Chapter Thirty Five - Gift of Hands

Morning brought another parched landscape to Sapphire’s eyes.

A lizard had just emerged to bathe in the first probing rays of light and scattered back under its rock when the caravan approached. But it was too slow, already sighted by a hungry traveler, and the creature was torn from its lair by a large calloused hand.

The servile bit off the head and continued walking, mindlessly chewing on the tough reptile meat.

Sapphire leaned frantically back and forth in the saddle, actively searching his surroundings.

It was as desolate as any part of this wide endless desert, and the lack of familiarity started to gnaw on Sapphire’s tired mind. He hastily glanced up at the rising sun, its light heralding the well known wall of heat that was soon to arrive. ‘Somewhere… somewhere.’ The merchant mumbled.

A tiny speck of self-doubt slithered through his brain and his frantic eyes shot back and forth. He slowed the camel’s pace. ‘I’ve buried them myself. I cannot be mistaken.’ He assured himself, but the words failed their purpose.

Perhaps he was getting older, mind decaying. Then his caravaneer’s life would be over. There was no survival without the knowledge of the paths, the locations, the hidden water sources. He couldn’t even find his own stash! A senile aging man, robbed of his profession, left to haggle for coppers in seedy shanties until even the ability to count and subtract had abandoned him; Dan Sarpa, the once great Sapphire…

A rock in the distance caught his eye. His somber thoughts melted like ice in the desert.

That is a rock - I daresay, recognize, he thought with a self-content grin. His dry lips split open as he smiled.

‘Dogs.’ He alerted his following. ‘There is water there. Start digging.’

He dismounted Medif and pointed at a patch in the arid soil. A nondescript pattern of stones marked the spot. Placed there by his own hands - not that long ago, but it seemed a lifetime. Back when he was a simple, albeit affluent, merchant, shortly before he had picked up that crucial, elusive desert rumor of the tall lady in the sand.

The dirt was clawed open by a writhing mass of servile hands. A clay jar was raised, and another, and a third, dug up from the cool deep wherein they had been placed.

Sapphire received the first in his hands. An unwelcome surprise took hold of him as the weight was far too light. It felt empty. His mouth had gone dry with the expectancy of water and he swallowed with difficulty. The seal had been broken. He removed the lid and peered inside; nothing.

He turned the jar upside down over his eager tongue and a tiny trickle, no more than a few droplets came out.

‘Curse the thief!’ He threw the jar away in rage, shattering against the sharp rocks. He took the other jars and, finding them similarly empty, broke them as well.

Disillusioned he sat down on his haunches, face burrowed in his crossed arms. The heat was growing.

Sapphire rocked himself back and forth. After a few heartbeats of despair he rose again, expression cold and reddened eyes warily watching his mute following.

‘Seals been broken recently, otherwise those few drops would have been evaporated already.’ He took his waterskin from Medif’s saddle, the contents troublesomely little. Warm brackish water washed the disappointment from his mouth. ‘There was none who knew the location of MY water, no soul save I and Medif. Our prey is close. Drink your water and strengthen your bodies, my hounds. Ignore your rationing. I need you quick and merciless.’

Again he glared at the sky, ocean’s blue ebbing out over their heads.

‘Continue the march.’

***

Sapphire’s blue eyes pierced the dark like an owl in the night. The soft dunes were glazed silver by a swollen moon. The hunt was about to reach its conclusion.

His heart was in a steady tempo, his senses sharper; more sensitive, pupils dilated.

And there, visible like a signal from the tall mistress herself; an orange glow on the edge of black night.

Then as nothing had been the light disappeared again.

Sapphire turned in the saddle. ‘They have covered their flame. They know we are tracking them.’

The eyes of his warriors shined in the moonlight.

‘Double file!’ Sapphire ordered, increasing his mount’s speed.

Behind the camel rider came a quick host of paired men, spears and knives raised.

‘I am ready.’ Sapphire exclaimed. ‘’By the Gods I am ready!’ The merchant yelled into the night. ‘Are you ready, my slaves?!’ He asked the armed serviles.

‘Yes master.’ The warriors replied uniformly. Sapphire gritted his teeth. ‘Drop your packs and drink your last water. We will take it from the old wanderers or we will perish.’

Heavy bags dropped, waterskins were drained and cast aside.

***

Time passed without clear measure, Sapphire completely consumed with the desire for success. Pleasing Semiramis.

Their pursuing speed was high and took its toll on the weathered serviles. Sapphire heard their heavy breathing as they slogged their feet through the sand. No bother, they can go on for a while longer.

Across the silver plain of dust he regained sight of his target. Vague figures stirring afar, the white robes of the monks betrayed by the moon.

