The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

  “Krasia’s to the southeast,” I say. “Closer to the mountains that feed the oasis.” I check my compass, and Selen’s guess is as good as any.

  “Can’t stay here,” I say. “So either we turn back—”

  “No,” Selen cuts in.

  I nod. “Then mostly’s all we got.”

  “The compass and a fuzzy memory may be more precise than wild guesses,” Rojvah says, “but they could still lead us far enough from our goal to miss it entirely in the sands. We don’t have supplies to wander the desert until fortune finds our way.”

  “Go back, if you’re scared,” Selen says. “But I didn’t come all this way to turn around because the wind blew a sign over.”

  “Need to get moving so we don’t lose the day,” I say. “Want to get as far as we can from here. Corelings always rise in the same area they left to flee the sun. Reckon there’ll be a whole mess of ’em come nightfall.”

  “What say you, brother?” Rojvah looks to Arick, but her brother is staring into the distance, his face euphoric. I’m not even sure he’s listening until he whispers a reply.

  “Let them come.”

  44

  OASIS OF DAWN

  We cover a fair distance from the camp, but it’s not enough. The corelings will rise at dusk and follow our trail, moving far faster than we can over the sands. We’ve bought ourselves a few hours, at best.

  “Should have seen three wayposts by now,” I say.

  “Which means either they all got buried,” Selen begins, “or—”

  “We’re off course.” Arick is studying his map. “We should have passed a spring an hour ago.”

  Travelers depend on the springs along the desert road to sustain them on the crossing. Life clings to those little patches of land surrounding small seepage pools, easily waded across, but more valuable than gold. We packed water, but all of us are consuming more than expected, the animals included. We can afford to miss this spring, but not all of them. And without the wayposts to guide us…

  “Might as well set camp now,” I say. “No point pushing on till we know where we are. Maybe the stars can tell us more than a compass and a map.”

  The night is clear, and the moon a thinning crescent. With no city lights and greatwards to blot them, countless stars light up the sky. All the groupings from astronomy maps, speckled with stars only my eyes can see, invisible even to the astronomers of the old world with great distance lenses or my friends with their warded sight.

  Still, Rojvah is the first to speak, lifting a finger to point at a cluster of stars. “We are too far east.”

  “Ay.” Selen’s scent is less sure as she stares up at the sky. “But there’s no way to tell how many wayposts have been buried in sandstorms over the last fifteen years. We could cross the desert road a dozen times and never know it.”

  “She’s right.” Arick rolls his map and puts it back in the tube. “And without the springs, we don’t have enough water to wander for long.”

  “Then we don’t make for the road,” I say.

  Everyone looks at me, and it takes me a moment to realize they don’t understand. “Da says there’s only one place to head, if you’re lost in the waste.”

  “The oasis.” Rojvah turns her eyes back to the sky even as Arick reopens his map tube.

  “Oasis?” Selen asks.

  “The Oasis of Dawn,” Arick says, “has greeted every traveler through the waste since the desert road was blazed. Inevera, we will have water enough to reach it.”

  “Da wrote a lot about the oasis,” I say, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice. “Might encounter other folk there, and sometimes animals come to drink. There’s shelter, fruit trees, even a fishing hole.”

  “Ay, I’m sold,” Selen says. “How do we find it?”

  It takes a while to figure. The Krasians have different names for the constellations than the ones Da used, but eventually, we work it out. Between the map, the compass, and the stars, we hazard a reasonably educated guess.

  “How educated?” Selen hasn’t been able to help, and it’s made her prickly.

  “Reckon I can smell a big pool like that for miles,” I say. “Even if we’re off a little, we’ll come close enough for me to sniff it out.”

  Selen seems satisfied with that reply, but Rojvah clearly is not. “Even if you are correct, it will take three days to reach the oasis. Do we have water enough?”

  “Barely,” Arick says. “We will need to conserve without lessening our pace.”

  “Not dyin’s a good motivator,” I say. “Can’t afford to dally in any event, ’less we want to get caught outside the walls at new moon.”

