by Ryk E. Spoor
The dark ridges of Ev and the Nome Kingdom were still visible, but the low border between the sand and safe land had already vanished. I was alone on the Deadly Desert.
“Well,” I said after a moment, “raise the curtain for the final act.”
I settled the goggles I’d gotten from the Nomes onto my face, turned back to the bow and let out all the sail. Thunder Child lunged forward, hissing over the deadly sands. Traces of acrid fumes tickled my nostrils, made me squint even more. This was the most dangerous part of the entire journey — at least up until that part where I had to let myself get stabbed, anyway. If the toxins and irritants triggered the wrong reaction, I might end up a victim of the Deadly Desert, my True Mortal nature useless before my own body’s asthmatic fury.
But there was no other choice. I was the only one who had a chance to pass the Barrier.
Aware more than ever of the threatening tightness in my chest, I turned Thunder Child fractionally Northward, keeping myself heading due East.
Together we flew towards the sun, trailing a lethal cloud behind.
Chapter 39.
Brilliant sunlight burning into my face. The sting and grating of acrid wisps of toxic vapor, scraping my throat raw, reddening my skin, making my breath catch in a sometimes frighteningly familiar way. The hiss of runners over endless gold-grey sand, the whip-rattle of taut canvas and lines. This was the entirety of the day, for as long as I could focus. I’d put on one of the masks when I could, but once the sun mounted beyond the lowest angle, the brutal heat became so great that I could hardly stand to keep the mask on for more than a few moments.
A pause near mid-day to take a lunch, hunkered down behind whatever part of the deck might afford the most cover from the wind. Then back to the burning light, the acid rasp of poison air, the hissing scrape of runners on sand. Even the goggles couldn’t entirely relieve the glare, but they were crucial to keep bits of sand from getting in my eyes.
When night fell, it was blessed relief — for a little while. But like many deserts, the Deadly Desert became cold indeed after dark, and I had to wrap myself up well to sleep. On the positive side, I could wear the mask all night, which gave me a desperately needed respite from the low but unmistakable poisoning of day; by the end of each day I would grow disoriented, sick and weak from the constant exposure. I dared not over-use the medicine Polychrome and Iris had given me; magically improved or not, I had to be worried that it might cause a paradoxical bronchospasm, and even if not, there was only so much of it.
Overall, I’d have much rather have travelled at night, but that simply wasn’t an option. Without even a primitive village for uncounted miles, the nights here were as dark as anything imaginable, lovely blazing stars overhead just barely painting the dunes with a dusting of ghostly silver that could lure the unwary into believing they could see. I needed to maintain a heading, stay far enough from land that none of Ugu’s scouts might spot me in the Desert, and avoid the occasional outcroppings of rock which could loom up almost without warning from the infinite sand.
And, I thought as I steered a touch more northward, avoid maybe other things as well. Several times, both day and night, I had thought I’d seen something else moving on or under the sands, something that wasn’t shifting sand or the terrifying threat of a poisonous dust devil that I’d had to outmaneuver a day or two ago. I couldn’t restrain a shudder at the thought of being caught in a whirlwind of that lethal sand, but I was even more concerned with the idea that there were some sorts of living creatures out here. That hadn’t been depicted in the books, and there was no way such things lived here naturally.
Which meant, almost certainly, that the things were the creations and possibly spies of the Usurpers. Double the reason for me to avoid them.
I squinted ahead, trying to judge my speed and heading again. It had been about a week, and I was now seriously considering that it was time to “cut south” and make landfall. Oz being so broad, I had considerable latitude (pun intended) to decide where exactly to land, but obviously I couldn’t wait too long.
Wait. What was that…?
Something about the sand ahead…that ridge. It seemed to curve…
I hauled sharply on the rudder and Thunder Child heeled over hard on her left outrigger. Even as I made the turn, we reached the ridge I’d seen, cresting it to see — exactly as I had feared — that it was part of a perfectly circular funnel-shaped hole, a hole whose edge began to crumble beneath us, causing Thunder Child to slew sideways. I kept the rudder hard over and tried to catch more wind in the sail as we skidded sideways.
