Tamsla was not overly hot but steady and there was no shade. Scott produced a wide brimmed hat from his bag and wore it early the first day but his skin reddened easily. A lotion from his emergency kit eased that.
The second day we did not make such a good distance. I had wrapped a pad of webbing on the end of the crutch so it didn't sink in the sand so easily.
By the sixth day on the sand he moved well. It had been a gradual process but I was relieved that his knee had healed. Scott didn't notice, but his movements adjusted. The crutch continued to help. He was no longer in pain at night or stiff in the mornings.
Then one morning I could not find food for our breakfast.
That was the start of day twelve.
Scott finished his water from the sack with a ration bar. I didn't accept his offer of one. I was fine. Scott still had his little jug of water. The next day was the same. We were deep in the waste and nothing grew in several days reach. There were no water deposits, seeps or oasis.
Scott would need water soon.
*
I sat watching the sky, listening, as darkness covered us. Scott sat leaning against his limp bag watching me. It was now rare for him to talk. There was little to observe or discuss.
Something caught my attention, turning me abruptly. I was on my feet and up, doing so without thinking, my nose pulling me to face east. There was nothing in sight. The pearl glow of stars showed the endless sea of sand.
"What is it, Shymyra?" Scott said from beside me… near.
Blood. I looked at him, noticing he'd left his crutch behind.
It wasn't the blood of any animal but one… my kind… Shymyra assulla… the very young. There were three, four individual blood sources. Death.
I leapt away, barely noticing Scott's question in the air.
Cresting a dune far from him I went to the air, sweeping my wings to propel me forward faster than I could run. Soon, I noticed the glow in a hollow far ahead.
I returned to the sand. After running nearer I dropped to slither form and crept forward. An electronic perimeter fence warded the site. Several of the visitor's hardshell tents were set up around a fire. An aircar with its engine compartment open sat to one side. Spread out flagrantly on stretching racks were the skins of four Shymyra assulla.
Anger locked me in place for an instant and darkened the world to red.
Four dead.
Four.
I trembled. It would be easy to slay the three I heard sleeping. Easy… and empty. Nothing would return the four to life but I would say something with their deaths. Turning away, I measured the sky, the length of night and my position. Then I took to the air with my swiftest wings driving me back to the forest.
As I gathered what I needed, I fed on whatever came to hand.
With a hastily made net of ingredients I was back in the air.
*
They were still asleep and the fire burning low when I slithered into their camp. It was easy to sting each with a paralytic enzyme. Then I changed to haul them out to the fire. As I shredded the clothing from their bodies they managed to force their eyes open. I threw the one I suspected of being the leader onto his tent, stretching him out on his back and tying him in that position.
I changed at will for hands or strength or claws and it didn't matter that they saw me. They would each die at the rising of Tamsla. Using a knife still smelling of Shymyra blood I began slicing the skin from the one I'd laid on the tents. While I could easily take retribution like this I dulled the man's nerves with the sap I'd prepared. He didn't feel the knife as I worked.
It wasn't easy. The two observers stayed without movement, their eyes wide. Using sand I wiped the blood from my hands as I faced the two. The knife in my hand held their attention as I wondered what to do with them.
"Hey, what's going on?"
I spun to see Scott coming down the dune face, toward the camp.
Crouching to the two paralyzed men I killed them swiftly, more mercifully than they deserved. Then I rose and drove the knife into the perimeter security box, destroying the electronics before Scott got zapped. I ran away.
As soon as I crested that dune I took to the air and swept a tight circle to find his path, changed again, and hurried down. Scott stood at the edge of the circle, looking up the dune where I'd run away. He flinched when I stepped into his view. The peta claw was gripped in his hand, his crutch stuck in the sand. He must've gone back to get the gear, the sack was behind us.
"What's this?" he wondered.
We both looked around. He saw the skins.
"Poachers," he said.
The word was too soft for what they were. I could smell their fresh blood now and knew they'd eaten the meat of my young kin; as though my people were ever to be the food of others. I fought to remain calm. I ripped one of the skins down and dropped it on the fire. I disliked having to carry the skin in my teeth. These were so young. They had been. Now, no age mattered. All four skins smothered the fire.
Scott watched.
I swatted one of their e-blocs onto the furs and pulled the fuse with my teeth. It hissed and burst into flames. Small and yellow at first, it quickly spread to white and blue flames. The fur smoldered and I turned away as the fire ate at the skins. A sick cold feeling penetrated.
After… all the hot anger turned to simmering lava of bitter, unquenchable rage.
"Those were Shymyra skins," Scott said, returning to his practice of stating the obvious.
I spat at one of the corpses and turned away. Pacing around in a tight circle I then sat and watched the fire consume the young skins. My tail lashed side to side despite attempts at calm.
I didn't want to watch the fire… but somehow…
"We could…"
It was my turn to flinch when Scott spoke. I hissed and paced around, glaring.
"Sorry, Shymyra," he said. "We could take the aircar, I was going to say."
The fire was bright enough to show the open engine compartment. I directed him to look inside. As I'd suspected there were pieces removed and things I didn't recognize lying to every side of the small enclosure.
