Sand of the Soul

by Voronica Whitney-Robinson

  “What are you standing here for?” the beardless novice demanded abruptly.

  “It’s my fault,” Tazi volunteered. “I tripped in the darkness, and my companion and this Child of Ibrandul stopped to help me.”

  She pointedly avoided using Asraf’s proper name.

  The normally silent novice chuckled condescendingly and the beardless one replied, “Watch your step. We can’t carry you all the way, you know.”

  Tazi squeezed Steorf’s hand and before he could say a word answered, “I’ll try to be less clumsy.”

  “See that you do,” the beardless Child of Ibrandul replied and turned with his comrade to continue the march.

  Steorf and Tazi fell in behind them, and Asraf brought up the rear.

  “Why did you say that?” Steorf asked softly.

  “I can tell those two”—she nodded ahead—“already think we’re foolish and incompetent, so it was a story they’d believe easily enough. Truth is, I didn’t want Asraf to get into trouble for talking so much with us.”

  Steorf raised a corner of his mouth and looked down at her with a gentle gaze.

  “You’re all right,” he said, “sometimes.”

  She intentionally bumped gently into his side with her body and replied, “So are you … sometimes.”

  She giggled quietly.

  Asraf heard and watched everything that Tazi and Steorf did, and a troubled look crossed his face.

  After a long and silent hike, the group turned a corner and the tunnel opened up into a huge chamber nearly as large as the main room of the Skulking God’s Temple. Massive stalactites and stalagmites littered the space, and the darkness would have been absolute if the whole chamber hadn’t been covered with phosphorescent lichen. It looked like a clear night sky just missing a moon.

  “It’s beautiful,” Tazi said in a hushed tone.

  “It is,” Steorf agreed. “Do you hear something, though?”

  Tazi listened closely.

  “I hear water dripping. How can that be?” she asked Asraf.

  “I’m not sure I hear it,” he answered, and Tazi thought he sounded troubled.

  “I’m not making it up,” she defended herself. “I do hear water dripping in the distance.”

  “There is no water down this deep,” Asraf explained. “But”—he paused for some time before continuing—“that sound is one of the ways Ibrandul can manifest himself here in the more arid regions, or so I’ve been told.”

  The other two novices moved off to examine something that Tazi, as closely as she scrutinized, couldn’t see in the dark cavern. She took the opportunity to ask Asraf another question.

  “Is there anything you could tell us about the Skulking God that might be of importance to us? I realize,” she added to make certain he was not offended, “that everything about him is very important to you.”

  Asraf made sure the other Children of Ibrandul weren’t close enough to hear then said, “Ibrandul rose in the form of a great lizard to free humans who had been enslaved for centuries by evil drow. He prefers to walk alone through the tunnels, sometimes appearing to others as a great lizard, and sometimes as a man who looks like he’s made from obsidian with burning eyes.”

  “Does he do much besides roam the tunnels?” Steorf questioned.

  “The Lord of the Dry Depths always aids humans who travel in the hostile underground, and protects those who worship him from ever being harmed by the drow again,” Asraf replied.

  An albino moth, the size of a bird, fluttered by, and Tazi gasped slightly at the sight of the nocturnal insect. She chuckled at her foolish reaction, and Asraf laughed.

  “It is different down here. Don’t you have creatures like that in the Land Above?” he asked.

  “Don’t you ever venture up there?” Steorf inquired, before Tazi had a chance to answer.

  “I have never seen the sun,” he answered seriously.

  “Never?” Tazi exclaimed.

  “When we are initiated into the Enveloping Darkness, as our worship is more properly known,” Asraf replied, “we learn that there is absolute freedom in absolute darkness. We are not bound by some arbitrary rising and falling of a glowing orb to dictate our days. Things are not good or evil in the dark, they just are.”

  “But to never see the Land Above …” Tazi started to say.

  “You never knew of the Underdark before you came here, did you?” he asked simply.

  “No, that’s true.”

