Seeing he had no alternative, Asat Amat agreed, with only one request: “Don’t bring any vehicles in. Old Hu doesn’t like machines. Bring many, many camels. Old Hu likes camels.” He warned us that the desert was most dangerous at this time of year. From here to the ruins of the Western Night City, there would be sand wastes and the Gobi Desert itself. If we couldn’t find an underground water source, our fate would be uncertain.
The nine of us didn’t look like an archaeological troop—more like a caravan from back in the day, burdened with a month’s worth of food and ten days’ water supply. There were also great leather bags of a sour-milk drink that was more refreshing than ten mouthfuls of water, and our equipment. The camels could barely manage this vast load, and we were forced to walk alongside them much of the time. As we set out from Bosten Lake, its intense blue, reaching far into the distance, was dazzling. For a moment, I felt as if we were heading toward the end of the world.
Two days into our expedition, the professor’s three graduate students were full of high spirits. They had never been into the desert before. It was all good fun to them—learning from Asat Amat how to whistle to the camels, chasing each other as they laughed and sang. My heart was buoyant too. I would have liked to horse around, but as the expedition leader, I had to be more serious. I sat as straight as I could on my camel, trying to look stern.
The first stretch was hardly a desert at all. The Peacock riverbed wasn’t completely dry, and little ponds and rivulets dotted the banks. Dark-headed gulls and scarlet-billed ducks flitted across the water’s surface, and a few oases sheltered in the bend, identifiable by their date trees and shrubs.
Crossing this river would take us into the desert proper. The Peacock changed its course from here and flowed toward the southeast. We were going southwest, into the Black Desert. Asat Amat said this desert was created by Old Hu to punish greedy infidels. Countless treasures and ruined cities were hidden in the sands, but nobody would ever be able to find them and emerge alive. If you took even a single piece of gold, you’d be certain to lose your way and perish in the swirling sandstorms.
The Black Desert was a fluid place. Winds moved its dunes all the time, so the land shifted every day. There were no landmarks, and the waterways faded as soon as we set eyes on them. Fortunately, we had Asat Amat, who’d spent half his life among these yellow sands. Nothing escaped his gaze—half an ancient tower, a tree blown over nearly parallel to the ground, tiny plants. To him, these joined together in a single thread that told us the Peacock River had once flowed this way, and the legendary Jingjue City abandoned by Old Hu must be in this direction.
To avoid the noontime sun, we traveled through the night. Yet even now, as we trudged along exhausted, this scenery gave us a jolt of energy. “Gosh, this place is gorgeous,” Julie Yang said with a sigh. “Look at that poplar—a golden dragon writhing through the sand.” She snapped away with her camera, trying to preserve the moment.
While we were all captivated, I noticed Asat Amat staring toward the east with a glimmer of unease in his eyes. Walking over to him, I said gently, “What is it, uncle? Is the weather about to change?” I’d heard that in the inland regions, they had the saying “Red sky in the morning, travelers take warning.” The rosy clouds we were admiring were probably a bad omen.
Asat Amat shook his head, pausing a little before replying, “Yes, I think the clouds in the sky are bleeding, Old Hu is throwing a tantrum, and, ah, the wind will soon rise.”
I smiled. “My surname is Hu too. We Hus should stick together!”
Old Asat Amat sighed hard enough to blow a tree away. “Old Hu doesn’t have a surname. He’ll get angry if he hears you talking about him like that. Tonight, in the Black Desert, ah, what a wind there will be. We shouldn’t rest today. Let’s keep walking as fast as we can.”
This was the fifth day of our expedition, and our third in the Black Desert. In front of us were the ruins of the Western Night City. We’d planned to reach them by the next day, but Asat Amat said this sandstorm would be huge. If we didn’t reach the city, we’d be buried alive.
Hearing him speak like this, I realized it was no time for jokes. We were still more than half a day away from the ruins, and if there were any delays, we’d be in real trouble. But we’d just walked through the night, and the older men were beginning to tire.
