And on it went, day after interminable day, a creature of the desert now, truly at home. This was where I belonged, where I was meant to be. To suffer, to be purged, to be beaten down and forced to become nothingness.

  Mind empty, body failing, covered in blisters and burns and carrying the most important artifact in history upon my back, I was the chosen one, being tested in the desert to see if I was worthy of such a prize. I became utterly mad, had visions of God-like status, that I was special, singled out for this quest as no other could accomplish it, and yet I knew I was a fool, that I was merely a man, nothing special, but even then I refused to truly believe it. Surely I was the chosen one, being tested beyond human endurance to emerge as something all-powerful, to be worshiped and adored?

  Nope, just a twat in a hat wandering around where he should know better.

  I cackled at the thought; at least I hadn't lost it completely. I still remembered I was me, the memory was in there somewhere, and when I got too nutty thoughts surfaced enough to remind me I was nothing but a fool. Not exactly a great consolation, but at least it stopped me doing anything stupid like seeing if I could sprout wings like an angel and fly out of there.

  I couldn't, could I?

  Lying face down in the sand, I shook my head. No, I couldn't fly, but it was worth a try.

  "What are you doing?" asked a voice as a shadow loomed over me.

  "Seeing if I can fly like an angel," I somehow managed to reply.

  "Can you?" asked the voice, genuinely intrigued.

  "I'm not sure, don't think so. Am I on a cloud?"

  There was a long pause. "No, but you are on my lawn."

  I turned my head and lifted it slightly. I was staring at grass. Beautiful, green, lush grass.

  I licked it. Then I passed out.

  A Mirage

  I awoke, as I so often did, to plenty of strangeness. For one, I felt damp. Not in a shivery, this is crap kind of way, but in a lovely, comforting, feels like home kind of way. I was on my back, and as I clenched my fists I grabbed handfuls of what felt like grass. Delicious, damp grass.

  I could hear humming nearby, someone happily pottering about, immersed in their task.

  Had I really lost consciousness on somebody's lawn out in the middle of the desert? Haha, no of course I hadn't. I was delirious, or dreaming, or had finally lost the plot and gone utterly gaga. With a shrug, figuring I had nothing to lose, I opened my eyes and risked becoming severely disappointed.

  "What the...?" I croaked, before falling into an extended coughing fit that hurt so much I was surprised my larynx didn't jump out of my mouth and crawl screaming under the nearest rock.

  "Ah, you're awake," came a jolly voice, his shadow so welcome. Shade was something alien now, all there had been was sun and then the emptiness of the night. "Thought it best to leave you where you lay. Never know what damage you can do to a fellow when he's in your condition. Feeling better?" he asked brightly, his clipped British accent so at odds with everything I half-expected him to offer me a nice—

  "Cup of tea?" he asked, finishing my thought, before he turned and walked away, whistling as he went.

  Somehow, and to this day I don't know how I managed it, I got to my feet. My eyes were blurry, vision was so poor I dared not move, so I stood there, swaying, until the dizziness passed and the crustiness around my raw eyes melted down my cheeks because of my tears. I was amazed I had enough liquid to spare, but what can I tell you, it was an emotional time.

  And then I cried all over again. Tears of joy, of disbelief, of confusion, and yes, of concern for my mental wellbeing, because this could not be happening, was impossible, so I lamented the loss of all I had been, all I was, knowing I'd been beaten by the desert this time.

  "Come on, old chap, tea's getting cold," came the polite shout of a man I was yet to see more than in silhouette.

  I rubbed at my sore eyes and focused properly on where the sound was coming from. Across a large, perfectly manicured lawn, a head stuck out the side of a smart but rustic open veranda made from thick branches and mud infill under a thatched roof. It felt colonial somehow, grand yet basic, comfortable and inviting, cool and airy. And there was shade! Proper, full shade, and benches and chairs and a table and a silver tray with a teapot and two cups and saucers. There were even biscuits! Biscuits! I drooled as I stumbled across the lawn in an utter daze and nodded dumbly at the man who skipped across the expansive decking then took a seat in a wicker chair. He nodded a head of shocking white hair combed back like a World War 2 picture card soldier and as I eased into the chair opposite he beamed up at me then said, "One lump or two?"

