessed. “And you know we travellers are a very curious breed. What is it you wish to show me?”
The village master winked.
“Not before you eat something with us. And, trust me, it will be worth the wait.”
The food was something Kassir had never tasted before. It was all from the World Without, rich fruits and salted meats and strangely flavoured cheeses. The wine was sweet and fragrant. It was not rare for the people of the desert to bring food from the World Without, but it was usually scarce and did not taste too good. This, however, was a dream come true.
Kassir did not refuse a second helping. Yet he was surprised that he had been offered one in the first place. Another known fact about food from the World Without was that it was rare and expensive. People seldom shared it with strangers and never in large quantities. Kassir could not help remarking on that. The village master and the others sharing the meal with them exchanged amused looks.
“Oh, we have our ways,” one of them said. “We know people who can always give us more.”
No one said anything else, and Kassir did not ask for more details. The hints they had given were damning enough. After the meal, the village master led him to the temple. The place was suspiciously dusty and Kassir guessed it was not used too often. There was no sign the village had a priest. He would have to look into the matter during the following days. The village master took Kassir to a small room hidden behind an alcove. Before unlocking the door, he measured the boy with a steady gaze.
“I rarely show this,” he said. “It is something not many people would understand, and I am not inclined to find myself facing charges for blasphemy.”
“You can trust me,” Kassir assured him.
He almost hated himself for saying it. A part of him would have warned the village master against opening the door because Kassir was the last person who needed to know what lay beyond it. But he knew his job and, even if it was unpleasant in this instance, he could not afford the luxury of turning away.
The village master opened the door and motioned Kassir inside the dark room. He lit a torch, revealing an empty chamber – except for three pedestals of stone. Each of them had a glass casket resting on it. Curious, Kassir approached. A different object was placed in each casket. He could not tell what these were. He had never seen their like before.
The first one was red, like the stones found in the hills in the northernmost part of the desert. It wasn’t one of those stones, though. It looked like a scale but, if so, it had to come from an impossibly enormous lizard. The second was a dagger, its handle carved with intricate motifs. The third also looked like a scale, only this one was made of silver. Kassir looked at it more than at the others. He could feel it again, the sensation of something approaching, something trying to steer him to a destiny not even the Sun Priests could have predicted. He looked away quickly, afraid he would find something about himself he did not wish to know. His questioning gaze met the knowing eyes of the village master.
“Never seen such things before, eh? Let me tell you what they are. The red one is the scale of a dragon.”
Kassir shook his head, sceptically. Dragons were only legends to the people of the desert. If they existed indeed, then they dwelt far away in the north on high peaks that the Sun Gods could not warm. Some, it was rumoured, lived also in the southern lands. But no dragon had been seen in the desert for more than five hundred years.
“Where did you get it?”
“From the World Without, of course,” the village master answered readily. “Just like the other two. This is a dagger used by a barbarian people living high in the mountains of the north.”
“What about this one?” Kassir asked against his will, careful to cast the object only a cursory glance.
The village master grinned, pleased that Kassir had left the best for last.
“That, my lad,” he declared pompously, “that comes from the City of White Marble itself.”
Quickly Kassir took a step back, putting a little distance between himself and the thing. He wondered what Adar would say to this. The priests surely believed that mere proximity to something like that was enough to make one tainted. Kassir thought he should not know more. There was nothing the village master could say now that would incriminate him worse than he already had. But he could not say no to his curiosity. There was no use denying the fascination he had for the object, especially now that he knew its origins.
“What is it, though?”
The village master shrugged, ruefully.
“I am not sure. I have heard it is from a creature that lives in the mountains near the City of White Marble. It has ties with the White Order – that is a group of priests living in the city.”
“You seem to know a lot,” Kassir remarked lightly.
“That happens when you know a lot of people.”
The village master did not say those people came from the World Without – maybe even from the City of White Marble, if such a thing was possible. But Kassir knew it was implied.
“And you keep these things in the temple of all places. Why?”
“Why not?” the village master challenged. “It is common to keep relics in temples for good luck, is it not? These objects have great power in the World Without. Maybe they are more effective than what our Gods give us. Since we’ve had them, there hasn’t been a single shadow bear attack. No storms or droughts, either. Food is aplenty, both for our beasts and for ourselves. Trade is good. Why put a stop to this?”
Kassir must have betrayed somehow that the talk made him uncomfortable. The village master shook his head, a faint trace of exasperation on his face.
“Life is hard here,” he said again. “And as village master, I am responsible not only for my life and that of my family – but for everyone that lives here. I am the one that must keep them safe, and my duty is first to them and then to the Desert Gods. Even if what I do might go against their wishes – it’s working, isn’t it? And that alone should tell you something.”
Kassir did not raise any more objections. His job was not to judge, but to report his findings to the priests. Part of him agreed with the village master, anyway. No one should fault someone for doing everything in his power to help those he was responsible for. He only hoped the Sun Priests would see it that way too.
Copyright Simina Lungu 2022
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