Trista reached for her own dagger. In the background, the baby let out a cry. Trista saw the stranger’s eyes move from her weapon to the baby to the hole and back.
“Triss! Help!” called Decan.
Trista looked desperately back and forth between the unexpected stranger and the hole, and decided to take a chance.
“Look, my little brother is in trouble down there. I need to get him out, or he’ll die! If there’s anything you can do, please, please help us!”
The man looked at her in silence.
“Please. I don’t know if you can understand me, but please help him!”
Slowly, the desert traveler moved to the edge of the hole and peered inside. There, the large lizard was getting close to the top. Decan had moved onto the other side of the pile, trying to stay out of view of the large predator. Dalkeira had jumped into the water, trying to distract the lizard, but it had clearly set its mind on Decan for its next meal.
Trista saw the eyes of the stranger grow wide and heard a gasp. Thrusting both spears into the ground, the stranger ran away from the hole, grabbing something from his back. A rope was thrown and tied around the nearest slab of stone that had fallen from the tower over time. The other end was rolled out, revealing a cleverly constructed rope ladder. With the end of the rope ladder in hand, the desert dweller leaped into the hole in one fluent motion. The rope snapped tight as the man’s weight pulled the rope ladder down the hole.
The masked man landed right in front of Decan, then quickly opened his bag as the giant lizard moved in to attack. Quick hands produced two small leather pouches from the bag and threw them directly at the oncoming lizard. One disappeared into its mouth; the other hit the lizard on the head, where it erupted into a small cloud of red powder.
The lizard flinched as the powder surrounded its eyes and nose. The taste was clearly not very pleasant either, as it shook its head wildly back and forth. The large creature thrashed around so violently it rolled all the way down the slope again, where it hastily crawled into the water, submerging its head. Dalkeira jumped to the side to prevent herself from being squashed.
In the meantime, the stranger pulled Decan to his feet and urged him to climb the ladder. Trista helped Decan out of the collapsed chamber. Nimbly, the desert dweller quickly followed, pulling up the rope ladder as he did.
Trista was about to say thanks when Dalkeira burst out of the hole, wings beating furiously in order to gain enough height to escape the room now infested with lizards. The man grabbed a spear out of the sand and pointed it at Dalkeira, his feet shifting in order to make the first strike. The dragon let out a hiss in surprise.
“No, wait! Stop! She’s with us. She’s a friend,” said Trista quickly, jumping in front of Dalkeira and holding up her hands toward the stranger.
Trista looked their savior in the eyes, urging him to put down the spear. The stranger’s muscles visibly relaxed, but the spear remained in his hand. Trista turned to Dalkeira and ran her fingers over the arch of the dragon’s eye.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine,” said Dalkeira privately, clearly unwilling to give away her ability to communicate to the stranger just yet.
Trista looked at the gash on the dragon’s back.
“It looks clean enough, but let me see if we can clean it out some more. Just to be safe.”
“That won’t be enough.”
The voice was thick with an accent Trista had never heard before. A hard ‘f’ sound on the lips and deep, rounded pronunciation of the vowels—and surprisingly feminine. Trista looked up at the stranger, who, in response to Trista’s surprised look, now removed the scarf from around her head. Without it, the eyes suddenly looked much more womanly, accentuated by the fine lines of her face. Despite those elegant lines, the stranger wore a stern look. Her hair was short, dark and spiked, apart from a longer lock of hair on the left side of her face. A string of colorful beads was braided into it. Her skin was a deep bronze, which Trista doubted was just from exposure to the sun. On the woman’s face thin white lines had been drawn in wavy and circular patterns. Several went down the neck, disappearing beneath her clothing.
“You’re a woman?” said Trista.
“So are you,” said the stranger pragmatically, with a rolling ‘r’ that lay far back in the throat. “You'd better dress that wound with some fevergrass—baell’wek saliva is a source of infection. Even with such a scratch, it’s best not to take any chances.”
Trista stared at Dalkeira before turning back to the stranger again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what fevergrass is.”
“You don’t? What are you doing in such a dangerous place without it? And why do you want to capture a baell’wek when you already own such a fine sha’crow?” asked the woman. “Does she not follow your commands well?”
“Sha’crow? Are you talking about Dalkeira? I don’t own her. She’s—we’re—”
Trista was at a loss for words. She had no idea how to describe her connection with the dragon; how to say she would battle a thousand black ships if needed to free her; how she would cross the largest deserts to keep her safe, how—
“Family,” said Dalkeira out loud.
The desert woman looked surprised.
“A sha’cara, then? And it speaks? With words?”
“I prefer she, and I do. My name is Dalkeira, and where we come from it is custom to formally introduce oneself when meeting someone new,” said the dragon, repeating with attitude what Trista had once said to her during their travels.
The stranger looked Dalkeira directly in the eyes.
“My name is Aslara. I’m from the Minai tribe, and where I come from it is custom to thank the person who saves your life.”
“I did not need any saving,” said Dalkeira.