  "Huh?"

  "Sugar, dear boy, one lump or two? Milk? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you have milk. All respectable English gentleman have milk. I'll give you two lumps, you look like you could do with it." He poured the tea with steady, gnarled hands, used a pair of tiny tongs to add two lumps of sugar to both cups, then poured the milk before stirring gently.

  The tinkling of a silver teaspoon against bone china was truly bizarre.

  "Drink, drink, quench that thirst. My, you are in a bad way, aren't you? Get lost did you? Been for a wander and took a wrong turn? Run out of petrol? I always tell people, stock up, carry more of everything than you think you could possibly need, it's the only way to survive."

  "No, it wasn't like that," I mumbled, then reached for my tea. My hand shook so much that I had to use two to hold the cup, but the sugary aroma was divine and no way did I want to spill a drop. It would be sacrilegious under such circumstances.

  The warm, strong, sugar-laden liquid hit my tastebuds in an almost orgasmic explosion that sent my head reeling. My body surged with the energy boost until I thought I'd faint. I drank greedily yet carefully, my parched lips stung, my throat protested at such a deluge of water, and my stomach had no idea what to do with all this goodness. Sugar coursed through my veins, I became lightheaded, and as I set the cup back down gently on the saucer I truly believed I might even survive this battle with Mother Desert.

  "Another?" he asked, smiling at me.

  "Please."

  He uncrossed his legs, his white linen trousers creased down the front sharper than my razor, then poured me another cup of tea.

  I took it slower this time, but still had no words, just drank and enjoyed the feeling of life being restored to my battered body. I could focus on nothing but the man and the tea, and for now that was enough. I got the feeling there would be time enough to investigate my surroundings, try to make sense of it all, so for now I sat and drank and smiled stupidly at this old man, like a blast from the colonial past, as he watched me intently, nothing but friendly curiosity on his lined, deeply tanned face.

  "Biscuit?"

  I nodded.

  "Take two, dear boy, you need it."

  I took two.

  A New Friend

  We sat in comfortable silence for some time. How long that might have been I couldn't possibly say. Time meant nothing to me, I was too far gone. The tea, the biscuits, and plenty of water, slowly brought me back to myself, and that in itself was a mistake. I came to understand that I was not very well, that everything hurt in ways I hadn't thought possible, or had done my utmost to forget.

  My head throbbed, my limbs were burned and covered in sores, my face felt like it was being chewed on by ants, and my feet, oh my poor feet. I actually had to check they were there. It felt like they had been chopped off and the stumps were being jabbed at with sharp sticks by someone inordinately angry with me. They were still there, more's the pity.

  The water eased the rawness of my throat and eventually I felt I could talk a little, albeit slowly and rather hoarsely.

  "Thank you, I appreciate the help," I managed to say before having to take a few rough swallows which led to several minutes of painful coughing.

  "My pleasure. Now, why don't you tell me how it is you're in my garden?" He leaned his wiry frame forward; his clean-shaven chin twitched as he waited expectantly. A gentle warm breeze ruffled his pale blue shirt.

  "I'm trying to get to the next town, can't remember its name, so I can get a flight back to the city, then home."

  "Ah, yes, you're going the right way, although you do have rather a long way to go yet."

  "How far?"

  "About fifty or so miles. Where have you come from?"

  I described the village that had been razed, not wanting to get into the whole dead master thing, and all that.

  "That's quite the journey you've made already," he said with a whistle. "All through the desert on foot?"

  "Yeah," I grumbled, staring down at my poor battered feet.

  "You wait right there, I have just the answer." My host hopped to his feet and was gone.

