The Scorpions of Zahir

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  The trees melted away and Zagora was lurching and bumping over sand, almost falling off her camel as she tried to take in the sun, the dunes, the brilliant blue sky. Too late she realized she’d left her sunglasses, camera and sunscreen inside her backpack. She’d been too distracted to get them out.

  From under the brim of her hat she looked at her father and thought him spiffy (his word) in his khaki outfit, sunglasses and pith helmet. He sat astride a nasty-tempered camel, which kept trying to chew his foot though it couldn’t quite reach. The camel halted every few yards, jolting him forward, but Dr. Pym didn’t seem fazed. That’s because my dad knows how to handle ornery camels, Zagora told herself.

  Grunting and spluttering, the camels trailed up and down the dunes. Whenever a wind sprang up, Zagora’s camel twitched its ears and moaned through its teeth. Distant mountains shimmered beneath a zinc-colored sun. Zagora felt the heat burning through her clothes and searing the tops of her hands. There was no shade, only a harsh brightness that hurt her eyes.

  Nothing, she told herself, nothing is more real than this.

  She felt sorry for Duncan, hunched over his shabby brown camel, arms locked around its neck. Sometimes he seemed so vulnerable, frightened by animals and by being in the outdoors. He’d always been a high-strung kid, and she’d taken advantage over the years, sneaking up on him, telling spooky stories, scaring him out of his wits—her way of paying him back for being brainy and superior. Now she regretted it.

  Riding along in silence, she thought of a perfect name for her camel: Sophie—after her teacher, Mrs. Sophie Bixby. Both had the same quizzical eyes, round and amber, and the same thick eyelashes. Yet despite her euphoric state, Zagora was a little worried. Sophie wheezed noisily as she trudged up the dunes, legs wobbling and spit flying from her mouth. There were ragged patches on her neck and flanks, and she seemed to be painfully thin. Why hadn’t Badi al Raman taken better care of his camels?

  Zagora couldn’t think of anything more terrible than Sophie keeling over, dead as a doorknob, with her still sitting on top.

  Hours later, Occam found a small patch of grass surrounded by steep dunes, and Razziq announced that this would be their campsite. Zagora couldn’t believe they’d be spending the night there. It seemed so wild and untamed, like the drawings in Edgar’s journal.

  “Oh my aching you-know-what,” groaned Duncan, catching his foot in the stirrup as he slid off. Occam caught him before he went flying into the sand.

  Their father appeared to be exhausted. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes, Zagora wondered if this desert trek was going to be too much for him. Charles Pym wasn’t young anymore—he was, in fact, considerably older than her friends’ fathers—and in recent years he hadn’t been on many expeditions. Instead he’d spent his time lecturing, writing articles and playing Desert Biome Madness on his computer.

  While Duncan unpacked his astronomy instruments, Zagora and Razziq helped Occam set up three small tents and a blue-and-white-striped tent, giving the place a festive air. Then Occam set out clay pots and utensils and lit a roaring fire to begin preparing dinner. As the sun vanished behind the dunes, they all sat in a circle in the sand, dipping bread into a communal clay pot of tagine, scooping up vegetables and tender hunks of lamb.

  “I can’t wait to meet Pitblade Yegen,” said Zagora as Occam passed around a dessert of oranges with cinnamon and honey. “I’m going to ask if he’s bumped into any of the Azimuth tribe.”

  “I’d love to know,” said her dad. “This really could be a eureka discovery, thanks to you.”

  She grinned at him, though she wasn’t sure what eureka meant. As she bit into an orange, savoring its sweet taste, she saw pinpoints of light in the distance flickering through the bruised darkness—probably the fires of nomads.

  “Those fires are along the border,” said Razziq. “Algeria is not far.”

  “Algeria?” said Duncan. “Isn’t that place supposed to be bad news?”

  “Not to worry—those are Moroccan soldiers camped over there,” said their father, assuming his blustery chief inspector’s role. “We’re safe.”

  Duncan took a bite of his orange and looked at Zagora, his expression doubtful. Their dad had always been a master at bluffing.

