Lands of Nowhere

by Shannah Jay

  Herra followed him, more nimble than he, even on terrain that was new to her. She saw a grudging respect dawn in his eyes as she kept up with his fast pace. After the days in the shifting desert sand, the rocks were a pleasure to walk on. She wished, however, that she were not hampered by her skirts. Long skirts were wrong here. That, too, must change, she decided, eyeing her companions.

  All six of them were dressed much alike, in trousers of soft, undyed leather, covered by loose fabric tops that reached to mid-thigh. All garments were of an indeterminate beige hue and in parts the leather was a patchwork of pieces from small animals, as if no scrap of leather had been wasted. The garments blended in well with the rocky terrain. Around their foreheads, Quedras and his companions wore sweat-stained bands of soft material. As the sun rose higher, they pulled out squares of fine cloth and tied them over their heads, holding them in place with the headbands to shade their necks and foreheads, and looping one corner across their faces under their noses.

  They were a handsome bunch, healthy-looking and well-muscled, if not overly clean. Most of them had dark hair, but none as dark and curly as Quedras's. Every part of that man crackled with vitality and life.

  There was no difference between what the men and women wore or carried. They were all armed with wicked-looking knives in leather sheaths attached to their belts, and three of them had swords. Two had bags slung across their shoulders, which smelled of blood. A hunting party, presumably. Herra was to find out later that whenever a party left the camp, it became a hunting party, automatically keeping an eye open for food, since neither food nor water was plentiful in this harsh land.

  The blue of her own Sister's robe, faded though it was after all her adventures, not only contrasted greatly with her companions' clothing, but also made her an easy target against the dun-coloured rocks. The garments given them by the SS'Habi would be better than this, but she’d wanted to wear her own robe for the escape.

  She paused with the others for a moment to regain her breath, staring around, wondering if they were being watched. She could sense no intelligent life nearby, but here in the hill country people would be able to watch the group from a great distance.

  As if he had read her mind, Quedras fingered a fold of her robe and stated, 'This colour is beautiful, like the summer sky at noon, but it’s not good to wear such clothing openly. It can be seen from a grreat distance.

  Why do you wear such a thing?'

  'In the years of peace, there was no need for concealment. We wore our blue robes proudly, to show everyone we were Sisters of the God. I've kept this one out of sentimentality. You're right, though. It's foolish to wear blue here, or anywhere now, come to that. But old ways die hard. We shall have to change our garments to something less eye-catching. Am I bringing much danger upon you at the moment? Do you have many enemies?'

  'Who knows what lies behind the next rock? But we can do nothing about your robe at the moment. And Quedrief is there to scout ahead. He's got sharp eyes.'

  After an hour or so, they came to the camp, which was in a meandering valley. From the valley's upper end jutted the rocky crag Herra had used to guide her across the desert. The dwellings were tents, made from felt and skins, with gaps around bottom and top to allow air to circulate inside. Children were playing around the cooking fires, but as soon as it was noticed that the group had brought back a stranger, someone whistled and the children disappeared to the rear of the tents.

  Quedras led them swiftly through the camp, and since he deliberately avoided people's eyes, no one approached or questioned him, though the people eyed Herra with great curiosity. Like the group of warriors escorting her, everyone she saw wore clothing that blended with their surrounding and everyone wore a knife.

  The absence of colour other than stone and rock hues made the scene seem very unreal to Herra.

  Up a slope at the other side of the camp she saw the dark mouth of a small cave and realised they were heading towards it. No tents were pitched there and no one was lingering nearby, except for one man who seemed to be on guard. He had a sullen expression and a badly grazed cheek. He was tending a small fire and at first barely glanced at them, in spite of the presence of a stranger.

  'How is she?' demanded Quedras, standing before him, arms akimbo, wasting no time on introductions or explanations.

  The man shrugged. 'Much the same. A little worse, perhaps. In grreat pain. What did you expect from a sand-scorpion bite? You should have let me end it cleanly yesterday, when I offered. It would have been easier for her. She's suffering grreatly.'

