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"Way of the Lost" (Judas) ---------------------------- Scorched Lands, Far South November 19 - Evening - ---------------------------- A century and a half had seen very little change in the desert known as the Scorched Land. The wind was still hot and the sun still blistering, like a hammer on an anvil made of sand. Water was just as scarce as it had always been. Judas had moved quickly through the night, speeding his pace with a precious trickle of magic, and made it as far as the fourth road marker before the sun shed its light again, and he was forced to build a shelter in the sand. That required another bit of his precious reserve of magic, and he could see now that this would turn into a race - would he reach the mountains before his strength ran out, or would the sun strike him down? The ring, his precious ring, was all that protected him from the wrath of daylight. It was the only artifact he'd had the nerve to steal from Amenti. The catalog on the wall of the treasure room called it the Ring of Brightness, and in a scroll detailing Jannes's research, the little silver band could not have been given a more misleading name. Jannes claimed it was crafted from orihalcon, and imbued with the power to shield its wearer from heaven by summoning a blanket of darkness. Judas was skeptical about that claim, but he could not deny that it was powerful enough to drive away the sun. Without it, he would be dead. Huddled in his shelter, he managed to keep himself alive until the sun set. The damnable heat wouldn't fade away for hours, and night wouldn't get rid of the sand that had somehow found a way into his coat, but he was grateful to finally emerge from his burrow and let it collapse behind him. An obliesk rose from the sand and pointed to the dusky sky like a long, bony finger. It was marked near the base on each side in both hieroglyphic and northern script, facing the four cardinal directions. He didn't know why it had not been buried yet. Many of the ruins surrounding Amenti were long gone under the sand, but the road markers still rose every ten miles without fail, just as they did in the ancient days when Egypt had been more than a tomb. Judas trailed his thin fingers over the hieroglyph for 'north.' Chiseled, perfect - it was the kind of workmanship he was trying to emulate in the tomb. He liked to think he was succeeding, but he knew that was just a fantasy. Precision was one thing, but he had never fancied himself an artist. The magic was all that mattered, all that would ever matter. The sky softened into red and violet, and the marker's shadow disappeared. He turned to the north with a last caress for the pale stone, and pulled his staff from the strap over his back. The obliesk marked the old trade route, but there was no road, and crossing the dunes was always difficult. He wished he had been blessed with wings, so the sand could not pull him down. A hint of the next marker glinted far off in the twilight, and he started walking north. It would gather in the starlight and glow like the moon once true night fell, and his path would be marked with ghosts instead of stone. A week had been a very optimistic estimate for his journey. Even if he managed to pass four markers every night, it would take two weeks to reach the edge of the desert. That just wasn't fast enough. He might not last /two weeks/, he /had/ to make it in one. Most of his journeys to Amenti and back took eight days, maybe nine, at a leisurely pace. Hurried, he could make it in six. If he didn't rest again, if he walked through the night /and/ the day, he might make it. Once he would have prayed to the ancient gods, but this path had never failed him before. He would put his trust in the path, and himself, and simply hope his steps would take him into Artolia, instead of the afterlife. Or maybe the afterlife would come to meet /him/. Three days passed, and he was sustained by his hope. When the fourth day dawned, hope was fading and determination was all that kept Judas on his feet. It was temptation as he had never known it. The urge to stop and rest, burrow under the sand to conserve his energy, wouldn't leave him alone. The sand was warm enough to roast anything alive, but the sun was stronger. The ring was a thin shield against that relentless, scorching power. Each marker seemed farther than the last. There was enough sand gritting against his skin to drive anyone insane. Vampires did not perspire. It was a thought that made him laugh, now and then, with a hysterical edge that only made it funnier. His brother had once offered to sell his soul to rid himself of the problem, so the girls would never notice when he was nervous. Judas had done just that, and now he would have given his brother's soul to have that humanity back again. The dryness of the desert air saved him. The heat was a detriment, but at least it was bearable. Humidity