  That sobers everyone. Selen goes to her bedroll. “Best we get some rest before the demons catch up.”

  “I’ll take first watch.” Arick finishes polishing his spear and shield, rising to hold them like lovers. I’ve no doubt he’ll take the second watch, too. And the third. As long as it takes to find another chance to drive his warded spear into a demon, tasting its magic.

  “We’ve got hard level ground tonight,” I tell him, “and not a lot of wind. The circle will hold. Might be smart to clean the grit from your kamanj. We’re safer using music, and fighting as a last resort.”

  Arick laughs. “I threw my kamanj into the sand before we left camp this morning, son of Arlen!” He points with his spear back the way we’ve come. “Half a day’s walk that way.”

  “Everam’s beard, you are a fool.” Rojvah spits in the dust.

  “Fool was father’s job,” Arick says. “I know what I am, now.”

  I don’t want to get involved. Night, I wish I could mist into the ground like a demon to flee the building conflict. But from the looks they’re givin’ each other and the way they smell, this is gonna escalate if I don’t say something. “Ay, it’s all sunny,” I cut in before Rojvah spits a venomous reply. “I’ll play, instead.”

  Arick shrugs. “Do as you wish.”

  There is no concession in his scent, but there’s no point arguing. I run a finger over the hora coin the Damajah affixed to my pipes, wondering if I can keep the demons too far away for him to pick a fight.

  I move to my own bedroll, hoping to catch a bit of rest before the demons catch up. I pass Selen, propped up on one arm staring at Arick.

  “You be careful around that one,” she whispers. “Reminds me of Ella Cutter, when she got drunk on demon ichor.”

  “Ay.” I squat beside her. “Saw her too. But this ent that.”

  “You sure?” Selen asks. “I felt it, too. Never felt so good in my life. Wasn’t like the fight on the borough tour.”

  “Reckon your wooden armor took most of the charge,” I say. “Mam says it was designed that way, to help Hollow Soldiers keep control. This time it went right into you.”

  “Ay, maybe,” Selen agrees.

  “But it ent magic that’s got Arick and Rojvah ready to boil over,” I say. “This scrap’s been building for years. Best we stay out of it as much as we can.”

  “Ay.” Selen snorts a laugh. “Creator knows, I want to punch my wood-brained brothers often enough.”

  Rojvah puts her head down. She’s better at faking sleep than Selen, but not enough to fool me. She’s wide awake and watching us through slitted eyes, but she’s too far off to hear our low voices.

  “Who taught you to read the stars?” Selen asks.

  “Da kept the charts, but Mam taught me to read ’em,” I say. “Figuring out where you are by the stars is extra important when you can skate a thousand miles in a heartbeat but can’t see where you’re going.”

  “Why don’t you?” Selen asks.

  I’m confused. “Why don’t I what?”

  “Just skate to Krasia,” Selen asks. “I’ve seen you do it.”

  I shake my head. “You saw Mam drag me. Ent the same
thing.”

  “Why not?” Selen asks.

  He will be born in darkness, the Damajah said, and will carry it inside him.

  “Magic burns off with the sun,” I tell her, “so surface life never adapted to it. But corelings live in magic like fish live in water. Their bodies absorb and hold it like coals buried in ash. So when Mam and my da…” I get queasy at the thought, “ate demons, it…changed them.”

  Selen nods. “Gave them powers.”

  “I guess,” I say. “I’ve never eaten demon. Whatever seed of magic they passed to me is only a fraction of that.”

  “Little seeds can grow into big trees, Darin,” Selen says.

  The words remind me of the hidden part of the Damajah’s foretelling—the part I wish I could make myself forget.

  A boy of limitless potential, and a future of despair.

  Does that mean I’m going to fail no matter what I do? Not every seed gets to be a tree. And if I don’t, who I got to blame but myself?

  “Hey.” Selen lays a hand on my foot. The pressure through the soft leather of my boot is gentle, but it’s enough to pull me back. “Where did you go?”