  I sighed and leaned back in the chair, unable to quite reconcile myself with what was happening. How was this real? How was he here out in the middle of the desert with a damn lawn and a colorful array of flowers and shrubs, this large house, the veranda, any of it?

  I got up, every movement painful, and walked to the edge of the veranda where I leaned against the railing and stared out at the garden. The lawn wrapped around the property by the looks of it, with small areas of dense planting, irrigation carefully hidden behind the plants. A large sprinkler system suddenly came to life, drenching the lawn. At the edge of the property huge boulders marked the boundary, and fertile soil slowly gave way to the desert where the moisture leached away and everything returned to barren wilderness once more.

  It made absolutely no sense.

  We were smack bang in the middle of nowhere, so how, and why, was he living here?

  My thoughts were interrupted by the clattering behind me.

  "Come, sit down," my host offered as he poured boiling water from a kettle into a large, well-worn metal bowl.

  I returned to my seat and sat, thinking I was to freshen up.

  "If I may?" he asked, nodding to my feet.

  "May what?" I asked, confused.

  "Your feet, my dear boy. They stink to high heaven and they must surely be sore. I will clean them for you."

  "No, I can't let you do that. I'll do it, but thank you for the kind offer. I'm Arthur by the way."

  "I insist. You are my guest, and I will clean your feet."

  Without further ado, and despite my continued protestations, he carefully removed my boots then peeled off my socks, what was left of them, which wasn't much.

  My feet were worse than I'd imagined, and how he could stand the sight of them, let alone the smell, was a miracle. They were utterly disgusting and terribly damaged.

  He carefully wiped them clean of the worst of the blood and pus with a soft cloth then bathed my feet in the warm bowl, him on his knees prone before me. It felt so wrong, so strange, and the kindness of the gesture brought me to tears once more. He smiled up at me, telling me everything would be all right, that he would look after me. I had never known such kindness, certainly not from a stranger, and it gave me hope, gave me strength, and damn but it felt nice.

  This man had a soft, gentle touch, as though he were a nurse, but I knew that wasn't the case, that he had his own tale to tell. This was no ordinary man stuck out here. He must have done things, seen things, lived a life worthy of tales that should be told, but now wasn't the time, or the place, and I realized he hadn't even told me his name.

  After he finished cleaning my feet best he could, certainly better than I possibly could have, he applied a thick green poultice then wrapped them in bandages.

  "It will take a while to heal, several days until you can even walk properly, and you will need new socks."

  "Thank you so much, I don't know what to say."

  "Don't mention it. If you can't help a stranger in need then who can you help? Now, I assume you would like some dinner? I insist you stay until you are healed. I have a spare room, a clean bed with fresh sheets, and you are welcome to remain until you are ready to continue."

  "That sounds perfect. Are you alone out here?"

  "There will be plenty of time for questions later. For now, let me go make dinner and we can talk then. Sit, relax, enjoy the shade. I shall return." He gathered up the bowl and cloths then left me to the silence.

  Weird and Wonderful

  I watched the sun set from the cool of the veranda, a true luxury. Damn but it was beautiful out here. Beautiful but so very, very strange. Already the trek across the desert had become nothing but a dream, my recollection of it akin to a dimly recalled movie where I could picture myself stumbling about, staggering over dunes, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, watching my skin burn and crackle.

  Of course, there were no such images to recall, it was merely how I pictured it. What was real, and disconcerting, was the state I was in. Now I had been given sustenance, and the adrenaline had receded, I had a clear enough head to take note of what my body had been telling me for days. Basically, I was screwed. Everything hurt, everything was either crusty, peeling, or cracking and oozing. Ugh, such ooze.

  I had no strength, I had no muscle mass as I'd been eating away at myself just to stay alive, and I had no possibility of continuing my journey for many days. If I hadn't reached this place, I knew with utter certainty I would be dead by the morning, or so close to it I would be unable to move.

  This stranger had saved me, he had shown unparalleled kindness, and it freaked me out.

