The Story of the Drowning Sand of G’desh: The Scrolls of Chaos and Order, #1

II.

A Sand Rat and an Alchemist

Over a dozen stone snakes, massive pillars whittled down by wind and sand, reached up to the blue heavens as if trying to shed skins of sand, though they could never seem to break free of the desert. Despite the snakes' imprisonment, Kessem was relieved to reach the protection of the serpentine columns which marked the underground city of Lake Zhurid. He squeezed between tight formations until he found the Pillar of Hab. At its base lay an eternal shadow, no matter how the sunlight reached down to illuminate the gaps. The obfuscated crevice came up to Kessem's knees, and desert-dwellers knew it would be the perfect pit for venomous dune runners.

Kessem slid through feet first, gravel scratching at his legs as the skirt of his tunic shifted higher. Damp, cool air soothed the scrapes until hands grabbed his ankles. His back raked against stone until he dropped four feet, landing hard on his tailbone. A shock shot up his spine, and he grimaced.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, three spears were poised to strike.

Identify yourself, a man said.

Sand Sergeant Kessem of the Kindled Battalion, under the command of Sand Lieutenant Bashar. I come with news of our battles with the Khalifate. Iron-tipped spears rattled but remained focused. Kessem sighed and muttered, My sheep were lost, and a viper consumed them and slithered in here. I followed because the One called out to me, and you caught me. He rolled his eyes up to them and waited patiently.

The men eased the spears, placing the butts into the sand. One man offered a hand. Can't be too careful. There are rumors the djinn are stealing the faces of men. Say they work for the Khalifate, at that.

I bet they'd stick our women and create an army of demons to replace our get. No doubt, the rumors are true. It would seem the men down here suckle at their wives' breasts so long they start believing the gossip and tales.

Do you dishonor my wife? The soldier to the left stepped forward, jaw set and his spear lifted.

I would never, good soldier. You and your children are both quite lucky. If only I had such a pair to find nourishment from, no doubt I would stay here instead of going out to the fight.

The soldier threw a right cross and knocked Kessem back. If you had a woman you would be a pleasant man with manners, no doubt.

Kessem wiped his lip and pulled back his tunic sleeve to see dabs of crimson. Am I free to go to my barren bed? He cast his gaze down in the dirt at the three soldiers' sandaled feet.

As it pleases you. One with you. The men stood aside, as the good jests turned to sour milk. Kessem dropped down many more ledges, with many more guards to answer to, though none as ornery as the first set.

After several more drops, he entered the underground cavern of Lake Zhurid through the northern end near the Cliff of Strife, where the military trained and the leaders were housed. Natural light beamed through the ceiling when the sun was high, penetrating holes melted in the pillars above. No one knew the story behind what caused the holes, but many claimed an ancient djinn, Malyx, did it. Legends marked him as a conquering tyrant.

Lake Zhurid was a vast cavern with a large lake spanning miles across. Fish were plentiful, and irrigation was possible. Along with the holes in the cavern's ceiling, the lake allowed for large fields of grain which were impossible to grow in the desert. Tales said Lake G'desh, the largest lake in the desert, grew even greater fields, but the Kindled Battalion was never deployed there.

More soldiers stopped Kessem as he exited Hab's Entrance. They checked his papers and told him Sar Abram was looking for him. Past Hab's Entrance soldiers sparred on the training grounds. Most would be lucky, assigned to the duty of pretending to guard Lake Zhurid while they raised families, an honor soldiers in the desert were denied. They did not know what it was like under the sun or what it was like to sleep in the sand for months. New soldiers seemed soft, along with their teachers. Kessem saw weakness in their stances and grips. He heard it in the effete clang of iron against iron, and he knew he could step in and take them all at once. But his job was not to train. It was to truly serve as an arm of the Sultan, out in the hot sands.

Kessem shook his head, sighed, and released the fist he had formed. He had a good life. A good job. He was blessed. The chant and prayer continued in his head as he took the Path of Commoners. Sar Abram didn't know had he returned yet, so he took leave to be with family for a while. Fishermen, farmers, children and mothers, and many other commoners filled the path. They were good-natured people, though many would not speak to Kessem. His skin was too dark from the sun which marked him as a desert rat. Even the soldiers harassed him, flexing what little power they had.

The Cliff of Comfort was at the end of the path. Stairs were etched into Comfort, leading up a hundred feet. Massive platforms interspersed the layers as common grounds, allowing people to socialize while overlooking the lake. A system of torches and braziers kept it well-lit until curfew, when soldiers put out the fires until the following morning. Tabr, his nephew, often told him about the great festivals held on the overlooks. Kessem hadn't been to one in half a decade.

Kessem snapped out of his thoughts in time to dodge children darting across his path. Old women swept the stone path, swatting the children as they dashed past and screaming at the boys to stop tracking dirt. Old men spoke of days past while they laughed at the children giving their wives hell.

