Relics of the Desert Tomb

by James Derry

  “Wait!” Sygne cried. Jamal couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the desperation in her voice. “You need to have one of the tentacles attached to you before you grab the screw.”

  She was right. Jamal had forgotten his own plan. How many more tentacles did the strangest have? And how long until it started trying to pick Sygne up? After all, she was its next target. He didn’t have long to spare thoughts toward these types of questions; another tendril wrapped around his neck with unnerving speed.

  Jamal cursed himself. Why had he cut the tentacle that had wrapped around his torso? That would’ve been so much easier to deal with. But he couldn’t risk freeing himself again; he was supposed to be the bait in this plan. The water screw was the fisherman’s spool. Now it was time to reel in their catch.

  He dropped his machete and clutched that tentacle with one hand. He wrapped his other arm and his two legs around the spiraling pole and held on tight. Sygne and Iwawhil had removed the half-pipe that ran across the screw’s bottom, so Jamal’s downward progress would be unimpeded. He whirled downward, around and around, and as he spun, the gory tissue of the strangest’s tentacle was wrapped around the pole.

  “It’s working!” Jamal shouted.

  “Good!” Chief Tuhn called. Jamal imagined him slanting his long spear into the dark, preparing to skewer the monster as it was tugged downward. Tuhn said, “There are very many shadows! I can’t see it.”

  Jamal took a wheezing breath. There was a small chance that the strangest’s tangled appendage would have enough strength left in it to strangle him. And yet, Jamal felt a rush of exhilaration. His plan was working! The other method he knew for slaying a strangest involved ensnaring its tentacle on the saddle of a galloping horse until the strangest was dragged low to the ground like a kite trying to take flight. Then you needed a second horse-and-rider to gallop close and hack the strangest to pieces. Jamal thought his water screw method would work even better. At least this way, Chief Tuhn and Sygne could remain stationary while stabbing and slicing through the monster’s vital organs.

  Jamal had reached the bottom of the aquifer pit. He splashed in waist-deep water. At the top rim of the hole, he heard Sygne cry out. It was a scream that was quickly cut short into a ‘urk’ sound—the sound of a throat being choked. The tentacle around Jamal’s own neck had gone slack. Perhaps the strangest was focusing its attention on Sygne. Jamal dragged in a deep breath and called, “Chief! Iwawhil! Kill that thing! Anybody?”

  No answer. Just the sounds of multiple people struggling and gasping. The momentum of the screw was slowing. Had the strangest entangled Iwawhil and Chief Tuhn as well?

  Jamal began scaling the screw, using its threads—and the strangest’s slimy coils—as his ladder rungs. Paradoxically, the air became darker as he climbed higher out of the pit.

  Something flat and leathery was flapping against the mechanism at the top of the screw. It inadvertently slapped Jamal in the face. In his seafaring days, he had seen many strange creatures drawn up out of the sea. The motion and the texture of the strangest in the dark suddenly reminded Jamal of a manta ray, flopping and struggling on the deck of a ship.

  Large flaps of skin like manta ray wings slapped at his head and shoulders. They weren’t strong enough to prevent his forward progress. He was close to the monster’s core now. New tentacles wrapped around his shoulders, his throat, his head. These appendages seemed faster—thicker and spongier. One slimy coil covered his eyes. That didn’t matter; he already couldn’t see. He’d thrown down his machete, so he reached up toward the center of the creature with just his bare hands.

  He clutched something semi-solid that squished between his fingers. Maybe it was some sort of gill system, or maybe the strangest had a skeleton made of hundreds of tiny, pliable fish bones. He kept squeezing until the bones stopped flexing and began cracking. The strangest emitted a chittering, inhuman cry of pain. Jamal clawed at something else, something slimy and globular, like an eyeball or an organ. He applied pressure until it popped and slime oozed between his fingers.

  Somewhere nearby, Jamal heard Sygne gasp and take a deep breath. The strangest had let her go. He heard Sygne scrambling among the sand and soil—the scrape of metal as she picked up her weapon. Jamal decided he had done as much damage as he could do clutching at this particular spot. He let go with his right hand and plunged it into a spot lower in the strangest’s abdomen.

