Sand and Scrap

by Chris R. Sendrowski

  The five men bowed and then shuffled back toward the carcass.

  Unith turned to Palon. “Prepare the wagons. I want to be on our way as soon as the salvage is removed.”

  Palon bowed. “Yes, sand master.”

  The matrons sniffed cautiously at the worm, making sure to keep their distance. Dozens of dead jackals lay frozen all around them, their vulpine eyes wide and tongues unfurled like moldy ribbons.

  One of the scavengers tried to prod his krill closer. “Damn it, Jero!” he grumbled when the beast refused to move. “It’s only a piece of meat.”

  But the spider stood fast, hissing its discontent.

  “Ya dirty legger,” the scavenger barked, slamming his whip across the beast’s thorax. “See if you feed tonight.” The krill hissed wildly, black poison dripping from its ivory fangs.

  Fed up, the scavenger withdrew a black staff from his backpack and approached the carcass. As he walked its length, he tapped the frozen flesh with the staff, mapping out measurements.

  “What’s its condition?” one of the others shouted.

  “Frozen,” the scavenger replied. “Like a shard of meridium!”

  Another krill scuttled over a rise, hissing unhappily.

  “Palon’s beast,” one of the scavengers noted as the spider brushed past his leg. “But what the hell is it doing here?”

  “Who knows,” another replied. “Just get out of its way and let it do its job.”

  Unith sat silent, meditating on their situation. He’d never known his senses to betray him, but he felt blocked now. Impotent.

  An elemental grumbled to the east, a great, roiling monster, judging from the sudden change in temperature. The storm is moving faster than I predicted, Unith thought. Perhaps Palon was right after all.

  “Call them back,” Unith shouted. “Now!”

  Without a word, Palon raised a pipe to his lips and blew three quick calls.

  The scavengers froze as the call echoed into the depression.

  “They want us back already?” one of the men asked.

  “Probably for the best,” another replied as his krill tugged at its guide chain. “My Minga never flinches from a salvage. Must be sand slides or nagra burrows beneath it.” His krill’s mandibles dripped black saliva onto the sand, its legs bending and retracting nervously.

  Another scavenger shuffled beside him. “Ignore it, Lurn,” he said. “It was probably Menra who sent it out. Yellow bastard. And besides, Unith will have our flesh if we come back before the mapping is done.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, a guttural boil accompanied by flashes of red lightning.

  “All right then,” Lurn said. “Let’s get back to it. We’ve much work to do.”

  “Why do they not come?” Unith demanded.

  When he received no answer, he quickly snapped his krill into motion. “I’ll see to this myself,” he muttered, shuffling into the distance.

  The air was dry and brittle in the depression, a bitter pill to Unith’s heightened senses. For it made it harder to smell and sense objects before him. It’s as if a dense film has been cast across my world, he thought. He had experienced the same thing during his days on the Isle. There the winters had been fierce, pounding the volcanic towers until all those within begged for summer sun. A perfect climate to harden one’s senses.

  Unith attempted to push those memories back into the void. But no matter how hard he tried, his mouth still watered at the thought of his first dose. For even after all these turns, he still remembered the metallic pang as the meridium rolled down his throat, and the electrical charge which quickly followed. It had ignited the slumbering parts of his mind, propelling him into a whole new world of awareness.

  That was, until the desert stole his sight.

  By the gods, that feels so long ago, he thought. Before he lost himself to his atuan. And to the Waste. Now he was but a scavenger, an exile of the world of order and rules.

  When he reached the worm, he pushed past the two men who had been unable to goad their krill any closer.

  “Master, I would not draw so near,” one of them warned.

  Unith ignored him, touching his free hand to the carcass. “By the gods,” he mumbled as a familiar charge entered his flesh.

  Meridium! he thought. And it’s powerful!

  A scavenger named Lapre broke from the group and approached the clan head. “Are you well, sand master?”

  Ignoring him, Unith pressed his palm harder against the frozen flesh. “It was no elemental that did this,” he said. “The source lays within.” His krill tugged at its guide chain, dragging Unith several footfalls down the length of the worm.