"Well," he said after looking. "I only have a beginner's certificate anyway."
I took that to mean he was still learning to pilot the aircars.
"And this is an old model."
While he studied the engine I dragged out some supplies. A growl got his attention and he saw the food and water. I distracted him from the communicator. I didn't want him to call anyone to witness this scene. I'd rather die in the desert than show the vulnerability of our young. As he ate I put two more e-blocs to burn the fur. I wanted nothing remaining.
I pulled out all the food and water I could find. The food was preserved camping supplies. It was better than the emergency rations Scott had. There was some other meat in the stasis pod and I threw that onto the fire adding another e-bloc. It was more meat than I'd suspected, all of it Shymyra assulla, more than these four. It would all burn.
It wasn't until he loaded his sack that he brought up the item to be avoided.
"Shymyra," he said, as he shouldered it. "Who was that girl?"
Our eyes met and I studied him. He'd been thinking about this. I couldn't say that the girl was me… one of my humanoid forms… Of course since I couldn't talk, he had to drop it, although I saw the restlessness of his thoughts. We moved out of that hollow with the little of what remained of the night. The bag was heavy but he was able to deal with it easily. At least he now had water.
He'd studied the paralyzed man I'd skinned.
He had not realized he was still alive.
*
Tamsla soon spread our shadows across the sand as we walked.
Far behind us I barely heard the screaming start as Tamsla filled that hollow with light. The sap evaporated and the numbness and protection was gone. The barest touch of air would cause pain. A grain of sand or mincing step of a cassa flea would be agony.
*
Scott didn't
want to stop that night so I paced beside him. It wasn't until the middle of the night that he dropped, losing his footing as he worked up the face of a dune.
"I'm sorry," he said.
His breath was heaving in and out with effort.
"I'm sorry your kin died by those poachers," he explained.
I gave a grunt.
"Well…"
Scott turned onto his back using the crutch.
"This isn't the best place to camp, I guess. Where to?"
I sat up and looked around. There really wasn't much of a choice. I led him the rest of the way up that dune angling to one side. Over the crest I found a pocket hollow to nest in. After eating, he massaged his wrapped hand. The wrappings were weathered and covered with sand but he didn't go picking at it.
"It's itching," he said. "Bad."
I hoped that was a good sign but I wasn't certain. We were still far from the capital and better aid for him.
*
After he was settled in sleep I left him, taking wing to fly to the poacher's camp. The man I had left was still alive. There was no sanity in him and he didn't notice when I ended his suffering. I ate from the remnants of the supplies and verified the fur was destroyed before returning to Scott.
*
Three days after the murderers, we were hiking among pyards, dunes that were the same size repeating endlessly to every side, the same sizes and same spaces between, again and again. It was something that rarely developed but was studied carefully when observed. We walked along through the valleys between them, Scott's paces were strong and sure in the firm footing there. As with most paths, when they were going well forward something must appear to barricade the way.
Something in the air caught my attention and I stopped.
"What is it?" Scott said, looking around as I was.
I started up the facing dune and he joined me. What we found was nothing I'd wanted to deal with.
We looked at the horizon from one end to the next and then at one another.
Scott's blue eyes were wide.
"Looks like a storm," he said.
Somehow, as he again stated the obvious, it struck me as humorous. I growled.
"So," he said. "What's the plan?"
Looking at the horizon I estimated our time, and then I glanced around.
"Would you look at that?" he said gesturing around us.
"All of these hills are the same. Look," he said. "It's like a pattern…"
Well, I'd had enough. Of course it was obvious and he had to mention it but I leaned up and pushed him. Whether he was just off balance I didn't know but he fell and rolled down the hill. My initial concern vanished when I realized he didn't try to stop and when I joined him he was laughing. I had no idea why. The approaching sandstorm would scatter the pyards and scour the fur from both of us. I could escape but Scott would be killed.
I had no option for my path.
After getting him to eat and drink his fill I showed him that I would bury him in the sand with the sack by his face. Scott pulled out a packet. Unfolding it revealed that it was a large sack, big enough to sleep inside. It was just what was needed.
"Okay, so you can bury me in a bag," he said. "How will I breathe?"
That wasn't my worry and there wasn't time. I began digging a hollow in the sand.
Scott put his supplies into the bag and then he got it. The bag was in the hollow against the side of a dune. The sand kept moving downhill. I began shoving sand on top of him. When I started, he moved around, adjusting himself and the sack. Then sand covered the details. I changed to move more sand faster and buried him. The dune began sliding down. I kept shifting sand until I felt the edge of the storm.
Then I changed, dug into the sand and slithered to curl beside the bag holding Scott. I felt the power of the storm through the ground around us. It was an immense pressure and a stir of static electricity.
Everything grew heavier.
*
The weight of sand was crushing Scott. I knew that. It came near to crushing me and I was in a safe serpent form. I made my way to the surface, finding the harsh remnants of the following winds. Changing, I began digging, throwing the sand to the wind to be spread away. No matter how fast I dug and threw the sand I achieved nothing, the hole kept refilling. The sand flowed almost like water.
