Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

All too soon, one of the men awakened him from his deep slumber. “It is time, High Priest,” the man said grimly.

  Chu Li wiped the sleep from his eyes as he stretched his aching muscles. It had been many years since he had slept anywhere but in the comfort of his own bed. He looked up and saw Travin the hunter leaning over him. The hunter’s dark eyes and emotionless face seemed to mock him.

  “Tell the men to eat a cold breakfast,” he said between yawns. “We must catch up to Kena.”

  His feet were better but still sore. To cushion the hard rock against his sore feet, he cut pieces of leather from his robe’s leather sash and placed them inside his moccasins. To his delight, they provided extra protection. Walking would be much easier now.

  On this day, no small talk broke the silence of the tunnel. The men marched silently, nerves taut, each man lost in his own private thoughts. Chu Li thought this was a worse sign than their constant grumbling. Silent men thought too much. By midday, they came upon another opening in the roof of the tunnel. This one, unlike the first, offered a safe passage to the surface, a gently sloping rock fall used by the desert creatures to escape the sun. To raise their spirits, he allowed the men to climb up into the daylight. In spite of the extreme heat, they reveled in the bright sunlight and open air. The confining tunnel had taken its toll on them. They exited the river tunnel opening into a shallow depression beside a massive jumble of broken red boulders. Hardy, scrub pines and dwarf mesquite grew through cracks in the rock. Ragged patches of dry sedges surrounded the depression. Even a few scrawny cacti had taken root here and there in the sandy soil. The men insisted on being allowed time to hunt for fresh game to complement their meager rations. Chu Li suspected it was mostly an excuse for them to prolong their time in the open. He divided them into two groups to explore the dell, but he remained near the tunnel entrance to prevent anyone from retreating.

  “Water,” one of the men shouted a few minutes later. “I found water!”

  Even Chu Li’s heart lifted at his shout. Water was always a welcome commodity, especially in this parched land. They hurried to see who had proclaimed his discovery. In a small natural depression formed by the slow carving of a granite slab by wind erosion, a shallow pool of water sparkled in the sun, fed by some deep artesian source. Had the shadow of the overhanging rocks not protected it from the sun throughout most of the day, it would have evaporated long ago. As it was, the pool held less than five skins of water. Still, in such times, any water was precious. Artimeer was lying with his face in the pool of water, laughing at his good luck.

  “Fill our skins,” Chu Li ordered him. “Fill others to leave in the tunnel for our return trip.”

  Such a rare find seemed a good omen to the men. Their confidence returned, and some good-natured joking started up among them. They snared a few small rock lizards and several cactus wrens with lengths of twine and a few pieces of bread as bait and quickly cleaned them. Even a scraggly hare, more bone than meat and unlucky enough to pick this particular time to seek water, soon joined their growing larder. Chu Li, no hunter himself but instilled with the lore of the desert, wondered why so few creatures inhabited such an ideal oasis. There was water, ample shade, forage, and good shelter in the tunnel below. Such a place should be teeming with life of all sorts – hares, tortoises, birds, wild goats, and even larger scavengers. Creatures should come from many leagues to such a place. Instead, there was not a bird in the sky. The water was pure and untainted. No quicksand would form in such a rocky place. They had discovered no sign of nightstalkers or other large predators. What would drive away creatures normally drawn to places of water as bees are to nectar?

  “Be wary, men,” he warned. “There could be danger here, unseen and unheard.”

  Most merely looked up and nodded at his warning, bent on watching the roasting game, but one man, Travin, the eldest of the group and a good hunter, notched an arrow and leaned warily against a boulder, his dark eyes scanning the horizon for any threat of danger.

  “I must take a leak,” Artimeer laughed as he stood from their feast and strode into the edge of the desert to relieve himself.

  “Be sure to wash your hands before you pass the bread,” Anseer chided his companion.

  Artimeer made an obscene gesture at his comrade’s comment. As he unbuttoned his pants, a great flurry of sand erupted around him, knocking him to the ground.

  “Wha …?” he began to yell in surprise, but his words were cut short as something grabbed his leg and pulled him toward the disturbed sand. He screamed from pain and fright. “Help! Get it off! Get it off!” He rolled onto his stomach and began clawing frantically at the ground, trying to extricate himself from the grip of his unseen attacker.