  I shake my head. “Just thinkin’.” It ent that I don’t trust her, but I’m comin’ to see why folk keep prophecies a secret. Makes you second-guess everything.

  I go back to the original question. “Wouldn’t skate to Krasia even if I could. Hate it.”

  She tilts her head at me. “That why you were screaming when you and your mam skated in that last time?”

  The memory of that humiliating moment is burned into my mind, always ready to fill me with fresh shame. It’s no wonder Selen doesn’t want to kiss me anymore, but that ent her problem, it’s mine.

  Always a struggle getting folk to understand my troubles, but maybe this one I can explain. “Think the sun hurt when it burned off your magic this morning? Try having every bit of you pulled apart until you burst into mist and are sucked down into a twister during a lightning storm.”

  Selen squeezes her hand on my foot. “How do you keep from just…blowing away?”

  “Mam says it’s will, but Core if I could ever understand it,” I admit. “And even will’s got its limits. That’s how my da died. Stretched so far he couldn’t pull himself back together.”

  Selen puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Darin, I’m so sorry.”

  She rises to embrace me, but I’m barely holding together, and that would put it over the edge. I back away, just enough for her to get the message. She nods, sitting on her bedroll and patting a spot next to her.

  I take the offered seat. “Know going after Olive ent a game and I don’t wanna seem selfish, but this trip…seein’ places Da wrote about, it’s been like gettin’ to know him a bit.”

  “Nothing selfish about wanting to know your da better,” Selen says.

  “Guess not,” I say. “Da called the Oasis of Dawn the most beautiful place in the world. Said it saved his life more than once.”

  “It’s nice that you can read your da’s journals,” Selen says. “See who he really was. The general’s got his tales, but I’ve heard them get bigger every year. Who knows where the truth ends and the ale story begins?”

  “You could just ask him.” The words come out harder than I intend. Selen is trying to understand, but she doesn’t—not really. “Give anything to be able to go up to my da and ask him a question, even if all I got was an ale story.”

  “Sorry.” Selen keeps her eyes forward, staring in the same direction as me, but she reaches out a hand, laying it over mine. “What would you ask him, if you could?”

  I hesitate. The answer’s personal, but it ent a prophecy. Who in the world can I trust, if not Selen Cutter? “Why he left us, I guess.”

  Selen is quiet a long time. “Saving the world ent some small thing, Darin.”

  “Know that,” I say, “but whenever I imagine meeting him, it’s the first thing I ask.”

  “And the second?” Selen asks.

  “Just…” If the first one was personal, this is being caught naked on a cold day. “…what he thinks of me.” I choke, and suddenly my eyes are blurry. I squeeze them shut to force the water out, feeling tears run down my cheeks. “Not much, I expect.”

  I feel Selen’s arms close around me, and this time I don’t have the will to resist. “That’s tampweed talk, Darin Bales. You’re smart and brave and make beautiful music. You’d do anything to help your friends. What da wouldn’t be proud of all that?”

  I sob, and Selen pulls me close, squeezing me tight as I weep into her shoulder for just a few moments. I feel ashamed when it’s done, turning away to dab my eyes with my scarf.

  Across the fire I see Rojvah watching, and the feeling worsens. Creator only knows what she’s thinkin’. Krasian women take tears seriously. Got whole rituals about it.

  But the men ent supposed to cry.

  Protected by a ring of massive wardstones, the Oasis of Dawn is an island of perfection in the waste, fed by an underground river that passes close to the surface. Sand and hard clay give way suddenly to verdant grasses, shaded by fruiting trees and bushes growing in clusters with medicinal herbs—some natural and some cultivated over time for utility and beauty. The crystal water in the deep pool is clean to drink, and large enough for an entire caravan of people and animals to wade in and quench their thirst along with the local fauna.

  * * *

  —

  That’s what Da’s journal said, at least. It ent what we find.