‘Our prey is sighted.’ Sapphire told his men. He licked his broken lips and raised his hand. ‘You know the command; Kill - Kill them all. Dont let any escape.’

His hand lowered and the serviles rushed past him in silence. Cold murderers.

Fortune will decide the outcome now, Sapphire thought, pressing Medif to follow.

His hunters had seemed so simple during their arduous journey, mute mule-men without reason or skill. Now they revealed their true selves; beasts encased in branded bodies of man. Wolves, lions, jackhals, adlers. Abysall spirits moulded into silent hosts.

With instinctive, calculated movements the eighteen surviving desert-men fanned out over the sand. They kept their bodies low to the ground as they closed in. Low, lower, until they were black serpents crawling after the monks. Patiently, carefully they lay in the sand.

A rare cloud moved past the moon, the silver glow over the nightly sanddunes reduced, and the hunters ejected from the desert’s floor. They scattered and split in two horns, sprinting through the sand in an attempt to envelop their prey by storm. Their weapons were prepared for the kill. Their furious eyes bulged and their bearded mouths were opened in mute screams. The procession of monks seemed unaware.

The Altar sparked up, its canvas cover removed. Its furious fire was revealed and lit up the desert. The shadows of night were hurled back and the predatory serviles revealed.

The orange rays of the fire repelled the packs of possesed, who clutched their eyes in confusion; blinded by the brightness.

The old monks stood in its fiery aura. Twelve aged men in simple robes, armed with the bow, the spear and the sword. Their faces were shrouded by hoods, but long grey and white beards showed under stern mouths. The old hands released the strings of their bows and ejected arrows in the dazed serviles.

Howls of pain, and the ragged horde spurred back into action. They leaped into the altar-guards from all sides. Kicked-up dust reduced the brightness of the light.

The bodies intermixed, the flash of bronze. Screams of pain, some old, others inhuman.

Sapphire watched from afar. He was tense. He blinked his eyes rapidly as the dust increased. The sounds of struggle dimmed, then fell silent. The desert was holding its breath. Not even a gust of wind to break the quiet. A complete stillness. The altar still shined. The dust around it settled down, and in the haze of sand figures became visible. Rigid statues.

Sapphire ran, and every step increased the clarity of his work. The serviles stood where they had murdered, the fallen monks at their feet. They looked at their approaching master for commands.

The fire hissed and sputtered within its gold and glass encasing, its attendants bleeding out in its warm aura.

An uneasy feeling stirred in sapphire’s stomach as he looked at the faces of the old men. They had been butchered, throats slit open, eyes gouged out. He felt pity.

Three serviles lay further from the altar, arrows in their dusty bodies. A fourth had been slain by a monk’s blade. A fifth was dying with a spear skewered in its intestines. The others had minor or greater wounds, but kept their backs straight. Thirteen serviles remained, their filthy skins covered in the drying blood of the pious, loyal to the hand of Sarpa.

A sense of disgust came over Sapphire. ‘Take their…’ He swallowed uneasily as he glanced at the altar. ‘Take their robes and cut off their hands.’ His face hardened. ‘Semiramis will be pleased.’

The serviles stripped the old bodies and mutilated the corpses. The only sounds were the breaking of bone and the wet slashing of flesh. Sapphire watched until he could no longer bear the silence. He retrieved his camel while the serviles piled up a mound of hands.

When he returned with a reluctant Medif he comforted the camel with soft words, urging the beast not to watch.

‘Search them for water.’ Sapphire ordered the serviles, taking up thin string from a saddlebag. He sat down on the sand besides to the pile of hands. He crossed his legs and slowly stringed the hands together, twenty four in total. When he was done, his heart had gone cold.

The serviles had scavenged sparse rations of water and food.

Bucket, his greying beard painted red with blood, had exchanged his crude knife for a monk’s sword. His yellow eyes almost seemed joyed.

‘Come then, loyal followers.’ The master told his servants. ‘We will return to our Divine of the sands. The tall woman. The red haired one. I speak of Semiramis!’

Upon hearing their mistress name the serviles jerked and twitched their bodies. Spit dribbled from their mandibles and their muscles tensed.

‘We will come bearing gifts. Expect to be rewarded. Now turn around and follow my guide. Leave this desolate plot for the vultures. The deal is done, the task complete.’ Now the payment, please.

The small caravan left the light of fire and returned to the silver shadows. The altar shined with the bodies of its keepers against its glowing panels. Its carrying poles lay useless on the sand. Sapphire had no desire for it, neither to keep nor destroy. He abandoned it, eager to increase the distance between him and the altar. Through the nightly desert they marched, taste of blood in their mouths, hearts pounding. Semiramis.

***

It was night in the desert and Sapphire pulled pulled a thick blanket over his shoulders. He sat in the saddle slumped over Medif’s soft wooly neck. His breath made small white clouds in the moonlight.

