Sands of Time - CH 1: The Golden Adder

The sand wastes nearly sparkled with the fading light as the red sun descended towards the horizon. Hills of sand stretched as far as a vulture’s eye could see, the shadows darkening with the dwindling hour. Above, not a single cloud offered cover from the blaring sun, even as the sky began to color.

“Almost there,” were the dry words of the sun-worn traveler. Even with the scorching heat, he wore a tan hooded tunic, keeping the cloth pulled tightly around his form. The winds threatened to drive sand through it, to rub against already raw skin, but he pushed onward. The man collapsed at the foot of a dune greater than any others nearby, selecting the spot with a glance at the sun.

His sunburned hands began digging into the sand, burrowing with an exhausted desperation. The heat of the sand itself was painful, and along with the scraping against flesh, it was sheer determination that let him continue. And continue he did, even as the burning orb crawled past the edge of the earth. Temperatures sank immediately, and the greatest heat now came from the sand. It was cooler deeper down, though, the man was happily reminded. The effort and warmth brought layers of perspiration beneath his bundled clothing.

Suddenly, he could not dig any farther. A hard, wooden surface lay a good couple feet beneath the surface of the sandy ocean. The man quickly uncovered the slab, which served as a small, upward-facing door. The handle was a sturdy metal ring, and with a few tough yanks, it finally budged open. Waves of sand dribbled inside, and he wasted no time in escaping the nighttime elements, either, and shutting the door again to the rest of the world.

The circular subterrane was small in size, no more than ten feet across. In the center was the hatch on the low ceiling, with a pool of invading sand directly beneath it. Heavy wooden supports lined the walls and ceiling, the weight of the earth above almost oppressive. The room itself was bare, with a small pile of furs serving as a bed, and a stout stone table beside it – a candle that never seemed to die out sat on the table, its petite flame licking hungrily at the air. A doorway was on the opposite side as the bed, with an old skin in the place of a door.

“Finally,” mumbled the man, shedding the tunic with a wince. Days of travel left him weary, and along with injuries his entire strength was just about sapped. His white shirt was torn and stained with blood, and that soon followed his tunic to the hard floor. Fresh, though closed, wounds were clear across his back and front, the cause appearing to be a blade. His skin was red and hot, burned mercilessly by the sun. His pants were still in passable condition, but he didn’t hesitate to remove them and collapse upon the bed. It took the rest of his energy to unlace his snakeskin sandals, which reached just beyond the ankle, and once that was complete, darkness and an exhausted sleep overcame him.

***

Shadows clung to the world like a thick blanket, obscuring everything else but the man. He was bright as day in that shroud, his raspy breathing and heartbeats like the dong of a bell. “You run, Anushki,” intoned a scratchy, dark voice, the source from every direction and none. “Leagues of sand are nothing; the White Fang will catch you. You need but give back the talisman, and you shall be spared. Immortality would treat you poorly, friend. And with only the talisman, you are but half-mortal.”

His eyes scanned the darkness with a dream’s accuracy, but the darkness stayed as concealing as ever. “I can’t give it back,” was his reply. “You know that.”

“And why is that, my dear Anushki?” questioned the voice, breathing a chill air upon him.

The darkness shook, then swirled.

***

Anushki woke with a start, immediately into an upright position. A twisting sensation filled his empty stomach, and his mind swam in a state of confusion and pain. Sweat coated his body with a light sheen, and it took many long minutes to soothe his breathing to a regular pace. Just a dream, he tried to reassure himself, but in his heart he knew it was more. With the Scourge after him, no dream was just a dream.

The talisman, an elegant golden bracelet depicting the head of an adder, glimmered brightly on his wrist.

When he finally regained himself, he was reminded of the sharp dryness of his mouth, and the wrenching hunger in his stomach. A cracked leather flask hung from his belt, arid for days. There were two options: back onto the dunes, or see where that door lead. He avoided the latter last visit, but the sun would leave him dead this time. It took Anushki many minutes to dress, the garments proving coarse against his flushed, sensitive skin. He took a moment to examine the bracelet – the way it was crafted made it look like the adder was consuming his hand. The engravings were miniscule, and in an ancient language besides. He didn’t even know its powers.

“Half-mortal,” he mused, tasting the word. It was rich. Other priorities called now, so he made his way towards the doorframe and headed out into the corridor. Utter darkness left him blind, and with a hand upon either wall he began the next leg of his journey.

Time had vanished along with the sun, and only when his feet would barely take the next step did he feel another skin in a doorway. Brushing it aside, he stumbled through, and the initial brightness seared his eyes.

The shape of this room was almost identical to the first, with the furnishings being the only difference. Several of the beds lined one of the walls, with a long desk nearby. A myriad of objects lined the desk, anywhere from numerous candles, to surgical utensils, to a sweating tin pitcher worth its weight in gold. Two covered forms occupied the beds, their fevered heads peaking above the tops of the skins. Their eyes were closed, with brows as damp as if they were still above. A lone woman was awake and healthy, seated cross-legged upon the desk with her eyes closed in peace. Her black hair was braided and held by a throng at the nape of her neck. A white silken shawl did little to truly conceal her form, and a pair of loose knee-length shorts left her legs bare. Snakeskin sandals were laced up her calves; the ties designed like snakes, with the tops hidden beneath her shorts. Her presence felt out of place in the dark tunnels, as if she belonged more in the Raj Tora Palace under the attendance of a group of servants. “Welcome.” Her soft voice carried a melodic tune.

“Can I… water… drink?” managed Anushki, shuffling towards the table with his eyes locked on the pitcher. The thought of cool water made his lips feel even more cracked, and his voice was much less steady than he would have liked.

The woman lifted the pitcher and selected a small teacup, delicately filling it. “I should like to know your name,” she urged, her jade green eyes now open. She eyed him like seeing him here was the queerest sight.

Realizing he was not going to receive a drink before giving his name, he replied in a coarse, dry voice, “Anushki, Black Adder Dunes.” He could wait only impatiently.

He received a nod in response, and she repeated the name thoughtfully, committing it to memory. “You are far from home, Anushki,” she observed, handing over the cup. A single, miniature ice cube floated in the cup, bright like silver.

Taking the cup with both hands, Anushki sipped at the water with a great amount of restraint, finding it quite difficult not to gulp it down. He spoke only once the drink was empty. “I’m looking for a friend.” His voice was stronger, now that his mouth wasn’t completely dry. “He lives in the Tora Outskirts.”

“I am Raquelle Quay, born in Tora Proper,” she announced in a noblewoman’s tone, and accent, sliding off the edge of the desk and standing straight. “There is a spare bed. Drink what you will, and rest. I will return soon with a meal.” With that, Raquelle left, a faint scent of spice left in her wake.

After a couple more cups of water Anushki crawled into the third bed of skins. The other two people had neither moved nor woke – the rise and fall of their chests was the only testament to their life. Sleep came easy, the darkness lapping at him like the tide of a sea.



To be continued…