  “Be still!” Unith shouted as he stumbled along behind it. “Lynx, still!” But the spider continued to drag him until he found himself being pulled through a jagged crack in the worm’s flesh.

  “Halt, Lynx,” Unith cried. He was about to detach himself from the chain, but one of his feet caught on something hard. His arms flailing, he crashed face first to the ground, where the wind was knocked from his lungs.

  “Unith?” Lapre shouted somewhere outside.

  Disorientated, Unith lay sprawled atop the icy floor, gasping for air. “Lynx?” he wheezed.

  But the spider was gone.

  Panic quickly washed over him. It had been almost twenty turns since the desert took his vision, since he pushed aside his past in exchange for the secrets of the Clan. And in that time he and Lynx had never been apart. She was his guide and guardian, his only link to the world of sight. Without her he was useless. Dead.

  His heart racing, Unith felt around on the ground until his fingers touched on something smooth and cold standing before him. As he traced its icy surface, shock overwhelmed him.

  It’s a wall!

  He quickly pressed his nose against the ice-cold surface. Tritan steel, he thought as he took in a deep breath. Definitely Tritan make. There could be no mistaking the odor: sea salt and oxidized meridium, combined with a dozen other mineral components that stank of blood and sulfur. He ran his hand over the metal’s cold face, marveling at its smooth perfection. Several hooks jutted from of its surface. Key brackets, he realized. A rare thing on Karna-bara chambers.

  Lapre stumbled through the wound. “Sand Master?” he shouted. “Where are you?”

  Ignoring him, Unith pressed his face to the chamber wall. The priceless, metallic aroma was almost too much to bear. What do you hide? he wondered as frostbite burned his flesh.

  “Unith!”

  “I’m here fool!”

  Lapre followed his krill toward the sand master’s voice.

  “Do you know what we’ve found here, Lapre?”

  “No sand master,” Lapre replied.

  Unith betrayed an excited smile. “Meridium! And a sum I dare say even the Isle has never seen.”

  “By the gods!” Lapre breathed. “Should I call the retrievers?”

  “Yes. And bring the. . .” He stiffened as a powerful chill crept up his spine.

  “Sand Master?”

  Unith tried to speak, but his tongue felt heavy, cool. When he tried to move it, it remained stuck to the roof of his mouth. Frozen.

  “It’s. . . it’s b—been e —enchanted,” Unith slurred as saliva crystalized in both his mouth and throat.

  Shocked, Lapre staggered backward. “Should I call for the cleanser?”

  Unith tried to reply, but his lips had frozen shut. At his feet, Lynx hissed wildly, its mandibles snapping and tearing into his frozen laptane suit. Be off damn it! he thought as searing pain lanced up his leg. But the creature continued its attack, slicing and clawing at his suit until it found the frozen flesh below.

  Grimacing, Unith took in a final, agonized breath as venom spread throughout his body.

  By the gods, stop!

  Just then, a blinding light illuminated the interior of the worm.

  Unith froze. By the gods, he thought, pain and fear all but forgotten.

  For he’d seen i
t: the white light. He’d even winced as it exploded through his endless dark. A trick of the mind, he told himself. That’s all it is! An illusion! But then he turned and saw a figure standing behind him, a laptane clad man with a ghastly spider at his heels.

  Lapre? he thought. The man was uglier than he’d imagined, taller too. By all things great and lost, how is this possible?

  Voices echoed in the white light, sobbing, shouting, pleading.

  We are trapped! someone cried. Please help us!

  Don’t let it take you! another voice wailed. There’s no escaping!

  Unith stood dumbstruck, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden assault.

  “Sand master!” Lapre said. “What should I do?”

  Unith heard the man’s voice, felt his presence beside him. But he was insignificant compared to what now radiated in the light.

  There’s millions of us! a new voice hissed. And after they take this world there will be millions more! Run! While you can!

  Lapre reached out and touched Unith’s shoulder. The boy’s hand instantly froze, though, and he stumbled backwards against the worm’s throat. “Sand master!” he cried.

