She stirred, her hair falling across her face. She sat up, joints popping as she stretched, tongue darting out to lick at chapped lips reflexively and uselessly.
“Morning she said, blinking the last traces of sleep from her eyes.
There was nothing to be done to delay their start, no breakfast to eat or tea to sip. They began the daily struggle forward nearly immediately upon waking. Alexis always seemed ready to begin whatever task she set for herself as soon as she was upright and wearing her boots, while Stone took much longer to wake.
“How do you do that?” he asked her, just for something to say that was not melancholy as he stumbled along after her quick, confident strides, still shaking off the heavy cloak of sleep. It didn’t seem to matter that he had woken before her; she was already much more alert.
“Effects of running a farm, I suppose,” she answered. Unlike his own voice, there was no forced lightness there. She managed to make it sound real. As they trudged onward, Alexis told the story of Prometheus, who had condemned himself to a fate far worse than death to bless the humans below with light and warmth. As she described the ravens pecking out the hero’s liver while he was chained helplessly to a rock, Stone found himself wondering how long it would be before the vultures overhead were doing the same to him.
“Do you think he’s still there?” Stone asked, after a few minutes of silence had passed. It was an effort to speak, the words scraping their way up his throat.
“Prometheus?” She looked thoughtful; her muscles were trembling with exertion as she walked up the steep dune alongside him. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice was soft and fraying, like iron rusted through. She sounded far less sure than she had while telling the story. “I like to think he escaped somehow.”
“Maybe some humans set him free to repay him for his trouble,” he suggested. His legs burned as he forced them to keep moving ever upward, ever forward. Every bone in his body seemed to ache in protest. The hopeful look Alexis gave him made the pain ease but only a little.
“That would make a good story,” she said.
At the top of the mountainous dune, they both sank down to the sand in silent acknowledgement of their exhaustion. They’d not been walking half a day yet, but Stone already felt as though he couldn’t take another step.
“Not the best way to die, huh?” Stone said. He’d meant to keep the words inside his head, but to his shock and chagrin they came spilling out anyway, bitter as bile from the depths of his stomach.
Alexis was still breathing hard beside him. “There are more pleasant ways, no doubt,” she said. “Though it’s still better than dying in shackles.”
Slow and terrible as dying of thirst was shaping up to be, Stone had to agree with that. He nodded, the energy for further words deserting him for a moment.
“I don’t plan on dying,” Alexis said. “We still have time.”
She spoke with such surety that he almost believed her. Together, they could still make it through this, if they were careful, if they were smart. They still had a chance, however small.
It was Stone’s turn to stand up first. He did so slowly, clenching his teeth against the increased pain throbbing in his head, against the feeling of glass in the joints of his knees. He was in the midst of pulling Alexis up to join him when he saw something on the horizon. It was a small shape, thin and distant, shimmering in the heat. Unlike the sight of the well days before, it appeared to be moving, swaying slightly from side to side.
“Don’t let your hopes soar too high,” Alexis warned him, as they started down the opposite side of the dune, changing direction altogether to seek out the shape. “It’s probably another mirage.”
They had seen several of those, these past days, far away things in the shapes of wells, people, horses, trees; these things invariably disappeared when they tried to reach them, fading into the background of blue sky until there was nothing left. This shape did not fade or disappear. As they grew closer, Stone’s eyes zeroed in on the shape of a boy standing alongside a camel. The camel was lying down and did not look terribly healthy; there was a colorful blanket slung across its back in place of a saddle of any sort. The boy was perhaps 12 years old; one hand was held up in greeting, while the other brandished a knife. His posture was careful and pained, all of his weight balanced heavily on his right leg. Alexis held up her hands as well, keeping her sword and dagger in her belt. Stone followed suit.
Alexis opened her mouth, and a few words of clunky Persian poured out. The boy replied, much more eloquently, gesturing rather aggressively to the camel, his eyes wide and worried. They looked bloodshot with spent tears.
“His name is Tadaki. He went hunting to help his mother. His camel was bitten by a snake and threw him.” She smiled sadly at the camel and the boy as Tadaki said a few more words. “The camel’s name is Naak. It means ‘golden’. He says that she is good. That it is not her fault.”
After all these days of solitude, it felt strange to see another person so close. The boy, Tadaki, watched them skeptically.
“What have you told him?” he asked Alexis.
“Not much,” she says. “I understand more Persian than I can properly speak. I’ve said that we are lost and need help. He claims his village is no more than half a day’s walk, but he can’t walk without help.”
Stone nodded. He did his best to appear friendly as he looked the boy over, including his badly swollen ankle, but he worried that the grimness on his face was there to stay. “Will they help us, at his village?”
Alexis spoke again, choosing the unfamiliar words with great care. The boy nodded in response and said a short sentence in reply.
“Yes. He says they are a small village and a peaceful people.” A sardonic smile twisted its way across her lips. “He could be lying, but surely our luck isn’t that bad.”