The merchant looked over his shoulder. The remaining imprinted walked mechanically behind his camel.

‘I know you care little for my praise, but you did well.’

Footsteps in the sand.

‘Semiramis will be glad with us.’ Glassy eyes darted to the merchant. On the saddle was strapped a bloody package of stained monk’s robes, and a talisman of twenty four hands hung down the camel’s side.

‘-I will make a request to keep you lot. Good hounds. You have held up well in the desert. The weak have died off. With some training you can become sharks of the barren sea…’

Despite the cold he still produced a thin smile. ‘Do you know what a shark is?’

‘No.’ A servile replied, his tongue unwieldy. Sapphire saw it was the grey haired Bucket that had spoken. The other serviles seemed to agree in their silence.

The merchant chuckled. ‘See, it is not so hard to speak.’ His eyes turned back to the black horizon and he leaned back in the saddle. ‘A shark is a great sea-monster, smooth of skin, with beady black eyes and a big nose that can sense blood from one sea to the next. Its mouth is filled with rows of sharp teeth, gums pink and raw. It has a long tail and a fin on his back like a blade. It is an enormously hungry beast that prowls the currents for prey...’

Sapphire caressed the growing stubble on his chin ‘...But I am starting to wonder, do you even know what the sea is?’

‘Water.’ Bucket replied. Sapphire almost imagined a triumphant edge to the monotonous voice.

‘Very good! Predators in the water. Just as in the ocean, you will be sharks in the sand. The dunes will be the waves where you will hunt. The richest, largest, fattest caravans will be your prey. Great whales of caravans you will pursue.’

No reply.

‘I have heard you have attacked caravans before, those unfortunate enough to pass through what happened to be Semiramis territory at the time. She is a nomad, moving ever around. When you travel you are bound to encounter some traders, but the pillaging of trades can be done on a far greater scale. The desert is vast, endlessly vast, and I know its few roads.’

Sapphire sighed. ‘I guess I have spoken too much for your feeble minds to comprehend. I’ll leave your tired ears to rest. Trust your master, I’ll bring you home.’

‘Home.’ Bucket repeated.

‘Light the lantern!’ The merchant ordered. One of the imprinted took a lantern of brass and glass from his back, using flint to light the oil-lamp within. He handed it with steady hands to the merchant, who held it high atop his camel.

Before them were miles of hill-sands. The nightly rays of stars and the moon grazed the tops of the dunes.

‘Come now, come now. Tell me where you are, sweetheart.’ He whispered.

His aged silver eyes tracked the darkness. The grand one never stayed put in the one place. She exhausted the land and moved to the next well. She was a traveler, but they had only gone a week. Far from the original encampment she couldn’t have gone - he hoped.

On the faint outcrops of sand in the distance a small orange dot appeared. It blinked.

Sapphire held his hand before the glass of his lantern and removed it again. The glass glowed warm in the cold night.

The light in the distance remained shining.

***

They continued until morning. As the sun rose, so did the heat. The merchant removed the woolen coat and glanced back at his pack. They moved the same pace as they had started, but tiredness was visible in their faces; everywhere except in the eyes.

‘Rest comes soon my friends. As will reward. Karkid will bring you happiness.’

‘We are happy in service to the Divine.’ Bucket replied.

The merchant raised his brows in surprise. ‘A whole sentence, would you look at that.’

In the light of dawn the awaiting lantern was less visible, the glint of bras in the golden rays more discernible than the light of flame.

***

A party of three awaited atop the dune. They were wrapped in white cloths from top to bottom, and were half-embedded with the sand. Their faces were shrouded. As they pulled down the scarves they revealed the same hard faces as Sapphire’s own men.

Despite long years in the barren desert, the skin around their eyes and hands had burned and white layers of dead skin had begun peeling off. They had awaited here, on this sordid sun scorched plain of sand, for some time.

‘Poor souls.’ Sapphire muttered.

The sentries were armed with primitive spears and bows. Sand flowed from their robes as they rose.

‘Sapphire.’ One said, turning half away and pointing at a swathe of dunes almost identical to where the merchant had come from. ‘-Semiramis.’

‘Very good. You come with us. You comply with the hand of Sarpa.’ Sapphire ordered. The three dry serviles nodded and meekly joined in with the others.

Sapphire dismounted. He drank a mouthful of water, chewed on some dry goat-strips and looked at the brightening blue sky. He sat this tired body down on the sand and saw a dove fly through the heavens, going the same was as the servile had pointed.

With reluctance he pushed himself up from the ground. ‘Alright you dim-witted sand fleas, enough rest. Even I have enough of the desert. I desire the shadow of the Divine mistress.’

The caravan continued.