by Janina Woods
We walked until long past noon. The sun was already on its downward path towards the horizon, but it would still be some hours until it disappeared completely. Walking, stumbling, across the uneven, hard ground had left me breathless, exhausted and aching. The stress of the previous day caught up to me, the mental taxation from being thrown from one place to the other, and traveling across two continents in only two weeks had me in its grip and wouldn’t let go. Normally I’d have no problem with this, but the worry about Sherlock amplified all other feelings. My wounds made themselves known again, and my head pulsed with a dull ache every time I took a step. The only thing I could do was walk ahead as well as I could, as I knew that every break and every delay could mean the end for my brother.
If I ever lay my hands on him again, I will have to restrain myself not to kill him.
Except for a short confirmation of my companion’s continued presence every half hour or so, I didn’t talk, and neither did they. The day wasn’t overly hot, but we had covered our heads with the cloaks regardless, as it wouldn’t do for any of us to be sun-struck right now. While the heat was bearable, the exceptional dryness of my surroundings caused me considerable distress. No matter how often I took a sip of water and kept it in my mouth, it always felt like I had inhaled a handful of sand only seconds after the precious liquid had dissipated.
I continuously surveyed the horizon, but couldn’t make out anything but bluish, hazy skies over a rocky landscape, in which bright sand and dark stone where the only inhabitants. With every step, my melancholy grew, with every misstep my annoyance grew even further. Not only about my surroundings, but about everything that came to mind, which was a lot when you walked silently through the desert for hours.
My companions must have been equally lost in thoughts, as Watson all but ran into me when I stopped in my tracks. He had to catch himself on a bigger rock to regain his balance. I took out my compass and by angling it correctly with the help of my watch and the sun, checked our current direction. The doctor slumped down on a low, rock as I meticulously repeated the measurement three times to be extra sure. There is never room for error in the Sahara.
“If I estimate correctly, we should be less than two miles from our goal,” Victoria said, as she sat down next to Watson.
“You are almost correct,” I mumbled.
She busied herself and dug a handful of dates from her backpack. Watson joined her and consumed some of his own provisions. I snatched a date from Victoria’s hand, which was met with an expression of surprise from her side and an eyebrow raised in challenge from mine. I felt delighted by the sugary juices of the date, which stayed in my mouth far longer than the occasional sip of water had.
“Over there,” I interrupted the two and pointed to a very low hill in the distance, from which we were separated by a shallow, wide valley. “Can you see it too?”
They visibly strained their eyes to discern what I had pointed out, but even though I heard a surprised gasp from Victoria, the doctor just shook his head.
“There is a column of black smoke behind that hill. But it is very faint. Not from a big fire,” Victoria explained to him. “I am surprised you could make it out through the haze, Mycroft.”
“Only after I confirmed the exact direction. But it’s definitely where we should be heading,” I explained and stashed my compass, as well as the small map I had perused. “I had already begun to think that the instructions were fake.”
“The longer I thought about that, the more I believed them to be absolutely genuine,” Watson added. “There was really no reason for them not to be.”
“What makes you think that?” Victoria asked with a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Moriarty might as well have left the plans there to lead us astray, or into a trap.”
“But that is just it. Moriarty left them there,” Watson countered.
“I don’t understand,“ Victoria shook her head.
“Well, Dr. Watson, you can use your head after all. I am beginning to see why my brother keeps you around,” I mused. “Of course, because the madman left them there, they had to be very quite genuine.”
Victoria still frowned.
“He has been leaving clues for us along the way. Easily findable breadcrumbs, to point us in the right direction at every step of the way, always making sure we would continue to go on,” I elaborated on my statement. “Everything was designed to keep us playing his game.”
“But we escaped his trap in Alexandria,” Victoria shook her head. “If he meant for us to die there, why give us a very accurate map?”
“I suppose he never expected us to leave that place,” I answered gravely. “He probably delighted in the knowledge that we had the correct map in our hands but could do nothing to change Sherlock’s destiny.”
“That’s just... wrong,” she said tensely and rose to her feet. Then the agent extended a hand to help Watson stand up as well, which he took gratefully. “He must have hit his head harder than I thought when he tumbled down that waterfall in Switzerland.”
“It’s a wonder he survived at all. And an even bigger one is that my brother emerged not only with his life intact, but with his faculties working as intended. We may never know what exactly happened on that fateful day, but I do know that Sherlock is behind that hill, and I will stop at nothing to get him back to London alive. We have roughly three hours left before the moon rises, and I suggest we make good use of them.”
The other two indicated their agreement and we walked down the slope, not with a spring in our step, but with a strong resolve in our hearts that gave us the strength to carry on. The valley was wide, and we covered ourselves with the cloaks in an effort at concealment. Still, if anyone had watched the space, they would have spotted us sooner or later. But there was no sign of any human on the horizon.
