Emily Rodda - The Shifting Sands

Grimly, Barda did as he asked, using the rope they had bought from Mother Brightly. It was light, but very strong. Lief tested it, and nodded. “Do not release me, whatever I say,” he muttered.

His companions nodded, asking no questions.

They drank a little water. Then they set off, weapons drawn, linked together by their lifeline, as darkness slowly fell.

The night brought no moon, no stars. The cloud hung above them black, black, and it was very cold. They had lit a torch, but the light it gave was small, and they jumped at every shadow. For a long time Barda and Jasmine had wanted to stop, but always Lief had urged them on.

At last, however, they refused to listen to him any longer.

“We cannot go on like this, Lief,” Barda said firmly. “We must eat, and rest.”

Lief stood shaking his head, swaying on his feet. All he wanted was to lie down, yet somehow he knew that if he slept he would be in danger.

But already Jasmine had untied her end of the rope, dropped to her knees, and begun fumbling in her pack. In moments she had scraped a shallow hole in the sand and thrown the Guards’ clubs into it.

“Never have these been put to better use,” she said, laying the torch on top of the smooth, hard wood and adding some of Mother Brightly’s fire chips for good measure. “Soon we will have a fine, cheering blaze.”

She beckoned impatiently and Lief, unable to resist any longer, flopped down beside her. Barda, too, came to the fire. Seeing that Lief lay still, he groaned with relief, untied the binding cord from his own waist and stretched out.

The fire rose, crackling. The heavy sticks began to glow. The heat grew and spread.

Barda held out his hands. “Ah, wonderful!” he sighed with satisfaction.

And that was the last Lief heard. For the next moment, there was a great roar, the sand heaved, and the world about him seemed to explode.

Lief was alone, among rippling dunes that had no ending. He knew that somehow the night had passed. Light was filtering through the thick, yellow cloud. The sand beneath his feet was warm.

It was day. His terrible vision had come to pass, as he had always known it would.

He remembered the sand rising beneath him in darkness and tossing him into the air. He remembered the sound of Jasmine’s and Barda’s voices shouting his name. He remembered the burning coals of the fire spraying through the night, dying as they flew.

But that was all. Now there were only his own tracks trailing off into the distance over smooth, sandy wastes. Now there were only the dragging, useless tails of the rope still tied around his waist. Now there was only the droning sound, louder now, filling his ears, filling his mind.

He was clutching something in his hand. He looked down, and willed his fingers to open.

It was the painted wooden bird that Jasmine had put in her pocket in Rithmere. He must have found it, picked it up, after …

Numbly, he slipped the little object into the top pocket of his shirt. His legs were aching. His throat was parched — dry as the sand itself. His eyes were prickling. He could hardly see. He knew he must have walked for many hours, but he had no memory of it.

The Center .

He was being drawn towards the Center. That much he knew. His strength was almost gone. He knew that, too. But he could not stop, for if he stopped he would sleep. And if he slept, death would come. That he knew most of all.

He staggered on, reached the foot of another dune, took a step to begin climbing. Without warning his legs gave way underneath him and he fell. The sand cushioned him, soft as a feather bed. He rolled onto his back, but could move no farther.

Sleep .

His eyes closed …

In Del, friends are laughing, splashing in the choked and overflowing gutters, picking up gold coins. He wants to go to them. But his mother and father are calling … And now he sees that the gutters are choked not with garbage but with buzzing red bees. The gutters are overflowing with Queen Bee Cider that is pouring from broken barrels lying in the street, running to waste. The bees rise up in an angry cloud. His friends are being stung, and Grey Guards are watching, laughing … His friends are dying, calling to him, but he is so tired, so tired. His eyes keep closing as he staggers into the humming red cloud. His arms and legs are heavy, weighed down. Behind him his mother says, “Softly, softly, boy!” and he turns to her. But her face has turned into the face of Queen Bee. Bees cover her back and arms and swarm in her hair. She is frowning, screeching harshly at him, shaking her fist. “Smoke, not fire! Smoke, not fire …”

Lief’s eyes flew open. The screeching went on. Something was circling high above him, a blurry black shape against a dull yellow sky.

Ak-Baba! Run! Hide!

Then he blinked, and saw that the circling shape was Kree — Kree, soaring lower, calling to him. He tried to sit up and found that he had settled so deeply into the sand that he had to wrench himself free. Sand had already covered the whole lower half of his body, his hands, his arms, his neck …

He scrambled, panting and trembling, to his feet. How long had he been asleep? What would have happened if Kree had not woken him? Would he have slipped deeper and deeper into the sand until at last it covered him? Would he have woken even then?

The dream was still vivid in his mind. And suddenly he understood what it meant. The words of the verse rushed back to him. “Not ‘be now,’ but ‘below,’” he whispered. “Not ‘survive,’ but …”

“Lief!” Barda and Jasmine had appeared at the top of the next dune. Shouting, they began to slide down towards him. Lief felt tears spring into his eyes at the sight of them, and realized that he had thought they were dead. He began staggering forward to meet them.

Jasmine screamed, piercingly. She was pointing behind him.

He turned, and saw what had emerged from the dune at his back. It was another sand beast, even bigger than the first. Sand still poured from the joints of its legs. It had been stalking him, but as he met its mirrored eyes it froze. In moments, he knew, it would spring.

Backing away, holding its gaze, he felt for his sword, then, with horror, felt himself falling clumsily, entangled in the trailing ropes that had tripped him. The next moment he was struggling in the sand, his sword trapped beneath him. Wildly he scrambled to his knees, hearing Jasmine and Barda shouting, knowing it was too late, feeling as though he was caught in a nightmare. The monster lurched forward …

Then it jerked, with a grating cry, as a blister exploded on its body. It staggered, lunged again, then toppled sideways as another blister found its mark. Its spiny legs kicked, and it began to spin, digging great trenches in the sand.

One ankle still caught in the rope, Lief crawled away, sobbing and gasping with relief. Jasmine came panting up to him, hauling him to his feet, freeing him from the rope. Barda was right behind her, a sling still in his hand and another blister at the ready.

Lief began to choke out his thanks, but Barda waved him away. “If I have saved your life, Lief, it is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I fear,” he growled. “It is my fate, it seems, to be your nursemaid.”

Shocked and deeply hurt, Lief took refuge in sullenness, and turned away.

Barda took him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Do not turn away from me!” he shouted. “What are you playing at? Why did you run away alone? Why did you not try to find us after the quake?”