  “Did you think your life was shallower or that you were somehow cheated because you were never in this perfect darkness?” Asraf challenged her without reproach.

  “I don’t think I was cheated,” she answered carefully, “but I’m certainly glad I came here and saw this.”

  “Just because I can’t see all the colors of this stone,” the young novice explained, “doesn’t mean I don’t realize its beauty.” He slowly rubbed his hand against the smooth rock. “The coolness of the stone, the texture under my fingers, those are all part of its uniqueness that is not lost on me. My parents made the right choice when they left me as an infant in these tunnels.”

  “They abandoned you here?” Steorf exclaimed.

  “They placed me under Ibrandul’s care,” Asraf corrected him. “Here is where I live, and here is where I will someday die.”

  The quiet pride and contentment in his voice was not lost on Tazi.

  “And it will be a full life,” she added.

  “You are quick,” he teased.

  Tazi laughed at their shared joke and moved a little farther away, her hand trailing along some of the stalagmites, suddenly appreciating the feel of the rock. She watched as more of the winged insects fluttered between stalactites like shooting stars.

  Asraf studied Steorf and finally said, “You still don’t understand how this can be enough for me.”

  “No,” he admitted honestly, “I guess I can’t.”

  “All of us have forces that guide us, and drive us as well. It’s just that sometimes other people can’t see them and so they have a hard time understanding.”

  “I suppose,” Steorf agreed.

  “For instance, I don’t really know why you’re here,” he solemnly asked, “on this complicated mission.”

  “I’m here because my friend asked me to come. There’s nothing complicated about it,” Steorf answered.

  The young Calishite leaned closer to the mage and whispered, “She’s a little more than a friend, isn’t she?”

  Tazi could feel Steorf’s eyes burning into her back. She pretended to be fascinated by a stalactite formation and unaware of the very personal conversation carrying on behind her. She didn’t want to embarrass Steorf by teasing him, but there was also a tiny part of Tazi that wanted to hear his honest answer.

  “What are you talking about?” Steorf asked Asraf, discreetly lowering his voice.

  The young man smiled guilelessly and said, “You announce your feelings with every act you commit near her.”

  “What?”

  “You jumped to protect her when you thought I might have done her harm, and—” Asraf began.

  “I would have done that for any of my friends,” Steorf interrupted. “And you wouldn’t have been able to harm her,” he added rather seriously, raising a finger in warning.

  “You think not?” Asraf questioned, but Steorf could see that he was speaking in jest, and he relaxed a little. “Even that statement shows how you feel.”

  “I am a loyal man,” Steorf stated simply.

  Unseen by either of them, Tazi winced a little. Ever since Steorf had told her of Ebeian’s death, she had started to feel some of the old closeness growing again. After all, seven years of friendship and wildings had forged a unique bond between them that she didn’t share with another living soul. It was hard to forget. The two-year pause in their relationship hadn’t changed much between them after all, Tazi was slowly realizing. She found herself slipping into a comfortable rhythm with Steorf again and there had definite
ly been a moment between them just before the Children of Ibrandul had come for them.

  But when Tazi heard Steorf use the word “loyal,” it was as if someone had torn open a newly healed wound in her. All the accusations Ciredor had made two years before regarding Steorf’s paid companionship came crashing in on her again, and she wondered if she could ever really move past it all and trust Steorf completely again.

  Unaware of her turmoil, Asraf continued with Steorf.

  “I see you are a loyal man. That’s my point. You’re here with her on a deadly mission, you protect her whenever you can, and most importantly, I see the way you look at her.”

  “And how is that?” Steorf asked lightly.

  “At certain moments like she is some precious jewel that has bewitched you,” Asraf explained, “and at other times, you gaze at her like a man in the desert looks at an icy pool of water.”

  Tazi laughed to herself.

  Asraf certainly has a flowery sort of way with words, she thought. Some of those books in the council room must be filled with romantic fables. He really does need to get above ground now and then.

