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Description
As the travelers approached the huge black mound, Who’s mind wrung itself trying to find a reason for the sandstorm.

It was more than a coincidence, he told himself. Something caused that storm.

But what? What could possibly cause something like that?

He glanced down at his chest; he could feel the disk under his shirt.

That disk, he thought. The answer is in that poem. And An-Salaar…what does it mean, really? Is it the same power I can use that caused the storm?

All of these things were running through his mind as he and the others arrived at the crumpled, bloody mass of bodies and stopped.

Temeron walked up to one of the dead bandits and tore the dead man’s bloodstained shirt apart. The man’s chest was literally perforated; it looked as if it was pierced by a hundred phantom arrows. It was a gruesome thing to behold; even Who had to look away in disgust after a few seconds.

Temeron replaced the torn shirt and turned, taking deep breaths. “Mercy,” he finally whispered, shaking his head.

“What could have done that?” Rashe asked, looking sick to her stomach.

Ridsen stared at the pile, dumbstruck. “It was the sand,” he said, slowly.

Wile looked at him, puzzled. “The sand did this?” he asked.

Ridsen looked at him, seemed to think for a second, then pulled out one of his guns. He released the slide that held the bullets, and took one out, replacing the slide after he did so. He held the bullet in his hand, weighing it. “Here,” he said. “This is just a little lump of lead, right?” He held it where Wile could see it. “But you make it move fast enough, and it’ll kill you.” He put the bullet in his pocket. “A little rock could do the same thing.”

Wile looked around at the sandy ground. There were indeed marble-sized pebbles strewn across the sand. “But…but that’s just not possible,” he said, turning back to Ridsen. “You’re saying the wind propelled a rock to the speed of a bullet? You have any idea how fast that wind would have to be going?”

Ridsen looked at him again. “Yeah,” he replied. “Real fucking fast.”

“Too fast,” Wile said, looking back at the bodies. “You’d need a wind tunnel for speeds like that, or a hurricane or something.”

Maybe not, Who thought.

“At any rate,” Temeron broke in, “let’s try and find our things in this mess.”

~

After an hour and a half of searching, the five travelers had recovered Who’s sword, but nothing else. They managed to find a saddle from one of the horses they had rented from Fort Brash, but all of their supplies were still with the poor animals, wherever they were in the bloody jumble.

“We’re not gonna find anything else tonight,” Ridsen finally declared once the sky had completely darkened.

Who looked over at him and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “And anyway, we have to get some sleep. We can’t just keep searching all night.”

The others reluctantly agreed, and began to walk back to the cave and their burnt-out fire. On the way, Rashe walked up to Who.

“Hey,” she said, “you think this has anything to do with that disk we got from the beggar?”

Who looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

She looked away. “By the way,” she said, “have you been noticing anything different about Wile lately?”

Who looked at her. “Different how?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I dunno. Just different. I can’t put my finger on it. Like, he’s been acting real serious and stuff lately. When we went out for that walk, when we found the beggar, he had said that there was something he needed to talk about.” She looked down. “I dunno. I just hope he’s not getting depressed or anything.”

Who looked back at Wile, who was talking with Temeron about something. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he asked, turning back.

Rashe blushed. “C’mon, Who, don’t embarrass me,” she said, smiling slightly. “He’s a good friend to me, and I want to help him if I can.”

Who nodded. “I’m sure it’s probably nothing,” he said. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Rashe smiled and nodded, running off ahead to the cave.

~

Who awoke the next morning by a hand shaking him lightly by the shoulder. As he looked up at the person shaking him, he saw that he had a long beard and hair and wore a thick scarf around his neck and shoulders.

Who sat up quickly; he saw that there were others outside the cave, all looking in tentatively. “Who are you?” he asked them.

The man responded in a language Who did not understand. He was gesturing at Who and the others.

Who turned and shook the other travelers awake. As he turned back, he saw that one of the other men outside was walking into the cave mouth and saying something to the man that woke Who up. The first man nodded and walked out of the cave.

“Forgive the intrusion,” the new man said, with a thick accent. “You are travelers, yes?”

Who nodded as he stood up. “We were headed to Frisit. We stopped here to rest.”