would have dragged him down, made it impossible to travel during the day. He supposed he should have remembered to bring a lighter cloak, to avoid the extra discomfort that came from wearing black, but there was no use worrying about it now. Another day passed, then another. The horizon was beginning to darken with the promise of clouds and a trace of forests. He had to pause at every marker, now, and rest in the thin sliver of shade they provided. The temptation to sleep was overwhelming, and the scratchy emptiness of hunger was clawing its way down his throat and into his stomach. He had plenty of water, but it was no comfort to a body that could only be animated by the blood of others. If the sun didn't crumble him to dust soon, his hunger might do it instead. How long had it been since his last catch? He had left Lorien five weeks ago, and criss-crossed his way across the borderlands between Crell Monferaigne and Artolia in his search of the proper components for Akhetamen's resurrection. The people in that region were easy pickings, all born overconfident, sure their gods would protect them from the likes of him. He had run into a small merchant caravan south of Aedvans Village, and taken two of their guards before setting out for the desert. One of those fools had provided the vial of blood for the ceremony- Judas stumbled to a stop, sliding down to the base of the sand dune. The /vial/. Planting his staff into the sand to keep his balance, he trudged back to the crest of the dune and forced his eyes to focus against the horrible brightness of the clear sky. After a moment he found what he was hoping for: another obliesk, glinting in the sunlight only a mile or two away. Spurred on by the sight, Judas managed to stay on his feet until he reached the flat, hard-packed dirt at the base of the marker. He collapsed against its east face, relieved beyond words for the shade, and dropped his staff carelessly by his side. The vial. It was sealed with an amulet, but even with that protection the blood would be tepid at best. If it had been useless in Amenti, he wasn't sure it would be much good now. But he wasn't using it as a sacrifice, now. Maybe it would be enough to keep him alive for another day. At worst, it would make him sick and set him back a few hours. Judas pulled his pack over his head and dropped it onto the sand next to his staff. He had to tug at the clasp three times before he could finally open it, but the vial was easy to find, wrapped in his ceremonial robe and stuffed under his tools. The blood, when he finally forced his fingers to unstopper the thing, was flat and lukewarm in a way that he would taste for /days/, but it was better than nothing. He stared at the vial, watched the remnant blood slide along the inside of the glass, thinning like water. Would he make it? Would this be enough to last? Just one more day, one more night... It was hard to get up, but he pressed his back against the obliesk and forced his legs to cooperate, picking up his pack and staff only when he was sure he wouldn't fall again. Artolia was close enough to taste on the air. If he started now, he would make it before the next day dawned. Clinging to that hope, Judas trudged into the sand. ------------------------------ Aedvans Village, Artolia November 29 - Early Evening - ------------------------------ "How are those loaves coming? The evening rush isn't far off." Aileen poked at one of the loaves on the back table, trying to fold her cleaning rag one-handed. "I think they're ready." She tried another one, and tried not to think about how nice it would be if she could take one of them home at the end of the day. "The cakes are cooling on a rack in the back." "Good, good." Judith rubbed her frail hands together and tightened the straps of her apron. Hair more white than red was tied back in a bun the way Aileen's mother had worn hers, once upon a time. It gave the old woman a kind, sort of fussy air. "Help me set them out. We want to be ready." The first customer came as they were setting the last cake on display, and Aileen watched the other woman chat amiably with the newcomer while wrapping her order. She didn't like the blacksmith's daughter, and dreaded the days she came into the store. Judith never seemed to understand, and how could she explain? It was her husband's wandering eyes that had made her dislike the girl. Why speak ill of the dead? Her smile felt thin and sickly when she handed the bundle over the table, and she was thankful to see that bobbing head of red curls leave the bakery. The loaves needed rearranging again. She set about the task with a little sigh, and felt Judith's eyes on her. The woman's words, when they came, weren't what she expected. "You should find another man. You're too young to waste away with mourning." No comment on the blacksmith's daughter? Aileen wondered with a slight frown. She'd prefer that to talk about