Sand Storm, page 6
part #11 of Wildcat Wizard Series Series
Feed Me
I awoke with the mother of all headaches and a thirst that had to be quenched. The sun beat down with its usual intensity, and I could not stand it for a moment longer.
Knowing I had no choice, I dropped down and slowly trudged back to the village and the only water supply I knew of. Once I'd finally made it and drank until my belly was ready to burst, I filled up the bottles, stripped naked, and had the best wash of my life.
The water was cool and fresher than new underwear from Marks and Spencer. As I sluiced it over my body, the combustible wizard ash soaked into the sand and I felt alive in a spectacular way. This was what it was all about, getting back to basics, a man alone in the wild, testing his mettle, escaping from big holes, and going on quests.
My skin tingled and goosebumps rose as I stood in the shade and continued to pour life-giving water over my head until my scalp was numb.
A desert rabbit darted out from a hidey-hole in the rock, probably disturbed by my singing as most creatures, human and animal alike, usually are, and I grabbed a rock quickly and threw it. I hit my target dead-center.
Things were looking up. I had water, I had food, but I guess I should have some veggies too. Ah well, my five a day would have to wait for a while.
Still naked, I built myself a fire in the shade and feasted on stringy rabbit. It tasted amazing. I packed up what remained and stored it safely in my backpack then gave my clothes a thorough soaking before dressing with them still sopping wet.
With the light fading, I gathered more wood then built up a huge fire. By the time I was finished my clothes were dry, and just in time.
The desert cooled, the sun did its rapid disappearing act, and I rested my back against the rock and slept the sleep of the soon-to-be-thoroughly-annoyed. But for now, for a little while, I enjoyed the sounds of the desert and slept, unmolested, full of belly and empty of mind, satisfied I had put Zewedu to rest.
Another Day
In the morning, after brushing my teeth and even having a pee, I decided to save the rabbit and break my fast with more water. I used my water bottles to wash, then filled them up for the trip.
As the sun rose, I once more set off into the desert, heading back the way I'd come, where I'd pass the car and could then slowly make my way towards civilization.
Signs of my passing were eradicated by wind and sand, but I knew the way, no worries about getting lost. I moved at a decent pace, got into the rhythm and walked in a flow state, mind empty, focused yet not focused, merely put one foot in front of the other and refused to think about what I'd discovered.
Time enough for that later.
At some point I had a bit of a profound thought, or maybe just a regular one, and put up a deep, impenetrable ward around the box, masking it from prying magical eyes and doing what I could to hide the power I knew it was emitting to those searching the correct magical wavelengths. It wouldn't hide its location entirely, but it would make it impossible to pinpoint. Give me a fighting chance if, or when, anyone came hunting.
Job done, I continued, and eventually made it to the car. I dared not open the doors for fear of the heat that had built up inside, but underneath the truck was beautiful shade and I took full advantage and lay down prone, pulled Grace over my eyes, and slept out the worst of the heat.
I was rudely awakened by being dragged by my ankles, which is no way to wake up. Startled, I tried to sit up, and whacked my head so damn hard I saw stars. Out from under, and miffed, I kicked and squirmed until whoever was abusing me released their hold and I shot up to my feet, Wand already released, and sigils flared.
Somewhat cleverly, I was plunged into darkness as someone stuffed an old sack that smelled like it was used to carry rotten potatoes over my head then whacked in the spots at the back of my knees so I collapsed. I was booted in the ribs and as I keeled over forward I puked up in the bag as I was kicked in my man bits by someone with excellent aim and incredible leg power.
There are better ways to wake up, although at least this one was memorable.
Aha
The jokers hadn't done their homework, as making wizards puke up in stinky bags ain't any way to get them on your side. They'd also not considered Wand.
Even before my nose split, which it did a moment later as I dove headfirst into the dust, Wand was channeling my will in a rather volatile and undirected manner. I waved him left to right as I hit hard, searing a path in front of me at about shin height.
A man screamed blue murder and I heard him collapse, which you would if your legs have been detached from your body.
The person behind me shouted in a panic, so I rolled over, got a face full of puke, and repeated the action as Wand pulsed with glee. I heard a satisfying squelch as the dude's innards splashed onto the ground.
Warmth spread over my lower legs, and if I wasn't already utterly grossed out by my own vomit I probably would have puked again.
With my free hand I yanked the sack from my head, smearing sick through my hair and all over Grace, and took a fighting stance, ready to deal with anyone else. A quick spin and I was satisfied there was nobody else, so I took a look at the my less than worthy foe, once I'd cleared my face of half-digested rabbit bits.
The man who had sneaked up behind me was dead, his insides already drying, long sausages that would begin to sizzle soon enough.
The other one was alive, legs severed halfway up his shins, and he was shaking terribly as he stared at his feet off to the side laying there like props. They looked fake, like a bad imitation of real feet, dirty and with chipped toenails. Flies were already feasting on the warm blood.
"Who are you?" I asked, not unkindly as he was in a bit of a bad way. Then I recalled he'd kicked me in the knackers so I grabbed him and shook him back to reality.