I prepared to start moving again, only to see Asat Amat climb off his camel and slowly unroll a rug onto the yellow sand. Kneeling on it with his eyes shut, he raised both hands to the sky, then brought them down to his face, chanting, “Allahu Akbar.”
Seeing Asat Amat say his prayers, as he did every morning, I began to relax. Surely it couldn’t be that serious after all. My eyes moved back to the stunning desert scenery. Yet the second he finished, Asat Amat’s demeanor changed completely. He leaped onto his camel as if on a giant spring and whistled loud and long. “Quick, run! Anyone too slow will be buried in the hell of the Black Desert.” He spurred the camel on and began galloping away.
“Stupid old man,” I cursed. To have taken his time over praying and then abandoning us like that! The other camels detected the coming peril, and their hooves clattered here and there across the sand. It’s usually pleasant to sway along on the back of a camel, but in their panicked state they were giving us a much rougher ride. We clung on tightly, terrified of being flung to the ground.
The stampeding beasts raised a great pale cloud. We clapped on sand goggles and wrapped our scarves around our noses and mouths. The more I tried to work out where we were going, the more it felt wrong—the camels were out of control, their eyes bulging as they panted, trying to catch up with Asat Amat’s mount, the biggest in the herd, now speeding along like a cyclone. I tried to call out to our guide, but my mouth filled with sand before I could get the words out. All I could do was count camels and riders over and over to make sure we hadn’t lost anyone. We continued till noon, when even our hardy camels were foaming and in need of a rest.
Asat Amat told us to eat up and drink plenty of water—we’d be able to replenish our supplies from the underwater springs at the Western Night City. It wasn’t far now, so we could allow the camels a short break, but we’d need to get moving soon.
We hastily stuffed flatbread and dried meat into our mouths. Worried about whether these eggheads could cope with this exertion, Kai and I anxiously asked how they were.
Professor Chen was already a little frail, so the wild ride had rattled him and he couldn’t answer us at first. The youngest student, Little Ye, could only stammer a few words. Neither of them was able to eat, only drink a little water.
Julie Yang was thriving. Maybe because she’d inherited her father’s love of adventure, or maybe because Americans are just tougher. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t looking tired at all, even after a sleepless night and a mad dash across the desert. Full of energy, she was now helping old Asat Amat check that our equipment was still securely fastened.
A light breeze blew across the dunes, raising a few wisps of sand. Looking at the horizon, we saw the sky turn a dull mustard color. Asat Amat shouted hoarsely, “The wind is here! No time to rest. Allah save us!”
The archaeologists dragged their shattered bodies back onto the camels and goaded them into action. It took no more than a breath for the clear sky to turn dark. A swift wind curled around us, carrying millions of tiny grains of sand, filling every inch of the air, reducing visibility to almost nothing. In the chaos I tried to count the galloping shapes. Eight, including myself. Who was missing?
The wind grew fiercer, the sand thicker. Now I was in the middle of a yellow blur. There was no way to see who we’d lost, but we were only a hundred yards over the crest of the dunes—there was still time to go back. Kai was by my side, the only person I could actually make out. I tried to shout at him, but there was too much wind. Instead, I gestured for him to take over and lead the group to safety. Even this little delay put us dozens of yards behind. Not stopping to see if Kai had understood
me, I flipped my body off the camel and tumbled to the ground. As I ran against the wind, my body felt like a sheet of paper, as if it might be lifted and flung away at any moment. I could hear nothing but the roaring in my ears.
Stumbling a couple of hundred yards, I reached a body half covered in sand. It was Professor Chen. He looked terrible but was still breathing. The sandstorm was getting worse, but I knew this was only the beginning. I hoisted the professor onto my back and turned, only to find my footprints had already been erased. What now? With any luck, Kai would have made that cowardly Asat Amat wait.
I started down the dune, but the wind was so strong it pushed my legs out from under me, and the pair of us rolled down the slope into that strange twilight. Someone helped me up. It was Kai—he’d worked out what I was saying and rushed ahead to shove Asat Amat off his saddle. Once the lead camel came to a halt, the others did too. There they were, just in front of us. Lucky they hadn’t gotten very far—we’d never have caught up otherwise.
