D & D - Red Sands (8 page)

"It's not music," Jadira said to Marix, "it's a voice." With this cryptic statement, she led them up to the summit of the dune. There she held out her hands and said, "Behold The Faceless One."

The rim of the dune dropped away ten paces, then the sand flattened out. In the center of this depression stood a statue. It was a colossal piece of sculpture. The rectangular base reared four paces high, and more seemed buried in the earth. Seated on this sandstone pedestal was an enormous stone figure at least fifteen paces tall. The head bore a flaring headdress in red stone that draped over the broad, cracked shoulders. The torso was flat and masculine; a suggestion of strength still remained in the carved muscles. The legs and the hands resting on the knees were well-defined, but all the facial features had eroded away.

"What is it?" Marix asked. "Or rather, who?"

"It is The Faceless One," Jadira replied. "It has no other name."

The colossus's sightless visage stared at the eastern horizon. The ghostly voice boomed out from it again. Nabul and Marix clapped their hands over their ears. Uramettu and Tamakh winced at the powerful sound.

"Why does it moan so?" asked Uramettu.

Jadira shrugged. "No one knows. And we do not know who carved it, how such a thing was moved here, or why it was made."

Nabul flopped down on the crest of the dune. "How does it make that noise?" he whined. "Surely it will split my head!"

"There are many stories of why it sings. Each tribe has its own legend . . . some say he is a god who mourns his blindness. Some say he was a mortal still being punished for some ancient evil—but no one has any idea how it sings. The cry is most often heard just at sunrise, though some claim to have heard it at sunset. The Sudiin sage

Akhrim the Blind once heard it at noon."

"It makes me sad," said Uramettu. "Crying in the desert seems so lonely!"

The sun lifted clear of the horizon and its rays bathed the colossus in warm orange light. After a minute the sound came again, more muted than before. Marix felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He said, "A faceless thing of stone, and yet my heart is uneasy at its song."

In silence they watched the singing colossus for several long minutes. Finally Jadira broke the spell, saying, "Pity will not help it now. We should be off."

They skirted north of the colossus, and as they passed, four of the five glanced up at the towering figure.

Jadira did not. She kept her eyes on the western horizon, where the shadow of the colossus reached, seemingly to infinity. As the figure sang a final faint note, Jadira's face veiled briefly with pain. She had not told her own idea on why the colossus mourned. Akhrim the Blind had taught the Sudiin children that the statute was a likeness of the god Mitaali, father of all nomads.

It was only fitting, she thought, that the maker of the Sudiin should grieve when so many of his children were dead.

The sun rose higher, and a hot wind blew in from the south. The wind flung dust in their eyes and parched their throats even worse than before. They wrung the last drops from the waterskin before midday. Then the real fury of the Red Sands fell on them. The sun bore down, splitting their skins and pouring fire inside them. Though they had had only two sips of water in the morning, whole bucketsful ran off them as they trudged. A: noon approached, the very air was transmuted into fire and Jadira called a halt. No one had any appetite (save Nabul), but Jadira convinced them all to eat something Without food, they would go off their heads.

Marix opened the food bags. The bread had dried intc tight curls as tough as sandal straps. He lifted the lid of the yogurt jar and gagged. The curdled milk was thick with weevils.

Nabul cursed. "I should have known!" he said. "Marut always did keep a filthy shop. See if I steal anything from that son of a dog again!"

"Weevils or no, we may have to eat this," Jadira said firmly. "Though a large oasis, Julli is small in the vast-ness of the desert, and we could walk past it unknowing."

Marix dropped the lid on the pot and swallowed audibly. "I'll starve first," he said.

"Ym may, my squeamish friend," said Tamakh.

Uramettu took the pot and dipped two fingers into the thick yogurt. Tiny black weevils crawled up her hand. She put her fingers in her mouth and swallowed, bugs and all. Nabul exclaimed in disgust.