Stone agreed with that. Perhaps he should have been more suspicious, but they were too desperate to beat around the bush. They were already nearly too weak to go on. Another day, and they may not be fit to walk anywhere. Another day, and they may be dead.
He hardened his heart to the sight of the boy bidding his camel farewell. He had grown rather fond of the animals during his time in Egypt. It pained him to watch the beast’s eyes rolling in its head as it fought against the effects of the venom. He hoped it wouldn’t take her long to die unaided.
“I’m surprised she isn’t dead already,” Alexis told him, as the boy ran his fingers softly over Naak’s neck, and then turned away. Alexis had told Tadaki what she would do, and it had seemed to comfort the boy as much as it frightened him. Stone held out a hand, letting the boy take it at his own slow pace, before he picked him up fully. He was short and slight in stature, not quite coming to Stone’s chest, but he was fatigued enough from thirst and hunger that it felt as though he weighed a ton.
Before he turned away himself, he saw Alexis draw her dagger. He listened for a sound that would tell him the deed had been done, but there was no such sign. She did her work quickly and efficiently, and he was able to hear nothing over the sound of his boots crunching in the sand.
When she caught up to them moments later, she gave the boy a nod. Tadaki returned it stoically, with not so much as the faintest tremble of his lower lip. Only Stone noticed how the boy’s body tensed, how his breath, for a few moments afterward, became quick and strained.
They walked for some time without speaking, Stone and Alexis struggling along, the boy bouncing where he was held across Stone’s shoulders. It was a fireman’s carry, and the easiest manner he knew that would allow him to support the boy’s weight for a long while. Tadaki spoke to Alexis intermittently, in a quiet, wavering voice that grew steadier as time went on. She only bothered to translate the particularly interesting statements.
“He is singing the praises of his mother’s soup,” Alexis said, and the mere thought of warm, fresh food in his stomach made it wake up enough to growl in frustration.
A few moments later: “He wishes to
know why your hair is so strange.”
Stone snorted, despite the prevalent pain that was present in each of his limbs, growing slowly stronger. “Tell him, I don’t have a good answer.”
They stopped to rest, Alexis and Stone sinking down into the sand. The sight of the boy sitting alongside them, gazing at them with confusion and cautious trust, made him feel strangely buoyant. He was very aware of how dangerous the feeling of hope was as it flared to life within him. The boy’s estimation of how far away his people were could be badly off. They could still die, but it was harder to believe such a thing as the boy gave him lessons in Persian. He’d point to the sky as Alexis carried him, in her arms instead of over her shoulder, sweating with exertion, and say the word for it until Stone repeated it successfully. Many of his attempts were met with laughter from Alexis and the boy both.
The day passed. His head throbbed. His throat felt as though it might swell shut. When it was his turn to carry the boy again, Stone found that he could barely heft him back into place. His vision swam, going white at the edges, and every muscle in his body shook like a leaf in a windstorm.
“Stone?” Alexis asked.
They’d been joking about death for days; this was the first time she had said his name since the ship while allowing genuine concern to bleed into her tone. There was pain there and more worry than he would have thought she was capable of for a man who was still half a stranger. He felt more for her than the companionship of two people who had been through hell together—and were still going—but to hear the sentiment returned in her voice, and to recognize it so easily, surprised him.
He straightened his back and forced himself to take a step without his knees buckling. “Fine,” he said.
She did not look as though she believed him, but she nodded anyhow.
Stone had climbed only one hill more, when he felt the tense shape of Tadaki relax against him at long last. He sighed, every bit of pent up fear leaving his lungs. Stone watched as the boy raised one weary arm and pointed to a slight blur on the horizon.
Tadaki said a word.
“Home,” Alexis said. She’d stepped closer to Stone almost without him noticing and curled one hand around his arm. “He says he is home.”
At the bottom of the hill, the boy waved his arms and sent out a loud, long, two-note whistle. They continued walking, even as the village solidified into a distant collection of brightly colored tents and two clouds of dust moved toward them at a gallop—or whatever the appropriate term was for quick moving camel. Stone let Tadaki down as the two riders approached. The boy stood awkwardly, with no weight on his injured leg and a grimace on his round face that made Stone wince himself. The pain vanished as the boy caught sight of the foremost of the riders; there was no room on his face left for anything but happiness.
The boy said something, gesturing to his leg, before tacking something else on in a quavering tone. Stone caught the word ‘Naak’, but little else. The foremost rider dismounted as the boy was still speaking, and, when he had finished, gathered him into an embrace that looked bone crushing. He nodded at Alexis and Stone over the boy’s head, and said a few words, before turning around, and placing the boy atop the camel.
“His brother,” Alexis whispered. Her posture was unassuming; her hand was nowhere close to her swordbelt and she looked nothing like a threat. Through a few careful tweaks to her posture, she looked less like a warrior.
The second rider approached them, climbing off his camel as well. He inclined his head toward the two of them and gestured to the village at large.
Stone turned toward Alexis, but her lips met his own before he could give voice to the question. It was not quick; one of her hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt and her lips did not immediately move away. Stone kissed back without thinking much about it. It simply felt right to continue, like their mouths belonged together, like their skin should always be touching. His hands cupped her face, curling around the slender column of her neck, tangling in the curls of her hair.