  'I said no and I still say no! Querilla is my companion, Quondal, which overrides your relationship to her, so I have the final say. I am also war-leader, let me rremind you, and Querilla is one of my best warriors, which gives me an even greater claim to responsibility for her welfare. So keep your opinions to yourself until I ask for them - which I won't!' His anger and scorn for Quondal were very evident in both speech and body language.

  'I've never understood what Querilla saw in you, war-leader or not. Well, on your head be it! The pain will soon increase even beyond her powers of endurance, though she's a brave woman. No one recovers from a sand-scorpion bite, not even,' he sneered openly, 'at the mighty Quedras's bidding!'

  Quedras's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, but he pulled it away reluctantly, as if denying himself a great treat. 'Thrrow your insults elsewhere just now, Quondal. My concern is for Querilla. Afterwards, if you still continue to insult me, I shall allow myself the grreat pleasure of teaching you a lesson.'

  'We shall see who learns and who teaches, pain-giver!'

  'We shall indeed! In the meantime, it's Querilla who matters. I, at least, am giving her a chance of life. More than you would have allowed her. If that fails, I'll kill her myself, not leave her to one who draws his knife clumsily and uses it like an eating tool!' Quedras took out his own knife, as if to emphasise the insult, and spun it in the air as adroitly as a juggler on a feast day before putting it back into its sheath.

  He grinned nastily at Quondal. 'And who knows? We may succeed in our attempt to save her life, then you will look even more of a fool than usual. In the meantime, know this: today, at dawn, Quequere heard my plea and spoke through the Voice. The Wise One sent me to walk the Sandrims. And lo, from the desert there came a stranger, a body-doctor of grreat skill, as was promised.' He jerked a thumb towards Herra.

  Quondal stared at her and laughed harshly. 'A scrawny old woman past fighting age! What use will she be?'

  'Who knows? But Quequere has spoken. And what is more, this scrawny old woman you scorn, survived the Sand Vortex, which is more than you, or anyone here, could do.'

  'If you'll believe that, you'll believe anything!'

  'I saw her myself, Quondal, this very morning. She walked off the sands, right out of the heart of the Vortex, singing and dancing as she came. My companions will bear witness to that.'

  Quondal took an involuntary step backwards, gaping at Herra as if she were one of the sand-scorpions they all feared so much. Then, as she made no move, but stood her place calmly and stared right back at him, he began to recover. 'Well, on your head be it, mighty war-leader, that you allow a sand-maddened stranger to touch my sister.'

  'Your half-sister. And I will try anything which allows Querilla a chance of recovery. If she lives, she will thank Quequere that I'm not as stupid as you, Quondal! You should learn to think before you act and to try new ways, as I do.'

  'The old ways are good enough for me.'

  'No doubt. There's less to fear on a known track, isn't there? You will tiptoe along the same paths as your great-grandfather, and never even know whether there is anything different beyond the next hill. That's why you were not chosen as war-leader when Querriff died, and never will be!'

  Quondal took a step forward then, hand on the haft of his sword. 'You'll answer to me for that insult with your life's blood, Que - Que - Quedras!' The way he repeated and emphasised his words was clearly bo
th a challenge and an insult.

  Quedras stiffened and his breath hissed in and out quite audibly. He, too, set his hand on the haft of his sword as he spoke. 'With grreat pleasure, Quo - Quo - Quondal. Such as you are of little value to the community, and no one will miss your miserable face and carping ways. But not now! Not until this body-doctor has seen Querilla.' He moved right up to Quondal as he spoke, till they were indeed face to face.

  After staring at him defiantly for a moment, Quondal fell back a pace and Quedras gave a short barking laugh. 'Yes, get out of my way! I don't turn aside to slaughter fools like you when my woman lies near death, and there is no honour which requires that of me. Challenge noted, but postponed. Better go and start practising with your little meat-slicer if you want to last more than a minute against me!' He was very controlled, speaking quietly, but with a chill menace behind his words.

  Quondal glared at him, but kept his distance. 'Don't postpone it too long, mighty war-leader!' He was quivering with the force of his rage. 'Honour might not require a quick response to my challenge, but your precious reputation will suffer if you delay too long.' He spat a gob of slime into the fire, fingered his sword hilt, then strode away.