"In my country, locusts and honey are considered a great delicacy. This 'yogurt' of yours is not as sweet, but it will sustain us on our journey," she said. Jadira swallowed, smiled ruefully, and reached for the pot.

"I can't watch," said Marix. He turned away and crouched in the small patch of shade cast by the horse. Nabul quickly joined him.

Tamakh stood. "You too, Holy One?" said Uramettu.

The priest mopped his streaming forehead. "Ah, well, hmm. The rigors of our passage would be better borne if I were of, umm, finer build." He bowed his head briefly and averted his eyes.

Jadira handed the jar to Uramettu. "Men are strange," she said. "They will rush to face a hundred swords, yet cringe at the thought of a few weevils."

"So I have found them in Fazir as they are in Fedush," the black woman replied.

"How long have you been in Fazir?" Jadira asked.

"I endured four new moons in the sultan's cage," Uramettu replied. "For that long I have been forced to transform myself and satisfy the whims of the sultan." She dug her hand deeper into the yogurt.

Resolving her apprehension, Jadira said, "I've been wondering—that is, I wanted to ask you—"

"About my ability."

"Yes, the changing. How is it you can become a panther? Were you cursed by an evil magician?"

"No, no, not at all. Understand, my sister, that on the savannah there are many powerful spirits: Ontoduma, the elephant spirit; Klikka, the monkey; and many others. Each clan has a totem spirit whom they appease and worship. My clan follows Ronta, the panther. We are famed as the best hunters in Fedush, and it is to Ronta we owe this skill.

"In some mortals, the bush spirits claim close kinship. When I reached womanhood, Ronta chose me. I went out from my village for one changing of the moon and lived as a panther. I returned and became chief huntress and wise-woman to my village sisters."

Jadira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Then shape-shifting is a good thing?"

"It is a great honor," replied Uramettu.

"Can you do it at will?"

"Yes, but it is best if I do it fewer than four times per moon. It is easier to become a cat than to return to human form. The call of blood is powerful; the grip of Ronta so strong. Only once have I ever changed more than four times between moons."

This remark cried out for explanation. "When?" Jadira blurted.

"For the sultana," said Uramettu. "She . . . insisted."

"What happened?"

"I brought down a Zimoran bull and devoured it for the edification of Her Magnificence. The taste of blood was still with me, and I feared I would not be able to make the transformation to woman. My panther body lay in the cage for a day and a night as the change slowly took place. It was more painful than anything I'd ever borne before or since."

They ate in silence for a time. "What will you do once we get to Tantuffa?" Jadira asked.

"Find a way home. The slavers who sold me in the Brazen Ring never expect me to return, but when I do . . ." She opened her mouth wide and engulfed a large gob of yogurt.

"I wonder," Jadira said, taking the jar again, "if people can change to animals, do animals ever change into people?"

"Oh, yes," Uramettu said.

"I believe it, for I have seen jackals who walk and talk like men." She peered into the half-empty jar. "Ym know, this isn't so bad."

"Indeed. You and I will end by carrying our delicate male companions. Mark it, friend Jadira; it will come to pass."

The men looked up from where they sat and wondered what the two women could find to laugh at in this awful desert.

Captain Fu'ad clenched his teeth in futile anger. Two days out of Omerabad on the road to Rehajid, and this was the third major caravan the Invincibles had overtaken and stopped. The caravan master knew better than to protest, but his obvious evasiveness made Fu'ad's task all the harder. Already the troopers had found secreted bales of silk, jewels hidden in water gourds, and slaves not wearing owner's bracelets. All this to avoid the sultan's taxes, and in the current situation, Fu'ad could do nothing about it.

The caravan master approached, his tiny turban perched atop his broad face. "Is there anything else the excellent captain would care to see?" he said.

"I've seen quite enough," snapped Fu'ad.

"Then we may continue on, worthy sir?"

"When I give you leave!" The caravan master bowed deeply and rubbed his hands on his robe. He bowed and backed away, finally turning and shouting something harsh to his teamsters in his native dialect.