  His hand found something large and bulbous. An ink sac? Or maybe a bladder of buoyant gas?

  Jamal squeezed the flesh bag until it burst.

  The strangest stopped chittering and started shrieking. Jamal felt Sygne tackle the beast. He felt the impact of her machete chop into the cap of its head. The strangest shrieked again, ending with a long, wailing note. It fell to earth, dead.

  5 – A Slip of the Mind

  Jamal awoke in a cave. His body felt stiff and heavy. He rolled over and saw he was lying on a thin mat made of interwoven reeds. He had slept on mats like this before, and he expected that underneath the mat he would find several months worth of dust swept up to make a sort of filthy padding. He was covered in a coarse blanket, the threads of which caught on his goatee as he examined the room.

  Sygne was kneeling on the cave floor beside his bed. She reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “This reminds me of the last time we saw each other, in Krit. Except our roles have been reversed.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” Jamal coughed. “You were mystically toxified. What happened to me? How long have I been asleep?”

  Sygne smiled bashfully. “You have been asleep for two days.” Jamal was speechless, so Sygne continued. “When you killed the strangest, apparently you burst open one of its ink sacs. It sprayed you right in the face, and we think it must have some sort of narcotic properties to it.”

  Jamal groaned.

  “Don’t worry,” Sygne said. “I think you’re going to be fine. I’ve been monitoring you nonstop for the last two days. Timing your heartbeats and checking your artery pressure. And I’ve been keeping your strength up with goat’s milk.”

  Jamal screamed, “Goat’s milk?”

  He heard a guffaw at the entrance to the cave. He asked, “Who is that?”

  Sygne shrugged. “Ohbo. He decided to stay for a few days. He says you don’t like his camels? They are such sweet animals.”

  “That’s right. Very sweet.” Ohbo walked into the cave. “Sygne, would you like me to change Jamal’s diaper?”

  “What?” Jamal glared at the pudgy man—then at Sygne.

  She said, “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s only natural that you would need a sanitary undergarment while you slept.”

  Ohbo added, “And that goat’s milk can really run through a man.”

  Sygne reached under Jamal’s blanket and put a finger against the undergarment wrapped around his waist. Jamal slapped her hand away.

  “Don’t worry,” Sygne said. “I never undressed you or changed your diaper. Ohbo took care of that. He’s been a huge help.”

  The cameleer had his usual mirthful, hidden-joke smile on his face. Sygne didn’t see it; she had her eyes on Jamal as she asked, “Ohbo can you leave us alone for a moment?”

  When Ohbo left, Sygne said, “That was some ordeal. The strangest was choking me—I nearly blacked out. But you save me again. Is there anything I can do for you now?”

  Jamal was flustered. He asked, “What’s the thread count on these sheets? Oh wait. I can count it myself. Seven. Seven-fibers-per-inch.”

  “If you’d like a finer bed, that might be a tall order.”

  “Then come with me to a place with more comfortable furnishings.”

  Sygne furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we should leave. The strangest probably sent some mystical message to Bliss, letting her know we are here. That means she’s going to send something else to Djunga to kill us.”

  “You want me to abandon the Dju
ngans, just like that? Chief Tuhn fought alongside us.”

  Jamal rolled his eyes. “Some help he was.”

  “He was caught by the strangest,” Sygne said. “He nearly died, too. And I’m just beginning to make real progress here. The Djungans admire my science. I’ve never had this much success anywhere that I’ve gone.”

  “I understand that, but if we stay here then the Djungans will be in just as much danger as we are. Bliss is a powerful woman, and you know what they say… ‘Hell hath no furies.’”

  “Why do people keep saying that?” Sygne’s face flushed red.

  Now it was Jamal’s turn to touch Sygne’s shoulder and offer calm advice. “Sygne. We need to go to Albatherra. It’s a strong city. Bliss will think twice before extending her vendetta into the domain of the Demigod King. And not only that, but you were going to take the Dweller’s quill to your Mentors.”

  Sygne stared at him with dull eyes.

