Sand Storm, page 3
part #11 of Wildcat Wizard Series Series
With a suitably eerie creak, all part of Zewedu's magic and there for effect only, the door eased open and the gloomy interior was revealed, sickly light entering through the small windows either side of the door.
Now, you'd think maybe the smell would hit, that it would stink to high heaven after Zewedu's corpse being entombed for so long and the room being closed off, but the windows were just holes, no glass needed, and the temperature was always pretty constant here in the mountain. Sure, it was rather musty, and could do with a little air freshener, a quick spray with something toxic that in no way smelled of pine trees, but it could have been worse.
The room was lit by a half-light that never changed during the day, shadowed by the overhang outside, but I saw well enough.
There on the floor, dead as dead could be, was the desiccated corpse of Zewedu. There was no moisture here, everything was dry as a bone, and slowly, over the years, all liquid in his body had been sucked out of him. Zewedu had been skinny in life and he looked almost the same size now. His skin was like leather, dark with a dull shine as though he'd been polished in places. Sand had banked up against one side as it blew through the windows as though his burial had begun then been abandoned.
Naked, which was how he usually was, I could see that animals had taken a few nibbles, but it was mostly ants that had stolen his flesh, probably helped preserve the body by sucking the juices out of him soon after death. His wards had stopped anything larger doing much damage and even now I sensed the faint traces of protection lingering around his corpse like a dog refusing to leave its master.
It was the head that got to me. The wound in his neck was a mere hole where I'd ended his life, puckered and dark as his open mouth. His dreadlocks trailed away across the compacted earth, great coils of rope almost silver. His eyes were shut but his mouth gaped wide just like in his disembodied appearances and I kept expecting something gross to pop out but it never happened.
I skirted the body carefully, loathe to disturb him from his permanent slumber, and inspected the rest of the house. There wasn't much to see. The rudimentary kitchen area, little more than a fire pit and a few pots and pans, bowls for washing up in. The rest of the room was empty save for several rugs and a wooden chair he refused to let us ever use.
The bathroom and bedroom were just as devoid of anything interesting, so I returned to the main space and stood inspecting the old man, wondering why I was here, kind of glad I couldn't ask him but knowing I had to get an answer from somewhere or what was the point of all this?
With little else to do, I sat cross-legged on the ground and leaned back against the cool rock wall. For maybe an hour, maybe longer, I did nothing but wait, watching my old master as I contemplated the possible reasons for his call. There was nothing that came to mind that made any sense, nothing I could dredge up from my memory that warranted this insistent beckoning. I knew when I killed him that it was what he wanted, that he was finally afraid and couldn't do it himself. I'd done it without a moment's hesitation, so deeply entrenched was I in the world he'd created, the two of us alone for so long. Close, so close to each other yet the distance had been huge, his strange nature making it impossible for us to connect and show any signs of affection.
I was brimming with magic then, untamed and dangerous, and utterly under his thrall. Yet I'd still known it was time to leave so that's what I did. Now I'd returned and it was doing me no favors, merely making me depressed when I thought of the man I had been, the things I endured under his ever-watchful rheumy eyes.
"What do you want, you old goat?" I whispered, disturbing dust motes that spun lazily then sailed away towards the windows.
The head shot through, in no way disturbing the passing dust, and then the door slammed shut. Darkness became total then was replaced with a silver glow that spread out from the corpse like the ground was freezing. And it was bloody cold, the temperature plummeted and I shivered, so welcome after the heat.
The head twisted as it glided to the center of the room then it spun around and around impossibly fast before the mouth opened wider than ever before and Zewedu's scream pierced the very fabric of my being and set my teeth rattling.
Faster and faster, nothing but a blur, and then it suddenly stopped, stared me right in the eye, then gently, as if to ensure I was watching and understood, it dipped forward and pointed at the ground before it sank right through. Spectral dreadlocks slithered through the earth until they too were gone and nothing remained but one old man and one very dead wizard.
"Subtle, dude, very subtle."
With a sigh, I clambered to my feet, looked down at Zewedu, and said, "I'll go get that spade then, shall I?" Thankfully, he didn't answer.
Bit Ominous
As I dug deeper with the fold-up shovel I'd paid a fortune for into the surprisingly soft ground, I got the uncomfortable impression I was digging my own grave. I'd expected hard rock just beneath the grainy surface I'd been made to sweep daily but the loose dirt mixed with the ashes of countless fires just went deeper and deeper. I dug out bits of charcoal, pieces of bone from meals long ago consumed, and more than a few things I peered at suspiciously then discarded as of no import.
There was a lot of hair, from long fine threads to whole lengths of dreadlock, and I even found a sandal. But I hadn't been shown where to dig just to reclaim crap footwear, there was a real purpose to this and so I continued.
I flung earth away into the corners of the room, coughing and spluttering, necking water, and generally muttering under my breath the whole time.
The hole grew large and long, and when I clambered out for a breather I realized I really had dug a grave, a bloody deep one at that. Was this why I was here, to give the old man a decent burial after all these years? Surely not. He was happy where he was, wasn't he?
"Are you? Are you okay there or do you want to go in?" I asked.