  The warded obelisks are fully revealed and easily spotted, but inside their succor the fruiting trees and bushes have all been cut, the remains torn up root and stump to leave puddles amid soil packed hard as a wagon rut. The pool is drained down to a murky and brackish pond at the center of a wide, muddy depression buzzing with insects. I could smell its stink a mile out.

  Patches of coarse vegetation cling stubbornly to the land, but ent nothing close to “verdant.”

  “Sixty thousand of us crossed the desert to the green lands,” Rojvah says. “When the Majah returned with their chin thralls, it was nearly as many. Everam never meant this place to support such numbers.”

  “Sucked the orange dry.” I feel sick inside. “Turned the most beautiful place in the world into a warded mud puddle.” How many times had I dreamed of this place, poring over Da’s description and illustrations? Is there anything in the world left I can share with him?

  “Bah,” Arick says. “Everam wills as Everam will.” The words are the first he’s spoken since the night before, and don’t sound like him at all. “The Creator placed the oasis here to aid his grand army in their path north to Sharak Sun and eternal glory.”

  Sharak Sun. The Daylight War of prophecy, where my bloodfather’s army sacked and annexed southern Thesa, levying the people of Fort Rizon and Lakton into his demon-killing army. I ball a fist. “Nothin’ glorious about what your people did in Sharak Sun, Arick.”

  “The histories agree the green lands were too soft,” Rojvah says. “The dukes bickered and fought among themselves, hiding from the alagai like cowards. It was only my grandfather’s coming that hardened them in time.”

  “Demonshit.” Selen spits in the dust. “Darin’s da and Hollow were already starting to fight back against the demons before all the murder and theft you hide in ‘grandfather’s coming.’ ”

  The words don’t seem to bother Rojvah. If anything, she smells satisfied. “A brushfire when you needed an inferno.”

  I smell Selen taking the bait before she opens her mouth. We’re all tired, hungry, and thirsty. Worried.

  I try to imagine sixty thousand people, but it’s too big a number. Folk carrying their lives on their backs or in carts, holding children and helping elderly. Pack animals, livestock, hounds. All of them tired, all of them hungry, all of them thirsty. Worried about survival
, not some pretty garden. Worried about freezing if they don’t find something to burn.

  Ent right the most beautiful place in the world had to pay the price, but I can’t bring myself to blame folk in need.

  Selen is shouting now, and Arick is shouting back. Rojvah lets her brother carry the bulk of the argument while throwing in quiet darts to needle Selen, who looks ready to throttle them both.

  “Ay, what does it matter, who was right?” I snap, and everyone turns my way. “War was over before any of us learned to crawl, and nothin’s gonna bring the folk we lost to it back. Got more important worries right now.”

  “Honest word.” Selen seems to deflate. “We got enough water to make it to Fort Krasia?”

  Arick shakes his head. “Desert Spear is three days away, at least. Four if we’re dehydrated. We don’t have enough to last another day.”

  Rojvah looks to the murky, fetid pool. “Perhaps we can filter the water with silk and boil it.”

  “Ay, maybe.” I inhale deeply through my nose, catching another scent hidden beneath the stink. “But I want a closer look.”

  I remember roughly Da’s map of the oasis, but apart from the obelisks, all the landmarks are gone. It gives me a rough idea of where to look, but that’s all I need to sniff out the ancient stair, cut first into the trampled soil and baked clay, and then into harder material as it leads down, down. Long before we get close, I can hear the rush of the river—smell the fresh water—but I say nothing until the others sense it, too. I can smell their relief as Selen gives a cheer, taking the last steps two at a time in her hurry to drink and fill her waterskins.

  The others follow, even Rojvah sacrificing a bit of dignity to lift the hem of her robe and hurry down to the water. I climb back up the stairs instead, slowly counting. My tension grows until I reach the step Da wrote about and run my hand over a certain dry stone. The clay mortar crumbles around it, and I pull the stone free, revealing a small, dry compartment. My throat tightens and my hands shake as I reach inside, pulling out a carefully folded mass of knotted rope.