He spoke in a local dialect so I repeated my question in loud English so he'd understand as that's what you do when abroad, but he shook his head, his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he died.
Unable to think with all the gunk over my face, I rapidly stripped and cleaned myself up best I could. I'd never get rid of the smell, it would linger forever, but I did what I could.
With my water wasted, I searched the bodies but there was nothing to find. Each man wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton trousers, a lightweight shirt, and had a small bag containing water, some dried fruit, and their staffs which lay next to them where they died.
Local wizards, not powerful, but close enough to feel the call from the artifact. The first of many, no doubt, but they'd come close to getting me, and the box, so I had to be more cautious. No more sleeping under trucks for The Stinky Hat, I'd have to remain out in the open and vigilant from now on.
Time to up my game if I was ever to get out of the desert alive.
Over to the north was a rise then a dip, obscuring the desert, so I headed that way and was pleased I'd been right. Their vehicle was there, out of sight, and I guess it had been there for the night judging by the way the sand banked up on one side against the wheels.
I found the keys in the ignition, rummaged around in the truck bed and found more food, enough for days, and then I hopped in, started it up, and drove up onto the road, not quite believing my stroke of luck.
Apart from the sick thing, that was gross, and far from lucky.
Where To?
I whistled as I drove carefully along the dirt track, not wanting to risk damage to the battered vehicle, just happy to rest my weary bones.
It was slow going, but certainly faster than walking, and if nothing went wrong I could be back in Dire Dawa by the next day, home a few days later. Ah, home, it felt like a lifetime since I'd left, almost like it was all a dream. Did I really own all those things? Have a house, loads of stuff? Barns and more cars than I could recall, magic portals, artifacts, money? And two wonderful women to share it with? Surely that wasn't real? It felt so remote, like it was somebody else's life, not mine.
I ached to return to that life, to know comfort, to have a hug and to ogle my kitchen. Soon, I'd get there soon. I just had to remain vigilant, stay alive, and figure out what to do with this damn box.
What should I do?
This was too important to dismiss, and I couldn't even if I wanted to. Others were on the hunt as had just been made obvious, so I had to decide what to do. Maybe I should take some more time and beef the wards up further, do my utmost to hide the artifact inside from every being on the magical radar. No, I'd already done the best I could, the only thing to do was get home and think of a plan then.
For now I just had to keep hold of it, keep my hands off it, not be tempted, and try to forget the power I now held at my fingertips. I knew enough about this uber-artifact to know I should never use it, not even touch it, as it had driven many an adept to the far corners of madness because of what it could do.
So I drove, remained focused, and munched on fruit and dried meat I'd stolen from two wannabes who should have known better than to ever kick The Hat in the balls.
Everything still smelled of sick; guess I'd have to live with that.
Typical
About an hour into the journey, just as I felt I was getting somewhere, there appeared a sight familiar from my time here before. A large caravan of nomads were crossing the desert on their annual trading route. Passing numerous small villages and remote communities along the way, they traded, bartered, bought, and sold all manner of items to allow them to continue their way of life.
It was a sight to behold, and I had no choice but to stop and wait for the long train of camels, mules, men, women, and children to pass.
I turned off the engine and watched as camels laden with anything from pots and pans to handmade blankets, rugs, even small items of furniture, walked stoically past, giving me the indifferent look camels always did, disinterested and aloof, the same attitude as cats. Camels are perfect for the desert, a true hardy creature able to traverse the long distances between water holes without difficulty, providing strength, fuel when their dung was dried, and even meat if life got too hard.
I rested against the truck and watched the procession. Men and women wore brightly colored clothes made during the long days and nights they spent inside their tents, many wore jewelry of brass or silver, and they laughed and joked as they walked. They were happy, enjoyed this way of life even though they knew it was no longer the way things were. Even when I was here before, traditions had changed and the life had become harder as the villages they passed through grew smaller or were deserted entirely.
It became tough for them to sustain their traditions, more difficult to earn enough to continue their never-ending travels around the region, but they clung to the old ways and by the looks of it the numbers in this particular group had grown rather than dwindled.
Several young children, barefoot, wearing nothing but shorts, came running over to me, smiling and shoving each other forward to be the first to talk to the foreigner.
"Hey, little dudes, what you doing?"
They didn't understand, merely stared at me, wide-eyed and full of wonder as they fidgeted and whispered to each other. One of them said something to the others and they all ran off, screaming and laughing, back to their extended family.
The children ran up to a man and talked all at once, pointing over at me. I waved and the man waved back. He was tall, with short-cropped hair, and wore a traditional red and blue skirt type thing perfect for the weather and traveling long distances without discomfort.
He spoke to the children then approached me. His gait was a perfect example of how to move, and he almost glided across the parched earth.
I sensed a familiarity in his movements, his build, and a particular tilt of the head. But when he was close enough, it was the warm, open smile that left me in no doubt that I knew this man.
"Hello, my old friend," said Marcus, as he offered a hand.