“SHIT!” A pair of fanged jaws eight, no, ten feet long erupted from the center of that sandy maelstrom, snatching and slashing at the ship that was almost within reach. Ant-lion from hell!
But the ever-blowing winds caught at the sail again, sending us skimming forward just the tiniest bit faster, and we were past the monstrous insect, riding up the sandy wall, up, up, and then over, airborne for a moment off the crest like a skier taking a jump. Thunder Child came down with a jarring thud but her outriggers kept her steady, and we continued, running before the wind.
That was too close. I held a mask over my face, ignoring the heat until my heavy breathing slowed; no need to breathe more of this crap than I had to. Okay, that does it. I’ve come far enough and I don’t need to keep tempting fate.
I laid the rudder over and turned us southward, glancing at the sun. We’re about eighty miles from Oz right now, I think. Given the time of day, I won’t quite make it before nightfall. But by this time tomorrow, I’ll be out of this poison-sanded nightmare!
I kept going as long as I could that evening, until I realized that the fading light was just about gone. A quarter-moon was up, but that wouldn’t be enough for safe travel. I put on my mask, got out my dinner, ate, and made sure I drank enough; the last thing I needed was getting dehydrated out here. Finally, I tucked myself in for a good night’s rest — hopefully the last one I’d need out here. It didn’t take long at all for me to fall asleep.
Creak.
I snapped instantly awake. That didn’t sound like any of the normal ship sounds. I looked up at the sail, which was partially open, taut, keeping tension on my anchor lines. If I had to move, I didn’t want to have to spend extra time running out the sail; there were ways to instantly release the anchors from this ship.
Scrape.
That time I felt a faint vibration. Through the hull. Something’s moving under me!
I stood up, very slowly, carefully, and reached over my shoulder. Grasping my sword — one of the Nomes’ gifts — I slid the big blade slowly from its sheath.
Even as I did that, Thunder Child rocked as a huge something rose up from beneath the sands, looming like a cloud of darkness against the stars, two yellow-green eyes glowing out of the black. The misty silver edging of the moon and stars outlined the head and neck of a colossal serpent, something that seemed the size of one of Frank Herbert’s sandworms. Well, maybe a bit smaller, but at least the length of a tandem tractor-trailer, if not quite as wide.
Spine-sharp teeth glinted in a savage smile. “Why, what have we here, moving across Our sands? A little Man in a little boat, I see.” The voice was wind, sand rattling over dead rock, the scrape of scales on dust.
“Good evening,” I said. If it was inclined to talk, I’d take all the time I could get. The problem with fighting this thing was the same as the one with fighting the troll back in the Nome caverns, only about ten times worse. Anything alive in this hellish desert would be so bloody magical that if I could just stick it once I was pretty sure I’d kill it, but if it struck when I wasn’t ready, just being brushed by it would probably squish me like a bug.
“And a good evening to you as well, little Man.” It was on the other side of the Thunder Child from me, not that this would stop it. I took note of the exact position of the mast and sail; if I had to duck and dodge, I’d need all the advantages I could get. “We are Chiindemon, little Man; who are
you?” It moved its head fractionally closer, nearly touching the far side rail.
“I’m Erik Medon, Chiindemon. How kind of you to ask.”
“Kind?” Its laugh was a hiss of water on a dying fire. “We are not kind; We only seek the names of those who are Our meals, for few are the meals We are given in the Desert, and worthy of remembrance and repetition, in the long days between.”
“I really don’t feel like being eaten.” Angle… he’s moving like this… I edged just slightly sideways.
“We are not giving you a choice, Erik Medon,” Chiindemon said, with cold malicious humor. Eyeing my sword, it sidled cautiously forward, looking for an opening.
“Since you’re so fond of names, do you know what this part of a boat is called?” I asked, pointing. The snake-monster’s gaze flicked sideways in the direction I pointed, allowing me to reach out and grab the rope.