  Zagora heard the haunting sound of the desert wind, low and distant. Sparkling grains of sand swirled before her eyes. Peering into the distance, in the approximate direction of Zahir, she could see an outcropping, faintly illuminated. She quickly realized she was looking not at rocks, but at oryxes, standing along the rim of a dune, erect and dramatic against the violet-black sky. They seemed to be glowing with light from the desert.

  It was obvious that the others couldn’t see the oryxes: Zagora was the only one, and she wondered if she really did have desert sight, and if maybe it was growing stronger because she was finally in the desert. The light of the oryxes began to dim, and she watched their golden shapes melt away. Moments later they dissolved into the night, and she felt a sudden unease. Why were the ghost oryxes following her?

  “Okay. Here’s the plan for tomorrow, kids,” said her father, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “Occam will have our camels ready at sunrise, and the three of us will head out straightaway. If for any reason we get separated—and the desert, as you know, is full of surprises—our meeting point will be the Tower of the Enigmas.” He handed them each a rough-drawn map. “I don’t foresee any problems, but in the desert we have to be prepared for the unexpected.”

  Zagora studied the map—an exact replica of the one Pitblade Yegen had sent her dad—with feverish excitement. Her father had carefully written in distances and highlighted symbols representing their campsite, the excavated part of Zahir (including a palace) and the Tower of the Enigmas, overlooking the city. It all looked incredibly cool and adventurous.

  “Can’t Razziq come with us?” asked Duncan. “In case anything happens, like a snake attack?”

  Their father shook his head. “Sorry, but we have only three camels and Razziq’s needed here, to help Occam.”

  “Yeah, but is it true, what Abdul told us?” Duncan suddenly looked worried. “Is Zahir dangerous?”

  Zagora and Razziq exchanged looks. Too late, she thought. We’ve come too far. We can’t turn back now.

  “I’m afraid Abdul has listened to Ali’s irrational stories about spirits and curses for so long that he tends to confuse truth with fiction,” said their father. “Don’t worry, Duncan, I’d never knowingly lead you into danger.”

  “Okay, Dad,” said Duncan, apparently satisfied with their father’s answer.

  Zagora breathed a sigh of relief. And yet she worried, just a little, that maybe what Abdul had said was true.

  After the meal her father said goodnight to everyone and disappeared into his tent. She watched Occam scour the clay pot with sand, rinsing it with water from a tin can; then she wandered over to the camels, which were huddled next to the striped tent. She loved their humpbacked shapes and earthy smells; she even loved their stubborn, cranky natures.

  Leaning against Sophie, she whispered good night to her golden-eyed camel and gave her a hug. The coarse hide bristled against her skin, smelling like dry grass. She wished she had a brush to make her camel’s hair shine. Sophie gave a snort and Zagora giggled, picturing her in plastic glasses and a polyester dress, a piece of chalk in one hoof, writing lines from a poem by William Blake on the chalkboard, the way Mrs. Bixby used to do.

  Yawning, she returned to her mat outside her tent. She and Duncan had decided to sleep under the stars so they could watch Nar Azrak. He must be really tired, she thought, seeing her brother asleep on his mat. He didn’t even set up his telescope!

  Occam sat by the fire, playing a sad quirky tune on his flute. Notes flew into the air like smoky cinders, spinning off into the dark. She felt a thrill of anticipation, thinking how the next day they were going to Zahir and she would meet the intrepid explorer Pitblade Yegen, grandson of Edgar, lost eleven years in the de
sert. There were so many questions she was bursting to ask.

  She noticed Duncan’s flashlight by his mat and, checking that no one was looking, opened her backpack and pulled out Edgar’s journal. Switching the flashlight on under the blanket, she began to read.

  As we draw nearer, I see golden oryxes in the coppery light, shimmering, transparent. They appear expectant, as if they have been waiting for me. Are these mirages, hallucinations, creatures composed of swirling sand?

  Zahir has surpassed my expectations. The ruins are filled with relics and artifacts: an archaeologist’s treasure trove. The palace is still there, though it is half buried beneath the sand. Everywhere I turn, I catch fleeting glimpses of oryxes. Mohammed tells me it is possible I possess the gift of desert sight, which is the ability to see back in time, into the past of the desert. That would explain why I am seeing the oryxes: they are coming to me out of a distant time.