The scarved man nodded, and then held out his hand. “I am Fared,” he said.

“Who,” Who said, shaking Fared’s hand.

“Why are you here?” Rashe said from behind Who.

“Ah,” Fared said, smiling. “You see, you are sleeping in a place of importance. That cave reaches into the earth and finds a store of water beneath it.”

“There’s an underground lake?” Wile asked, at once interested.

Fared nodded again. “Many caravans pass through this place to collect water and prepare for long journeys.”

“You’re nomads, then?” Who asked, as his eyes managed to focus on a large wheeled vehicle outside preceded by horses.

“Yes,” Fared replied. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Who. “Where are your horses?”

“Killed,” Who said. “By a sandstorm.”

Fared looked uneasy. “Is that the same storm that killed the bandits, then, as well?” he asked. “The ones lying out there in the sun.”

Who nodded. Just what I need, he thought, to be reminded of that first thing in the morning.

“Then…you have the blessing?” he asked, tentatively.

Who looked at him. “The what?” he asked back.

“The blessing,” Fared replied. “Of An-Salaar.”

Who’s mind jumped immediately back to the disk again. He looked down, his thoughts once again whirring, and pulled out the little stone from beneath his shirt. He held it in his cupped hand.

Fared smiled when he saw it. “You are one of us, then,” he said, happily.

“No,” Who said, looking hard at the disk with its little poem. “We helped a man in Fort Brash; he gave it to us.”

Fared waved his hand. “It matters not how you got it, my friend Who,” he said. “If you have the blessing, you are welcomed by Renzad.”

Who looked up at him, then back at the stone. “We need to get to Frisit,” he said. “It’s very important.”

Fared nodded silently. He turned and addressed the other nomads in their unfamiliar tongue. They responded with knowing nods. He turned back to Who. “We are carrying salt to sell in the capital,” he said, smiling. “There is room for many. You may accompany us.”

Rashe sighed in relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t turned up.”

Fared waved the remark away again. “Nothing at all,” he said. “Now, come; help us gather water for the journey.”

Description
As the travelers approached the huge black mound, Who’s mind wrung itself trying to find a reason for the sandstorm.

It was more than a coincidence, he told himself. Something caused that storm.

But what? What could possibly cause something like that?

He glanced down at his chest; he could feel the disk under his shirt.

That disk, he thought. The answer is in that poem. And An-Salaar…what does it mean, really? Is it the same power I can use that caused the storm?

All of these things were running through his mind as he and the others arrived at the crumpled, bloody mass of bodies and stopped.

Temeron walked up to one of the dead bandits and tore the dead man’s bloodstained shirt apart. The man’s chest was literally perforated; it looked as if it was pierced by a hundred phantom arrows. It was a gruesome thing to behold; even Who had to look away in disgust after a few seconds.

Temeron replaced the torn shirt and turned, taking deep breaths. “Mercy,” he finally whispered, shaking his head.

“What could have done that?” Rashe asked, looking sick to her stomach.

Ridsen stared at the pile, dumbstruck. “It was the sand,” he said, slowly.

Wile looked at him, puzzled. “The sand did this?” he asked.

Ridsen looked at him, seemed to think for a second, then pulled out one of his guns. He released the slide that held the bullets, and took one out, replacing the slide after he did so. He held the bullet in his hand, weighing it. “Here,” he said. “This is just a little lump of lead, right?” He held it where Wile could see it. “But you make it move fast enough, and it’ll kill you.” He put the bullet in his pocket. “A little rock could do the same thing.”

Wile looked around at the sandy ground. There were indeed marble-sized pebbles strewn across the sand. “But…but that’s just not possible,” he said, turning back to Ridsen. “You’re saying the wind propelled a rock to the speed of a bullet? You have any idea how fast that wind would have to be going?”

Ridsen looked at him again. “Yeah,” he replied. “Real fucking fast.”

“Too fast,” Wile said, looking back at the bodies. “You’d need a wind tunnel for speeds like that, or a hurricane or something.”

Maybe not, Who thought.

“At any rate,” Temeron broke in, “let’s try and find our things in this mess.”