Kessem climbed the steps to his apartment, a small dwelling halfway up the cliff. Before he could get far, a small boy jumped in front of him. The boy had pale skin, dark hair, and chestnut eyes. Fuzz grew over the boy's lip, though he was still short and skinny. Kessem always wondered how little his nephew ate to remain that thin.

Uncle Kessem, the boy, Tabr, shouted with a squeak.

Nephew Tabr, I hear your voice changed and see hair on your face. Have you learned anything else about being a man? The boy blushed and looked off in the distance at some of the girls working a loom. The girls giggled and whispered to each other when they noted Tabr's gaze, and Tabr smiled through his red cheeks. Kessem said, I see. Those are very nice changes, but keep your mind and heart on scripture.

It doesn't hurt anyone to look, Uncle. Tabr's brown eyes were wide and pleading. Kessem recalled his own feelings, especially in youth, how he pined for women and viewed them as objects to look at, as little more than beautiful sculptures. In the desert, those degrading feelings led to rape, something never allowed under Bashar's leadership.

Gawking at women diminishes their worth and your respect for them. Women are to be cherished and guided, not thought of as cattle to have their honor slaughtered in the dark of night.

Tabr recited, They are to be obedient and subservient to all our needs.

The One demands men be wise and loving toward their wives, guiding the woman in a way that would please God. We are not to abuse obedience but to be worthy of their trust. Remember this and you will make a godly husband. Forget it and you will be a tyrant in your own household with a woman who despises you. The Pure Flame subjugates their women. We honor them.

As you say, Uncle. Your wisdom is of the ages. The boy's lower lip pouted out as if stung and swollen by poison.

In the face of rebuke, the ass stubbornly holds his ground, unwilling to change so he may more efficiently carry his burden. Don't be an ass, child. Kessem suppressed a smile as Tabr's face turned deep red. What have you been learning?

Scripture, Tabr muttered. They walked up the stairs and entered a threshold a couple stories up.

What did you learn about scripture? Kessem wondered when Tabr had become such a brat. Speaking to him felt like interrogating one of the Khalif's soldiers.

The One is good and gives us all things. The same thing we're taught in synagogue. The boy rolled his eyes. As they reached farther into the tunnel system, Kessem heard other families as they taught children or prepared dinner. An old man told stories to his grandchildren. Kessem looked forward to teaching more stories to Tabr, as long as the boy would mind himself.

You lack reverence, nephew. We should fix this. Why don't you tell me of the scripture, of why we are Followers and not Pure Flames? They walked up a hairpin turn to reach another level. The shallow apartments were all created long before the Followers arrived, though no one quite knew how. With how the stone was sometimes melted and sometimes sculpted, it was believed the tunnels were created by the same people who put holes through the pillars. Others thought djinn magic or egromancy was responsible.

We're all pure, Uncle Kessem. Tabr pulled a worn teakwood door open with a grunt and let Kessem walk through first.

That's nearly blasphemy. Watch your tongue, nephew. You seem to forget the difference in regards to women, so I would like to see you remember some of our values.

We follow God, the One true creator. The Pure follow G'desh, the fire, believing he will burn away wickedness. He uttered the words as if reading off a scroll.

The apartment was well-furnished compared to many others. Patterned rugs covered the floor, painted vessels nestled in corners, and nearly untarnished pots hung from the ceiling. The kitchen and common joined to make the main area.

Do we believe in G'desh? Off the common room were two bedrooms. His brother and sister-in-law slept in the room to the far right, though he never saw the room as it was improper to see it. To the left was the bedroom for the children, the boys and girls separated by a privacy divider. Again, Kessem had never seen behind the curtain in the doorway, but the rooms never look that different from other units aside from a flourish or two.

Yes. Tabr groaned out the rehearsed lines, G'desh brought us to the desert because we were exiled from the promised lands, which we will one day return to. But he was nothing more than a prophet of God.

Kessem went to start a fire and boil water. Are your parents coming home soon?

They should be. Mom was out socialiting.

Kessem stopped and looked at his nephew, quirking a brow. She's what?

I told you, socialiting.

After opening his mouth and closing it, Kessem stroked his beard, then finally said, Socializing?

That's what I said. The child's cheeks blazed, and his eyes watered. Kessem could almost hear the hiss of steam leaving his nephew's ears. That or the water was already boiling. He went to check on the kettle.

Of course that's what you said, nephew. Your intellect blooms like flowers after a storm. I pray for the One to continue growing the accuracy of your vocabulary.

The water boiled. Kessem added leaves, and soon he poured cups for him and his nephew. Drink it, Tabr. It is a drink of patience and wisdom. They sat at the table and sipped in silence. The coolness of the room comforted Kessem, the crackle of the fire pleasant to his ear. I need to see the Sar soon, but I wanted to see you first.