It glanced back at me, slight puzzlement in its hungry eyes. “No, We do not. What is it?”
I yanked the rope, releasing the knot. “Boom,” I answered.
The power of the wind whipped the boom around, across the deck with the speed and strength of a club swung by a giant. Chiindemon saw the movement and tried to draw back, but a fraction of a second too late; instead of evading the strike, Chiindemon put its head in the precise path of the boom’s tip.
Iron-bound boom met scale-armored head with a shattering impact that shivered throughout Thunder Child. I was already in motion, charging, leaping from the deck as Chiindemon reared back in agony, one eyesocket crushed, black blood streaming down. My sword, driven by my full weight behind it, sliced almost effortlessly through the mystic creature’s scaly armor and I slid down, gripping the hilt of the sword and gutting Chiindemon along a fifteen-foot length.
The steam-whistle shriek almost broke my eardrums and I was flung fifty feet through the air to tumble across cold-searing sands. I forced myself groggily to my feet, away from the lethal dust, and looked back.
Chiindemon coiled and looped in juddering, twitching death-throes, slowly, slowly settling into stillness. That much, at least, was well and good. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s evening snack.
Unfortunately, the monstrous corpse lay half-on, half-off the broken hulk of Thunder Child.
Chapter 40.
“Impressive, my Queen,” Ugu said.
Inwardly, he decided he would by preference have said horrifying.
“You think so?” Amanita’s voice was light and cheerful, the voice of a girl showing off her latest dress, or perhaps a lovely sampler she’d just finished stitching. “I do think they are some of my best work. And I’ve thought through their names very carefully.”
Before them stood four huge figures, bowing before their creator and mistress. One was a huge yet indistinct shape, yellow eyes glinting venomously, sometimes manlike, at others spreading insubstantial icy wings and screaming like a bird of prey; the second a massive, blazing figure of fire, eyes rimmed with coal black and a fanged, smiling mouth, horns, and cruel, clawed hands; the third a bloated, jellylike thing with glowing green eyes and a slavering maw that smelled of death and decay, at moments coiling into a shape like a decaying serpent; and the last a grim, angular, reptilian shape of stony blocks, a glowering, dull countenance with eyes like the flicker of light off crystal and a hungry, hateful expression.
“I have heard rumor of these names, my Queen, and — if you will excuse me for saying so — I am concerned that there may be a bit of hubris in them.” I have become something of a master of understatement in these centuries, when dealing with Amanita.
“Why, you’re concerned, Ugu dear. How kind of you. But really, now, it’s merely sending a little message. We do intend to take it all, now, don’t we?”
Even after all he had seen, all the dangerous games he had played with this more than half-mad Yookoohoo, very nearly that simple question undid him. It was a matter of desperate control to answer with any semblance of his usual aplomb. “I…would say these are things to be decided as the time comes. You know me, my Queen; take things in their order, all things in their time. Let us finish the matter of the Mortal, and we shall see what the next steps shall be.”
She frowned, but prettily, clearly not truly annoyed. “Oh, Majesty, you are such a cautious man. But there, now, that is your job, I suppose, as you have been so kind as to assume the drudgery of managing much of Oz while I do my…research.” She gestured, and the four monstrous figures rose. “Go now, Surtur, Jormungandr, Nidhogg, Hræsvelgr. Go and ready yourselves for when you are needed.”
Ugu bowed and excused himself as well. “I have many duties to attend to, my Queen, and I see your work here is…well in hand, indeed.”
Once clear of Amanita’s range, once within his own section of castle, Ugu sank into a chair. Mad. Utterly mad. It matters not that I see where the madness came from; truly our success…and perhaps the stress of knowing that a war is coming…has finished loosing the chains of reason that were strained to breaking long ago. She believes that we shall challenge the Above and Below once we have won Faerie.
For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder if perhaps she was not mad — if the Great Binding would even give her that much power.
The thought filled him with even more fear than the belief that she was well and truly insane. He set his jaw. I must make sure all of my plans are laid, all things arranged precisely. There must be no possible route to failure.