  Chu Li immediately knew what had attacked Artimeer – a sand dragon. Such creatures were rare but deadly. Larger kin to the desert Gila monster, sand dragons burrowed into the sand and waited patiently until some hapless prey passed close enough to attack. Large, sharp teeth made quick work of smaller prey. For larger prey, the slow-acting venom of its bite paralyzed, and then killed, allowing the creature to drag its prey beneath the sand to consume at its leisure.

  Artimeer, even in his panic, had the presence of mind to draw his knife from his belt and thrust it into the ground, slowing the lizard’s progress in drawing him under the sand. Travin, prepared for danger, let loose two arrows into the beast’s head, but both bounced harmlessly off the thick frilled collar around its neck. A third man attacked the creature with his staff, while Anseer grabbed Artimeer by his arms and attempted to pull him from the creature’s strong grasp.

  Chu Li had not spent hours in the library in pursuit of only religious knowledge. All things of the world Yarah had created interested him. “Attack the body,” he shouted. He knew the sand lizard’s head was as thick as armor and protected by the bony frill. One of its most vulnerable points was just behind the frill.

  Travin began to hack at the creature’s body with his long knife while the others delivered blows with their staffs or jabbed it with their spears. Anseer continued to pull at Artimeer’s arms, drawing him as tight as a stretched hide. At first, their efforts produced no results, but soon the sand dragon, sensing it had snagged much large prey than it had intended, released its hold on Artimeer and retreated into its sandy lair, sending Anseer flying backwards. Travin began digging into the soil with his knife.

  “Leave it,” Chu Li shouted at him. The sand dragon would dig deep into sand below their reach.

  He examined Artimeer’s wounds. One leg was bleeding profusely. The sand dragon’s curved, sharp teeth had ripped into his flesh like a knife. He called for Travin to apply a tourniquet to slow the loss of blood.

  “I’m dying,” Artimeer cried out, eyes wide with fear. He looked down at his bloody leg and sobbed uncontrollably.

  “Ridiculous,” Chu Li lied. “It is a mere scratch.”

  However, as the others watched, Artimeer slowly lost consciousness and went into convulsions. White froth dribbled from his swollen, purple lips as he shook. They held him down until the spasms subsided. By then, he was dead.

  “Wha … what killed him?” Anseer asked. “The blood loss was high but not high enough to cause death.”

  Chu Li shook his head slowly from side to side as if perplexed. The others might ask how he knew of the creature, or more importantly, why he had not warned them. “I don’t know. Perhaps the monster’s teeth were poisonous.” He folded Artimeer’s arms over his chest and recited the Parting Blessing. “It is the will of Yarah,” he pronounced.

  Travin looked down at his dead comrade and then at the others. They nodded at his unspoken thought. “We will go no further,” he firmly declared. “We have lost two men already. Is Kena’s death so important?”

  “Yes,” Chu Li shouted.

  Travin took a deep breath. “Then continue alone, High Priest. This matter is between you and Yarah. We return to the village after we bury Artimeer. Our families need us.”

  “We must b
ring Kena back to answer for his crimes.” Their decision angered Chu Li. Could they not see the need to satisfy Yarah’s will? “You must continue,” he demanded.

  Travin chopped his hand downward sharply, an act of denial. “Let Yarah punish Kena if it is truly Yarah’s will. Your hatred for Kena is well known, and it drives you onward beyond all reason. We will go no further into this deadly place. If such evils find us, who travel with Yarah’s own High Priest, then surely it will find Kena also if he has displeased Him. Let the Burning Lands deal with Kena. We go home.”

  Chu Li knew they would not turn from their decision willingly. Perhaps Travin was right. How could a man and a boy endure long in such a harsh place? The desert would deal with them, as it had almost dealt with Kena on his last journey. Yet he could not chance their returning.

