The Legend of El Shashi by Marc Secchia

Author:Marc Secchia [Secchia, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25: Ploughing the Desert

I saw him then,

A slender dark tree,

Eagle swift, razor clawed,

Master of the Great Erg–

Desert Warrior!

Hakooi Traditional Ballad: South of the Nugar

The Dioni orison warmed my back as I descended an unexpected cliff, handhold by nervous handhold. How many times had Janos not advised, ‘It is the unexpected and unplanned that kills, Arlak! Learn to think before you act.’ A little thinking and planning while crossing the Nugar had seen me hide my pack, with its heavy books, deep within the trunk of an ancient bragazzar tree, guarding the brow of the last hill in stark solitude. Hastily, shivering in the chill pre-dawn air, I stripped off my burnoose and thexik trousers and stowed those too, leaving just my undershorts, belt, shirt and boots by way of clothing. Lightening the load. Hoping the desert air would warm up quickly, or I would make for a fine running icicle. My waterskins I secured at my belt, along with my knife–my trusty companion for so many a league. A hunk of cheese went in my breast pocket. I had nought else.

Despite my exhaustion, I whistled a cheerful ditty. Warmer air, not a trace of snow in sight, and below, a dusty-pale salt pan that stretched beyond the horizon. I was stripped to the essentials. Running would be easier now. If I could just negotiate this tricky cliff!

On a nearby outcropping, a violently scarlet lizard the length of my arm was taking in the early sunlight and watching me with alert disdain. Suddenly, it flicked its tail and skittered away across the rocks.

I must have scared it.

But just a pace or two further down, I began to sense through my fingertips what the lizard must have known. My careful progress changed at once into a desperate, breakneck slide. Thank Mata for a small section of scree below, for I fell onto it from a good height and avalanched my way to the bottom. Picked myself up. Dusted off my skinned knees and elbows. I was fortunate not to have broken a limb. I dashed off into the desert with all the speed I could muster.

My luck it was, less than a span later, I stepped into a hole and snapped my left ankle instantly.

Perched therefore upon a handy rock, I was setting the bones straight–with care, given I expected to be running upon it on many more days and leagues–when I had a sudden flash of grephe and, glancing up, scanned the cliff-face I had descended. My gaze narrowed. Blink. Stones bursting outward. From a distance, the explosion was slow and silent. By that grephe I witnessed the very instant the Wurm broke through, about fifty to seventy paces above the desert floor by my mark, and slid forth smoothly ring by ring, describing a graceful arc. It re-entered the ground as effortlessly as a butterfly landing upon a flower.

I shook my head, muttering, “How do you eat all that rock–magic or none?”

Then I both heard and felt the thunder of its landing.

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