marriage. "Who would have me? It doesn't matter. I'm happy the way I am." "Those wistful little sighs don't sound very happy." Judith had her hands on her hips, and was surveying her with a critical eye. "I've said it before, young lady. With a little more care and a new-" "Good evening, ladies." Aileen jumped and fumbled with the loaf in her hands, nearly dropping it in her surprise. She hadn't heard footsteps! Judith didn't bat an eyelash, of course. "Good evening to you, Josef." She smiled primly, smoothing her apron over her hips. "Your usual?" Aileen turned back to her work with whispered thanks to the heavens at large, listening only distantly to the conversation going on beside her. She'd never been so grateful to see anyone in her life - when Judith started in on matchmaking and dresses and ways to catch men, the conversation could go well into the night. Twice she'd had to stay at the store to sleep for that very reason. She lived too close to the edge of the forest to feel comfortable walking back after nightfall. Marriage was a dead-end, in any case. No matter what the old woman said about 'girls her age', the fact remained that no one wanted a widow for a wife. And that was fine. She had married the man she wanted, and wandering eyes or not, he couldn't be replaced. 'Forever' had been a promise, not just a pretty word. She could just imagine where the conversation would go after this. Josef was her age, unmarried, and even handsome in a rugged sort of way. Just right, Judith would say, for a young widow who needed to be taken care of. "...need more than usual. A party of us are going down to investigate the bridge, and I reckon we won't be back until morning." "Investigate? What happened?" Ears perked, grateful for something else to think about, Aileen fussed with the arrangement of the cakes on the rack, and listened. Gossip rarely made its way into the bakery. "Hal found a caravan camped off the road next to the stream. All dead." The old woman gasped, and Aileen felt a chill. "Couldn't figure out why either, but he saw tracks." "How many were...?" "Four. No guards, he said, so they must not be carrying valuable cargo." She snuck a peek at Josef, at bit her lip. His laughing eyes were serious now, half-hidden by a dark fringe of hair. He was decked out for travel, complete with a heavy cloak and a half-empty pack. No armor - no one in Aedvans had armor. It was a town of artisans established along the route from the Artolian mines so they would be the first to get their hands on the ore, to sell it back to the miners as pots, pans, and tools. Her husband had been a mercenary, drawn here by their weak defenses. He would have made a lot of money defending them from the advances of Crell Monferaigne. "Are you going to be okay?" Aileen blurted out, before she could think better of it. Josef was strong, but he was no warrior. They both looked at her, seeming surprised to see her there. She wished she hadn't spoken. Josef recovered and gave her his usual confident smile, taking a bundle of bread from Judith. "We'll be fine. I don't expect the murderers stayed behind, but those men'll need a proper burial." He stuffed the bundle into his pack, and nodded to the older woman. "Thanks for the discount. Good night, ladies." Aileen bit her lip and watched him go. He was such a man. Were they all the same? She wondered if they would all die out eventually because of their confidence and bravado. Her husband had walked out with the same reassurances, and that was the last time she saw him. Did Crell Monferaigne give its enemies proper burials? She sensed eyes on her back, and turned her head to catch Judith's speculative gaze. It was a look she knew all too well. Suddenly, Aileen regretted showing concern for anyone at all. It was going to be a long night. ----- Night had fallen quietly. The bakery's closing hours had not been as busy as expected because of the rumors of murder circling around town, so Judith had pushed half of the leftover bread and cake into Aileen's arms, along with admonishments to be careful on her way home. Aedvans may be a safe and proper town, she said, but with vagrants and worse on the loose she should exercise caution. It was silly of the old woman to worry. Aileen had never been strong, it was true, but she wasn't a weakling. She knew how to defend herself. Her husband had taught her how to use a blade, and how to throw a man three times her weight. Marrying a mercenary had its benefits. Lamps were lit along the cobbled street, but she left their reassuring circles of light and took a narrow sidestreet. Flickers of light beckoned at the other end where the passage opened onto another street that led to the river at one end, and the forest at the other. Most of the town's residents lived in that area, while the other side of town was full of workshops and smithies, and the inns. No one wanted to live near an inn. The mining route went