  “Essoth’s eyeful! Have you really forgotten about the quill? You don’t remember the Issulthraqis’ plans to gather the Threefold Key?”

  A light of recognition touched Sygne’s face. Her pocketbook was set down on the dirty rocks beside her. She rifled through it until she came to a leather folio with the quill tucked in one of its pockets. She cradled the quill in her hands like it was a long-lost family heirloom.

  “Remember?” Jamal asked. “You took that from the lair of the Dweller Under Dreams. We realized that Bliss—and the rest of the Fabled Pantheon—they want to unite the three Ancient Ones so that they can remake the world.”

  “The Mentors should know about this.”

  Jamal threw his hands in the air. “I told you that! Months ago.”

  “I forgot,” Sygne said softly. “It must be the quill. It still holds some of the Dweller’s power to affect memory. It made me forget about it.” Sygne put the quill down on the cave floor and shimmied away from it, like it was giving off noxious fumes.

  And Sygne did indeed look nauseated. “I can’t believe it slipped my mind. Our exposure to the Dweller Under Dreams… it’s still affecting me. I still dream of your memories, Jamal.

  “My memories?” Jamal asked.

  “Yes.” She stared at the floor and asked herself, “Why can’t I forget those?”

  Jamal shifted uncomfortably on his wafer-thin bed. He couldn’t help feeling like his privacy had been invaded. It was a bit like when Sygne tried to check his diaper. “What kinds of memories have you seen?”

  “Awful memories. Memories of you as a soldier in Uhl-Arath.”

  “Oh. Is that all?”

  “Is that all? Those memories are horrific!”

  “No, I mean, there’s been so much more to my life—”

  “Tell me,” Sygne blurted. “Have you had any dreams about my memories?”

  “No,” Jamal said. “No memories.”

  She studied his face; then she touched his arm. “The last memory I saw… It still haunts me. I saw you sleeping in your camp among your brothers-in-arms. But then they chained you up and put a mask over your mouth.”

  “Oh, that? That was when they took me back to Gjuir-Khib. I proved myself to be a sharp warrior, and I was still young and trainable. They took me back to the palace so that I could become a member of the Echelon Elite.” Jamal puffed his chest. He couldn’t help but show his pride.

  “But you were supposed to be freed after your military service. Does that mean they went back on their deal?”

  Jamal shrugged. “Well, as an Elite Guardsman I was at least half-free. And there are only forty-eight guardsmen in the Echelon Elite. It was a position of great esteem.”

  “Then why did they jump you and muzzle you like a dog?”

  “They do that to all male slaves. It’s a standard transporting procedure. Think about it, usually when a slave is being transported, he’s being taken away from his wife and his family. It was a commonsense solution to muzzle a man before you did that. But leaving Uhl-Arath… that was my last night as a slave. After that, I took up residence in the Palace Intriguing, on the gods’ center stage.”

  “The Palace Intriguing?”

  “That’s what they call it.”

  Sygne shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. “

  “Say you’ll come with me to Albatherra. If you’re troubled by the Dweller Under Dreams, then let’s go find people—your friends—who can help us do something about it.”

  Sygne seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said, “I’ll have to think about it.”

  ***

  The Djungans had placed the strangest’s carcass on a rock to dry out in the sun. They had filleted open its organs and removed its teeth. It was a fascinating specimen, but Sygne hadn’t had much time to investigate it while taking care of Jamal.

  She showed the carcass to Jamal as the two of them walked to the Chief’s Cavern in the heart of the cave-village. The Chief had a celebratory banquet planned after the creature’s defeat.

  Jamal stood, and Sygne noted that he showed no sign of weakness or equilibrium issues. But he rubbed his belly and complained, “I’m not sure I’m ready for a big meal just yet, Sygne. I’m still feeling a little bit queasy, I think.”

  “Just sit in the banquet circle and show them that you’re honored to take a spot on their floor. Get your fingers greasy on the food. I think that’s all you have to do.”

  “Floor. Fingers. Food. Let me guess one ‘f’ that this banquet won’t have. Forks.”

