City Under the Sand

X Death in the Desert

These last few nights, Myrana’s dreams had changed. Instead of focusing on the route she needed to take, she kept seeing images of a tall, muscular young man with long dirty blond hair. She had the basic route mapped in her mind, and they followed it as closely as possible.

She believed they were close to their destination. The appearance of the young man in the dreams caused her to think he was part of whatever this was all about, part of what they would find when they got where they were going.

On this particular morning, she awoke from those dreams with an odd, profound sense of loss, as if she had been close to the man, or at least close to answers about what this all meant, and they’d been snatched away at the last minute. Koyt tended to the fire, making a morning meal of a jankx he had killed the night before. The creature’s pelt was barely large enough to use, but it had been cleaned and set aside, and the meat’s aroma set Myrana’s stomach growling. Myrana didn’t see Sellis at first, but then he came around a dune, walking toward camp with a thoughtful expression. The sadness from the dream stayed with her, making her wonder if it was really all about the dream, or if she simply missed her family and friends.

“Morning, Myrana,” Koyt said.

“That smells wonderful, Koyt.”

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m famished, suddenly.”

“I hope you’re not too hungry,” Sellis said. “We only saw the one jankx, remember, and they’re small.”

“I won’t eat your share, Sellis, don’t worry.” She waited until he reached camp and sat down. “Where were you?”

“I thought I heard something, just as the sun was coming up. But I don’t see anything, or any tracks in the sand.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Some animal, I suppose. Maybe another jankx. Something larger would be good, though.”

Myrana dressed quickly and took a long drink from one of the water skins while she waited for breakfast. It was, as Koyt had promised, ready shortly, and they dug into their portions with enthusiasm. They were almost done when Koyt looked out across the sands. He froze for a moment, then set his jankx bones down and picked up his bow.

“What is it?” Sellis asked.

Koyt inclined his head toward the western horizon. A figure walked toward them, very tall, with a huge head. “We have a visitor.”

“Desert giant?” Sellis asked.

“That’s what it looks like,” Myrana said. “But look at the way he’s walking. Something’s wrong with him.”

The giant’s gait was uneven, sometimes veering off course by as many as six or seven steps, then correcting, other times stumbling, catching himself on massive knuckles. Everything about him was gargantuan. He was powerfully muscled, as tall as five or six of Myrana. His facial features were exaggerated, with a pronounced ridge above his brow, a large, flat nose, ears like wings flapping at the sides of his head. He wore a breechcloth but was otherwise naked, his skin deeply tanned and leathery.

“You’re right, he doesn’t look normal,” Sellis said. He drew both swords and held them across his lap.

“Is he hostile, do you think?” Myrana asked.

“We’ll know soon enough, if he starts picking up boulders and hurling them at us.”

Koyt fitted an arrow onto his bowstring. “I’ve heard of giants who aren’t. But not many.”

“Maybe he smelled your jankx,” Sellis said with a grin.

“He’ll be disappointed, then,” Myrana said. “He can suck the marrow out of the bones, but I haven’t left any meat for him.”

The desert giant stumbled again, and as he regained his footing, he elevated off the ground, high enough that Myrana cold have passed beneath his feet. When he came down again, a few feet closer, it was in a cloud of sand.

“What was—”

“We’ve got trouble,” Sellis said.

“What?”

“He flew.”

“So it appeared.”

“Giants don’t fly,” Koyt observed.

“Not ordinarily. But creatures tainted by the pakubrazi often grow wings, and limited flying ability.”

“Wings?” Myrana asked. She knew the huge insectlike pakubrazi could curse other creatures, causing terrible mutations in their bodies and corresponding changes to their minds. But she hadn’t remembered all the details. She’d never encountered anyone with the taint, and although she had seen a few pakubrazi, they were usually dead.

“He hasn’t shown us his back yet, so I can’t be sure,” Sellis said. “But flying is a powerful clue.”

“If he’s pakubrazi tainted,” Koyt said, “then he’s sure to be hostile, perhaps even crazed.”

“Which might explain that awkward walk,” Myrana offered.

“Aye.” Koyt started to raise the bow. “Perhaps it’s best to just strike first, in this case.”

“But.… what if he doesn’t mean to hurt us?”

“If he’s pakubrazi tainted,” Sellis argued, “he might not mean to now, but he could go berserk at any moment. Go ahead, Koyt.”

Koyt got to his feet, drew the bowstring and arrow fletching back to his cheek, sighted down the arrow, and released. The arrow made a thwipping noise as it split the air.