She pulled away from him first, flushed with pleasure, breaths shallow. The villager stood before them, holding the reins of the camel and looking at them with raised brows and an expression that could only be described as perplexed.
Alexis cleared her throat, cheeks flushing further. “He, uh…He’s the boy’s Uncle. He says they would be happy to offer us shelter.”
The boy’s Uncle gestured to Alexis and then to the camel. Alexis scoffed at the insinuation that she couldn’t walk the remaining distance and walked on. As Stone walked alongside her, listening to the Uncle chatter at them in a language he could not make heads nor tails of, he found that his legs, all of a sudden, weren’t quite so exhausted as he’d thought.
Alexis
Her head ached so badly that a throb of pain shot through her skull each time she so much as blinked. It had ebbed a bit after she and Stone had drained three water-skins between themselves, but still hurt too much for her liking. There was more water, sitting just within reach, but it was important to take it slowly. The last thing they needed was to vomit up everything they’d just downed. Their bodies might not react well to such undo strain.
The boy had been carted off by his family, enveloped in hugs and laughter, a whole bevy of people fussing over him. She imagined she’d be the same if Lyra had disappeared on her without leaving word about where she was headed, though perhaps she’d yell a bit louder. She and Stone had been ushered into a tent, given water, both to drink and to wash with, and subsequently left to their own devices.
“They could be plotting our execution,” Stone said.
The spur of the moment, joyful kiss was still at the forefront of Alexis’s mind, and she was impossibly grateful for the normalcy of the morbid joke. She did not wish to discuss her growing feelings or her impulsive actions just now.
“On what grounds?” she asked. Already, her voice sounded less like a rusted lock and more like the sound she remembered.
“Trespassing?” Stone suggested.
It was the middle of the day. A ray of sunlight cut through the slight opening in the tent, painting a golden line across the sandy floor, but the rest of the space was in blessed shadow. She leaned carefully against one of the beams acting as support for the small structure, testing how much weight it was willing to bear. “What manner of execution would they perform in these parts? You said you knew something about desert tribes.”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “But you can’t go wrong with beheading.”
Alexis was laughing when the flap of the tent swung open. An old man stepped inside. His face was grizzled with age, but his hair was neatly combed and braided, and his eyes were bright with nothing but kindness. There were no ulterior motives hiding there, no tricks that she could see. Alexis found herself at ease in his presence before he’d even opened his mouth.
When he did, Greek words poured out. His speech was stilted and broken, but he knew enough words to be decipherable to both she and Stone. After hours of translating for the boy and then the various villagers they had encountered on their way to the tent, her fatigued brain appreciated the rest.
“My name is Ishaq Ibrahim. Eldest member of this village. We are a small place, with little to share, but we would like to repay your kindness.”
Stone nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ve traveled very far and would like to rest before we move on. If you have any supplies to spare, we would be grateful. We—”
Ishaq held up a hand, stopping the rush of Stone’s words before he had a chance to continue. “We are grateful,” he said, gesturing behind him to include the entire village beyond the boundaries of the tent. “You kept safe our boy. We are…not rich. Have food and camels to share. You will rest before you move on?”
It was an invitation, offered with no strings that she could see. “Yes,” Alexis said. “We would very much like to rest. And we appreciate your hospitality.” She inclined her head as she spoke, in what she hoped was a un
iversal gesture of respect.
Ishaq’s smile was as bright as the last full moon she’d glimpsed. He stood, shakily, and held out a hand. “Come,” he said. “Take you to the women’s tent. You will rest. Later, there will be a meal.”
The thought of being removed from Stone’s company, all of sudden, sent a wave of unease through her. They had not been outside of each other’s sight for more than a minute since the slave ship, since he had helped her step over the Captain’s body and led her onto the blood-spattered deck where their fellow captives were dead or dying. She wanted to trust these people and the safety of this place, but it was difficult to scrub every trace of doubt from her mind. Until she was able to, she did not wish to be parted from Stone—the only familiar thing in an unfamiliar land.
She smiled at Ishaq, and held out a hand in polite refusal. “Actually,” she said. “I will remain with my husband.” Stone was sitting close enough that it was easy for her reach out and place her hand atop his arm. They had touched each other so often in the past several days—a steadying hand, fingers brushing when a water skin was passed from one hand to another, limbs seeking warmth in sleep—that he placed his hand over his hers comfortably, as though he’d done so one thousand times before.
‘Husband’ was apparently a word that Ishaq was familiar with. His smile turned apologetic. “Ah,” he said. “Rest then. Later, there will be food and celebration.”
With that, he disappeared back through the tent flap.
Stone did not raise the issue until she was nearly asleep. To both of them, the relatively early hour was inconsequential when compared with their utter exhaustion, and they’d lain down on the quilts they had been provided with, heads pillowed in sand, the tent shielding them from the prying eyes of their rescuers.
Solomon Stone- Survival Page 3