The Scorpions of Zahir

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  Zagora nodded. Maybe the stone needed Zahir to wake up its powers.

  “If our dad turns up, you’ll tell him we went to the tower, right, Mina?” said Duncan. “His name is Pym, Dr. Charles W. Pym.”

  “Yes, yes, I will remember,” said Mina impatiently. “Now hurry. Go!”

  The three children set off through the canyon, its walls pale yellow in the early morning light. Sitting atop her camel, Zagora glanced uneasily at the dune where they’d seen the scorpions the previous night.

  “Adios, badlands!” shouted Duncan, grinning at Razziq.

  Zagora waved at Mina as they headed west, watching her dwindle into a speck of blue.

  “We have to make sure we go in a straight line,” said Duncan. “I read that if you drive cross-country in the desert and miscalculate your direction by a few degrees, you can miss your destination by miles.”

  “That’s not going to happen to us!” Zagora shouted down from the camel. “We’ll just follow Mina’s advice.”

  Every few steps Sophie hesitated, grumbling and creaking. Zagora nudged her neck with her foot the way she’d seen Azimuth warriors do, but Sophie refused to go any faster. Whispering into the camel’s ear, she coaxed her on.

  As the sun inched higher, beads of sweat rolled down Zagora’s back. Everywhere she looked she could see miles and miles of sand, stretching to the far horizon—endless waves of star dunes, blown by African winds, changing shape from one minute to the next. Now she knew why her father always said that no map could chart the desert exactly.

  The wind tore at her turban, blowing sand into her eyes, and the air turned a weird shade of yellow. She was finding it more difficult to breathe. The heat grew so intense it seemed as if all the oxygen were being sucked out of the air. As they crested a dune, a hot wind sprang up and a whirling blizzard of sand descended, engulfing the three of them in an instant.

  She heard Duncan shout: “Holy mackerel, a sandstorm!”

  “Stay together!” cried Razziq. “We must not lose each other!”

  Fighting back panic, Zagora clung to Sophie’s neck as whirlwind pillars of sand billowed around them. She remembered her father telling her that desert storms could bury a truck or a herd of goats in just a few hours. As they edged down a steep incline, the sand eddied and spun, darkening the air, turning Duncan and Razziq to shadows, and Zagora reached under her cheche, fingers grasping the Oryx Stone, trying to call up its unearthly superpowers.

  Waves of sand flew by, enormous sheets of it, blocking out the sun, and she knew they could easily lose their way. What if the sand buried them completely? She imagined an archaeologist in the year 3000, digging beneath the sand and finding a puzzle of bones. He’d never know that her name was Zagora and that her brilliant father had been kidnapped. Her bones would be carbon-dated and displayed in a museum with a sign reading GIRL FROM 21ST CENTURY, MOROCCAN SAHARA.

  Almost imperceptibly the light seemed to change, infused with a reddish tinge. A far-off wind echoed inside her ears. Before her a sparkling curtain of sand parted and she saw the oryx, sleek and elegant, moving up the side of a dune. Astonished, she watched it pause at the top of the dune and stand motionless, gazing down at her. Edgar had written that the oryxes seemed to be waiting for him to approach them. Was the oryx waiting for her?

  “Keep an eye on my camel, I’ll be right back,” she said, sliding off Sophie and handing Duncan the reins.

  “Are you crazy?” He grabbed her by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere! This is a sandstorm!”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure there’s an oryx up there on the dune!” she shouted, pointing ahead, although by now only blowing sand was visible.

  “You should not go off alone, Zagora. It will be hard to find each other again.” Razziq placed an arm on her shoulder, eyes gleaming behind his cheche. “In the desert a nomad never leaves his companions. It is the same for the three of us. We must stay together, no matter what happens.”

  “Sorry,” she said, feeling embarrassed. “But I really did see an oryx.”

  “It was probably a mirage,” Duncan told her, sounding like their father. “Wouldn’t be surprising, since we’re in the desert.”

  Razziq gave her a quizzical look. “I think Zagora may have a desert skill that very few people possess. Nomads speak of desert sight, a very special gift. Perhaps she sees an oryx that lived here many years ago.”

  “Seriously?” said Duncan, sounding doubtful. He thought a moment. “But I guess you know about these things, right, Razz?”