I couldn't leave Scott. Throwing sand into the air was pointless. I was getting nowhere.
I had no form that could achieve any faster digging. The sand was defeating me.
It had defeated me. It was killing Scott.
The pyards were gone, I barely noticed. The landscape was of irregular but placid wave forms. I dug a depression in the sand barely deeper than my knees, even as my feet sank to my ankles. There wasn't enough time left to Scott for me to move enough sand to get him. I sank to my knees, even as the wind whipped stinging sand around while I tried to think of how to get him. I could get to him easily enough but getting him out would be impossible.
It couldn't be impossible, that would be death… it was… it would be difficult but what could I do? If I went to him…? What would that do?
Leaving the swirling wind and the surface, I slithered down to where Scott lay. The boy was unconscious, his breathing was terribly shallow and his heart was desperate. He'd be dead soon. There was nothing I could do. I curled around his head and shoulders and then changed, taking a larger form to alleviate some of the pressure.
Then I twisted and did it again, changing small and then large.
It was difficult.
It hurt.
I pulled him close, held tight and pushed upward. Changing, I felt around his body and cut loose the bag that was tugging at him, holding tight in the sand. I pulled and pushed him, changed and moved some more. Pulling under his arms and huddling over his head I pushed upward, shoving and twisting up into the sand. I changed and changed again trying to get mass to push a way through or become smooth to slither higher. I dragged at Scott under one arm or the other or both.
When I had to rest, I huddled over his head and tried to create some space. I'd left part of the bag over him… it kept his face from the sand and slid better. Then I struggled upward again, the only thing keeping me focused was that slow steady beat of his heart.
Changing and changing, time after time used up the energy reserves that usually kept me well. I had no choice. I had to get Scott to the surface.
Finding fresh air, I was dizzy with weakness. After managing to pull Scott free of the sand, I removed the emergency sheet and could finally relax as his breath moved easily. I rested for a few minutes but then dove into the sand to fetch his supplies. We still had too far to go to be without them. Returning to the surface with them was easier than I expected.
After checking on him, as he slept comfortably, I curled up and fell into needed rest.
*
Something smelled odd. It was quiet but for Scott's nearby breathing.
I opened my eyes. A brown square moved in the air just above my nose. Scott's fingers held it as though tempting me with a delicacy.
"Good morning, Shymyra," he said. "I figured you dug me out, so the least I could do is give you breakfast. You've fed me often enough."
I looked from his eyes to the brown lump, not tempted.
"Come on," he said. "It's not that bad. You'll like it. Besides, I ate the stuff you got me without complaining."
I hadn't realized he was a descendent of traders.
Opening my mouth, I was surprised at how my muscles felt. I was stiff through my entire body. The surprise of weakness must've looked like hesitation and Scott brought it nearer. My teeth looked too sharp or he would've pressed it inside. I snatched it from his fingers. I could not refuse his offering, for several reasons. Like the smell, the initial taste was odd. Something of raw chemicals hit my senses. Then immediately a pervasive sweetness flowed from it. It was also gummy, squishing between my teeth.
"What do you think?" Scott said; his concern evident.
I concentrated on chewing for a moment. He leaned closer. It was good. Not so great as fresh meat but it held the substance of a small prepared meal. Meeting his eyes I gave a low little growl, a sound we agreed was one of acceptance. Sitting back he looked relieved.
"Good," he said. "I wasn't sure you'd like it."
I repeated the growl and he laughed. Then he resumed brushing sand from his clothing.
"How much farther, Shymyra?" he wondered later, as I stretched.
The ration bar had helped my immediate hunger needs. I smoothed a place in the sand and made a mark that I had showed him before, it meant a day. Designating that mark, today, I counted back to when we'd started and then forward to when I expected we'd reach the capital.
"So we're about halfway," he said, being generous.
I swept the sand smooth with a paw. He'd asked for a reason but chose not to explain.
"I thought this was a civilized planet. Aren't there any closer cities or communities?"
I head shake was a negative. We were taking the shortest route to the capital. The wastelands were a broad band with no inhabitable land. The forest we'd started from was a wide but small preserve between the Indolyn River and the mountains. The mountains were impassable and farther from habitations. This northern continent was decidedly the least populated. Scott knew this.
When he offered me some of his water, I accepted gratefully. My body was still very needy.
"Why don't we just rest today?" he said. "You seem tired, Shymyra."
I paced around in a tight circle. My tail was drooping. Looking at the sky I tried to consider what would come and when. There was likely two days of pure dry sand before the lesser wasteland began. At its edge would be an oasis, nothing that would have inhabitants, but from then we would have water and food without lack.
From the first oasis it would be five days to the next. After that was the forest and then five days to the outskirts of the city.
*
It was while we rested at the second oasis that the weather changed. But for the sandstorm the winds had done well for us. The wind blasted through with sand and grit as we huddled down in the lee of some rocks. It howled around us like demon spirits before fading away after a short attack.
The Progenitors Page 3