  “So be it,” he agreed. “Bury Artimeer and gather our supplies. We return to Ningcha, through the desert.” He saw the relief in their faces as he made his pronouncement. They would rather face the harsh, relentless desert than endure the dark confines of the river tunnel. He added, “Bring me Artimeer’s boots to replace these ill-chosen moccasins.” He received several nasty looks for robbing the dead, but he did not care. His feet ached. “Cover the pool of water with flat stones. We will return later for it with empty barrels and add it to the cisterns. It is a blessing from Yarah.”

  The men refused to see the wisdom in waiting for nightfall. They were too eager to return to Ningcha. Seeing the futility in trying to stop them, Chu Li decided to wait until the heat exhausted them, and then called a halt until moonrise. With luck, they could be back at the village before the next sunrise. The sun beat down on their heads with the fury of a tormentor. Their pace slowed to a crawl. It seemed to Chu Li that they were standing still. The endless, flat vista before them was unchanging – sand, rock, dirt, sand, rock, dirt. No cloud painted the perfect blue sky. No hint of breeze stirred the fine dust at their feet. As the searing sun began to drop slowly to their right, into the western hills of the Burning Lands, no man doubted Chu Li’s wisdom in calling a halt.

  “We must rest now,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “The moon will rise in four hours. We will be ready by then.”

  When Chu Li ordered each man to drink his fill of water, they forgot much of their earlier loathing for him. They were too tired to start a fire for a hot meal, but dried meat and fruit tasted like a feast after their day’s long march through the desert. Their bellies were soon full and their thirst finally quenched. Travin passed around precious tobacco from his pouch, and smoke soon filled the night air. In spite of sore muscles and aching shoulders from carrying the water, the men began to realize they were nearing home.

  “I think I can smell my wife’s cooking,” one man said wistfully. “That’s not your wife’s cooking. That’s a dead nightstalker,” Anseer joked.

  Everyone laughed, even the man who was the brunt of the joke. As the stars appeared in the night sky, Chu Li marked off the familiar constellations with his finger – Aspari, the Hawk; Dagon, the Dragon Lord; the Northern Ladle; the red and yellow eyes of Goliath, the giant; even the three tiny, dim stars that outlined Desert Mouse’s nose, eyes, and tail. The moon would be a mere sliver tonight, but unless someone tripped on a rock or fell in a hole, it would cast sufficient light with which to see. Chu Li listened as the men joked among themselves, their past perils almost forgotten. One man injured, one man dead, and still they had not found Kena. He would have to play up the finding of water when they returned, as a sign that Yarah had not forgotten them: that their pursuit, though not fruitful, met with Yarah’s blessing.

  A sudden scream from among their midst split the gathering darkness. The high-pitched scream of terror did not sound as if it could come from the throat of a man. The men began to scramble for weapons thoughtlessly laid aside. Chu Li grabbed his staff.

  “What is it?” he yelled over the melee as the others jumped up and down, screaming curses. Finally, one man had the presence of mind to light a torch. Chu Li saw that it was Travin.

  “A scorpion,” Travin replied as he smashed the large black creature beneath his boot. “It has stung Won.” He held the torch over the prostrate form of Won as the man sobbed and pressed his hands tightly to his leg. In the torchlight, Chu Li could see a fine sheen of perspiration covering Won’s face. “The fool failed to secure the water skin and let water drip into the sand.” It was obvious from his tone that Travin had little pity for Won’s plight. The waste of precious water in the desert was not a thing of small importance. “Now the smell of water will bring every creature for kilometers. We must leave.”

  “No,” Won screamed in spite of his pain. “I can’t walk.” He saw Travin’s cold, hard eyes and began to whimper. “Bleed my leg to drain the poison,” he pleaded.

  “Fool,” Travin spat. “The sting of the black scorpion is always fatal. You will be dead within the hour.”

  Won’s face turned pale, and he was silent for a moment. As in response to Travin’s dire words, the haunting cry of a nightstalker drifted in from a distant hill. His lips began to quiver with fright.

  “We must go now,” the others pleaded with Chu Li. They understood Won’s fate and feared to face a hungry nightstalker.

  “Don’t leave me to die,” Won pleaded, trying to crawl on his already numb leg. When he reached out his hand, the others backed up, as if his touch would obligate them to help.

  Travin looked at Chu Li questioningly. Understanding Travin’s unspoken question, he nodded. Travin bent over Won and whispered, “I give you the blessing of Yarah.”