  Quedras watched him go. 'I'll definitely have to kill him, now. I've held back for too long already. He has the delusion that he could lead the group, and there are a few lazy malcontents starting to follow him. Ha!

  That fool as leader! He'd lead us straight into the Sand Vortex, he's so set in his ways! If he weren't Querilla's half-brother I'd have killed him years ago! He spreads gloom around him like a desert cloak and brings little home to the pot but wild words and stupid fears!'

  He dismissed Quondal from his mind and turned back to Herra, noting the fatigue on her face, in spite of her erect posture. He gestured to some platters near the small fire and a pottery jar standing on a nearby rock.

  'There is food and water. If you need to eat, please do so quickly.'

  Herra allowed herself a few mouthfuls of food and a long drink of water, but swallowed them rapidly.

  Then she nodded to Quedras and he led the way into the cave. An older man was bending over a woman lying on a pallet, but he stood up when he saw them.

  Quedras nodded to him and went first to stand by the bed. He bowed his head for a moment, then turned.

  'Hail, Quall! This stranger, who is also a body-doctor, though she calls herself a Healer, has agreed to see Querilla. She may be able to help. Quequere guided her to us, as was promised.'

  'If her efforts will help you to bear your loss better . . . ' the man began.

  'Ha! Another gloom-monger! Spare me such thoughts, Quall.' Quedras's expression softened and he added. 'I know you've done your best, old friend. Now, let's try a new way. We have nothing to lose, after all.

  Let this healer-woman try her people's arts on Querilla. I'm sure you'll wish to remain with us in case she has any questions to ask you.' He gestured to the body on the pallet and stood back to let Herra approach the sick woman. His expression was impassive, but Herra could see in his eyes the unhappiness he felt at the sight of Querilla's agony, as well as the brightness of unshed tears.

  Herra knelt beside the tossing and twitching figure. She laid her hand on the flushed brow, and the woman gasped and opened her eyes.

  'The pain - is less! How . . .' Her voice trailed away and she looked beyond Herra to Quedras. 'Give me a knife, Quedras!' she begged, 'and let me kill myself before the pain returns, before I bring shame on my name by screaming aloud.'

  'Shhh!' said Herra, her voice as warm as honey in the sun. 'Don’t rush towards death, child! Let me try to help you back to life first.' Under her soothing hands, the woman's eyes flickered shut and she uttered a long sigh of relief, after which she was silent.

  'Quedras!' Herra called softly, her hands still stroking the woman's fevered brow.

  'Yes?' He moved forward.

  'I'm still weak from the desert. When I've finished healing Querilla, I may lose consciousness for a time. Be ready to catch me. I don't want to fall on her, for her skin will be very tender and it'll bruise easily. She should be sleeping by then. Allow us both to sleep until we wake naturally, then feed us something light and nourishing.'

  'I hear you, old woman of the sand.' He came and crouched beside her.

  Quall leaned forward, 'Can you really - '

  'Quiet, please! This isn’t easy, and I must concentrate.' Herra began to stroke the woman's limbs, always towards the extremities. 'Hear me, Querilla, hear me now! Feel the poison leaving you - leaving your body - leaving you whole - whole and healthy - free from pain. Feel it leaving! Feel it! Feel the relief! No pain. Whole and healthy.'

  Quedras and Quall both gasped in astonishment as sweat began to trickle along Querilla's limbs and drip on to the rocky ground.

  The pain-contorted body gradually relaxed, but Querilla made no sound, and Herra went on stroking her limbs even after the sweat had dried. She continued to chant her healing litany very softly until Querilla sighed deeply, just once, and fell into a peaceful natural sleep.

  The cave began to spin round Herra. She was too weak for such a complex Healing after her ordeal in the desert, but she managed to hold on to consciousness until she knew that the inner healing had commenced.

  With a sigh, she crumpled into Quedras's arms.

  He picked her up gently and with great respect.