The door rattled in its frame.
"I'll take that as a no, shall I? Or was it a yes?"
The door rattled twice.
"Fine, be like that. Hell, look what you've done. I've only been here a few hours and already I'm going a bit mad, talking like you're still alive. Well, you aren't, you're dead, and I thought that would make you happy."
The door rattled three times; there was no pleasing some people.
I eyed the hole with suspicion then with a wipe of my brow I hopped back inside and continued to dig. Maybe I'd reach hell eventually, maybe I was already there.
I hardly rested throughout the day, I dug through the afternoon and evening, and then I stopped because I couldn't see anything.
Rather than return to the truck for the portable lights, I released the Velcro at my pocket and pulled out Wand.
"About time! What's your game leaving me in there when there's adventure to be had?" he moaned.
"Been busy, didn't want any distractions. And besides, this is personal."
"Personal, I'm you, you're me, we are the—"
"We're the same, blah, blah, blah," I interrupted, having heard the lecture many times before.
"No need for that," he said with a sulk and a droop of his head. Yeah, I know, he's a stick, tell him that.
"Look, are you going to give me some light so I can work, or not?"
"Fine, but don't put me away again, not unless I'm sleepy," he added.
"Whatever."
I released Wand and he lit up like it was bloody Christmas as he hovered above my head. White lights flashed on and off, inducing an instant headache. "Seriously?"
"Spoilsport."
Wand switched to a more muted glow, still with a series of small lights running along his length, but it would have to do. I continued to dig, wondering just how deep this mystery went.
Clonk.
The spade hit something hard but hollow-sounding. I bent and peered at the item as I wiped away the dirt. It was a small box, nothing special, but I was sure the contents would be.
I dug around the edges then pulled on tiny handles either side and lifted it out of the ground. It weighed next to nothing, made no sound, and I wondered if this was just Zewedu's idea of a joke. He'd always had a dark sense of humor, reveled in my discomfort, and had me doing countless things I later discovered were for no other reason than his own amusement at my suffering.
"A little more light?" I asked Wand. He came closer as if to take a look and we both peered at the nondescript lid of a simple wooden box, gray with age and brittle as Zewedu's desiccated toenails, which were disgustingly long now.
I used the spade to prize the lid off, jumping back as it came free for fear of a long-forgotten spell being unleashed and chewing out my brain or something really nasty.
Nothing happened.
"Scaredy-cat," I scolded Wand as he slowly approached after darting away into a corner.
"Can never be too careful," he said sheepishly.
We peered into the box. There was a piece of paper. Yellow and curled up at the edges.
I lifted it out carefully. It was a detailed drawing of the surrounding area, complete with dunes, rocky outcroppings, and the craggy mountains.
There was an X marked right in the middle of nowhere, in the huge desert several miles from here where the ground never saw rain and nobody went because there was nothing to see.
"Seriously, Zewedu? A fucking treasure hunt?"
Guess I knew what I was doing next.
Not the Best Sleep
There was no point tearing off into the desert in the middle of the night. For one, I had no truck, two, I was hungry and had to find food, three, it would be scary.
By the light of Wand, I gingerly descended from the hellhole of pirate treasure maps and did my damnedest not to trip on the steps and go arse over tit into oblivion. That would be typical, dying here with nobody finding me for decades, looking just like Zewedu but with a nice hat. His hat, in fact.
Safely down on terra firma, I headed off a little ways into the desert and then sat my bony bum down on the sand.
"What we waiting for?" asked Wand.
"I thought you were me, I was you?"
"Just making conversation. Shall I dim the lights?"
I stared at my idiot companion. Damn, it was like having Vicky with me. Ah, that was it, he was making up for it, doing things he knew I secretly enjoyed. Like making fun of Vicky's height, or lack of it, and her penchant for kids' jumpers.
"Thanks," I said gruffly.
"Welcome." Wand dimmed his lights and we waited.
It didn't take long. About fifteen minutes later a small rabbit came to investigate the light. As soon as it was close enough I gripped Wand, felt my will surge into him, then shot out a slender blast of darkest death like a javelin that killed the creature without suffering.
I took my prize back to the village and scavenged wood from the old hut roofs before bundling it up and carrying it up the steps.
Once inside, and wondering why I hadn't stayed out in the open where there were no ghosts, and no dried-up bodies either, I nonetheless set about making a fire. Once it was burning nicely, I skinned the rabbit with my trusty pocket knife, chopped it up, and used some of its own fat to smear an old cast iron pan before setting it to cook.
Sinking to my haunches, I stared into the flames of the small fire that sent orange light dancing across the uneven walls. A familiar smell of smoke and grease filled my nostrils and I smiled. Maybe I should have never left. Maybe I should have stayed here, lived simply, remained apart from the complications of modern life like Zewedu had.
No, this wasn't my place, I belonged somewhere now, my search was finally over, and I would return home no matter what.
The flames flickered, the smoke was sucked out through the cleverly designed hole in the rock far above, and I watched the fire, lost to times long gone.