  Zagora smiled. She’d always been jealous of Duncan’s big brain and all those awards he’d won. He could chart distances of stars, balance equations and memorize formulas, and he was a whiz at fixing computer glitches. But mention magic or the supernatural and he would hyperventilate: the idea of invisible worlds was too foreign a concept.

  And while Duncan had seen only dust and sand, she had seen the oryx.

  “We must keep going!” Razziq shouted over the wind. “The storm is getting worse.”

  “This camel isn’t cooperating,” said Duncan, pulling on Sophie’s reins.

  “Even the dromedary is scared,” said Razziq, stroking Sophie’s muzzle. “Like all of us.”

  Struggling against the wind, they closed ranks and, gripping one another’s hands, clambered uphill, heads bowed and eyes half shut. Raging gusts tore at their clothes, snarled their hair, unspooled their turbans and threw sand into their eyes, trapping them inside a void of whirling sand and howling wind.

  Halfway up a dune, Zagora caught a glint of gold and felt a rush of excitement, seeing the oryx lift its elegant head and gaze into her eyes.

  “Hurry, Zagora,” said Duncan, his voice filled with urgency, “we have to keep going.”

  No longer able to resist, she pulled herself away and scrambled up the dune, ignoring Duncan’s shouts, storming uphill, knowing as she went that she might be putting them all in danger. The sand formed a whirling tunnel around her, and moments later, she stood before the oryx—the same one, she was certain, that had appeared to her in the casbah of Marrakech.

  The wild, staring eyes of the oryx drew her in closer, its supernatural light enveloping her. There was something fierce and mystical about the creature—a transcendent quality—and she knew she was falling under its spell. The oryx was not solid, but transparent, like a ghost—what Mrs. Bixby would have called ethereal, a word she reserved for only the most inscrutable things of this world.

  Feeling a sudden inexplicable urge, Zagora reached for the Oryx Stone and lifted it up for the oryx to see, sensing the warmth and wonder of it, the ancient loveliness that was the stone.

  “Look, an oryx,” she whispered. “It’s you they carved into this magic stone.”

  The oryx seemed to gaze at the stone with knowing eyes. Sniffing, it ventured nearer, as if it recognized something very old and very familiar. Deep inside the stone, a small fire burned brightly.

  Then, unexpectedly, the diaphanous, smoky outline of the oryx began to darken. Zagora watched, open-mouthed, as the animal grew so dense she could no longer see through it. Its whorled horns, like polished roots of ancient trees, threw off a soft metallic light. The oryx stood before her, solitary and silent in the wind, snorting out dust through its nose—a living, breathing animal. The Oryx Stone had brought the oryx to life!

  Alive, the oryx was even more beautiful, its movements exquisite. Zagora loved its wise face and sculpted horns, its eyes the color of the sea, and the way it turned its slender neck to lift its head. Standing motionless, she stared into those eyes, miles and miles into the center of its being, seeing right through to its goodness, its mystery, its wondrous beating heart, while the stone continued to glow in her hand.

  Shouts came from below and the oryx wheeled around, kicking its legs, bounding gracefully over the dune, vanishing into the storm. Dizzying waves of sand blew past, and for a shining instant, time fell away, revealing a tower washed in silvery light, guarded by blue-robed men on whi
te camels, sabers raised to the sky. Far below, Zagora could see a dusty wide road lined with tall columns, filled with camel caravans, goatherds and travelers on horseback.

  The road led to a city with red stone walls. Ancient Zahir! She was seeing into the past again. Inhaling the smells of hibiscus and orange, the dusky scent of figs, she was stunned by the city’s elegance: the towers and temples, the lush gardens and crooked streets, the palace of ocher and pink. Inside a great courtyard, a small pyramid of blue stones was being constructed.

  Then the vision began to fade, its shadowy images dissolving, drained of all color and light, and the harsh blowing sand returned, swirling around her.

  “Zagora!” shouted Razziq, running up to her, his turban flying apart. “We have been calling for you!”

  “We thought you were lost,” puffed Duncan behind him.