The camels seemed spooked and refused to start running again, no matter how Asat Amat beat them. They stood in a line, knees bent, heads shoved into the sand. All along the way, I’d seen a number of camel skeletons, their bones bleached white, and always in this position. Asat Amat said they were the remains of frightened camels. Hearing the Black Desert wind coming toward them and knowing it was no use to run, they preferred to kneel and wait for death.
Unprepared for this situation, we had no plan. But we couldn’t just wait to be buried alive. My mind was racing when Julie nudged me and pointed to the west. There, looming out of the sand, was a giant white shape dashing along close to the ground. Without thinking about it, I grabbed the handgun slung from my saddle, a little revolver intended only to scare off wolves. Everyone focused on the giant white cloud. What on earth could it be?
It was almost upon us when I recognized it—a camel, twice the size of an ordinary beast, white as snow from head to tail, seeming to glow from within the swirling sand. “A wild camel!” said Asat Amat, a light in his eyes. He waved his arms and praised Allah, and the kneeling camels, seeming to sense salvation too, raised their heads. A desert creature like this would know where to hide from the sandstorm.
The camels got to their feet, lowered their heads, and ran till white foam flecked their mouths. With the last of their strength, they came close to their quarry. The land here sloped up suddenly, and the white camel’s body shimmered and seemed to leap a little before vanishing.
Without stopping to work out what was happening, our little caravan pressed on until we had passed onto the other side of a high sand dune. Looking left and right, I realized the mound had a stretch of broken wall in it, a fort made of pounded earth. This had once been an ancient city. Most of it was still buried, and some buildings had crumbled altogether. After being assaulted by wind and sun, it had become the same color as the desert itself. If we hadn’t approached it from just the right angle, we’d never have known it was here.
The white camel had been heading to this spot to shelter from the storm. Only the broken wall had prevented us from seeing exactly where it was going. This wall must have been designed to keep out the harsh desert. Asat Amat said, “We were directed here by Old Hu.” True, a safe haven like this felt like divine providence.
The archaeologists clustered together, their faces yellow—though whether from fear or because covered with sand I couldn’t tell. Asat Amat stabled the camels in a corner, then led the rest of us into a large building that still had some of its roof intact.
This city must have been solid in its day, but now the walls were cracked open in places, and over time huge quantities of sand had drifted into its structures. Looking around, I saw that we seemed to be in some kind of public hall—a courtroom or maybe some other meeting place.
Little Ye and Hao Aiguo flung themselves to the ground as soon as they came in, pouring water from their bottles into their mouths. The rest of us helped Professor Chen inside. He had recovered somewhat, but his legs were still wobbly.
Asat Amat came in last. He knelt to thank Old Hu for sending the white camel that had led us from the nightmare of the dark demons raised by the Black Desert. The single-humped white camel, he said, was one of the mysteries of the desert. Genghis Khan had reported sighting one. Our whole group must be favored by Allah, for if Old Hu didn’t approve of a single person among us, he’d never have sent it. From now on we would be Asat Amat’s brothers and sisters, bound together. He puffed out his chest and proclaimed, “If there’s any more danger, I promise never again to abandon you to save my own skin!”
The great sandstorm arrived while Asat Amat was speaking, the furious winds seeming to shake the very ground. Even within the walls of our sanctuary, we were terrified. What if sand blocked the entrance and turned this building into our mausoleum? Kai, Sa Dipeng, and Chu Jian took turns keeping an eye on the crack we’d crawled in through, ready to raise the alarm if it started to fill up. Yet we knew deep down there was nothing we could do. Even if we fled, we’d be running into the maw of the storm—just choosing a different location in which to be buried alive.
The outer walls of this hall were overgrown with sand wormwood, a kind of dry grass. I reached out to harvest an armful for kindling—fire would give us a little warmth and illuminate the pitch-black interior. Little Ye suddenly leaped up, hitting her head on a ceiling beam and knocking clouds of sand down on us. Before my vision cleared, I heard her shaking voice: “Over there, look—a body!”