I burned the rabbit, but it still tasted delicious. I ate like a caveman, using my fingers. Grease dripped down my wrists, soaked into my beard, and ran down my chin. It was the best damn meal I'd had in years.
Plus, and total bonus, no need to bother washing up. I threw the remains of the meal, pan and all, into the pit and covered them over. With dust and grease having turned me into the ash man, I returned to the fire and sat there, full of belly, dirty and stinking of smoke.
"Just like old times, eh?" I asked, turning to Zewedu.
An eye opened, stared right at me, as rheumy and bloodshot as ever.
"Haha, good one. Guess you still have a few tricks left to play on your old student, eh?"
The eyelid closed and I returned to stare at the flames.
The dead can't hurt you. Usually.
At some point tiredness overcame me, jet lag with a vengeance. I downed the rest of the water then relaxed on the ground, curled up tight to keep warm as the fire slowly died.
My sleep was fitful, filled with nightmares of being buried alive, of being trapped in the room until I starved, gnawing on Zewedu's leathery corpse for sustenance but finding it was devoid of anything but maggots lurking under the hide. Their skins popped as I chewed them and warm liquid oozed down my throat.
I awoke with a start, panicked that I was trapped, but I was just caught up in my jacket sleeves. Once I extricated myself, I pushed the last of the wood into the embers and blew hard until the fire was resurrected. Rubbing my hands together, I got the circulation going before standing and taking in the room.
"Fine, I'll do it, but you better say thank you."
I arched my back until it cracked then picked up the shovel, flattened out the base of the trench, then dragged Zewedu in. I laid him out nicely, saluted, then buried him. Hopefully I'd never see him again.
My work done, I gathered my things, shovel included as I just knew I'd need it, and with the map secured in my pocket I left that place, vowing never to return.
Off We Go
I secured the shovel across my back like a gunslinger, using the straps of my backpack to hold it in place. Then I filled my water bottles from the well at the base of the cliff, thankful it still offered up its crisp, mineral-rich succor. The water was why the village was here, and had even been piped up to the caves but must have clogged over the years.
With a final glance at the village, I set off into the desert like I had before, except this time I knew exactly what I was doing, where I was going. Which, quite frankly, made it much worse. I knew what to expect, and none of it was good. First a quick detour to the truck to get the rest of my gear, then the adventure would truly begin.
Ten minutes later I was regretting not taking this trip at night. The day was blistering even by Ethiopian standards. The sun was fierce, as though angry with me for something, and the shade offered by Grace did little to help. Even the magic that swirled around my head and cooled my overheating brain wasn't up to such a challenge and soon it faltered completely.
Heat intensified. I regretted not wearing shorts but what self-respecting wizard would ever do that? My pack grew heavier by the minute.
I also got sand in my boots, in my mouth, and in crevices where I knew it would remain for years to come no matter what I did. So with my bits chafing, my lips already cracking, and the craving for a coffee and a nice breakfast gnawing at my insides, I waded through the dunes until I topped the rise. True desert lay before me in all its uncaring glory.
I headed into the west with the sun at my back, off on a fool's errand looking for who knew what.
Tired Already
There's a technique to walking in the desert. If you don't get it perfect, if you go out of the rhythm and lose the special swing of your hips, the ever so slight lift of the legs, almost gliding your feet across the sand as you put one foot slowly in front of the other whilst ensuring your boot lands flat for maximum surface area, then you are in for a very sorry time.
I could never figure out how to do it.
Nomads, and the many tribes of the desert, had this special way of walking down to a fine art. They almost floated across the dunes, having learned the hard way that unless you conserved every ounce of your energy you would be taken by the vastness and never return to your home and loved ones.
I had been shown many times by an increasingly exasperated Zewedu how to move in this particular fashion but could never quite get it to work.
What I ended up with was something unique to me, a way of walking that didn't utterly exhaust me but wasn't quite how you were meant to do things. Main thing is, it worked to a degree. I kind of slid the tip of my boot across the surface to bring the foot forward, gently tickling the top grains of sand, then plonked it down flat. More effort than the experts, less than someone new to the desert.
It was still exhausting.
The desert will catch you unawares unless you remain ever-vigilant. You have to constantly check your surroundings, watch the ground in front of you, take note of the sun's position and keep your destination firmly in mind. Otherwise, you'll wander around in circles endlessly until you eventually die.
One moment the ground is compact, the next your feet sink in like quicksand, and if you break your stride, lose your momentum, it sucks at your energy and destroys you.
Not only is walking on the flat treacherous in itself, with small pockets of cracked earth hidden beneath a dusting of sand waiting to twist your ankle and leave you hobbling about, but the moment you find yourself on even the slightest rise, on sand blown into almost imperceptible dunes by the fierce winds that scour the landscape clean, you become drained within minutes.
Walking on sand is like walking through snow, but a lot more tiring and you don't even get to go sledding. Your feet don't function properly and you find your body playing tricks on you, making the experience like wading through water. So, um, like snow and water then.
So, all of this is to say, that as I trudged across the barren desert, went up rises and down shallow banks, trod cracked earth and ground as soft as a bed of feathers, I was truly knackered and I'd only been walking for an hour.
