Desert Well

Nazarus has left Linx and me to find the men who have followed us. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, or even if he’ll make it back. We’ve instructions to leave at night fall if he doesn’t come back. So instead of pacing I have found these few blank pages of rence in his pack on which to write, to chronicle what has happened to me.. and thus, not to sit and worry. I find it is easier to think with words that are written, then those that continue to combat in my head.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, months, a year? I lost track after the first couple hands, no, lost track isn’t the right word. I gave up. I wanted to die and there were times I thought I was close, but I heal easily and quickly, this a curse rather than a blessing.

It was the second hand when the device had been latched around my throat, one specially made with small hollow needles that would press into my neck so that a numbing agent could be injected near my vocal chords, which made it impossible for me to talk. They had tired of hearing my prophecy of death and destruction to them all.

I was kept at the bottom of a dry well, dark and dirty and often cold, fed by another slave who tried to keep me company from her place above. It wasn’t always like that, they had tried to keep me bound in their tents, but I always managed to loosen the knots and in my first moment of freedom I would run into the desert, knowing no one awaited me there, but what I sought was not living. What I sought was the City of Dust.

I was always caught and brought back to camp, toyed with for a time, and then rebound. Except for the last time. I suppose they tired of never knowing when I would be waiting.. and when I would be nowhere to be found. It was then they lowered me into the well, taking me out only a few times a hand. I no longer tried to run.

The news had come to me by way of the slave that used to sit near the crumbling stone structure, keeping me company as much as possible so that I did not go insane. She told me I was to be sold to the Salt Ubar, that I had outlived my usefulness to those that held me and that others would be coming for me soon.

When she asked me a question I would tap out the answer with one of the stones against the side of the well. Once for yes, twice for no. But after the news, when she tried to ask me anything, I would no longer answer. When she sent food down to me, I would no longer eat. I was slowly beginning part of the well.

Had I entered the ether I might have been saved, but that might draw those I was trying to hide from too close. This was the penance for my sin, this.. and the phantom sounds of a baby crying, a child that had been absorbed by my memories, one who no longer existed except in my heart.

I was resigned to my purgatory, no less than I wanted, no less than I deserved, and wishing the time would tick faster to my end. But that was not to happen.

Even with me being who I am, I’ve never understood how the hand of fate is dealt. The deserving are not always rewarded and the guilty are not always punished. Nothing about destiny is fair.

At night I was able to look up and see the stars and dream about when such little things made me happy, a small circle of sky that I could call my own. But tonight that sky was blocked, a dark figure descending.

I hid in the small alcove I had clawed out with bleeding fingers and broken nails. Thinking my time had come, that those who had come to fetch me were here to take me to another inescapable location. It was only when I heard a vaguely familiar voice that realized.. I was being rescued.

Chaos ensued, the kailla were freed as our cover, the men not realizing I was gone immediately. It was only those precious few ehn gave us our respite, out escape, but then the body of one of the men were found, Linx filling me in on the details quickly. Soon they were giving chase.

By the low light of three moons, the sands took on an ominous glow, gloriously darkened with a spattering of glitter, and the lands of the Tahari seemed touched by something magnificent. Something deadly. Something that bordered on ghostly whispers and feral calls. The winds started to rage, sand retrieved in small cyclones, before the war of nature began to churn. I have heard many a sandstorm, but it was the first I had ever had to ride through, even the covering of thick cloak affording little protection.

But he knew something others did not. Such storms are often a part of life, and not always is it possible to get to safety. There are small caves dug and covered and supported, a place of refuge from the impending storms. Whether it was chance or luck, or simply meant to be, one of those sanctuaries was found, our escape for the night.

We rested and ate and I was even given a chance to wash, before he decided that for us to survive, he would have to go out and find those who he was sure still tracked us. He’s now been gone for ahns, while Linx and I sit here and wait, hoping for the best.