“A corpse?” Hao Aiguo was scornful. “Silly Little Ye, what’s the big deal? Since when have archaeologists been afraid of the dead?”
Little Ye rubbed her head where it had hit the beam. “I’m sorry, Teacher Hao, I—I never expected to see one here. I wasn’t prepared.”
Everyone else on the team except Asat Amat had seen their share of corpses, so no one seemed as alarmed as Little Ye. Rather, they were curious—bodies usually became mummified in the heat and drying winds of the desert, yet there wasn’t a shred of skin or flesh left on this skeleton. Had the bones been eaten clean by sand wolves?
Asat Amat thought that was possible. Since the white camel had led us here to shelter from the storm, the ruins were likely a sanctuary provided by Old Hu for the creatures of the desert. Who knew how many sand leopards and yellow sheep were hiding among the buildings, just out of our sight? When the storm cleared, the chase of predator and prey could start up again.
At the thought of sharing our shelter with possibly vicious wild creatures, Little Ye began to panic again. Asat Amat grew anxious too, going out to make sure the camels were where he’d left them. Kai and Chu Jian accompanied him, planning to bring the food and sleeping bags back in case we were stuck here for a while. The three squeezed through the hole in the roof, sand goggles and scarves shielding them. Teacher Hao paced nervously, first in one direction, then in the other. Before he could start a second go-round, Kai and Chu Jian were back, their bodies covered in grit.
Kai stripped off his protective gear. “That wind! If we hadn’t held on to each other, we’d have been blown away,” he said. “But the old guy wasn’t bluffing: we saw six or seven sheep huddled behind a wall. When it calms down, I’ll go shoot a couple. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted fresh meat.”
Asat Amat overheard and rushed to stop him. “Cannot, cannot do this. If you shoot, the noise will scare all the other animals here. They’ll rush out into the Black Desert and be buried alive. They’re Old Hu’s creatures, just like us.”
Kai sighed. “Fine, don’t get bent out of shape. I’ll stick to the dried meat. Or does Old Hu object to that too?”
Trapped in this nameless ancient city after so many days in the desert, no one had much of an appetite. I was worried about Professor Chen—what if something happened to him, so far from any medical help? We had a skinful of brandy, which I pressed on him. After sipping it, he smiled weakly. “To think I used to work in the field every day. Now I’m just old and useless. Lit
tle brother Hu, if it weren’t for you, my old bones would be buried in that desert.”
I tried to comfort him and joked that I had to do some work in exchange for Miss Yang’s generous wages. If he wasn’t feeling well, it wasn’t too late to turn back; beyond the Western Night City would be the heart of the Black Desert, where conditions would be much worse and there would be no time for second thoughts.
The professor shook his head, indicating he was determined to carry on. Big sandstorms only came along once a century, and he was certain we wouldn’t encounter anything else of this magnitude. As long as we got through this, there could only be good fortune in store.
After dinner, it was Sa Dipeng’s turn to relieve Chu Jian. Kai and I went to retrieve the bones Little Ye had spotted earlier. There was no way to bury them outside, so we picked a spot inside the building. After a few strokes, the shovel struck something hard, which was strange. This tall building was filled with centuries of blowing sand. How could we have hit rock so soon?
Probing a little farther, we found a round object. Teacher Hao and the others came to help, and soon we’d created a hole almost two feet deep. From out of the powdery sand, there now protruded a human head carved out of black stone. Bulging olive-shaped eyes were set into its proportionately smaller features. The head wore no hat, only an ornate hairpin, and its expression was as calm and detached as that of a temple statue.
I lit a gas lamp. Staring at the head in the light, Professor Chen said to Hao Aiguo, “Look at this. Haven’t we seen something like it before?”
Hao Aiguo put on his glasses and studied it. “Yes, that thousand-tomb site in Xinjiang? There were stone figures like this on those graves.”
I chose another spot and quickly dug a hole, and finally, that unfortunate skeleton was buried. Not a shred of clothing or other identifying object was left. Who was he? Knowing nothing about him, I just murmured, “Rest in peace.”
The City of Sand Page 5