“Maybe not before, but you do now. That wound will call the fever upon you and you will die if not treated correctly. So here,” said Aslara as she dropped a bundle of half-dried grass at Trista’s feet. “Grind that between two rocks with a tiny amount of water and apply the paste to the wound. If she’s careful and keeps it on there for at least a day, she should be fine.”
“Thank you. My name is Trista, by the way.”
“And I’m Decan. I did need saving, so thank you,” said Decan, who had just gone to get the baby.
Aslara gave a short nod and brief smile.
“And who is this? How did she end up all the way out here in the Endless Sands?” asked Aslara, gesturing to the child.
“She hasn’t got a name yet,” said Decan.
“We found her just before we entered the desert. In the arms of her dead mother,” said Trista.
“How long has it been? What do you feed her?” said Aslara as she unwrapped and examined the malnourished child.
The small baby had lost every ounce of fat she had. Her eyes had not opened much in the last few days, as she hung on to life mainly by just breathing. Trista had tried not to think about it too much, but she knew the child was withering away right in front of their eyes and there had been little they could do about it. It brought a lump to her throat.
“Chewed meat and water. It’s all we have—or had.”
Overwhelmed, Trista let her head hang and her tears flow. She was unable to hold it back any longer; that fear of inadequateness she tried to hide in front of Decan and Dalkeira. She had spent all her energy just to keep going, but it had not nearly felt enough. Her little brother silently approached her and put his arms around her. A moment later, she felt the light touch of Dalkeira’s head rest on her shoulder as well.
“You did great, sis. You brought us all the way here. We would never have made it this far without you,” said Decan softly.
For a while, Trista could not move. As she cried, the strong hug from her two most precious things in the world slowly filled her with energy again. She finally looked up when the sound of rummaging reached her ears. She dried her tears.
“What are you doing?” she said to Asl
ara, who was going through one of the small travel bags around her waist.
“The child isn’t beyond saving. I have some herbs and goat’s milk with me that she can drink. Hopefully that and the water will be enough until we get back to the village,” said Aslara.
“A village? Is it far?” asked Decan, clearly unsure how far his legs could carry him.
“A three-day walk on foot, but the Endless Sands will end before that. You should all rest and gain your strength. Eat and drink. We leave before the sun fully sets.”
Decan groaned when he heard the distance. Three days—it might as well have been three months. Each step already needed every ounce of perseverance. Trista, too, doubted if she would be able to last that long.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any food left,” said Trista, unable to think past this first obstacle in her mind.
“Don’t worry about that.”
Their savior put her fingers to her lips and produced a long, high-pitched whistle. A moment later Trista heard fast-approaching hooves. An animal dashed round the corner at great speed.
It was not as mystical as a dragon, but it was unlike anything Trista had ever seen. It resembled a deer, an animal one of the merchants visiting their island had shown Trista a drawing of the previous summer. She remembered how majestic and proud it looked in the drawing—a characteristic this creature seemed to share.
But there were differences. This animal was more muscular than the lean body she had seen in the drawing. The chest and neck especially reminded her more of the mountain goats that roamed the island in groups. Its legs looked strong, despite the fact they were long and stretched, making the animal almost as high on its legs as a small horse. The flat, wide-spread hooves seemed to have little trouble walking across the loose sand, barely sinking into it with each step. It had two long, slightly curved, sturdy horns on the top of its head; in front of each, two smaller horns were present. The face had a beautiful pattern of stripes running across the nose.
The animal approached Aslara and slowed to a stop. It snorted briefly at the sight of Dalkeira, but gave no indication of fear. A simple harness sat around the animal’s head, but there was no saddle present. Some bags and other items were tied to the side of the mount, who calmly stood waiting as Aslara greeted it with a few light scratches to the neck and behind the ears.
“Good girl.”
The woman inspected the gear hanging from the animal.
“Ah, there you are.”
She grabbed a smaller water bag from the creature’s side. She opened it and sprinkled a few dried herbs into the bag before allowing the baby to slowly sip from the goat’s milk mixture inside.
“Just as well. I don’t think the milk would’ve stayed fresh for much longer,” said Aslara. “What’s the matter? You all look like you’ve never seen a desert tibu—”
She was confronted with three pairs of eyes staring back at her.
“You don’t know what fevergrass is, you’ve never seen a desert tibu. Where did you all come from?”
It was hard for Trista to focus her thoughts; her head still felt fuzzy from the heat and events.
“Beyond the sand. Beyond the water before that. The world has been falling apart around us. We had nowhere else to go,” said Trista.
“Beyond the Endless Sands? Nothing comes from there. How long have you been walking?”
“Too long. I lost track. Nine, ten days?” said Trista.
“Ten days through the Endless Sands? On foot?” exclaimed Aslara in disbelief. “You’re lucky to stay alive for that long without a pack animal.”
The tall, confident woman carefully gave the baby back to Decan and passed him the milk bag as well. She gently scratched the desert tibu on its nose and grabbed the reins.
“I wouldn’t dare travel this way alone,” said Aslara as she brought her face to the tibu’s cheek. “Come, follow me.”
She led them through a number of passageways leading deeper into the city.
“Let’s get you out of the sun. I’ll see if I can fix something to eat for everyone.”
