The Shifting Sands

Lief, Barda, and Jasmine stumbled back. The cloud of bees surged this way and that, making patterns in the air behind the old woman’s head. Their buzzing was like the threatening growl of a great animal.

“You thought I was unprotected, did you?” screeched the old woman. “You thought you could steal from me without fear. My guards are small, but many, and act with one mind. You will suffer death by a thousand stings for what you have done.”

Jasmine was desperately feeling in her pockets. She found what she was looking for and held out her hand. Gold and silver coins gleamed in the sunlight.

“Will you take these for your apples?” she asked.

The old woman gave a start. Her eyes narrowed. “If you have money, why do you steal?” she demanded. But her wrinkled hand shot out and took the coins.

“No!” Lief exclaimed, lunging forward without thinking. “That money is all we have. You cannot take it all for a few dried-up apples!”

The bees surged at him, buzzing dangerously.

“Softly, boy, softly. Gently, gently!” cackled the old woman. “My guards do not like sudden movements, and are easily angered. Why, even I must use smoke to calm them when I take their honey from the hive. Even I.”

She made a soft sound and the cloud of bees behind her shrank and disappeared as the creatures returned to the folds of her shawls. She tucked the coins carefully away and scowled at the companions.

“Let this be a lesson to you!” she ordered. “And tell all your fellow vagabonds that the next thieves who come here will receive no mercy.”

Lief, Barda, and Jasmine hesitated.

She shook her fist at them. “Go on!” she shrilled. “Get back to the road where you came from.”

“We did not come from the road, old woman! And we are not thieves, either!” Jasmine cried.

The woman grew very still. “If you did not come from the road, then where did you come from?” she murmured after a moment. “There is no other way to my orchard. Except …”

Suddenly she reached out and grasped the edge of Lief’s cloak. Feeling its dampness, she gasped and slowly raised her head to look across the water and away to the horizon where a faint drift of smoke still rose over the Plain of the Rats.

A look of dread crossed her wrinkled face.

“Who are you?” she whispered. Then she held up her hand. “No — do not tell me. Just go! If you are seen here not even my bees will be able to protect me.”

“How do we find the road?” asked Lief quickly.

She pointed to the orchard behind her. “Go through the orchard. There is a gate on the far side. Hurry! And forget what I said. Tell no one you were here.”

“You can count on that,” said Barda. “As I presume we can count on you forgetting you ever saw us?”

She nodded silently. The three companions turned and strode away across the grass. As they reached the trees they heard a shout and looked back. The strange old woman was standing, round as a ball, in a cloud of bees, staring after them.

“Good fortune!” she cried, raising her arm.

They lifted their own arms in reply, and went on.

“It is all very well to wish us good fortune now,” complained Jasmine as they threaded their way through the apple trees. “A few moments ago she was threatening to have us stung to death by her bees. And she did not offer to return our money.”

Barda shrugged. “Who knows what troubles she has suffered? Perhaps she is right to be suspicious of strangers. Except for the bees she seems all alone here.”

“She spoke of a ‘quota’ that had to be filled,” Lief said slowly, as they reached the end of the orchard and let themselves through a gate that led to a winding, tree-lined track. “It sounds as though she has to grow a certain number of apples.”

“Or make something from them,” said Barda. He closed the gate behind them and nodded towards a sign fixed to the old wood.

“Queen Bee Cider was a drink much prized among the guards and acrobats when I was at the palace in Del,” Barda went on. “It gave extra strength to anyone who drank it. It seems that it is made here — by our friend back there, who is no doubt Queen Bee herself.”

Lief sighed. “I wish that she had given us a glass or two before sending us on our way.”

Indeed, all of them were tired and in low spirits as they trudged along the track, talking in low voices. They knew that their next goal must be the Shifting Sands. But how they were to reach it was a mystery.

In all their minds was the thought that they had no money, no food, no blankets, no packs — nothing but the map Lief’s father had drawn for him, their weapons, and the ragged clothes on their backs.

And the Belt of Deltora, Lief reminded himself. But the Belt, for all its power, for all that three stones now glimmered in their places along its length, could not fill their bellies or shelter them from the weather.

“The opal gives glimpses of the future,” said Jasmine, after a moment. “Surely it can tell us what is ahead?”

But Lief was unwilling to touch the opal. His vision of the Shifting Sands still haunted him. He had no wish to experience it again.

“We do not need to see into the future to know that we need help,” he said, staring straight ahead. “We need supplies and a safe place to rest for a while. Let us think only of that for now.”

He expected Jasmine to argue, but when he glanced at her he saw that she had stopped listening to him and was concentrating on something else.

“I hear carts and the sound of feet,” she announced finally. “Voices, too. There is a larger road ahead.”

Sure enough, in a few more minutes the winding trail met a broad, straight highway. Cautiously they looked both ways along its length. A horse-drawn cart was approaching from the right with several men and women walking beside it.

“It seems there are others going our way,” muttered Barda. “They look harmless enough. But still it might be wise to wait until they have passed. We cannot afford too many questions until we are well away from here.”

They crouched among the trees and watched while the cart came closer. It was worn and rickety, and the horse that pulled it was old and plodding. But the people — those walking beside it as well as those who jolted along inside — were talking and laughing with one another as though all was well with the world.

Lief heard the name “Rithmere” repeated several times as the cart passed by. It was clear that Rithmere was a town, and that the people were looking forward to reaching it. His spirits rose.

“There must be a festival or fair being held in this Rithmere place,” he whispered.

“A festival in these days?” grunted Barda. “I cannot believe it. But still, if Rithmere is to the left along this road, it is on our way to the Shifting Sands. And a town is what we need — the larger the better.”

“Why?” hissed Jasmine, who far preferred the open countryside.

“In a town we can lose ourselves in the crowd and earn money for new supplies. Or beg for it.”

“Beg?” exclaimed Lief, horrified.

Barda glanced at him, a grim smile tweaking the corner of his mouth. “There are times when pride must be put aside in a good cause,” he said.

Lief mumbled an apology. How could he have forgotten that Barda had spent years disguised as a beggar in Del?

When the cart was well past, the companions crept out from the trees and began to follow it. They had not gone far before Lief saw something lying on the ground.

It was a notice. Curious, he picked it up:

Lief showed the notice to Barda and Jasmine. His heart was thudding with excitement.

“Here is our answer!” he said. “Here is our chance to earn the money we need, and more. We will enter the Games. And we will win!”