  Not caring to hear Steorf’s sarcastic reply to that one, Tazi moved a little faster to catch up with the older Children of Ibrandul and passed out of earshot.

  Steorf silently regarded Asraf.

  After a few moments, he replied, “You do see well. There is something about Thazienne that cools the turmoil within me.”

  Asraf was surprised.

  “I didn’t think you’d admit to it so easily,” he said.

  “In all likelihood, we won’t survive this encounter with Ciredor, so my secret will die with you.”

  “I’m pretty hard to kill,” Asraf said glibly, “so your lady friend might just find out your deep, dark secret.”

  Not knowing how to respond to that, Steorf abruptly said, “We best catch up with your comrades, before they get too exasperated at having to wait for us foolish Land Abovers.”

  He and Asraf walked quickly over to the two other Children of Ibrandul. Steorf bumped into Tazi.

  “I didn’t see you,” he said.

  “I’m getting better at this maneuvering in the darkness,” she answered seriously. “Maybe Ibrandul is on our side after all.”

  Tazi couldn’t see Asraf’s frown at her words.

  When they came up beside the Children of Ibrandul, the beardless novice startled both Tazi and Steorf by his next statement.

  “I’m sorry it took us so long,” he began apologetically, “but we wanted to make certain that we”—he indicated his silent companion and himself—“had read the signs properly. We realize how important it is to find the Night Market.”

  “Just there,” he continued, motioning beyond the cavern, “the path goes on for about twenty feet or so and it splits in two directions.”

  “You must take care to walk along the right side,” the normally silent novice finally said to them.

  As they exited the cavern, the darkness grew rapidly. Both Tazi and Steorf had to rely on tactile sensations to navigate, and Tazi was rather pleased with herself that she actually was becoming more adept the longer they traveled in the tunnels. She wasn’t aware that the older Children of Ibrandul were lagging after them.

  Tazi could barely see Steorf in her peripheral vision, so deep were they now. Close behind she heard Asraf muttering. Tazi squelched a smile at that.

  He certainly is a chatterbox, she thought and was suddenly very glad of his company.

  He was as different from his companions, she realized, as day to night.

  If the only guides we’d had were the two nameless ones, I wouldn’t be as certain in finding the Dark Bazaar as I am with Asraf along.

  Tazi was so caught up in feeling her way into the next passage along the right that she didn’t notice that she and Steorf were on their own.

  Asraf stood at the crossroads. His young face twisted up in confusion and he chewed furiously on his lower lip. A glance to the left revealed the retreating shapes of his fellow Children of Ibrandul, men he had studied and worshiped with for years. To the right, he could just barely separate Tazi’s slim form from the clutching darkness of the shadows. He knew she and her companion were not the danger he had been led to believe they were.

  After a heartbeat more, his face resolved into a determined set. He moved rapidly down the tunnel after Tazi, but the screams started soon after.

  In a chamber deep beyond the counsel room that he had let the gharabs enter, the Mysterious Lurker sat behind an ornately carved stone desk. He had removed his outer robe and left it draped over a divan pushed against the side of one wall. Other than those two pieces of furniture, the room was bare of decoration. The only other item was a lone bookcase. Unlike the meeting room that was stuffed with books and scrolls, this set of shelves only contained a few pieces of parchment, but these were carefully tied up, not left as haphazardly open as the ones the strangers saw.

  While he sipped from an obsidian chalice, he wondered briefly how far along in their journey the Children of Ibrandul and the strangers were. The priest shook his head and knew Ibrandul’s Children would not disappoint him. He leaned back, sure that his novices were leading the two exactly where they needed to go and their part in all of this would be done.

  The Lurker removed a small stack of papers from a niche in the desk and began to study them closely. He rubbed at his eyes and moved a candle closer so that the papers were in the ruddy pool of light.

  “These eyes of mine are weary,” he murmured finally and set the papers down.