  Sygne rolled her eyes. She couldn’t fathom how Jamal could have had such a traumatic upbringing and now be so bent out of shape over trivialities like sheets, or eating utensils, or goat’s milk. But then again, maybe it did make sense. After all, troubles did beget troubles. There was a whole department of scholars at the Academy who studied the ways that people thought and behaved. She suspected that those colleagues could have spent weeks analyzing the inner workings of Jamal’s mind.

  Ohbo was waiting for them at the entrance to the Chief’s Cavern. He gave Sygne a smile that was utterly open and heartwarming.

  “Hello, Ohbo.”

  Ohbo said, “I love you. “

  “Thank you.” Sygne and Jamal brushed past the cameleer and into the banquet area.

  “What was that about?” Jamal asked.

  “While you’ve been asleep, Ohbo’s taken to telling me he loves me. Every time he sees me.”

  Jamal grimaced. “Do you like that?”

  “It’s sort of charming. And to be honest, the world could use more love in it. I don’t think I want to stop him from saying it right now.”

  The Djungans had gone all out to make their cave look as splendid as possible. Beautiful metal pans and coffee pots hung along the rock walls as a kind of decoration. Other walls were draped with intricate and colorful camel bags and blankets. The cavern was lit with candles, but instead of smoke, the cave smelled of incense. There was a surprisingly feminine touch to the decor. Or perhaps that was not surprising, considering that the Chief’s female relatives were expected to spend all of their time inside. All of the Chief’s wives and sisters and daughters were bustling around the banquet, serving small plates of food, and everyone of them had a demure but genuine smile on their face. They reminded her of Jamal saying he was proud to live ‘half-free’ in the Gjuiran’s Palace Intriguing.

  A circular goat-wool rug, maybe forty feet wide, had been spread across the uneven stone floor. Jamal sat crosslegged on the rug. Sygne sat with her knees touching and her ankles tucked to her one side, which was the traditional pose among Djungan women. It made her feel a bit off-balance and within a few minutes she knew that probably one of her legs would fall asleep.

  The meal was served in seven courses, interspersed with belly dancers, jugglers, and a snake charmer. Jamal smirked at the first course, dried dates and milk. He sniffed curiously at the second course, flatbreads served with almond paste. He tasted the eggplant soup and nodded appreciatively.
Sygne grinned back at him. An hour into the celebration, Jamal had devoured a variety of skewered meats and vegetables. He needed something to slake his thirst, so he shrugged at the goat’s milk and tried it for the first time. (Or at least his first time being fully conscious.)

  “It’s… bearable.”

  The next dish was a sweet wheat jelly that was served with cardamom coffee. Jamal ate that, and emptied both his cup of zesty coffee and his cup of goat’s milk. He asked for another. The final dish was a shuwaa, which was an aromatic mix of rice, nuts, and vegetables roasted in a bundle of date palm leaves. There were fine strands of the most tender meat mixed into the savory dish. Jamal hummed his appreciation while chewing. Through a mouthful of shuwaa, he said, “This is delicious. What kind of meat is this?”

  “I’m so happy you like it!” Sygne said. “The people of the hills—”

  Chief Tuhn stepped into the middle of the banquet circle. His second wife was with him, and she jangled a girdle interlaced with coins. Everyone quieted at the sound. Most of the feasters were smiling.

  Chief Tuhn started, “I am a man of less many words, and I have already used up my week’s supply.”

  The audience chuckled. Jamal reached for the meal wrapped in a palm leaf at Sygne’s knees. “Are you going to eat yours?”

  Chief Tuhn said, “But this is a special day, and we are blessed to share it with the Mother of Invention and her brave friend Jamal. This is a day that requires one more special announcement. And a special meal.”

  The feasters cheered and raised their glasses. Jamal continued to focus on his shuwaa. Chief Tuhn asked him, “Do I see that the refined Gjuiran is impressed? Do you agree that this is a meal unlike very many meals?”

  “Yes. It is,” Jamal allowed. “Surprisingly delicious.”

  “Absolutely.” Chief Tuhn put his arm around his second wife. “That’s because we’re having a baby!”

  Jamal lurched violently and spat out a wad of rice and meat onto the rug. “We’re having baby?”