  Unith ignored him as he slipped deeper into the light. Don’t be afraid, he told himself. For it was all so beautiful, the light, the numbness, death. More so than any sunrise or woman he could remember.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Countless souls enveloped him now, desperate, life-starved spirits who wanted nothing more than one last breath, one last glimpse of what he was leaving behind.

  You can have it all, he thought as the meridium drew him into its icy white void. He’d done his time on Ratrac Daor. Suffered and scraped by for more turns than he cared to remember. The boy will take care of the others, he thought as he let go of the mortal coil.

  Lapre stepped back, cradling his still-frozen hand as silence fell upon the carcass.

  “Unith?” he said.

  But there was no reply.

  Unith was gone. And he would never return again.

  “Bring the felltowers forward,” Palon barked as thunder erupted overhead.

  Storms loomed on either side of the desert, boiling black clouds creeping in like sharks to the kill. We’ve awakened something here, Palon thought as the men hurried about their tasks. If Unith were alive, he would sense it too.

  Since the accident, no man had been allowed in the worm unless donning at least three layers of laptane flesh. But even that had proved ineffective. For when they tried removing Unith’s corpse, two of the five men Palon set to the task had frozen instantly.

  We will still make for Ix, he thought. The idea made him feel warm and satisfied. He had been second only to Unith, and with the sand master gone he was now the new clan head. A position he’d waited turns to obtain.

  The Tribat pass should suffice, he thought as he gauged their path. It wasn’t a route Unith would choose, but that only made it more appealing.

  A group of men shuffled past, their arms weighed heavy with rope and tackle.

  “Prepare the carts for triple-quick-step,” Palon ordered. “I don’t want to be caught out here when the storm arrives.”

  The men paused and bowed, before shuffling back behind their krill. The clan had accepted his ascension to sand master without argument, a rarity amongst his people. But for how long? he wondered as the men and their arachnid guides approached the worm.

  Lapre stood beside him, his hand wrapped in oiled linens. “The krill,” he replied. “They’re hesitant to walk the frozen sand.”

  Palon stroked his chin impatiently. “Leave them, then. We can waste no more time here.”

  Lapre nodded.

  Shivering, Palon pulled his hood tight about his face. Since removing Unith’s corpse from the worm, the air had grown colder, its icy bite gnawing at his exposed flesh. This is no normal Karna-bara, he thought, rubbing his hands together. No… something special is hidden here.

  Exhausted, he removed a small chip of slate from his pocket and ran a finger across its bumped surface. A message from Ix, it had arrived only minutes before within the belly of an exhausted draba bird. According to its scratch-code, his connection in the port city had come across a gob from Tritan, who was prepared to pay heavy coinage for any noteworthy salvage.

  Palon smiled as the felltowers hauled the chamber from the worm’s gapping maw. If this wasn’t noteworthy, he didn’t know what was.

  When the chamber was finally free, there was a loud crack within the worm. Moments later, the carcass collapsed on itself, shattering into a thousand glass-like pieces.

  “Cover the chamber!” Palon shouted. “A be quick!”

  Utilizing specific whistles and calls, the men pulled an enormous laptane tarp from one of the wagons and fastened it over the chamber.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” Palon cried, as a wagon fixed with a wooden crane rolled toward the chamber. When it was in position, the scavengers attached its steel hook to the massive eyeholes woven into the tarp and lifted the chamber into the sky.

  Palon listened impatiently as a wretched cawing echoed in the distance.

  “Draba flocks,” someone shouted. “Thousands of them, from the sound of it.”

  The creatures flew low and reckless, circling the caravan as the chamber was lowered onto the massive wagon.

  “How much longer?” Palon asked Lapre as the wagon creaked and groaned beneath the chamber’s weight.

  “We’ll be on our way within the call,” Lapre replied.

  “Very well then.” Palon took a deep breath, coughing as the icy air bit his lungs. “Ix it is, then,” he mumbled.

  And then as far from this ungodly realm as we can travel.

  26

  Uxer watched anxiously as his men dispersed across the harbor. In the moonlight, their tiny skiffs looked like water bugs crawling across a pond. But these are no bugs, he thought. These are the axes that will topple the Overwatch tree.