right through their town, and the traveling houses were always full and noisy. That side of town wasn't safe. The walk to her home wasn't far, though it was near the edge of the forest. Aileen found herself dragging her feet as she reached the mouth of the alley, and she stopped at the corner to stare down the street to the river, and leaned back against the stone wall, careful not to squish her satchel of bread. Judith wasn't that bad. For all of her talk, and her badgering about finding a husband, she was a kind woman who went out of her way to take care of Aileen and make sure she was safe and well-fed, if not happy. And she had no doubt the old woman wanted to see her find happiness, even if she had an irritating way of showing it. It was just her way. And it was better than going home to a dark, cold house. Alone. Cold. It /was/ cold. And she could see someone shuffling up the street from the river. Aileen pushed away from the wall and huddled into her cloak. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, except maybe Judith, but she had already left the bakery, and the old woman was probably getting ready for bed, if she wasn't already asleep. That was the smart thing to do - sleep the cold hours of the night away, and wake up to the warm morning sun. It always /seemed/ warmer, even if the only difference was a brighter sky. She watched the figure more closely, half-turned to walk in the other direction before he got too close. He leaned against the wall when he walked, and his coat looked heavy. Sparkling droplets of water caught her eye, drawing her around and back a step in his direction. He was soaked! She could see it now, the water dripping from his sleeves, hair, the wet bootprints on the street behind him. It looked like he had jumped into the river. Or, she thought, maybe thrown in and washed ashore. He was a stranger, whoever he was. His problems weren't her problems. She knew it would be smarter to just turn around and leave him alone, to go back to her empty house and light the fire, and brew a little tea before going to bed. Tomorrow was washing day, and she would be at the bakery all night after closing, scouring the ovens and scrubbing tables and floors. But sleep was far from her mind at that moment. The night was freezing, maybe literally, and the stranger was wandering around /wet/ and tired, probably injured. She couldn't tell, even when he passed into the light from the street lamps. It would be smart to just go home. But would she be able to sleep, knowing she had deserted someone who obviously needed help? What if he couldn't make it to the inns? Aileen bit her lip and made up her mind. She pulled the satchel over her shoulder under the cloak and approached the dark figure carefully with a soft, "Excuse me?" and then louder when it seemed he didn't hear her. The stranger's head snapped up and she gasped. His gaze was bemused, and his lips blue and shaking with cold. She reached out instinctively and he jearked back against the wall. "Who... what...?" She bit her lip in sympathy, feeling colder just looking at him. His skin looked dead pale, as if the water had already frozen it. "I'm sorry, I- I just thought you might need help." His eyes glittered a little more sharply, and she looked away. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm sorry. If you don't need-" "No!" An icy hand snatched her wrist. "Please, I-" His hand trembled, contracting almost painfully. She was too surprised to pull away. "You startled... I thought... attack..." "An attack?" Aileen shook her head slowly, trying to read his eyes. But they were shadowed by his hair, and he was shaking. She dismissed her curiosity and tried to tug her wrist free, glancing over her shoulder to the end of the street. Her house wasn't far, was much closer than the nearest inn. He might not make it farther than that. "Please." This is stupid, she told herself silently, turning back to him. His hand on her wrist was making the night seem colder. She had no idea who he was, or why he was soaking wet instead of enjoying the entertainments at the inns. And he might not make it that far. He said 'please.' "This way," she said finally, pulling free. He let go, to her relief, and didn't try to reach out again. "You can stay with me until you're dry, but then you'll have to go to one of the inns." "Thank you." It was like a sigh of relief. She had to turn away from his grateful gaze, and pretend not to be relieved. It was the human thing to do, that was all. It would be better than sitting alone with her tea and staring into the fire, even if he was a complete stranger. And he would be gone soon enough, once his clothes dried. At least she wouldn't be alone. (Summary: Judas treks through the Amenti desert and finally finds what he seeks at Aedvans Village.) ------------------------------------ "Way of the Lost" (Judas) By Amber Michelle ------------------------------------ |