The giant stumbled again, and the arrow struck him just beneath his left shoulder. He let out a ferocious roar and yanked it from his flesh. Streamers of blood trailed down his dark flesh.

Before he had seemed almost distractedly headed in their direction, drawn perhaps, as Sellis had half-jokingly suggested, by the smell of Koyt’s cooking. But now he focused on them, his head tilted toward his left side, glare fixed. He broke into a sprint, huge feet thundering against the sands, coming faster than she’d imagined something so large could move. The jankx sat heavily on her uneasy stomach.

Myrana slipped her dagger from its sheath. Sellis had his swords in hand, and Koyt had another arrow nocked.

They were as ready as they could be.

Koyt fired. This arrow hit the giant mid-belly. He simply swept his clawed hand, snapping it off and leaving the head buried, then took flight again, hurtling right for them. His wings were sheer, almost transparent, like an insect’s.

He hadn’t bothered throwing rocks, which was how most giants preferred to fight—knowing if they could crush an enemy’s skull from a distance, the battle was over before it began. But this one seemed determined to deliver his violence close up, by hand.

Koyt got one more arrow into him, which the giant tore out and tossed aside, before he came down in their midst. The earth shook at his landing. Myrana’s feet almost went out from under her, but she caught herself on the fingers of her left hand, dropping her staff but hanging onto the dagger.

The giant’s stink assaulted her first, ripe and foul. He swiped his tree trunk-sized arm toward them. Myrana dodged it, as did Sellis, but although Koyt tried to duck under it, the giant’s elbow slammed into his skull. He dropped to the ground.

Sellis attacked, swinging his right-handed sword in an arc toward the giant’s outstretched arm and thrusting the left-handed one into the giant’s upper thigh at the same moment. The giant screamed so that Myrana thought her ears would surely burst. He then stamped down had enough to quake the ground under her once again, and hurled himself upon Sellis.

The impact sent up blinding clouds of sand. Myrana moved in as close as she dared to the giant’s flailing limbs and stabbed him with her dagger, over and over, until his blood coating her hand and arm made the weapon almost too slick to grip.

She heard Sellis’s groans and the heaving of his breath, but she couldn’t see him. Koyt, dazed, shook his head and regained his feet, still unsteady. “He’s got Sellis under him!” Myrana cried. “He’s crushing him!”

Koyt got an arrow nocked. He drew back the string, almost fell down, righted himself and tried again. But the giant saw him, swatted like an annoying bug. That huge clawed hand hit Koyt across the chest. The arrow skidded harmlessly into the sand and Koyt reeled back, a deep cut gushing blood where he’d been hit.

Myrana looked for a critical spot that she could reach. If she jumped on the giant’s back, maybe she could hit the base of his skull, or the side of his neck. She was about to try when one of Sellis’s swords jutted up through the giant’s back, just beneath an unnatural translucent wing. The giant roared again and pounded his fist into the sand, as if he could shift the pain there.

Sellis squeezed out from underneath the cursed creature. He was disheveled, bruised and bloody. The giant grabbed at him, but Sellis’s blades flashed and two clawed fingers flicked into the air, blood spraying from their nubs. The giant screamed, drew his injured hand to his chest, and rose up on his knees.

Koyt still sat on the ground, one hand over his chest trying to staunch the bleeding. He discarded his bow and drew his short sword. “You’ve cut me, you big bastard,” he said. “Now you pay.” His voice was weak, and there was so much blood, Myrana didn’t know how he would manage to gain his feet.

She darted in behind the giant, reached up, and drove her dagger into the base of his back, just above his knotted loincloth. The giant lurched to his feet and she hung on, lifted into the air, but with her dagger tearing down through flesh and muscle the whole time. He reached around for her, and Koyt made his move.

Koyt stepped forward, clutching the sword’s grip in two hands, and swung with every ounce of strength he could muster. His blade arced left to right, at the same time the giant reached toward Myrana, his hand moving right to left. Koyt felt the combined force of both motions in his shoulders, almost knocking him off his feet. He hoped that meant he had struck bone, for the blade was buried deep in the giant’s forearm, the blood flowing as freely as an undammed stream.

The giant howled and kicked out with his right foot. Koyt released the sword and dodged, but the side of that foot caught him and sent him tumbling. He drew his head up in time to see Myrana finally drop away from the giant’s back and run a few paces away. The giant made to go after her but Sellis, who still had both his swords, charged him as soon as he turned toward Myrana. Sellis chopped and sliced. He was covered with the giant’s blood already, and no doubt some of his own. But he was the bravest man Koyt had ever known, and even when the giant spun back toward him, Sellis kept up his barrage.

