Chapter Three
Chapter
Three
Cargo
The sun seared itself across the sky.
For the most part, Isaac had never ventured out during the day.
Every night, he had stopped his march hours before dawn, taking shelter within
rocky grottos, the nooks of slot canyons, and the last vestiges of chaparral
forest, hoping to wait out the malevolence of the light. His uncle had insisted
he not take unnecessary risks. Rescuing his father was all well and good, but
the man had been trapped for decades, and he could wait a few weeks longer than
planned, if only to make sure his one begotten son would not perish beneath the
sun.
But even in the shade of a slot canyon, the heat remained
miserable. It never truly abated—only fell and rose in intensity, like waves in
a tide. It was a constant muddiness, a weight on his steps, a simmering
cauldron for his thoughts. By the time he entered the dunes, dried sweat had
collected in every crack of his skin, and no amount of water ever seemed to
slake him of thirst. Even the sandwyrms and their vortex of teeth hadn’t made
him panic like the thought of being caught by the sun’s light without shelter.
Isaac sighed.
Right now, he judged the sun to be just past its zenith. It
pulsed in the firmament like a throbbing, angry hole, turning the sky from blue
to a pale shade of red.
He tugged on the rope binding his hands, glaring at Zaria.
It was the peak of day. There was no shade or cover. All
around him, there was an endless quantity of sand. The hills were sand. The valleys and slopes were sand. Sand flew in the
wind, catching in his mouth and eyes. The sand was so hot beneath his boots
that every step into the mire felt like stuffing his foot into a blacksmith’s
forge. Before long, his shins were covered in burns, his ankles ached from
twisting, and the folds of his skin were completely crusted with sediment.
When he reached a clearing in the dunes, he looked over the
yawning seas of sand, seeing little else to focus the eye. Hazes of heat
shimmered through the valleys. It reminded him of glass.
He tugged on his restraints again.
“We should have stayed with the ship,” Isaac said.
Zaria was several strides ahead, expertly working her way up
a dune. She had wrapped herself in a loose-fitting shawl, the white fabric
forming into a makeshift set of billowing robes that were not quite dissimilar
from the journeyman’s robes Isaac himself wore. He noted, carefully, that she
was not wearing any boots. The pads of her digitigrade feet seemed to barely
break the sand.
“Them buzzards would’ve given us away,” she replied.
“They’ll circle for hours. Like a beacon for whatever nasty sort wants easy
pickings. Best we get some distance.”
“Even during the day?”
“No choice, love. There’s nothin’ for it. We gotta scamper.”
Isaac shook his head. “You have to scamper. You’re
the one they want.”
“Oh, what,” Zaria said, taking a loping step up the sand,
“you think my old mates would treat you like royalty? All crumpets and tea?
Some human mage like yourself, bounding across the desert with more potions
than sense—odds are they’d rob you on principle alone. I sure would.” She
glanced back at him. “That’s if they don’t yank your guts for scuttling a whole
bloody skimmer.”
Isaac glanced off into a neighboring valley of sand, saying
nothing. When he looked back, Zaria had stopped halfway up the dune, her brown
animal eyes watching him beneath the white hood of her shawl.
“You going to cover yourself?” she asked.
Because his hands were tied, he had to raise both of them to
wipe the sweat from his brow. He gestured at the sun. “Why would I want more clothing?”
The hyena snorted.
“What?” Isaac asked, incensed.
“Far be it from me,” she said, “to separate a fool from his
consequence, but I suppose you are my ward now, for better or worse.”
Isaac glared up at her.
She opened her arms, allowing the loose sleeves of her shawl
to dangle and blow with the wind. “It’s basic survival. Cover yourself, nice
and loose. It’ll keep the heat from your skin. It’ll keep your furless hide
from sunburn, too.”
He gestured at his own brown robes. “Is this not enough?”
“You tell me, squire.”
“I am not your squire, or your ward, or a member of
your unwashed pirate band, or whatever other epithet you care to insult me
with. My name is Isaac. I am a journeyman from the college of Khador. I have
titles and prestige.”
“That’s cute of you to say, squire.”
Isaac frowned. “What am I supposed to use for this shawl,
exactly?”
“I put a blanket in your pack.”
Isaac had noticed the robes she had stuffed into his pack.
At the time, he’d thought little of them, becoming much more concerned with how
heavily laden it was with water and rations. He didn’t want to admit any ground
to her, so he raised his tied hands into the light, saying: “I can’t exactly
dress myself, can I?”
This gave her pause. “Hm. Suppose not.”
“Yes, well, thank you for all the instruction, despite its
condescension, but I suppose I’ll do without.”