  Before the meaning of the words dawned on Won, Travin slid the blade of his knife across his throat. Won gasped and fell back onto the sand, gurgling away his life, as the others hurriedly gathered up their possessions. Soon, the area would be crawling with denizens of the desert drawn by the smell of water and blood.

  “It had to be done,” Chu Li said to Travin as the hunter glanced back at the body of his dead friend.

  Travin’s eyes bored into Chu Li’s with the same intensity as a knife to the throat. “It was Yarah’s will.”

  Chu Li said nothing more.

  The call of the nightstalker grew louder. The group started across the desert at a fast trot, eager to reach the safety and familiar surroundings of Ningcha. Chu Li felt confident that not even Kena could survive long in this accursed place. For all his desert lore, every creature in the Burning Lands would be after them. When they had put what Chu Li considered a sufficient distance between them and the carnage behind them, Chu Li stopped them. A plan had been slowly forming in his mind. Perhaps he could use Won’s death to his benefit.

  “Yarah has blessed me with a vision,” he began. The others looked at him with concern. “Yarah has spoken to me through the deaths of Artimeer and Won. He has sent water to sustain us but has punished us for our folly and lack of faith.” His eyes played over the men and came to rest on Travin. “You must follow Kena into the Burning Lands, you and one other.”

  He remained steadfast, as Travin returned his stare with distrust before protesting, “We must all return to the village. It is useless to follow Kena. The desert demons protect his path.”

  “Do you think Yarah fears demons? I speak for Yarah. You will do as He bids.” Chu Li spoke, as if delivering a sermon. It was a battle of wills, and as he had assumed, his will was the stronger of the two. Travin’s strong jaw quivered slightly, but finally, Travin fell to one knee and lowered his head.

  “I accept Yarah’s will,” he muttered quietly under his breath.

  Chu Li smiled. “Good. Choose one other to accompany you.”

  He could have easily picked another man to accompany Travin, but decided the added burden of choosing would weaken Travin’s resolve even further. He saw both Villas and Anseer lower their heads in shame. By rights, they should have volunteered to go with Travin, but neither offered. The deaths of Artimeer and Won and Orin’s injured leg had broken their spirits. They wished only to
return home.

  “I’ll take Anseer,” Travin decided. “He, at least, has no wife to grieve over him.” This last word he spat at Chu Li in defiance.

  “Villas and I will return to Ningcha and bring bearers for the water Yarah has provided. Take as much water as you can carry.” He handed Travin the bag of food. “This will see you for a week if you eat sparingly. Hunt when you can, but you must find Kena.” His eyes drove home the intensity of his need.

  Travin nodded. “I will find Kena and discover his reason for killing Eithan, who he called friend.” He stared at Chu Li.

  “Find him and return,” Chu Li said. “Go with Yarah’s blessing.”

  Villas gave Anseer the arrows from his quiver without meeting his friend’s eyes, his shame tempered by his joy at returning to Ningcha. Anseer staggered beneath the weight of water skin, bow and arrows, spear, and extra rations.

  “A beast of burden I have become,” he joked, but no one laughed. Villas clasped his arm. “Return safely.” Anseer nodded absently as he tried in vain to rearrange his heavy load. Villas and Chu Li stood watching as Travin and Anseer began their long trek northwards into the Burning Lands, making a wide detour around the spot where the bones of their friend Won were being picked clean by desert scavengers. Chu Li watched until they were out of sight.

  “Come,” he called to Villas.

  Chu Li and Villas arrived in Ningcha just before dawn tired and weary from their ordeal. He expected to find no one awake, but it seemed the entire village was waiting. Tarim had arrived only a few hours earlier with the injured Orin, and people had remained awake discussing the murder and pursuit. Chu Li brushed off Madras’ silent inquiry of Kena’s fate and headed straight for his home. He avoided their eyes, as the villagers noted the absence of the others of the party. He had no wish for further explanations or recriminations. His pursuit of Kena had cost him two men, perhaps four, and a great deal of his self-esteem. Kena had won this round, but even if he managed to survive the desert and return to Ningcha, one of them must surely die. Chu Li swore it would not be him.