  The other man leaned forward to stare at Querilla. 'She's sleeping,' he whispered. 'Sleeping peacefully. The pain is gone - you can tell by the way she lies. How is that possible? I've learned all the arts of body-medicine, yes, and added to them, but I've seen nothing like that, nothing! It's - magic!'

  Quedras looked at the tiny figure lying limp in his arms. 'She spoke of it to me as we walked back to the camp. She said it's not magic, but a Gift from her God. And that they work hard to develop their Gifts. She also said she was two hundred and forty-three years old. I didn't believe her at first. Now - if Querilla recovers

  - I shall believe anything this crrazy old woman tells me.'

  He walked out of the cave to a nearby tent and laid Herra reverently on the soft amber pelt of a cliff cat, then he left her to the care of an elderly woman and returned to the cave to sit next to Querilla.

  When it was obvious that the healing sleep would continue, he nodded to Quall and stood up. 'I have business to attend to.'

  'Quondal?'

  'Yes.'

  'Shall you kill him?'

  'Not unless I have to - though he well deserves it. Querilla still remembers him as the big brother who looked after her when their parents were killed. But he shall leave this community - he and any who think like him.'

  'Send Quinna in to see me. She knows my ways. I'll make sure someone stays with Querilla until you return.'

  'The healer woman said they would both be hungry when they awoke,' Quall murmured when Quedras had left. He couldn’t stop staring in wonderment at the peaceful face on the pallet. When he heard a footstep behind him, he turned. 'Ah, Quinna. Go and tell someone to prepare food for the stranger who healed Querilla. A hearty broth would be best. You know the sort of thing. And I have a herbal mixture which might assist recovery. I'll make some up later.'

  Quinna gaped at the figure on the pallet. 'Is she cured?'

  'Yes.'

  'Bust my guts! Next thing you know the sun'll be shining at midnight!' She was still muttering in amazement as she left.

  When Quedras returned some time later with a slight cut on his arm, Quall washed it with a herbal rinse.

  'Everything settled?'

  'Yes. Quondal and his little friends won't stop running for days. I told him exactly what I'd do to him if I ever saw him again.'

  'Good. He won't be missed.' Quall left Quedras keeping watch and slipped out of the cave to spread the news of the miracle cure. But as soon as he could, he returned to watch over Querilla himself. He couldn’t bear to leave that to someone else. How had the healing been done? He must find out!
He must!

  CHAPTER 12 DESERT RESCUE

  When Herra awoke she found herself lying on a soft hide rug in a tent. She felt rested, but ravenously hungry, and an appetising smell made her turn first in its direction.

  'You hungry now, crrazy woman?' teased a voice from her other side.

  She turned back towards Quedras. 'Very.'

  'Ha! You've earned a good meal. Let me help you to sit up.' His voice was markedly warmer than the previous day.

  'No need. I can manage myself. I feel much better - and lighter in spirits. Now, why is that, I wonder, when my friends are still waiting for me to rescue them?'

  Quedras stared at her. 'You don't know? You rreally don't know?'

  'I wouldn't ask if I did.'

  'Have you no desert in your land?'

  'No. There are infertile places, where few things grow, but I've never seen or heard of a place as barren as your Great Desert.'

  'Quequere says its purpose is to keep us away from the deleff, who sent our ancestors across it, away from Dsheresh, a long time ago, and who still send people across it to us from time to time. We have a tale-spinner who can explain it all better than me, but he's away visiting his sister at the moment.'

  'Please try to explain it to me now, Quedras!'

  'Well, not everyone survives the crossing from Dsheresh, only those who can reach the Sandrims without going mad. And no one can get back across it to Dsheresh. No one! There are those who've tried, those who've found the life here too hard, but none of them have succeeded. Those who manage to get to the Sandrims often report seeing bleached human bones in the sand, and they tell us that no one has ever been known to return to Dsheresh.'

  'Is there no other way out of the Sandrims?'

  'Possibly across the mountains, but that, too, is dangerous and many die trying.'

  Herra did not comment. Just so, in Dsheresh Kashal, had they assured her that escape from the land of the deleff was absolutely impossible.