  Oh my gosh, she thought, Edgar Yegen had desert sight! That was totally amazing, to think that maybe she and Edgar had both been born with this rare and special talent. She wondered if the ghost oryxes she was seeing were the same ones Edgar had seen back in the 1930s.

  The flute music ended and Zagora watched the sky crack open into a vast, empty space, forbidding and mysterious, with no beginning and no end. Nar Azrak appeared, seeming even larger than it had the night before, blotting out the stars, its blue light filling the night sky.

  The next morning Zagora was woken up by what seemed to be a very bright light. It took her a few moments to realize it was the sun. But hadn’t her father told them they’d be leaving at sunrise? Her throat was parched and her head was spinning. The image of Nar Azrak was still very clear in her mind.

  “Oh man, I fell asleep before Nar Azrak even came up,” said Duncan, rubbing his eyes. Zagora could see star charts scattered on the mat around him. “I didn’t take any measurements.”

  She looked over at her father’s tent. “Why isn’t Dad up?” she asked. “And I don’t see the camels anywhere.” No matter what direction she looked in, the horizon stretched out for what seemed like infinity.

  “Looks like Occam overslept,” said Duncan, pulling on his boots. “He was supposed to wake us up. The camels are probably foraging.”

  Their father’s tent was empty; his BlackBerry lay in the sand next to his sleeping mat. Zagora brushed it off and tried turning it on, but it wouldn’t power up. His backpack, she noticed, was gone.

  “Duncan, Dad dropped his cell,” she said, “and have you seen his backpack?”

  “Maybe he went to look for the camels. That’s the kind of crazy thing Dad would do.”

  Zagora, unconvinced, exited the striped tent, then walked around to the other side, hoping to find her father standing with a cup of coffee, gazing out to the desert. There was no one.

  “Dad … Dad!” she shouted, starting to panic.

  Razziq drew back a flap of his tent. “Occam says he heard someone come here in the night.” He stepped outside, a worried look on his face. “Occam said it could have been a dream, but now he says maybe not.”

  Zagora felt queasy at the thought that someone might have been there in the night—and now, suddenly, her father had vanished.

  “There are many ways to become lost in the desert,” said Razziq quietly. “Do not worry, Zagora, we will find him. Go, tell your brother he is gone. We must move quickly!”

  She spun around and ran back to tell Duncan the bad news.

  “Cripes, this is all we need,” he muttered, turning their father’s mat over with the toe of his boot. “Are you saying Dad has either disappeared or was kidnapped?” She could see white bugs jumping around in the sand. “What if he just wandered off in the night and lost his way?”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lip to keep from crying. We’re in the wild, she thought, remembering a line from a book, and the wild has teeth and claws. “Anything could have happened!” Her dad had looked so tired the night before. What if he’d sleepwalked into the desert?

  Glancing down, she saw a flash of blue beneath the mat. She reached into the sand and her fingertips grazed a small, smooth object. The Oryx Stone!

  Duncan drew his breath in sharply. “Hey, what’s that doing there?”

  “I think it fell out of Dad’s backpack,” she said.

  She had forgotten how heart-stopping the beauty of the Oryx Stone was. Points of light flew from its edges, and the oryx seemed to glide over its surface in a long graceful arc. Had her father accidentally dropped the stone—or had he thrown it into the sand to defy his abductors, counting on her and Duncan to find it?

  A chaotic half hour later, Duncan and Razziq plodded off through blowing sand, while Zagora rode on Sophie, who had wandered back into the campsite. Occam was out rounding up the other camels. He’d promised to stay behind in case Dr. Pym returned.

  Razziq insisted they wrap shirts around their faces for protection, explaining how the Tuaregs, fierce camel riders of the Sahara, wore the cheche.

  “I saw Tuaregs in Marrakech,” said Zagora. “The cheche scares off evil spirits, right?”

  “This is true,” said Razziq. “And it allows anonymity.”

  Hmm, thought Zagora, scares off evil spirits and makes you anonymous. Both seemed like good ideas at the moment.

  The air was thick and hot, the sun a pale glimmering orb. Sophie stepped briskly along, as if sensing the rider’s anxiety, and Zagora tried to ignore the ache at the pit of her stomach. If only she hadn’t slept so deeply, cozy under the rough blanket, dreaming about the oryxes. If only she’d been more alert, she might have heard the intruders—and maybe her father wouldn’t be missing.