Koyt tried to get to his feet, wincing at the stabbing pain in his side. Some ribs broken, he was sure. Blood coated his face and his abdomen, from the claw slice across his chest and cuts to his head suffered when he fell. His sword was trapped in the giant’s arm, probably wedged in bone, but the arm swung too fast for him to risk reaching for it.

The bow, then. It was his best weapon, anyway, the one he was most comfortable with by far. He had to move fast, before the giant overwhelmed Sellis. Biting back pain, he crawled on hands and knees to where he had abandoned it. He scooped it up, its familiar heft in his hand bringing him comfort, and reached for an arrow.

The quiver was empty.

One of the times he had fallen, the arrows must have spilled out.

He didn’t have time to look. Sellis backed away, keeping his swords in motion. Blood flew through the air with every swipe. The giant reached for him, though, and if he got a hand on Sellis again, they were done. Myrana was as brave as anyone, but she was on the small side, and crippled besides. And Koyt was too badly injured to battle the giant on his own.

He had to do something, now, before the giant caught Sellis.

He slid a bone knife from a sheath on his belt. The giant’s attention was fixed on Sellis, as if those flashing swords had hypnotized him. Koyt rushed up behind the giant, jammed the knife into the back of its ankle, and sliced across the tendon there.

The giant loosed another howl as that leg buckled. He drove his fist back, barely missing Koyt. Sellis dashed forward, slashing. Myrana had gathered stones and hurled them one by one at the giant’s head, aiming for his eyes. The giant was weakening, his strength flowing from his body along with his blood. We’re going to beat him—this Koyt knew, finally, as he braved another advance, meaning to strike at the leg that still supported their foe. We’re going to win this!

He had almost reached the giant when those weird wings beat against the air, lifting the giant though his damaged leg would not. The giant’s arm darted abruptly toward Koyt, fingers splayed, and another of those long, swordlike claws pierced Koyt’s belly, driving deep. He fell back, dropping his bone knife and clapping his hands across his stomach.

Myrana’s eyes froze the tableau before her: the giant, his damaged right leg hovering just above the sand, wings slapping the wind, his hand out toward Koyt, fresh blood dripping from his claw. Sellis, swords moving as if entirely independent of one another, blades completely red with blood, dicing giant flesh into the sand. And Koyt, struggling to hold his guts inside his body even as they slipped and slid around his fingers.

The moment seemed to last for a long time. She took in odd details, like the hairs on the giant’s arms, each nearly as long as one of her own hairs, but thicker—quills, almost. The color of Koyt’s guts, pink and gray, threads of crimson on them as they passed through the bloody gash. The look in Sellis’s eyes, lost and haunted, desperation driving him on even though hope had faded.

Then it passed and things were once again a frantic whirlwind of motion and sound. She had a moment’s chance and she jabbed her dagger into the giant’s left leg several times, then darted away before he could reach her. His wings stopped flapping and he crashed to the ground, losing his balance and toppling forward. One arm swung toward Sellis but missed. Sellis took advantage of the moment, apparently casting aside all fear and diving at the giant’s head. One sword drove into the giant’s eye, the other slashing at his neck. Myrana moved in again, stabbing his broad, muscular back. She, like everyone else, was wet with the giant’s hot, thick blood, its copper tang filling every sense.

She was still stabbing him when Sellis put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s done,” Sellis said. “You can stop now, Myrana.”

She shook her head, wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Sellis was right. The giant was still, his back an uneven landscape of gashes and cuts. She had even shredded his wings; they lay broken and twisted on his back like paper wadded up and sliced.

Then she realized who she didn’t see. “Koyt?”

Sellis shook his head. Tears sprang into Myrana’s eyes, tracked down her cheeks. She looked around and found him lying on his back, eyes wide open, jaw slack, arms out to his sides. Blood was everywhere. “No!” she cried. “Koyt!”

Sellis held her, letting her weep against his strong, bloody chest. “He saved us,” Sellis said. “Without him, we’d have all died.”

“But … but … How do we go on without Koyt?”

“I don’t know,” Sellis replied. He held her closer, moving his hand on her back. “We just do. We just go on. Koyt did what he had to. Now it’s our turn.”

Myrana swallowed, gathering herself. Life on Athas was hard, death a constant companion. You had to move past it. Sellis was right. “Now it’s our turn,” she repeated. “We just go on.”