~

After an hour and a half of searching, the five travelers had recovered Who’s sword, but nothing else. They managed to find a saddle from one of the horses they had rented from Fort Brash, but all of their supplies were still with the poor animals, wherever they were in the bloody jumble.

“We’re not gonna find anything else tonight,” Ridsen finally declared once the sky had completely darkened.

Who looked over at him and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “And anyway, we have to get some sleep. We can’t just keep searching all night.”

The others reluctantly agreed, and began to walk back to the cave and their burnt-out fire. On the way, Rashe walked up to Who.

“Hey,” she said, “you think this has anything to do with that disk we got from the beggar?”

Who looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

She looked away. “By the way,” she said, “have you been noticing anything different about Wile lately?”

Who looked at her. “Different how?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I dunno. Just different. I can’t put my finger on it. Like, he’s been acting real serious and stuff lately. When we went out for that walk, when we found the beggar, he had said that there was something he needed to talk about.” She looked down. “I dunno. I just hope he’s not getting depressed or anything.”

Who looked back at Wile, who was talking with Temeron about something. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he asked, turning back.

Rashe blushed. “C’mon, Who, don’t embarrass me,” she said, smiling slightly. “He’s a good friend to me, and I want to help him if I can.”

Who nodded. “I’m sure it’s probably nothing,” he said. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Rashe smiled and nodded, running off ahead to the cave.

~

Who awoke the next morning by a hand shaking him lightly by the shoulder. As he looked up at the person shaking him, he saw that he had a long beard and hair and wore a thick scarf around his neck and shoulders.

Who sat up quickly; he saw that there were others outside the cave, all looking in tentatively. “Who are you?” he asked them.

The man responded in a language Who did not understand. He was gesturing at Who and the others.

Who turned and shook the other travelers awake. As he turned back, he saw that one of the other men outside was walking into the cave mouth and saying something to the man that woke Who up. The first man nodded and walked out of the cave.

“Forgive the intrusion,” the new man said, with a thick accent. “You are travelers, yes?”

Who nodded as he stood up. “We were headed to Frisit. We stopped here to rest.”

The scarved man nodded, and then held out his hand. “I am Fared,” he said.

“Who,” Who said, shaking Fared’s hand.

“Why are you here?” Rashe said from behind Who.

“Ah,” Fared said, smiling. “You see, you are sleeping in a place of importance. That cave reaches into the earth and finds a store of water beneath it.”

“There’s an underground lake?” Wile asked, at once interested.

Fared nodded again. “Many caravans pass through this place to collect water and prepare for long journeys.”

“You’re nomads, then?” Who asked, as his eyes managed to focus on a large wheeled vehicle outside preceded by horses.

“Yes,” Fared replied. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Who. “Where are your horses?”

“Killed,” Who said. “By a sandstorm.”

Fared looked uneasy. “Is that the same storm that killed the bandits, then, as well?” he asked. “The ones lying out there in the sun.”

Who nodded. Just what I need, he thought, to be reminded of that first thing in the morning.

“Then…you have the blessing?” he asked, tentatively.

Who looked at him. “The what?” he asked back.

“The blessing,” Fared replied. “Of An-Salaar.”

Who’s mind jumped immediately back to the disk again. He looked down, his thoughts once again whirring, and pulled out the little stone from beneath his shirt. He held it in his cupped hand.

Fared smiled when he saw it. “You are one of us, then,” he said, happily.

“No,” Who said, looking hard at the disk with its little poem. “We helped a man in Fort Brash; he gave it to us.”

Fared waved his hand. “It matters not how you got it, my friend Who,” he said. “If you have the blessing, you are welcomed by Renzad.”

Who looked up at him, then back at the stone. “We need to get to Frisit,” he said. “It’s very important.”

Fared nodded silently. He turned and addressed the other nomads in their unfamiliar tongue. They responded with knowing nods. He turned back to Who. “We are carrying salt to sell in the capital,” he said, smiling. “There is room for many. You may accompany us.”

Rashe sighed in relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t turned up.”

Fared waved the remark away again. “Nothing at all,” he said. “Now, come; help us gather water for the journey.”