My Travels in the Andasar Desert, Part 1

My first experience with the great Andasar came at a tender age indeed, when I was a boy of but 13 travelling with my father. He was personally supervising a large shipment of goods (mainly fabrics, as I recall, though time has eroded my memory) en route from Mandigore – near Shandora – to Qaphet on the Cedar Coast. As it happens, it is nearly impossible (and certainly not expedient) to avoid that vast desert if one is going that way by land, and so we found ourselves joined up with a larger caravan on its way to the lands of the Cedar Kings.

There was, with another family in this caravan, a boy of my own age named Rajin who quickly became my inseparable companion. Rajin had lived his whole life around the river Deb and so was much more acquainted with the land than myself. He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of tales about the wonders and legends of the Andasar Desert – of vanishing oases and sand krakens, and battles between the archmages of old and great genie lords; of flying castles that hovered above the sands, and – quite frequently, I still recall – of the mythical Temple of Eternity. It was his stories, more than anything else, that made the journey bearable to my adolescent mind. Certainly it was a welcome diversion from the endless vistas of rock and sand and the ever-present daytime heat.

I may as well describe the heat now, to give the unfamiliar reader as best a sense of its extremity as I possibly can: However terrible the northerner may imagine it to be, I must state that it is undoubtedly much worse. To expect severe temperatures is one thing, and all well and good; to experience them firsthand is quite another. It had almost a physical substance, which would surround and threaten to smother me. My father had once told me that a dry heat is better than a humid heat – for some time during my first desert sojourn I wondered at that, utterly flabbergasted (as my young mind was) at the idea that any heat could be worse than this. I have since heard the saw regarding humidity repeated by many others in my adult years, and to this day I am inclined to believe that these people must never have been to the Andasar.

Barring one rather unsettling incident involving the illness and subsequent death of a camel in our train, there was one singular event which made the greatest imprint on me, such that I can recall it perfectly even now. At a point which I would reckon to be halfway along our journey (my ability to recall specific times and relative locations has sadly not fared quite as well), our party was encamped at some ruins. Though I could not say where these ruins lie, I am certain that they must have been quite distant from any other ruins which I had seen or would see, and more isolated still from any contemporary settlements. The worn sandstone columns and half-buried walls etched their image on my psyche just as the carvings which adorned their surfaces – still discernable in many places – had been so indelibly stamped millennia ago. Naturally Rajin had all manner of ideas and theories about this site and its origins, and when he implied that further investigation could reveal countless clues to ancient mysteries, I did not need much convincing to accompany him in this endeavor.

Even within the perimeters of the camp there was no shortage of things which two young boys could spend hours investigating, and so we were at first content not to roam far. At one point during our searching, however, a huge shadow passed abruptly overhead, and Rajin was nearly overcome with excitement. Now, I never did get a good look at the creature, but Rajin swore (and would continue to insist for the remainder of the journey) that it was nothing less than one of the great mystical sphinxes of the ancient world, which have been – on rare occasions – encountered by mortal travelers. I suppose it may have been, although I also am given to understand that the vultures of that region can grow astonishingly large. Whatever it actually was, we both took off running in the direction which Rajin had seen it flying, and in our youthful exuberance we did not think of stopping until our caravan was well out of sight. It was not until we found ourselves in a particularly foreboding stone grotto that I began to realize the potentially dire situation we had inadvertently landed ourselves in. As I gazed around at the eerie shapes that the constant wind had carved the rocks into, I was reminded of every story I’d ever heard about the wicked spirits and desert-ghouls that lie in wait among the remote sands (tales which, for the most part, I had heard from my own seemingly-unconcerned companion). It was then that I heard him cry out.

Now, reader, do not doubt that, given the state my thoughts were in just prior to this intrusion, this sudden cry from my young friend was enough to kindle the sparks of ghastliest fancy, nor doubt that the fleeting thought passed through my mind, that my death might now be only moments away. But there is also a curiosity in man, which so often burns brightest in the youngest of us, that drives us through all manner of peril when the prospect of some momentous discovery hangs near. More practically, I suppose, I must also admit that the sound was not the anguished cry of one grievously wounded, nor a shriek of mortal terror, so much as a simple call for one’s companion to come see something that has been found. Still, Rajin’s voice had not been utterly without fear, so there was still some cause for dread as I came to my friend’s side to see what he had found.

There, in a small alcove formed by a natural outcropping, arranged as if it were merely sleeping, was a human skeleton. How long it had been there I do not know, nor could I say how they had died, nor even did I possess the anatomical knowledge necessary to determine the poor soul’s sex. If at any point during its repose carrion-eaters ever found it, they must have been uncommonly gentle, for every bone seemed articulated to the point of one arm still resting on the fleshless chest. Even the clothing was still apparent, though little more than rags. And by the old corpse’s side, nearly buried under sand and rotten rags, was an old waterskin, quite empty.

I think it was the reality of the tableau that unnerved me, or more accurately the normalcy. Here were the remains of a genuine human being, who had once had a life no less vibrant or complex than my own – a life of wonders and mysteries that I could not hope to fathom. And here was the exact spot where that life had come to an end – and yet, there was something so casual about it that it was nearly hideous. I had seen bones before, but always in some context that took from them their humanity (be it a dusty shelf or an alcove in some catacomb) and made them a mere curiosity. Never had I seen them like this, and I knew immediately that I did not want to see them so ever again. How Rajin thought about it I can not say, but in the look on his face I could tell that he was uncomfortable as well.

All at once the spell that had kept us fascinated thus far broke. We simultaneously came to the realization that we were rather far from our caravan’s camp, and all desire to explore was gone. We did not hurry back, but neither did we linger. Neither of us said a word until the tents were back in sight.

And thus was my true introduction to the Andasar completed. That day I awoke from the indifference of a self-centered child and began to glimpse the broader world as it really was. I had been frightened, but at the same time I had learned respect for the desert that made a mark on me even to this day. And something else became active in me, though I did not know it yet: a singular fascination for this magical, beautiful, and terrifying realm, and for all the other places like it in the world. In the far-flung travels of my adult life, I would visit the Andasar Desert more often than any other place, and in truth, every time I return I remember again that first discovery in the cave with Rajin.

I never did find out where those bones came from. Perhaps they are still there.