  Around her neck hung the Oryx Stone, nestled against her skin. She wondered for the hundredth time how to charge up the magic inside. Did she need to whisper an incantation or rub the stone a certain way? She was frustrated that it hadn’t given her any powers—especially now, when she needed all the help she could get.

  “We have the map Dad drew for us,” said Duncan in a confident tone, “so let’s head for our meeting place, the Tower of the Enigmas. That’s where he said to go if we got separated.”

  “Good idea,” said Zagora, feeling a sudden thrill despite her fear. She was going to Zahir!

  Peering through her cheche from atop her camel, she scanned the windswept dunes, hoping to catch sight of a weary lost archaeologist. Minutes ticked by and she saw only sand shimmering in the heat, rippling up and away. She remembered her dad sketching pictures of the different shaped dunes. Crescent dunes were the hardest to draw, he’d said, because they were constantly changing shape.

  As Zagora pictured her father’s earnest face, her heart fell. Where in this vast desert could he be? What if he’d been smuggled into a camel caravan headed for Algeria or Mauritania, countries on his Kummerly & Frey map with endless miles of uncharted territories? She told herself she would simply keep looking until she found him. No matter how long it took, she’d travel the desert far and wide to rescue her beloved father.

  Leaning down, she gazed into Sophie’s left eye, which was filled with the golden light of the desert. The light seemed to gather and burst, and everything became clear, every stone, every grain of sand. The warm desert wind brushed against Zagora’s face and she felt time shift once again. Across the expanse of dunes she saw a line of camels winding through a canyon, and small boys herding goats on a green oasis, and a man with almond-shaped eyes carving glyphs on a fortress. None of the others saw these things, she was sure.

  It’s true, she thought. I have desert sight. And desert sight, she realized, had nothing to do with the Oryx Stone. Desert sight, ancient and mystical, belonged to her alone.

  As they edged down a dune, Sophie made a gargling sound and stopped walking. Then her legs buckled. She slowly lowered her body to the sand. Furious, Zagora jumped out of the saddle. The camel gazed at her with watery brown eyes, giving her the same look Mrs. Bixby used to give when kids did things that were sneaky or mean.


  “I know you don’t like this very much,” said Zagora, “but we have to find our dad and we need you to carry our stuff, like the canteens and the medicine kit. Please, Sophie, get up.”

  Sophie fluttered her long eyelashes; then, grinding her teeth in annoyance, the camel lumbered to her feet. Zagora kissed her, shutting her eyes against the coarse hairs, and took a firm hold on the reins, leading Sophie over the dunes, the sand burning beneath her sandals. Looking back, she could see that the wind had already erased their footprints.

  “Ahoy, mates, I see something ahead!” shouted Duncan as they topped the next dune.

  Zagora gazed down into a searing canyon that cut through a scorched plateau, yellow and brown and violently bright. A sheer wall of black rock loomed out of the sand, pitted with scores of openings that made her think of empty eye sockets.

  “I think it is possible we have lost our way,” said Razziq, visibly upset. “This is what nomads call a place of dark spirits.”

  “You mean spirits of the dead?” asked Zagora with a shudder.

  “It would seem to be.” He looked at her, unblinking. “What you call ghosts.”

  “Ghosts aren’t real, Razz, everybody knows that,” said Duncan.

  Zagora wasn’t so sure. She gazed at the black rock, bleak and imposing, pocked with hollow caves and fissures, its high walls shutting out the low-angled sunlight. There could be scarier things than ghosts in those caves.

  “I don’t care about ghosts or dark spirits or any of that stuff,” she said defiantly. “We have to go in there and check it out. Dad could be inside one of those caves!”

  “They call places like this the badlands.” Duncan shook out his shirt-turned-cheche and rewound it messily around his head.

  “Yes,” agreed Razziq. “Terrible things can happen in such places.”

  The three stood shuffling their feet in the sand, exchanging nervous glances. Their quest, Zagora realized, had been turned on its head, and they were no longer looking for Pitblade Yegen. Now they were on a desperate search for their father.