As soon as we had reached the next crest, we dropped to the ground and positioned ourselves behind some low, dark rocks. There it was: A small circle of tents with a platform made of stone in the middle, which looked like a pyramid with the top cut clean off. From the distance, I couldn’t make out individual items or people walking about, but my heart sank as I realised that the size of the camp hinted at a rather large number of enemies for us to overcome.
It Appears We are at an Impasse
“The rocks are arranged in several circular patterns around the centre, throughout the depression,” Victoria pointed out, while examining the surroundings of the camp with a small spyglass. “This hasn’t been constructed recently, either. The whole place seems ancient.”
“Like the priests of Seth have been using it for a long time,” Watson speculated. “And now they have recruited Moriarty into their ranks. It still feels... unreal, even though I am actually sitting crouched in the Sahara, breathing in so much dust my throat feels as though it’s lined with sandpaper.”
“Believe me, I don’t feel much better, doctor. But it doesn’t matter, because somewhere down there is my brother, and he had better be alive - otherwise I will make sure that those cultists’ holy site will also be their final resting place...” My voice grew gradually lower, until the last part was accompanied by a threatening growl.
“Have you spotted Holmes yet?” Watson asked hopefully, but Victoria just shook her head.
“If he even is in the camp. I’ve spotted neither him nor Moriarty. Well, their weird regalia looks right from what you told me, but that’s about it,” Victoria shrugged. “It feels... off, somehow.”
The distance we would have to cross without cover was considerable. The depression was wide and flat, probably measuring almost half a mile across, looking like a very shallow impact crater.
“We’ll wait until the darkness falls,” I decided. “They won’t be able to spot our approach then. Even though that leaves us with a much smaller window of opportunity.”
My companions had no choice bu
t to agree, as there was no other feasible option. The next half hour was one of the longest I ever had to endure. But even though this was as close to the situations I had encountered in my work for the Secret Service as it could be, I was feeling rather anxious. Nervous. Even shaky. It was clear why I felt so untypically unnerved. Not because of the unknown, which I encountered frequently. Not because of the danger, which I had ceased to faze me long ago. And certainly not because of the location, which, though unusual, wouldn’t prove an insurmountable obstacle. No, it was simply because this time, the life at stake was that of my exasperatingly beloved brother, and for once my emotions wouldn’t stop surfacing. Watson had talked about tying him to a chair upon our return, and the longer I pondered my situation, the certainty of it being a joke grew smaller and smaller.
While we waited, the sun sank lower, and the landscape was bathed in a golden light, which made the sand and even the dark stones glow as if hallowed. The atmosphere morphed into something out of a fairy tale as the very land seemed to shine from the inside. I could see why they would worship the god of the desert in a place like this.
“The men in their monochromatic robes walk around the camp and flaunt their red headdresses made of feathers, which bob with each step they take,” Watson relayed the pictures he saw. “But there is no purpose to their movement - they walk aimlessly and in circles, much like the drunkards stumbling through east London late at night.”
“An apt description, doctor,” Victoria commended him.
“There is some black smoke rising from a platform in the middle,” he continued. “And a bowl with something burning in it. In front of...”
Before he could continue, a high-pitched scream drifted from the centre of the valley to our ears, just as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. I jumped up, ripped the spyglass from the good doctor’s hands and took a look at our place of interest myself.
“Was that Sherlock?” Victoria asked with a shivering voice, just as another painful scream erupted.
“No, it sounded rather like a woman,” Watson said quickly. “Holmes’ voice is too deep to produce these sounds, I hope. Something is starting down there, now that the sun is gone.”
“We should now be able to walk across under cover of our cloaks,” I stated and stashed the spyglass in my pocket.
“I suggest we approach the first ring of stones. They are the biggest and should provide some sort of cover while we wait for the night to fall properly. The air will soon be too hazy for them to see us in the distance,” Victoria explained and pointed at a group of stones to our right, roughly a third of the way into the valley.
“I trust your judgement, Victoria. No time to lose now.”
I stood up and drew the sand-coloured cloak closely around my shoulders to conceal any recognisable form that might give me away, just as my companions did the same. Crouching low, we fell into single file and tried to get across the distance as fast and as inconspicuously as we could manage. And with every purposeful step I kept my head a bit higher and left a part of my anxiety and doubt behind me.
As we had almost reached the stones of the outer ring, I was startled by a low rumbling, which seemed to permeate the very ground as well as the air surrounding us. It didn’t last all that long, but when I exchanged glances with the other two, I knew I hadn’t imagined it. Then, despite every precaution, Victoria emitted a squealing noise of surprise and pulled us down to the ground before she pointed upwards, to the sky.
I will never forget the sight that lay before us that very moment.
Above the featureless, flat ground, standing out against the darkening sky, already tinted in an inky blue, a bright wall of clouds stood upright and proud. It was like a monument in honour of the day, which refused to fall into darkness, glowing yellow and gold in the setting sun. There was no way to judge just how high the clouds reached, but they covered almost half of the heavens and made me feel rather insignificant.