  “I was talking to the oryx,” Zagora said breathlessly. “And guess what, you guys. The Oryx Stone brought the oryx to life! It’s real, it’s not a ghost anymore!” She was shouting now. “The stone has the power to make the ghost oryxes real!”

  Duncan looked at her, confused, but Razziq clearly understood.

  “One day the oryxes will return to Zahir,” said the boy, sounding a bit nostalgic. “An old legend, but many believe it is true. Perhaps this stone has such power.”

  “The Oryx Stone can bring animals to life?” said Duncan, scratching his head. “Wow.”

  “I saw the tower!” said Zagora excitedly. “And I saw Zahir—ancient Zahir! It was incredible!”

  Razziq looked at her silently with his dark brown eyes. At last he said, “Then it is true, you have the gift.”

  “Did you say the Tower of the Enigmas?” asked Duncan. “Where?”

  She spun around, pointing in the direction of Zahir, then felt a sudden stab of panic. Why wasn’t she hearing Sophie growling and spitting, the way she always did in the wind?

  “Is Sophie okay?” she shouted to Duncan. Although he was only inches away, she could hardly see him.

  A blurry hand lifted the reins and her mouth dropped open. The reins dangling from Duncan’s hand were attached to … nothing! Where was Sophie? Zagora felt her heart leap into her mouth. The camel must have been so frightened by the storm that she’d bolted.

  “The dromedary!” cried Razziq, turning and running downhill.

  From below came a frenzied whinny.

  “Sophie!” shrieked Zagora, hurtling down the slope after Razziq.

  Razziq shouted back to her: “She’s fallen in quicksand—she is sinking!”

  Through cascading sand Zagora saw a dark shape, struggling and twisting, legs churning. Sophie had collapsed and was being pulled under. Covered up to her flanks, the camel tried to raise her head, but her efforts were futile. Her bottom half had disappeared and now the rest of her body was slowly sinking.

  Seeing Zagora, she gave a high, frantic cry, thrashing her head violently back and forth.

  Zagora stared in shock and disbelief, helpless. She felt a hand on her arm and, turning, faced Razziq. “Do something!” she cried.

  “Don’t go near there, Zagora,” he said firmly. “Your dromedary has fallen into a sinkhole.”

  “But it’s pulling her under! Sophie can’t get out! You have to save her, Razziq!” She stared numbly as Sophie’s tail vanished under the sand. “No!” she screamed.

  Razziq put his arm around her shoulders. “We can do nothing,” he said quietly, his face hidden by the blowing sand. “I am sorry, Zagora.”

  Sophie gave one last cry and Zagora sobbed in wild despair.

  As Sophie’s head slipped out of sight, Zagora and Razziq clung to each other like shipwrecked survivors. Zagora felt her heart shatter as the top of Sophie’s hump sank from view.

  The camel’s furry ears were the last part of her to disappear.

  Zagora sobbed all the way up the dune, struggling alongside Razziq through torrents of swirling sand. All she could see were Sophie’s dark soulful eyes and twitching ears. She could still smell the camel’s grassy breath, like when Sophie yawned, goofily showing her black gums and yellow teeth. Zagora had known from the beginning that Sophie was special, and she was certain that Sophie, with her keen camel intuition, had understood her deep passion for the desert.

  Over the sounds of the storm, she heard Duncan calling to them, and she looked up to see a lumpy shape slogging downhill.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, sounding short of breath.

  “The dromedary was swallowed into a sinkhole,” Razziq told him in a solemn voice. “We could not save her, it happened too fast.”

  “Oh no,” said Duncan, his voice quavering, “this is all my fault! I thought Sophie was right next to me, but with all the sand and wind, I …”

  Zagora said nothing; she was too distraught to be angry with her brother.

  “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry!” Duncan tried to console her, but she felt too numb to respond.

  “We have to get out of this storm,” said Razziq. “If there is a tower nearby, we must find it and take shelter. The storm could go on for hours.”

  “You’re right, Razz, let’s go.” Duncan gently patted his sister’s shoulder. “C’mon, Zagora.”

  She nodded, too weary to think anymore. Beneath the cheche, her face was wet with tears. Taking hold of their hands, she trudged on, images of her father and Sophie, as elusive as the shifting sands, tumbling through her mind.