“Nah,” Zaria said. “I’ll do it for you.”
“W-what?”
She came down towards him, sliding down through the sand
with practiced balance. He hardly had time to blink before she was towering
above him again. His head barely reached the top of her breasts, and she had a
presence of muscle and speed that seemed to trigger something primitive in
Isaac. His heart raced whenever she was near.
“Raise your arms,” she said, reaching over his shoulder.
“Far be it for a knight to let her squire go underdressed.”
“I am not your squire.”
She yanked the bundled robes from his pack and forced his
arms over his head. He stood there, baking in the sun and no less embarrassed,
letting the zoanthrope wrap a sprawl of white fabric around his body. With her
standing so close, he caught another waft of her unwashed body. The smell was
thick and strong. Isaac grimaced as she secured the makeshift shawl in place
with several belts. He felt like a baby wrapped in blankets.
Zaria stepped back, looking him up and down. She grinned
with a row of yellow teeth. “Quite a fearsome sight.”
Isaac grimaced at his new clothes.
“Try not to strike terror in the meek and innocent.”
“You are not funny.”
A hot gust of wind blew at him, carrying more of her scent.
Isaac coughed and moved around her, continuing up the dune.
“Something wrong, squire?” Zaria asked, easily keeping pace
with him.
“You have quite an odor on you.”
“Oh, thank you, love. Made it myself.”
“That is the problem.”
She glanced down at him. “Whose problem, exactly?”
“Anyone downwind.”
She chuckled. “Spoken like a lad who’s never lacked for soap
and bathwater. You don’t smell like a wee cherub yourself.”
He tried to climb the dune faster, his feet sinking into the
loose sand. “You know nothing of my upbringing. It wasn’t all honeyed tarts and
ballroom dances.”
“Oh, truly?” She caught up to him again. “All cloistered in
your wizard tower, with three hot meals, a fire in the hearth, and a bed of
feathers to rest your head. Quite the image of suffering.”
“How do you sleep, then? Are you warm and snug with all the
treasures you’ve robbed?”
Zaria blew a raspberry. “I’m supposed to feel bad for
pinching fancy baubles? What good does a silver necklace do anyone ‘cept look
real pretty? At least I turn it into food and ale.”
“You’re a pirate,” Isaac said. “I doubt you stop there.”
“Just admit you know nothing of the world, Isaac. Save us
all the trouble.”
He reached the top of the dune and turned to face her. “Do
you know how many travelers you’ve killed as a cutthroat? Do you even bother to
count?”
She stopped just before him, further down the slope. “I
never killed a soul that didn’t have it coming.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t know better. Your idea of banditry
is all from books. Just so you’re aware, killing your mark’s the worst thing
you can do.” She waved off to the horizon. “You rob a family in a carriage, and
no one looks twice. Should’ve hired protection, they’ll be told. You slaughter
that family down to the last, and you’ll have the entire town guard up your
arse before you break camp. Don’t need to be morals involved. It’s just bein’
sensible with your craft.”
Isaac shook his head, continuing on. “I still don’t believe
you.”
“Look,” she said, still following beside him, “it’s all
about fear, right? You brandish your steel, you bare your teeth, you get the
lads all laughing mean like you’re excited to gut
something for a change, and you’ll have the usual wayfarers begging
your mercy, throwing their purses without you ripping ‘em yourself. You do the
show right, you convince the would-be heroes not to try nothing, and you skulk
away without spillin’ a drop of blood.” She shrugged. “Little bit of coin’s not
worth anyone’s life.”
“Oh, terrific,” Isaac replied, still trying to put distance
between them. “I’ve seen it all now. A philanthropist pirate, just trying to
help the common folk while she robs them blind. Clearly, she’s never hurt a
flower.”
Ahead of them, the dunes stretched off into the horizon.
There was not a single color other than brown to focus the eye. The sky was
empty of clouds.
“Never claimed my hands weren’t bloody,” Zaria said, her
voice gaining an edge. “Killed a couple score, at least. Town guards, rival
pirates. Some nameless sorts on the street. Ain’t proud of it, but that’s life
for you.”
Isaac snorted. “Like you had no choice.”
“Got a right to defend me and mine, don’t I?”
“No one forced you to turn to piracy.” He stomped into the
sand, feeling the kicked-up sediment burning against his ankle. “You chose that
path of your own free will.”
Suddenly, he heard a growl behind him. When he turned, he
saw Zaria’s teeth emerge from beneath a curling lip. “Look here, you foppy
little shit, I won’t be lectured by some spoiled cunt who’s lived naught but a bleeding life of luxury compared to mine.”