“That’s impossible,” I uttered with a shaky voice. “We should have seen this coming. There should’ve been signs! How can it appear just like this?”
“The clouds?”
“Dr. Watson!” I shouted, slightly panicked, all caution forgotten. “By god man, look closer! Those aren’t clouds! We need to get to cover now.”
I had never been exposed to a sandstorm before, but I instinctively knew the danger it meant for us. It was almost impossible to comprehend the sheer size of the wall of sand in front of me. All the horror stories I had heard about this natural phenomenon played in my head simultaneously.
We watched the camp, but no reaction to the storm was visible. In fact, there were more people outside the tents now than before, gathering around the central structure. They seemed to gather, all faced towards the central point. I could only barely make them out now, as the light faded rapidly. The only things to stand in defiance of the night were the wall of sand above us and the rekindled fire in a bowl in midst of the group I suspected to be the actual Desert Wind cultists.
“The density of tents seemed to be a bit higher on the left side, and we should be able to hide somewhere,” Victoria suggested and I agreed readily.
The wind had already picked up and the first particles of sand were flying through the air, not yet painful when they hit my skin, but uncomfortable enough that I dreaded being out in the open much longer. With the threat looming, we approached the camp even faster, if only to seek shelter in one of the tents. As I looked up, I could see that only the topmost part of the sandstorm was still illuminated by the setting sun and the lower part had morphed into a threatening, swirling black mass, about to swallow us whole. As we reached the camp, I let myself fall to the floor immediately and lifted the cloth of the closest tent.
“Clear,” I announced after I inspected the interior. “Can you roll through here?”
“Of course,” Victoria confirmed and within seconds, both of us were inside the tent. Watson took just a bit longer to enter in the same way, clumsily getting up from the ground.
Immediately, we were engulfed in a hot and sticky darkness. It was clear that the tent had been left undisturbed in the sun all day, as the air was stale and reeked distinctly of unwashed clothes. On the floor was a thin carpet, which felt sticky to my hands, so I made a point of touching it as little as possible. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the sparse furniture, consisting of at least three low beds and several small tables. The overall state of the space quickly told me that there would be nothing of worth to us here.
There was only one object that caught my attention. A headdress with long feathers rested on the pillow of one bed, and as I bent down to examine the details, a sliver of light fell across it. The feathers immediately took on a blood-red shimmer. Surprised, I turned around, only to find Victoria cautiously holding open the door flap of the tent to judge the situation outside. She beckoned us over after closing the tent again.
“I can’t observe much from here, but it seems like they have all gathered in the centre. There aren’t any guards,” she explained. “Not as far as I can make out.”
“Maybe their meeting place is so secret and removed, they never had need for any protection. Or their ritual is so sacred, no one would even dare interrupt them,” Watson wagered a guess.
“Or outsiders simply aren’t allowed,” Victoria added. “No matter the reason, I assume these cultists are distracted. We should search the tents to find Sherlock before they take him out there. We should still have about an hour, but we should assume less.”
“Then we’ll have to split up. Victoria, you will go with Dr. Watson and circle the camp clockwise. I’ll go counter-clockwise and we’ll look into every tent to spot my brother. There is no way to reliably contact one another without raising suspicion, so we will just have to be quick and do whatever we can.”
Victoria showed me one last, e
ncouraging smile, then beckoned the doctor to follow her and slipped out of the tent. Just like that, they were gone. I took a few seconds and a deep breath, then followed them outside.
The tents all looked remarkably similar - especially in the falling darkness. As I searched for stable footing among the stones, so as not to stumble and draw attention to my presence, the members of the cult in the middle of the circle started a synchronous humming noise. It permeated the air, a sound so clear, I could hear it even over the growing wind. Still, the strange people made no attempt to leave. They sat in a half-moon shape in front of the central structure. Their robes fluttered and their headdresses looked like beaten, battered cockerels in danger of being carried off by the wind.
But there was no time to observe them any further. In the light of the fire, flickering bravely in the storm, the only other things I could make out on the pedestal were some wooden poles. It was safe to say that whatever they had in mind for my brother would take place exactly there. So as long as there was no one bound to the pole, we’d still have time to find him.
Turning towards the next tent, I lifted the cloth carefully. It was dark and had a stench just like the first one we had entered, if not worse, which made me wonder just for how long the cultists had lived out here in preparation for the ceremony. I finally found a slightly bigger tent, took a deep breath of fresh air and crawled into the interior. It was immediately obvious that this one served a different purpose, as it was empty, except for the chair in the middle - and a person tied to it. The stench wasn’t as horrible here, but there was an odour in the air I would never mistake for anything else: It reeked of fresh blood.
My presence had gone unnoticed so far, but I kept to the side of the tent as I circled around. It was hard to make out who exactly was sitting there, all tied up. Their body size was too small for Sherlock, but then again I didn’t know what they had done to him in the last weeks. I only knew the person was injured, because even from the back, and with only the light of a single oil lamp, I could see them bleeding from a number of wounds on their arms.