Tabr made a sour face. Kessem saw that face every time he was about to leave, even when Tabr had been a small boy no taller than Kessem's knee. Tabr asked, Why do you have to leave?

Did you think I came back to have tea with my wonderful nephew? I need to report on the war. The Khalifate is getting desperate. Or they're changing their strategy. I've come to update Sar Abram. Then you can be safe. Kessem got up and kissed his nephew's forehead.

Uncle Kessem, will you be at my Sarwon? I'm becoming a man, and Dad says he knows my match.

Bashar planned my leave so I would be able to stay just long enough for your Sarwon. I will likely be leaving the next day.

The boy hugged Kessem. Thanks. Dad's at the Cliff of Strife.

Better be. I bet he's on guard duty any moment he's not here with you. Kessem kissed Tabr and left.

Once outside Comfort, Kessem watched as older children gathered infants and toddlers. Little boys ran from older siblings, a few of them getting thoroughly beaten for their disobedience. Elders relied on grandchildren to help them walk across the Path of Peace toward the synagogue.

Bells echoed across the cavern. Kessem felt the reverberations under his skin. Service started in an hour, but Kessem had more pressing business.

The Cliff of War had one entrance guarded by a dozen men, with more soldiers close by either in training grounds or internal bunkers. Shayar, Kessem's older brother, stood guard. The man was similar enough to Kessem that no one doubted they were brothers. They shared brown eyes, black hair with thick curls when allowed to grow, thick beards, and slightly muscular builds.

Shayar's voice boomed as their father's once had. You return again, brother. Have you killed the Khalif yet? His head hanging from a stick and you are here as the herald to Bashar's overwhelming victory? Kessem cringed. He knew what the conversation would break down to. It always did.

He's running out of strongholds in the desert, and for now we eat his food and spend his riches.

Is that so? You're fat on the tyrant's opulence? He poked Kessem's lithe frame. Kessem's stomach growled, and Shayar grinned. Breakfast was the last time Kessem ate, and lunch had passed before Kessem reached Lake Zhurid.

More treasure than food, of course. Kessem paused when he noticed a yellow man in black garbs leaving the cliff. His brown eyes were almond shaped with a peculiar slant unseen in the locals. His hair was black and straight, with no beard on his face. Who is that man?

I've seen him a few times. Has an accent. No doubt some man with forbidden knowledge for forbidden purposes. He's a guest of Sar Abram.

Kessem's fingers caught as he ran them through the tangle of beard. He noted it would be easier to shave it clean than groom out the sand and blood and debated the options before speaking. May be worth getting to know, if the Sar likes him.

Sniffing out a promotion? Do what you are doing and you'll be promoted. Chase after mysterious foreigners and you'll get snared in a mill which grinds you to dust.

My older brother is protecting me? Protect your family. Kessem clasped his brother's shoulder. I will worry about my own future.

You will have a family soon enough, Brother. God blesses those who know patience, and you have shown great patience. Pity shown in Shayar's eyes, and it made Kessem sick. He hated that look, like Kessem was slighted by God in not having a wife yet.

I love you, Brother, but you don't know my hurt. Mother and Father matched you in youth. I will be old and settled before finding my wife. His eyes set on the entrance, and he walked through, brushing Shayar's shoulder as he did. His chest ached, but the thrum of military inside the hive-like facility cooled his pain.

The tunnels of War were jagged compared to Comfort. While both were supposedly carved out using the same forces unknown to the Followers, Comfort was polished down with just enough grit to allow traction. War remained rough and difficult to travel through, the ground uneven with spikes of rock poking up to impede movement. But the soldiers were used to it, traveling with memorized footsteps. Kessem was no exception. He welcomed the uneven and firm rock compared to the shifting sands he had to navigate while fighting in the desert.

Kessem twisted through several elbow turns and switchbacks, a dizzying trip on top of the unstable ground. He traveled carefully at the splits, focusing his memories of the tunnels to avoid the dead ends. Many spies were discovered because they went the wrong way or were disoriented. A few incompetent or curious soldiers were also apprehended every year. Either way, the penalty was public decapitation.

Kessem passed several checkpoints, speaking at length with the guards. Many were friends from his training days, while others were family of other members in the Kindled Battalion. He updated them as to the health of family members, their exploits, and finally he dropped off any letters given to him by his squad. While most letters would wait until the following day when they could be delivered without wandering the tunnels of War, he found no reason to withhold the news early when convenient.

Then the path came to an end. There was a room with four guards at attention, demanding to see paperwork. When Kessem showed the seal of Bashar they stood aside. The war room on the other side of the threshold loomed, an expansive estate nearly three hundred feet deep and a hundred wide with three stories up above, each with a balcony overlooking the central room. Books, scrolls, and private meeting chambers were carved into the floors above.