“Majesty?”
Startled, he looked up to see Cirrus Dawnglory standing over him with concern on his face. Quickly he stood up. “General.”
Cirrus still looked worried, but asked no questions as to why his King sat silent and alone. “The Wardens of the Sand have spoken. Something moves across the Desert.”
“Indeed? How far, and where?”
“I have a hard time crediting the reports, Sire. The sound of moving, they say, is like a whispering wind, and moves as swiftly as the wind across the sand.”
“I see.” Ugu frowned. Moving across the sand like the wind. Minimal magic. Now, if I were a Mortal, what…
Suddenly he laughed. “Ingenious! Most ingenious, my Mortal enemy. And if you are as worthy an adversary as you have appeared… Cirrus, tell me; it does not cross at the narrow place, but is passing to the North, yes?”
The flash of startlement and increased respect warmed Ugu momentarily. He was pleased when he could see something before his General, who was — truth be told — uncommonly sharp and well-versed in his strategies. “It is even so, Sire. Yet…how do you know?”
“He rides the winds themselves, my friend, on a vessel like those used to cross the waves. That was his goal in travelling to Pingaree, artisans of the highest skill to build him a ship that might cross even the deadliest sands with speed and surety. And he lands not at the places you have fortified, but seeks to bring himself to land in the North, the Gillikin country, where it will be hard indeed to bring our forces to bear. A clever and dangerous man they have chosen, one who has been thinking several steps ahead. Bring in all your forces from the Winkie country, they are not needed. Pickets along the North, one side to the other, immediately!”
“At once, Majesty!”
As Cirrus strode off, Ugu nodded. The end of the game is nearly in sight. A few more preparations to make. It must be perfect. There will be no route to salvation for the Mortal, no possible direction that will not end with his final sacrifice in Amanita’s great array.
And then -- as soon as the sacrifice is complete, in that very moment — then Amanita must die — for the sake of Oz, and all the world.
He wondered at himself, for even that thought — as true and necessary as ever a thought was — left him feeling grim and sad.
This killing and plotting…when will it end? When can I stop?
Chapter 41.
The sun came up like a bolt of flaming lightning — except lightning stops, and the sun didn’t. I wasn’t sure how far I had to come; my best guess was twenty miles
.
Twenty miles. Hardly anything. I biked forty when I was a wussy little kid. I can walk at six miles per hour, I could do this in four hours.
But the grey-brown-white sands slipped under my boots, and I didn’t dare fall if I could possibly avoid it. I was a couple of feet closer to the sand now than I’d been even on Thunder Child’s low deck, and not protected by wood and space from the savage gnawing power of the Deadly Desert.
If I hadn’t been a True Mortal, I’d have been dead long since, maybe from the moment Chiindemon threw me to the ground. As it was, my legs itched in that tight, hot way that warned me that the itches would become pain in time. I had the Nome mask firmly fastened across my face; I might have to loosen it from time to time, but I had to balance the need for cooling with the need to keep from breathing poison. The goggles weren’t comfortable either, but they sure beat having poison sand in my eyes.
And I was going to need cooling, that was certain. Already I could feel myself warming up on my left side, and the coolness of the night was fading, fading fast.
At least it is my left side, I thought. That meant I had taken the right direction last night. I’d been pretty sure I was heading south, but it had been a terrible, lingering doubt that somehow I’d gotten turned around and ended up going the wrong way. But going south meant the rising sun on the left.
My muscles weren’t protesting too much yet, but I’d only been going for a couple of hours. I’d spent some of the evening right after Chiindemon’s fall collecting up what I’d be able to carry — mostly water, of course, as I had a relatively short distance to go, or so I hoped, and with water and some salty foods to keep the electrolytes balanced I should be functionally all right.
The problem was the damn featurelessness of the desert. It had dunes and valleys and blowing sand, but all of it looked pretty much the same, and the wind erased traces of passage so it was really hard to know where you’d come from. I had to keep re-checking my bearings using the sky, and once the sun started getting high up, that might be a problem.
