15-2
Out on the high desert plain, the blistering winds of Vortess pummeled the couple while Coronus looked on in withering mockery. The landscape was hard, barren, strewn with boulders, and merciless. There was no sand here, save what lashed their faces. The thin air was cooked to a baking heat during the day. At night, the temperature would drop, and the frigid air would freeze their breath in their cowls. The ice crystals that formed were an ironic reminder that what little life-giving moisture this realm had came from them.
Syffox’s skin was red and peeling, his lips cracked, and his eyes puffy from sand and wind and glare. His hair and beard were now grey from his slipping ability to control magic and youthfulness.
His face was locked into an expression of grim perseverance. He slumped over an ethereal Vantaiga, who now sat in front of him on his camel, eschewing her physical form. The pain from Festor’s wound knotted Syffox’s back so tightly he could no longer sit straight. The only hope of relief was forward, through a sea of rocks flowing to a cloudless horizon.
In the dim blue glow of her ethereal form, Vantaiga stared out hopelessly over the rocks. She clutched her thin garment, huddling beneath Syffox’s shadow, a small gift of mercy from him and Silhlotte. The shadow and the robe that Syffox brought “just in case” were now her only protection from the elements. Her power was so diminished she could not maintain a physical form, let alone the bark-skin armour
As a spirit, she no longer burdened the camels with any weight. However, without any flesh, she was fully exposed to the heat and cold. Any wind or sand that buffeted her struck directly to her soul, tearing at her very existence.
In this form, she also no longer needed water to survive, conserving more for Syffox and the camels. Her thirst remained, though, and continued to torment her as they ventured deeper into the desolate hell. Every day, it twisted into a nightmarish gnawing within her. When Syffox would stop to drink what little water they had, she had to look away. Seeing him drink was so infuriating it hurt. Even hearing him swallow wrenched at her being.
Syffox was right—she may suffer and wither, but she would not perish. She could let herself be dragged along behind the camels, pulled limp through the sand by a rope tied to her mantel stone, and still she would persevereWith only the sound of the wind and the monotonous plodding of the camels, she amused herself with the grim thought that if she wasted away any further, Syffox would be able to carry her in his pocket.
Syffox, on the other hand, had no mind for amusing thoughts. He had become numb to the pain and fatigue of his body and had even forgotten when he’d last eaten. All thoughts were now of the endless horizon and how he would stretch out their remaining water to reach it.
He only drank enough to keep his throat moist, and the camels received little more than a handful at a time. His ability to use the divining rod to summon water was fading. He was losing the strength and concentration to wield magic, his own spells now impossible.
Through his blurring vision, it began to dawn on Syffox that his portion of their adventure in the desert was coming to an end, and still no River of Skulls in sight. If he could at last join with Vantaiga, she would have the power to complete the journey. She could find out why Festor cursed him, even if the knowledge would no longer be necessary.
He doubted she would accept, of course, but he also doubted she could stop him. Cloaked and cowering before him, he could feel how little presence she had left. He could grab the gem of the mantel while she had no strength to resist or force him back. Perhaps it would be the only way he would ever join with her.
A sad longing welled up inside him. This was not how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be beneath the cool shadows of the forest, among his people. Not beneath the smug stare of Coronus and this endless span of rocks. Most of all, he wanted her to want him to join her, but the time to wait for that was rapidly running out. It would have to be by force now.
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He shook his head. No, not yet. It was not necessary yet, not while the camels could still walk and he could still draw water. He would not have to force her. He looked down at the divining rod tucked into his belt with aching eyes. Soon, though. The time was coming soon.
He returned what little attention he could manage to the course of rocks before him. They were rounded smooth by weathering and bleached white by Coronus. The god’s brilliant eye made the rocks difficult to look at. What was even more difficult than looking at the stones was the camels’ attempts to walk among them.
There was a short rise not far off. Syffox weakly gestured the camels in that direction. The ground might be easier there, and the camels wouldn’t suffer needlessly. He was amused by the erroneous thought and corrected: ‘the camels wouldn’t suffer
needlessly’.
Once they topped the ridge, the terrain was still exposed, hard, and mercilessly hot, but at least it was clear of boulders. Syffox looked over the field of rocks below. They shimmered in the heat. The buffed ridges and depressions filled with shadows from the afternoon sun.
In his blurred vision and almost delirious imagination, the rocks seemed to grimly smile back at him. It was as if they knew the time was coming for his bones to join the bed of smooth white stones. His own sun-bleached skull would fit in well among them. There, he too could spend all eternity grimly smiling at any doomed passing fools.
The thought hung in his dehydrated mind while he took a long stare over the grinning rocks. He reached for his water skin, fumbling with the stopper to take a drink. He savoured the refreshing liquid as it soothed his throat and brought some clarity to his head. His vision was still blurred, and the smiling rocks taunted him to waste even more of the precious resource. He poured some water into his hand and rubbed his eyes. They burned as he washed the dust from them.
Vantaiga groggily shifted and spoke barely above a croaking whisper. “What are you doing? You’re wasting water, my love.”
Syffox ignored her as he blinked his eyes into focus. The smiles resolved themselves to shadows and creases on the bright round rocks—rocks that had been worn smooth by running water untold centuries ago. Syffox squinted and blurred his vision. Again, the grimacing smiles returned. He squinted more and the rocks transformed into the skulls of countless lives lost to the desert, damned to forever flow towards Festor’s paradise.
Shocked into lucidity, Syffox looked up and examined the landscape. They strode the bank of a long-dead river. The only thing to mark its course was the smooth white rocks left at the bottom. They traced their way from horizon to horizon, finally disappearing beneath a rise of distant mountains.
Syffox handed the water skin to Vantaiga. She groaned at the offer and turned her face away from it. “I don’t need it. Don’t torment me.”
Syffox offered it again. “No, take it; we found it.”
Vantaiga wearily looked around. All she could see were rocks, and desert, and endless shimmering heat. Had he finally lost his mind? She lifted herself up. What little there was of her form was thin and wispy. “We are nowhere. Don’t waste water, my love.”
He chuckled. “No, I’m serious. This is it. We found the River of Skulls. We’ve been travelling in it for the last several days.”
Vantaiga stared over the ribbon of white rocks, and the realisation slowly dawned on her. She reached for the water and took a slug. She felt a wave of tingling shivers wash over her. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had water; it might have been months ago. She took another gulp, and a panic overcame her as an unimaginable thirst gripped her in a way that only an immortal could understand. She greedily grabbed a third gulp. Syffox tried to pull the skin away from her, but she held tight to take more water.
Syffox yanked the flask from her weak grip. She feebly clutched after it before regaining her composure with a shudder. She savoured for a moment the feeling of life and energy the water brought her. The invigorating sensation was then dashed aside by embarrassment for the greed that had come over her. “Sorry, my love. You have no idea what it means to be dying of thirst when you cannot die.”
“The worst is over Goddess. We should be able to find more water soon. The river leads to some mountains. It should be easier to draw water there.”
Vantaiga scanned the distant horizon. “At last. You can’t imagine how much I want to see something other than desert rocks, even if it’s just mountain rocks.”
Syffox allowed himself a chuckle. “Yes, you have no idea how glad I am to see the mountains as well.” He gave his head a shake and spoke under his breath. “You really don’t.”