Desks and bookshelves lined the walls and cluttered the main room, with tomes and scrolls rapidly placed and picked up by aides. The aides walked and jogged through the room and out the corridor, some brushing against Kessem as they went about their work. Scribes scribbled furiously, sprinkling sand to dry the ink. Strategists pored over scrolls and tomes, trying to discern information or rediscover ancient strongholds and tactics. If they discovered old holdings, chances were good Kessem's unit would be sent to see if anything remained. Just a year ago, the war room sat half empty and no one moved with urgency.

A large map of the desert was etched into an expansive wooden table. Basalt pieces marked the different armies and supply lines reported back by the Kindled Battalion and other desert rats. An elevated seat overlooked it, rising up three feet to give a good view of the plans. Sar Abram sat on the stone chair, which had a purple velvet seat. He barked orders to his men and sent them hurrying off.

The Master of Enlightenment, Yulim, stopped Kessem. The head of Zhurid's spies was a thin man with a large forehead. His hair was greasy, the curls clinging tightly to his head, and a film of oil coated his jaundiced flesh. Yellow teeth protruded from his mouth. While both men were lean, Kessem was toned while Yulim was gaunt. Yulim's arms were gangly, and his body could disappear behind thin poles.

Yulim quipped, Was your barbaric raid a success, grunt?

Bashar says so. Kessem tossed the satchel to Yulim, and Yulim grunted at the weight. Kessem's eyes went over his head, never looking down at the Master of Enlightenment. We found a gold route, along with food. The food is gone, but we have the gold. The rest of the gold arrives in a couple days.

The Khalifate brought gold this far out? Yulim searched through the satchel, admiring the coin. Bashar had stuffed it with coins, along with small idols and trinkets, and had Kessem take it back as proof. Kessem knew the idols would all be melted down, as they were blasphemous. The rest could be sold in the markets to the few wealthy families.

Kessem shrugged. Waste and riches. From what we can see, the Khalif is out of touch with his people. Gold is nearly worthless out here.

The gold is for mercenaries, of course. They were likely traveling to the far northwestern cities where the wyrms swim. But it's not like a soldier needs to bother with such foresight. Yulim pocketed a couple trinkets before his greasy digits found the scroll from Bashar, sealed with wax. Is it truly required that the Sar waste his time on such a letter delivered by a sand sergeant?

I'll let Bashar decide that when he sees you next.

Yulim scoffed. Of course, we cannot break procedure. You are the messenger. Please deliver it to Sar Abram. His Adam's apple strained against his tight skin as he swallowed hard. I should not be carrying out such low duties, as I am a Master, after all.

Kessem grinned and bowed just enough to not be entirely insubordinate. I understand. You need to sit and look over parchments, whiling away the hours until you can return to your undeserved harem. Kessem snatched the missive away from Yulim and gritted his teeth.

And you will go to your brother's children as if they are your own.

It is difficult to have children when the cowards steal all the maidens for their own selfish desires. Have you planted your seed? From what I hear they believe those nuts of yours might not take root. Is it the fields you plant in or your own desire to only play with other farmers? Kessem walked up to Yulim, a couple inches from his face.

Sweat cut through the oils on Yulim's face. What was that, boy? Kessem knew the slight could not be ignored if the Master of Enlightenment didn't want to hear whispers of who he bedded in his reports. To like men would have cast doubt on his devotion and his ability to lead.

Children suckle upon the teats of their mothers. It sounds like three have adopted you. Kessem puffed his chest and bumped Yulim, making the man stumble back. Should I give you reason to hide behind their skirts? From your lack of progeny, you seem to have no idea what to do under them.

The room was silent. Everyone watched for Yulim's response. He turned beet red while Kessem grinned. A fight was inevitable for Yulim to save face, but both men knew how the skirmish would end. Yulim thrust a hand toward Kessem. Kessem's hand blurred, striking the sternum and throat in quick succession. With an open palm, he clamped down on Yulim's throat and picked the Master up, then slammed him against the stone floor. Yulim's eyes glossed over, and his mouth gaped like a fish on dry land.

The voice of Sar Abram echoed through the stunned hall. Attention.

Abram was an impressive sight, a strong man wearing a leather jerkin and thick leather pants. A belt with a gold clasp hung loose around his waist, holding up a long sword on his left side. The jerkin was marked with the sign of the Sar along with a pin which signified his place beside the Sultan. He had sun-touched hair, black with light brown streaks. His well-kept salt and pepper beard hung down to the shallow of his throat. His arms were as large around as Kessem's waist, the veins showing plainly, his heartbeat visible. It was slow, considering how red the man's face was.

In unison, the room stood and saluted. Yulim remained on his back, gurgling as spittle dripped from the side of his mouth