Marad rode to his commander. "There is no sign of the prisoners," he said. "No one in the party has seen them either, sir."

"Or no one
admits
seeing them," Fu'ad said in a low voice.

"Yes, sir."

Marad lingered, waiting for his captain's next order. Fu'ad surveyed the milling pack of horses, donkeys, camels, and men. "Where are they, my brother?" he said. "How could four people on foot have outdistanced us?"

"Perhaps they were disguised in one of the earlier caravans we searched," offered Marad.

"No, I cannot believe that. They are a distinctive band: a yellow-haired man, a nomad woman, a Fedushite woman, and a priest with a bare poll. No disguise in the world could shield them from me."

A donkey brayed and bucked when a heavy basket of trade goods was piled on its back. The driver clucked and whirred his tongue to calm the beast, to no effect. The wicker hamper fell to the ground and burst open, spilling beads and brass bangles on the road.

"Set these buffoons on their way," Fu'ad said. "We'll waste no more time with them."

"Very good, sir. What is our destination, if I may ask?" said Marad.

Fu'ad squinted into the setting sun. "We go on to Rehajid."

Two columns of Invincibles swung into their saddles in unison. Their peaked helmets blazed like torches and the dying wind billowed their cloaks. The caravan cleared the road to allow the lancers to pass. The Faziris looked ahead to the blood-hued horizon.

"I don't believe there is an oasis," Nabul said. His robes were undone and trailed forlornly behind him in the dirt.

"Oh, be still. All you do is complain," said Uramettu.

"How much farther do you think it is tojulli?" asked Marix.

"Two, three leagues," said Jadira.

"So far? I thought we'd come at least twenty from Omerabad."

"Omerabad," sighed Nabul. "Meat. Bread.
Wine!'
Uramettu poked him with the butt end of her spear.

"The desert of the Red Sands misleads you," Jadira said. "One walks and walks and walks, and it seems you've surely reached the edge of the world. But I've kept count of our steps, and we've walked no more than seven leagues."

"At least the air is cooling," said Tamakh.

"It will get cooler still. By false dawn tomorrow, our breath will be mist."

Marix hitched the Faziri breastplate up from his narrow hips. "I've always wanted to see the edge of the world," he said. He picked up the pace, and the rest fell in line behind him.

They topped a long ridge of blown sand. The sun was sinking fast, and the west wind had awakened. Jadira loosened her headdress, then shook her hair and lifted it off her damp neck.

Marix looked into the setting sun. "Now I understand why these are called the Red Sands. The ground looks like it is made of new copper."

"Or blood," said Nabul glumly.

A notch past sunset, stars began to appear. Tamakh hailed his first glimpse of the Fire Star.

"There's Agma's Daughter," he said.

"In Dosen, we call that star the Wanderer, as it meanders across heaven in a yearly course," said Marix. "What do your people call it, Jadira?"

"Just 'Fire Star.' Our elders mark the seasons by it, and others, by methods kept secret, divine the future from its movements."

Nabul twisted his head to see the much-discussed star. As he did, he lost sight of his floppy robe. He tripped on the front hem and pitched forward. Rolling down the dune, he bowled over Tamakh. The two tumbled face-over-fundament past Marix, past Jadira, down the slope until they smacked bottom and came to rest in a spray of dust.

Marix jumped off the horse. Uramettu and Jadira skidded down the dune to help their fallen comrades. Nabul, as usual, had ended up underneath Tamakh. The portly cleric had his head buried in the sand like an ostrich. Nabul's feet gyrated wildly beneath him.

Uramettu lifted Tamakh off. He rubbed his eyes and spat sand while Uramettu tried to dust him off with his own scalp lock. Jadira dropped on her knees by the half-buried Nabul and dug. The thief popped out like a rat from a hot hole.

"Father of pig-eating dogs!" he cried. "I've had more than I can bear. Do you hear me, you Thirty Gods? More than I can bear!"