Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

Dimah was serving Tarkon chai tea when I returned to the tent. Her eyes took in the dirty robe and the dusty sandals, but she said nothing. The clan leader might have been old and frail, but his mental faculties were still there.

“Where’s the dog?” Tarkon asked. He had a wheezy voice. Sand lung, they call it.

“Gone.” I had to blink back tears. It was the first time I’d said it out loud.

“So you’re just back from the reclaimer?”

I accepted a cup of chai from Dimah and said nothing.

Tarkon set his gray-whiskered chin. “We need a new Find, Polluk. You’ve put me off long enough and the clan is worried. I want you to do it today.”

I shook my head.

Dimah intervened. “Polluk would be happy to do it, Tarkon. Maybe in a few days. He’s just lost his dog…”

“Today. If you don’t want the job, I’ll give it to the other Finder. He seems eager enough.”

“He’ll do it,” Dimah said. “Today at sundown. Count on it.”

Tarkon was barely out the door before she whirled on me. “What’s the matter with you? This is our chance to take him down. He’s practically begging you to take over.”

“Sit down.”

“I will not sit down. You need to—”

“Sit down , Dimah.”

She lowered herself to the ground carefully, her eyes watching my face.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I have something to tell you.”

Her hand went to her belly when I told her the truth about my Gift and Shadow. She took the half-drunk cup of chai out of my hand and sucked it down in one gulp. As her eyes flicked around the tent, she twisted her fingers together.

“But you said it comes and goes, so you might be able to get a Find today, right?”

“It’s possible, but I have a better plan.” I told her about the hunt for the Great Water Hold.

“That’s not a plan, Polluk, that’s suicide. I’m pregnant and you want to go chase a myth?”

“There’s a way, but I need your help.”

I watched Basr leave his wagon and head for the center of the settlement. I let dusk settle a little more firmly around the camp before I approached his vehicle.

It had taken some persuading to get Dimah to agree with my plan. The Map of the Ancients turned the tide in my favor. I showed her the information about the Great Hold I’d collected already and described how Basr’s map would lead us right to the greatest Find in all of history.

From that point, she’d taken over. While I took a nap, Dimah met with Tarkon and the other clan leaders to explain how my recent loss left me unable to perform the Finding ceremony, but that I would offer to pay Basr to take my place. She even met with the young Finder to arrange for his services. All I had to do was steal the map and meet her at the wagon. By the time they finished digging on Basr’s Find, we’d be long gone.

I stood when I heard the sound of cheering from the center of the settlement. The Finding ceremony had started. A dull ache of loss settled in my chest when I heard the crowd noise. At this early point in the show, Shadow and I would be doing our mimicking bit designed to draw the children in.

Sand shushed under my sandals as I made my way to Basr’s wagon and deactivated his alarms. The interior was as dim and messy as it had been the night before. I imagined I could smell traces of Dimah’s perfume from when she’d been there that afternoon.

The Map of the Ancients was exactly where I’d last seen it. After removing a few screws, the map was mine. I snagged the sextant from the wall, draped a rug over the map, and hurried through the deserted streets of the settlement to the enclosure where I kept my wagon.

The dark headlights glinted in the light of the stars but the interior of the tent covering my wagon was pitch black. In the distance, I heard the crowd laughing and clapping. It certainly sounded like Basr knew his stuff. Good for you, kid.

“Dimah?” I hissed. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.” She stepped out of the inky blackness in a gray silk dress that shimmered silver in the starlight. She had one hand on her belly as if to protect our child. “Do you have it?” she whispered.

“Yes.” I dropped the rug and held the map up for her to see. The numbers on the ring and the star constellations were painted with some sort of glow-in-the-dark ink. “Look at that,” I breathed. There was no doubt now; this was definitely the Map of the Ancients.

“It’s wonderful.” Dimah placed her hands on either side of my face and kissed me. Hard. When she backed away, she left a smear of moisture on my cheek.

“Dimah—”

They came at me from three sides. I tried to toss the map to Dimah but she let it fall to the sand. I took a hard right cross on the chin and went down. Two more men grabbed me and slammed my back against the ground.

A halo of silver hung in the sky over my face.

“No!” I shouted.

But it was too late. The ring descended, rough hands lifted my shoulders off the sand, and I felt the chill of bare steel against the flesh of my neck.

“Wait!” I screamed. “I want to talk to Tarkon.”

The sound of the collar snapping shut was like a rifle shot in my ears.

One of the men laughed. “Tarkon has another Finder. He doesn’t need—”

Dimah pushed the man aside. “Our Finder said he wants to talk to Tarkon, so let’s take him to see Tarkon.” Her face was a mask in the darkness, just the glint of her eyes and the whiteness of her smile. Not a nice smile.

“I never really loved you,” I said.

She leaned into me until her breath tickled my ear. “I know. That’s why I made other arrangements.”

Two of the men frog-marched me through the streets while the third ran ahead to let Tarkon know we were coming. The performance oval was silent when I was pushed inside. Tarkon occupied his normal place with Basr seated on the rug next to him. Fully aware that every eye was on her, Dimah sashayed her way across the sand, her silk dress flowing like a sheet of water. She folded both hands across her chest and bowed to her clan leader in a formal greeting. She even mustered up a tear. A murmur ran through the crowd at the sight of the moisture.

“Tarkon, I bring you sad news. Polluk, my mate these last two years, has lost his Gift. I found him trying to flee your camp. He had stolen a map from Basr’s wagon.”

“It’s a lie!” I said. “That map is an artifact from the Water Finder’s Temple—I was going to return it. He’s the thief!” I leveled a finger at Basr.

“This is true?” Tarkon asked the new Finder.

“No, that map was passed to me from my master. I didn’t steal any—“

“Tarkon,” Dimah interrupted. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said Polluk, your Finder, has lost his Gift. He’s nothing but a slave now. We already collared him for you.”

Tarkon’s eyes were a washed-out blue, like the sky when it’s filmed over with high cirrus clouds. He squinted at me. We’d never had much in common, but I sensed a hint of sympathy in his gaze. At least I thought I did.

“The only thing I’ve lost is the trust of a woman who said she loved me,” I said in a loud voice. “Nothing more.”

Another whisper murmured through the crowd. This was more excitement than these people had seen in years. As one, they crowded closer.

Dimah stamped her foot and crossed the sand with her hand raised.

“Enough!” Tarkon was on his feet. The old man moved faster than I would’ve expected. “There’s an easy way to solve this. You say your Gift is intact? Wonderful, then give us a new Find, Polluk, and you can be on your way with my blessing. As for the map business, you Finders can sort that out on your own.”