  The Lurker rested his head in his hands and did not hear the slight rustle behind him. A figure in black stepped out of the shadows along the far wall.

  “Tired?” the black figure asked silkily.

  The Lurker whipped around in his chair and squinted defensively at the voice.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  The dark shape moved into the circle of candlelight. While still dressed in black, Ciredor had exchanged his tight fitting leathers for the loose silks of Calimport’s elite. His vest had gold threads embroidered in strange patterns, their meaning known only to him. His outer robe billowed behind him like a storm cloud as he descended on the senior priest of Ibrandul.

  “What are you doing here?” the Lurker inquired, sounding somewhat fearful.

  “I am just here to keep my part of the bargain,” Ciredor answered easily.

  Without any further preamble, he withdrew a sheaf of papers. The Lurker wiped his hand across his lips and shakily accepted the bundle of parchments. He reached for them as a drowning man would an offered hand. It was hard for the priest to hide the gleam in his eye and the Lurker was certain his eagerness was not lost on Ciredor.

  After carefully paging through the stack twice, the Lurker looked up at him with barely concealed awe. There was a bit of a quaver in his voice when he spoke next to the necromancer.

  “I-I don’t know how you managed to find these pages,” the Lurker began.

  He watched as Ciredor nodded benevolently in response, but he did not offer to explain where the velum sheets had come from.

  “For the last few months,” the Lurker continued when he realized that Ciredor was going to remain taciturn, “you have so diligently searched out these lost words of Ibrandul. If you hadn’t come to us, who knows whose hands these pages might have fallen into. Even I was unaware of their existence.”

  “I have long been a supplicant of the Lurker in Darkness,” Ciredor finally replied. “It has been not only my duty, but that of my father and my father’s father to spend our lives in search of these artifacts.”

  “I am only the first in my family,” the priest said with a lowered head, “to embrace the Lord of the Dry Depths.”

  He was humbled in front of someone so dedicated to Ibrandul. The priest felt an icy finger under his chin tilt his face upward.

  “I am glad,” Ciredor said with some emphasis, “to have discovered a sect of Children of Ibrandul
so devout to my god. Only in Waterdeep have I come close to finding followers a fraction as pious as yours.”

  The Lurker sat a little straighter, bolstered by this sincere compliment. He did believe that his novices were most accomplished and that bit of pride gave him the ability to respond.

  “It only serves to follow that we would be the most loyal,” the priest explained. “After all, Calimshan is the home of Ibrandul. He rose from our desert.”

  Not wanting to insult any other group of followers—and he realized that Ciredor must come from one of those—he hastily added, “The other sects are also fervent in their devotion, but we live in the heart of the mystery.”

  The Lurker watched Ciredor expectantly, looking for any sign that he might have insulted his benefactor. However, all the necromancer did was slowly smile.

  “You are right,” Ciredor agreed, “that our heart is within the Calim Desert.”

  The Lurker was relieved that Ciredor was not offended, though he was puzzled at the mage’s reference to the heart. The Lurker thought Ciredor might have said more correctly that their origin was in the desert, but he was not going to chance saying the wrong thing again or nit pick over the turn of a phrase. To further smooth things over, he recounted his meeting with Tazi and Steorf, knowing the outcome would please Ciredor.

  “Those foreigners arrived just as you said they would,” he told Ciredor eagerly, and he saw the first spark of excitement appear in the mage’s black eyes.

  “Really?” Ciredor drawled.

  “The two from Selgaunt and their Calishite companion arrived just a few hours ago,” the priest clarified, spurred on by Ciredor’s interest.

  “Were they like I described?” Ciredor asked carefully.

  “As soon as the woman with the short black hair heard of the sacred writings, she dashed right over to the book.”

  “Just as I told you she would,” Ciredor agreed kindly. “What happened?”

  “One of my young but very dedicated novices kept her from touching the lost writings,” the priest answered. “That’s when they truly revealed their colors.”

  “How so?” Ciredor questioned.