  What was his name? How had he set this up here? And why on earth would he want to?

  Guess I'd find out soon enough. Main thing was, I could relax. He was a nice guy, had assisted me in my hour of need, and he made a mean cup of tea even though normally I wouldn't go near the stuff. Wizards drink coffee, and lots of it, but beggars can't be choosers, and I was a sorry looking beggar so would take what was offered with the utmost gratitude.

  The desert cooled and the animals emerged from their hiding places. Barks and strange calls rang out across the plains. Some would hunt, others would be hunted. Some would survive and flourish, others would perish. Such is the way of the world, as things should be, but for once, for this night, I was exempt from the fight for survival. I had already been saved.

  Delightful aromas wafted my way and set my mouth to watering. While we waited for dinner, I took the opportunity to explore the setup here before darkness made it impossible. I needn't have worried, as before I stepped off the veranda lights came on everywhere. The garden was lit beautifully, the rustic house too.

  The veranda faced west and ran the whole length of one wall. The rest of the property was basic but large, a huge wood-framed building made using whole tree trunks with smaller branches criss-crossing this way and that all under a thick thatched roof. It was akin to the communal village gathering halls, but with more attention to detail and a damn sight larger, but it was typical of the region and wouldn't look out of place anywhere local.

  There were hints of this being a far from regular build, subtle details that told of fine craftsmanship and time taken selecting just the right piece of wood for its location, and there was glass at the windows, uncommon outside of the towns and cities.

  The roof also housed a large array of solar panels, enough to run such a large home with all modern conveniences. I got the impression my host didn't slum it.

  It was impressive, but disconcerting, as a lot of trouble had been taken building this place, and it wasn't like it would be easy to get the materials out here. Did he have a vehicle? Surely he must have? Could I get a lift? I bloody hoped so.

  "Ah, there you are," said the man with a huge smile. "Having a look around, eh?"

  "If that's okay?"

  "Of course. Do you want a tour of the inside? Dinner will be ten minutes or so. I hope you're hungry?"

  My stomach rumbled in answer and we both laughed. "You can take that as a definite yes."

  "Come," said the man as he turned to a low front door, "I will show you how I live in this desert."

  I ducked through the doorway and he closed it behind me. I jumped at the sound but he just smiled.

  "Don't want to let the bugs in. Little buggers they are."

  I turned to face the room.

  Nice Pad

  We were in a living room, and it was both how I'd expected and not. It was simply furnished with rugs over a concrete floor, several oversized sofas, and a large wingback chair with a small antique table holding a reading light and several books.

  Local carvings and blankets hung on the walls, while much of the furniture was antique and very British. This was a house from a different time, a style no longer in fashion, but it was remarkably clean, very organized, and very comfortable to be in.

  "You've put a lot of work in here," I commented.

  "All done by my own two hands," he said, smiling sheepishly.

  "Wow, impressive."

  "Let me show you the rest."

  I took the tour, going from the living room to a large kitchen with modern appliances and a huge rough plank table, not a match on my kitchen of course, but certainly better than anything you'd find for several hundred miles.

  There were several bedrooms, a tiled bathroom as well as en-suites, and then we were back out to the veranda. This was obviously where he spent most of his time.

  "Sit, let's have a drink before dinner."

  We both sat and he poured us two iced teas from a large jug full of lemon slices and ice cubes. It seemed odd to have a cold drink now yet a hot one earlier, but we all have our peccadilloes and frankly I was just happy to drink anything wet.

  "Ah, so nice to have company out here. It's been a while."

  "Guess you don't get many people passing by," I said, sipping my drink and loving it.

  "No, not many. Sometimes it's years between guests. I do hope you will stay awhile."

  "I will, if that's all right. A few days, just to get better. Unless..." I ventured.

  "Ah, I'm sorry, and I knew you'd ask, but I'm afraid I don't have a vehicle any longer."

  "Oh." I couldn't hide my disappointment.

 

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