A Distant Magic by M.J. Putney

Author:M.J. Putney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pandamax Press

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stunned, Nikolai scanned the sun-drenched plain that extended in all directions. The cave and the priests had vanished. A burning sun scorched a land that was flat and covered with bleached golden grasses. The few scattered trees were oddly shaped, the limbs stretching out rather like umbrellas.

Except for the pouch around his neck, he was naked. He saw the last blue flames flicker out on his forearm. He had felt himself burning, yet there was no damage to his skin or hair. Was he really in a different place, or was this some kind of dream? He felt real enough. The cut Omar had made on his arm still stung.

The wind sighed across the plains, a breath of coolness on his bare body to mitigate the fierce sun. What the devil was he doing here? What task was he supposed to accomplish?

He felt painfully exposed and wished he had a weapon and clothing, in that order. And a place to take cover, but the harsh landscape offered no shelter.

What should he do?

In a strange land, look for water. He had learned that while working as a slave on the North African salt caravans, which traveled through the most desolate lands on earth. He was already thirsty in the heat, so he consulted his intuition about water. His ability to find water had saved him and his companions on his last trip to the salt mines.

There, to his left. Some distance away, but reachable before thirst and the sun would bring him down.

Before he left, he should mark this spot in case it was the only gateway that could take him back to his own time and place. Assuming he would be able to return at all. When Adia had spoken of other worlds, he had thought of them as dreams or metaphors, but this scorching land was acutely real. Now it was his home—Santola, the Justice, Jean—that seemed to be a dream.

He tore up the grass around his feet, then piled what stones he could find on the bare patch. While seeking stones, he found the bleached bones of an antelope that had been picked clean by predators. He thrust several longer bones into the piled rocks, then mentally marked the location. His sense of direction was another ability that had served him well on the trackless seas. He hoped it would hold true even in this strange world.

Having done what he could to mark his place of arrival, he started to walk to the west. As a child and a slave he’d usually gone barefoot, and his feet had been tough as elephant hide. Years of wearing boots had softened them.

No matter. He’d learned early to ignore discomfort, and that skill he had retained. As he walked, he studied the plain, thinking it looked like what he’d heard of East Africa. Though he’d never been there, a fellow caravan slave named Rafiki had described his native land, and these plains and trees fit the description. Omar was also from East Africa, if he recalled correctly.

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