  Behind him, the fire burned low inside the commander’s chamber, the coals popping and shifting as they devoured one another. Uxer entered and took a seat before it, scratching at his new face.

  Sitting opposite him, half a dozen men waited patiently in the dancing shadows.

  “The message has been sent,” Uxer said. “In a week’s time half the sleepers will be awakened across the Culver.”

  A tall, willowy man rose from his seat and stepped before the hearth. “Two days ago, my men spotted a scavenger caravan carrying a great load toward Ix. They said a storm of ice followed the object, leaving the sand frozen in its wake.”

  “Indeed,” Uxer replied. “My spies reported the same.”

  “It’s also known now that the gob king’s son has put up quite a bounty for such a salvage. We believe he means to barter for it with the Blind Scavengers.”

  “Gorbin? That fool?” A portly man stood, his bones popping beneath his massive girth. A shrewd and decadent fop, Haren Cray had once been First Controller of meridium distribution upon the Isle. That is, before the Overwatch stripped him of his power. Uxer thought.

  During the slob’s reign, meridium allocation had shrunk to a dribble, leaving only the wealthiest and most powerful families sucking at his tit. Many still believed he held vast stores hidden deep in the bowels of the city. All of it stolen, no doubt, during his tenure of greed and sloth, Uxer thought in disgust. But no matter the man’s past, Haren’s presence steadied Uxer’s nerves. He will be a powerful cog in our growing machine. That is, if he reveals his caches.

  “The same,” Uxer replied. “It seems he would seek forgiveness from his father by gifting him our prize.”

  A crooked figure named Dro Renwa rose. “It’s true,” the gnarled Charger said. “I’m told a laxore splashes about the Ixian bay as we speak, awaiting said prize.”

  Uxer tensed; if this was true, his plans would have to be quickened tenfold. “It seems the wheels of fate are well in motion then.”

  “Indeed,” Dro replied. At four footfalls tall, the
ancient Charger was dwarfed by most men. But what his body lacked in prowess, his mind made up for with quiet cunning. And unlike the others, he was no mere lap dog bowing at Uxer’s knees. Before the Overwatch saw to his dismissal, he had been the most powerful Charger in all the Circle, commanding nearly two thirds of their now broken spy chain in and around the Culver. His support would be key to Uxer’s success. But possibly the weakest link in my chain, he thought. For those of power always thirst for its return. And Dro would be no exception.

  “Could he mean to dare to the Acid?” Haren asked.

  Uxer cracked a wry smile. “Why not? An exiled prince has little to lose. Besides, the risk would be well worth its weight in gold.”

  “But it’s suicide,” Haren said. “Only Riders and whalers know the tides. Why take such a chance?”

  Exhausted, Uxer ran a hand across his new face. The commander’s flesh felt raw and sweaty within his palm, alien to his aristocratic senses. “Dear, dear Haren.” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not so much the prize that Gorbin seeks, but the Karna-bara in which it resides. For it’s no simple relic left over from the war. In fact, my spies believe the chamber to have been wrought from his grandfather’s forge. If that’s true, its value to the Magistrate’s lineage will far exceed that of the meridium within.”

  Haren tensed as he glanced about for support. “I beg your pardon, my lord. But shouldn’t we at least dispatch a group to head off the Scavengers. If it should reach Tritan. . . “

  “If it should reach Tritan it will be that much easier to retrieve,” Uxer spat.

  At this, even the others tensed. Until now, Tritan had not been part of the plan.

  “And how would that alleviate this. . . dilemma?” Haren asked.

  Uxer warmed his hand above the fire. “The embargo has weakened the city and its defenses. Even now the dome rusts, its support columns cracking and destabilized by the elements. Am I correct in this, Salidin?”

  A short, emaciated figure emerged from the shadows. “Indeed,” the wraithlike man replied. “Our spies report that their machines sit idle in storehouses, while their coffers grow thinner by the turn. It’s even rumored that some of the more clever gobs have taken to selling off pieces of the dome to black marketers, in return for rations and other necessities. If we were to help lift the embargo in exchange for the chamber’s contents, such activities would ground to a halt. For this alone, I am certain the Magistrate would hand over the atuan.”