  Peering through plumes of dust, she caught glimpses of the tower, looming over them on a high plateau, its wind-scoured walls fading in and out of sight. Ranged in a circle at the base of the tower were at least a dozen oryxes, exquisite and terrifying. They matched exactly Edgar Yegen’s description of them. Only, these oryxes were alive; their magnificent hearts were beating! That’s because the Oryx Stone is magic after all, Zagora thought, and the stone brought them to life.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Razziq. “I am seeing a tower—and I see oryxes!”

  “Holy cow!” cried Duncan. “They’re not extinct after all!”

  Hands linked, they charged up the plateau in a burst of energy. Dark columns of sand slanted in the wind, swirling around them as they blindly made their way. Zagora knew for sure they were at the tower when she bumped into something solid: it was a door of rough-hewn wood, rounded at the top and embellished with glyphs, set inside an archway of stone.

  “Where did the oryxes go?” puffed Duncan as the three huddled beneath the crumbling archway. “They weren’t mirages, were they?”

  “I think we scared them off,” said Razziq.

  Zagora wasn’t so sure. Oryxes didn’t scare easily.

  “Right, then—time for the old heave-ho,” said Duncan.

  Together they pushed on the door, and with a loud creak, it swung inward. Zagora tumbled into a gloomy space with high stone walls, the others collapsing on top of her. Razziq quickly leapt up, kicked the door shut and bolted it against the wind.

  She unwrapped her turban, sand flying everywhere. Her swollen eye was crusted with sand, but it no longer throbbed painfully, so she knew Mina’s poultice must be working. Brushing sand from her hair and clothes, she stood up to get a look at her surroundings.

  The tower had the feel of a desert outpost, or at least the way she imagined one, with thick curved walls and a desolate interior. Sand drifted across the bumpy cobbled floor, and high above, sand blew in through tall narrow windows. On the far wall a stone staircase corkscrewed up to a turret. Zagora had read in Edgar’s journal that the tower was deceptively large, with hidden rooms underground, filled with mysterious glyphs and drawings. But none of those things mattered now. What mattered was finding their father.

  Duncan and Razziq shook out their robes and turbans; their faces, caked with dirt and sand, were hardly recognizable. Razziq passed around a gourd of water—their last, Zagora realized, since their remaining supplies had gone down with Sophie—and they each took a drink.

  “We’ll search thi
s place from top to bottom,” said Duncan, looking around. “No clue is too small.”

  Zagora nodded in agreement. “And—and we … But Sophie’s dead,” she whispered, letting the reality finally sink in. “My camel’s gone!” Overwhelmed by a terrible sense of loss, she let out a gut-wrenching wail and crumpled to the floor, weeping bitterly. “She’s dead dead dead!”

  Razziq knelt down beside her and placed his small hand in hers. She kept crying, thinking how she’d never see Sophie again. The wind moaned through the tower, drowning out her sobs.

  After what seemed like hours, it was over; she wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve and stood up. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m ready to look for Dad now.”

  Razziq drew a sharp breath. She followed his gaze to the far side of the tower, where a light flickered through an opening in the floor that she hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “Someone’s down there,” she whispered, too frightened to move.

  The others stood frozen in place. She could almost hear their hearts beating in unison. Holding her breath, she crept toward the light—it was coming from a trapdoor someone had left open—and stared down a flight of crooked stone steps. The smell of smoke drifted up.

  Duncan sniffed; then he started to smile. “I think someone’s cooking something down there.” But his grin quickly faded. “Guys, I don’t know if this is safe. We don’t know who’s down there. Maybe one of us should go first—you know, like a scout.”

  “But we’re supposed to be like nomads,” argued Zagora, “and Razziq said nomads never leave their companions. We go down together or nobody goes.”

  She felt drawn to the warmth of the strange light—and the possibility that their father might be down there.

  “Our quest is different now,” she went on. “We’re not looking for Pitblade Yegen anymore. We’re on a mission to find Dad, and we won’t stop until we find him.”

  “Yeah, but we can’t just walk into a room full of kidnappers and ask for our father back,” said Duncan. “There could be smugglers down there, plotting dastardly deeds.”

  What kind of talk was that, dastardly deeds? Then Zagora remembered that her brother had recently finished a book called The Smugglers of Truro.