Aslara made sure all of them were comfortable inside one of the buildings before she disappeared out of one of the windows again. The shade offered protection from the relentless sun; the small windows and high ceilings were clearly designed to keep the inside of a building as cool as possible.
Decan stared around them as he gently fed more milk to the child in his arms.
“I wonder what kind of people once lived here in such a place.”
Trista did not react. She tried to get a feel for the events that had just happened, but now that the danger had passed, it was hard to concentrate on anything. Her head spun from exhaustion. Her body just wanted to sleep, drink and eat, preferably all at the same time. Instead, she forced herself to grind the stringy plants Aslara had tossed to her between two small stones she found, so she could apply the paste to Dalkeira’s wound.
“We are just going to trust her?” said Dalkeira, as the blue dragon sniffed the crushed herbs. “What if they do more harm than good?”
Tired, Trista looked up at the dragon. Dalkeira looked healthier now. She had begun to recuperate after drinking the water and grabbing a few bites from the feathered lizards she killed. Right now, Dalkeira was the most alert of them all.
“Why not? She saved us, didn’t she? Nobody forced her to do so,” said Decan.
“Maybe she is just waiting for a better time, when I am not around,” said Dalkeira. “Did you notice she constantly stares at your hair?”
Trista moved over to apply the paste.
“I hadn’t,” said Trista, too tired to argue.
“Why would she do that?” said the dragon. “I do not trust her at all.”
“Perhaps my red hair is just as uncommon here as it was at home,” said Trista. “Are you sure you’re not just insulted she thought you were my pet?”
Dalkeira snorted.
“Do not be silly. I could not care less what she thinks. And anyone who believes they can keep me as a pet will have a very unpleasant surprise in their very near future.”
Trista showed a tired smile.
“All done.”
Dalkeira swung her head around and reviewed Trista’s work. Apparently satisfied that at least the wound looked properly dressed, she rose to her feet.
“I will go and see what she is doing,” said the dragon.
But before Dalkeira could exit the building, two feet landed softly in the sand as Aslara returned. She dropped two medium-sized baell’weks in the sand. Each had a puncture wound from a spear straight through the heart. Aslara put down a full water bag. She went back outside, but almost immediately returned, carrying a smaller package wrapped in leather and a crudely made stone bowl.
“One is for us to eat. The other is for your sha’cara,” said Aslara, gesturing to the lizards in the sand.
She put the bowl firmly in the sand.
“You know how to use that knife?”
Aslara pointed at the knife Trista wore on her hip.
“Cut off the heads and make sure you do not cut yourself on their teeth. Gut and clean the one we’ll eat.”
The request brought back the unpleasant memory of killing the horse just a few days before. Reluctantly, Trista moved over to their intended dinner, while Aslara put a small piece of hard, brown material into the bowl.
“What about the skin?” said Trista.
“Pluck the feathers. The rest will burn off in the fire.”
Trista was confused. There was no wood to make a fire with. She wondered how they were going to roast anything. Beside her, Aslara carefully poured some water in the stone bowl, leaving the tip of the brown material just above water. From a small bag on her side she produced a small white crystal, which she held in the sunlight shining through the small window.
“What are you doing?” asked Decan.
“You’ll see,” said Aslara.
She moved the crystal around until a dot of light f
ocused on the tiny tip above the water. Within moments the tip of the brown material started to smoke. Aslara carefully blew on it. Suddenly, a tiny flame jumped into existence. Even stranger, the water burned as well.
“How is that possible?” said Decan.
“See this?” said Aslara, pointing at the clump of brown in the bowl. “The water soaks it up. It’s not actually the water that burns, but the oil floating on top of the water.”
Outside, the sun passed its highest point. Trista saw the heat radiate in front of the windows. She was happy to be eating in the comfort of real shade for the first time in weeks. The lizard tasted surprisingly good once Trista got over the smell of burned feathers. And while Dalkeira had first turned down the offered food, she knew better than to waste it in the current stream of events.
The dragon was now quietly snoring in a corner, though she never seemed to be sleeping very deeply; Trista noticed one of Dalkeira’s eyes open every now and then.
“How were you able to get the water and food? Don’t tell me you went back into that hole,” said Trista as they neared the end of their meal.
“The baell’weks can be found throughout the entire ruined city. Many sleep for days on end, some even for a full moon cycle, only waking to eat. The tiny ones eat plants. There’s a few water sources in the maze of rooms where sunlight reaches as well. It allows the crawling plant to grow in the waste of the lizards. But the population has become unbalanced,” said Aslara. “The ground shakes, shifting the sand. The sunlight disappears, or the underground water. They’re forced to move into one another’s territory. The weak get eaten; the strong get bigger.”
“Bigger than the one that almost got us?” said Decan.
“Sometimes. There’s stories in our tribe of a baell’wek the size of five fully grown men—they call him ‘Laeri Baell’wek’, the Ancestor. Some say he’s a deity, protector of them all, but the stories are as ancient as the creature. No one alive now has ever seen it.”
Wavebreaker (Book II of the Stone War Chronicles): Part 1 - Trickle Page 41