"Marcus, you look the same as the day I left." I shook his hand, it was warm and calloused, the grip firm.
"And you look like you have been in the desert, my friend." Marcus smiled, knowing only too well what the desert can do to a man.
"A little detour. Unfinished business."
"Ah yes, you have returned to the village," he said knowingly, his accent so thick I had to focus hard to make out the words. Marcus had learned English when young, taught by his father, but when I met him he hadn't had much chance to practice as a young man similar in age to me, and I guess that hadn't changed. Also, why he was called Marcus still felt odd, as it certainly wasn't an Ethiopian name. But many parents called their children by two names, hoping that it would lead to wealth and all the trappings of a world that may just as well have been a million miles away from here.
"Yep, Zewedu called me. But that's done with now, demons have been put to rest."
"It has been so long, we were young boys when you departed. I see you made it through the desert, my friend."
"Sure did. Your hospitality helped, but I was still out there for many weeks after you left."
"It is beautiful, is it not? The desert makes you who you are."
"Sure is, and it sure did. So, you still traveling?"
"I will always travel, and now I have a family. We grow strong out here, our numbers multiply." As if on cue, the children came tearing back to us, braver now they had backup.
"Ah, my children," he said, beaming with pride.
"What, all of them?" I asked, counting six smiling little kids.
"Yes," he said, almost bursting. "And there is another one soon on its way. I am a lucky man."
"You sure are. Blessed."
"Come, my friend, you must eat with us. Tell your stories, you must have many tales to tell." Marcus put an arm around my shoulder.
"I do have a tale or two," I admitted.
"Then it is settled. You will spend the evening with us, sleep on a bed, and then tomorrow you can continue your journey."
With a shrug, I said, "Why not?" It would be nice to have company, hear about Marcus' life, and a bed sounded divine.
So I grabbed the keys and my pack and joined the procession as we headed off into the desert.
A Pleasant Evening
"And then the tentacled monster smashed through the glass and the acid water it lived in washed into the room and began to eat away the floor." The children gasped, oohed and aahed, their eyes wide. They huddled close to me, sat forward as I told my tale, another adventure for The Hat. It looked like Marcus' translation was adding even further embellishment to my tale.
Marcus smiled and nodded, happy to hear about my life and what I'd been up to. We'd already spoken over dinner, telling each other of our lives, and now most of the tribe, including all children from babes and up, were in the communal tent, a large fire in the center, and the stories were being told.
"And now it is time for bed," he said to me, before turning to the children and repeating it in the local dialect.
There were grumbles and groans but they did as they were told, and I was lucky enough to get a kiss from each cheeky child before their mothers took them off to the private tents to sleep.
Marcus and I moved to a spot by the fire and spoke in low tones well into the night about magic and monsters, family and friends, about people we'd lost, people we'd found, and how our lives had turned out after decades of maturing.
He was happy, content, had no interest in changing things. My friend was born into this life and loved it. He had a pretty wife who was heavily pregnant, his children, and his travels. What more could a man want? He had asked me that. It was a good question. But I enjoyed my life, one very different to his, and I realized I wouldn't change it for anything.
He showed me to a small tent with rolls of bedding. I said a thankful goodnight before I crept under the covers and slept a beautiful sleep that only the desert can bring about.
In the morning everything was bustle and busy, busy, busy. They had places to be, items to trade, and a timetable to keep. I helped dismantle the tents and pack everything up, and by the time the sun was becoming uncomfortable we had finished. We ate a light breakfast of bread and dried fruit then they were gone.
Marcus turned and waved before disappearing down the dunes.
It was good to see him, another old friend from the past.
Feeling great about life, I retraced my steps back to the truck, unsurprised to find somebody had nicked it.
I should have known I couldn't escape the desert so easily.
I Walk
Maybe it was because I was heading away from the grip of old memories, maybe it was because Zewedu was finally at rest and no longer pestering me, maybe it was because I knew I'd done what he wanted. Or maybe it was because of meeting Marcus. Whatever the reason, I was light of spirit as I walked along the dust track and headed to the village I'd got the truck from. It was quite a trek, and I had a ways to go, but I should arrive by evening if I maintained my pace and only rested for a few hours in the afternoon.
Then it was a trip to the city, then home. Woo-hoo, I couldn't wait.
The sun beat down, I munched on rabbit and other dried meats, I drank warm water, I kept getting the stink of sick, but I whistled as I walked.
And then I walked some more, and kept on going until the heat became unbearable and the ground shimmered as though ablaze. Grace was turned up to the max, swirling cool air around my scalp, but I was still overheating. There was no shade here, no way to cool off, so I stripped down and smothered myself in sunscreen then lay on my pack and draped my shirt loosely over my body and pulled Grace low over my eyes.
I lay there, baking in the midday sun, and prayed for something I knew seldom fell here. Rain.
It never came. There was nary a cloud, just blue, and the yellow of the desert. Nothing stirred, no breeze came to wash over me, no birds cried, no people passed, even the insects hid in their tiny tunnels where it was several degrees cooler.
