Eventually, I reached my destination and rapped my gloved knuckles on the door. Once, twice, and then on the third knock, a familiar tenor voice echoed from within. I opened the door, climbed the steps, and went inside.
“A good evening to you, master Gilgamesh of Uruk. To what do I owe the pleasure?” said a busy-looking Laes, glancing up only to confirm my presence, from a small desk bolted onto the floor of the vehicle.
The interior was filled with all sorts of things, foreign and exotic. A large chunk of Zajasite hung from a chain attached to the ceiling of the cabin, its luminescence a step above the stones that had been handed out to the guards and sentries outside. In a corner were the horns of some sort of creature. Hanging over them were a pair of delicately-curved swords in scabbards made from shimmering scales.
Noticing my interest, Laes decided to comment as he continued to work, “Shearwater blades from the old Land of Streams. I doubt their like can be found anymore.”
“Ah, that is interesting. May I?” I inquired as I moved closer to the weapons.
Laes simply nodded, giving me permission, and I drew one of the swords halfway from its scabbard. Near the guard, at the base of the blade, was a highly-stylized emblem of a strange, yet familiar, insect. The metal itself was not the silver of sharp steel I had been expecting, but a dull yet stately bronze. Only a ceremonial antique, I concluded to myself as I put the weapon back in its place. Not a potential upgrade.
“Magnificent. Wonderful pieces. However, to appreciate such fine weaponry is not the purpose of my visit. I wish to ask you about the plan for the road ahead. I have not traveled this way before and I would know of it,” I asked simply, wanting to cut into the meat of the matter.
“Yes, of course. We will be traveling along the Green Road through the Whispering Wastes. I would have liked to have stayed in the city of tents for the first rains, but as you can see, a measure of haste was forced upon us…” he explained, looking at me straight on in question.
When no answer was forthcoming, he simply continued with his explanation, “We will make for the Rump, the hills across the horizon. There, we will wait out the rains of the Weeping. Only after the rains, can we travel across the Wastes. Our Ankhset feels the call of her element too strongly to make an earlier crossing, so now we must wait for the rains to pass. I fear she is on the last steps of her path and the finding of her bliss. We must shelter her from it, as much as possible in any case. I owe her that much at least.”
The master of the caravan spoke to me as if I was an experienced hand, and knew what he was talking about. Had he grown soft in the head, or was throwing random things at me to gauge my reaction? Could it be that he believed I knew something that he did not? Something that could shed some light on this dilemma that he now faced? He paused for a moment, looking as if he was considering a different possibility.
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I kept my face as devoid of emotion as possible as he continued with his complaint, “Her children are still far too inexperienced to be of much use. Bah! Crossing the Wastes before the Weeping finishes, even with the most-powerful mages from the college, would still be suicide. Of course, any who cross without proper preparation would be but fodder for the great worms,” he griped, the stress and weight of decision evident in his voice.
“I see,” I said, ruminating on his words and feigning an understanding I did not possess. All of these terms were confusing, and they would require further explanation at some point. But for some reason, I did not want to show my ignorance to Laes. Was this foolish male pride, of all things?
Still, more information was required, so I decided to ask a pertinent question, “Tell me of the Wastes. I have never heard nor seen their like first-hand.”
“Ah, the Wastes,” sighed the middle-aged man, his brow furrowing in thought before putting down his long feathered quill, “I have traveled across the bone sands more times than I had a wish to. The Dust trade is a profitable one, but the route one must travel to acquire it is oftentimes fraught with danger. Still, many brave the great desert, for the Dust of Al-Lazar is in great demand across all the lands and can command a high price. A warning to you: partaking of the Dust is a joy unlike any other, but leaves the soul empty, save for a yearning that can never be fulfilled. The world will seem to be duller, a little more hollow, unless you take in more and more of the Dust. Ah, in my youth, I did many questionable things in the pursuit of wealth before I found… no matter. Just know, I barely trade in that substance now. Forgive me this digression.
I remembered the Alchemist’s words. “But… this Dust, surely it has more uses than simply a way to fill one with joy. I have heard rumor that it has other properties,” I decided to interject.
“That is true. Dust has ever been used in many Alchemics that affect the condition of the mind. Refined, I have heard that it can give one access to the deeper Dust Dream. A Dream so deep, that the functions of the body for the one within it while the mind is free to contemplate on the deeper mysteries. A fair few fools have even said that refined Dust is an ingredient of the fabled elixir of youth. A foolish notion, all the Dust does is cloud the mind with pleasant thoughts. But, enough of the Dust, we were speaking of the crossing the Wastes,” he said, steepling his fingers, a tension filling him and adding itself to the air of the wagon.
I was intrigued and wanted him to elaborate on the Dust, but the man pressed on without pause.
"The perils of the Wastes are manifold, but travelers fear none as much as the dreaded sand worms. In southern lands bordering the Wastes, they're known as earth dragons. Long ago, the elves termed them Sand Fathers, or Hul Abba. Such are the trifles one gathers on the road. Only the presence of running water deters the worms, and only on the verdant path, the green road, can a caravan pass with some semblance of security. Yet, even then, when roused, the worms have been known to attack," he paused momentarily, studying my face to ensure I grasped the gravity of his words. I merely nodded in comprehension, awaiting his continuation.
"Every crossing is a risky venture, and all pray for heavy rains for the season. We'll hold up on the Rump, a moon's journey from here, gauging the rainfall. Ankhset will indicate whether we can safely cross or if we're destined for a perilous passage. There, we'll bide our time for the emergence of the river, the water that will guide us across the Wastes to Al-Lazar. If fortune is on our side, heavy rains will persist here in the Grieving Lands. With ' tears abundant, the river will flow deep and strong. I will have to pray for that. Damn that Hamsa! The obligation he has foisted upon me gives me no other choice but to do so," he concluded, his speech seemingly having sapped him of his vitality as the worries of the future intruded upon his thoughts. Opting not to burden him with further inquiries, I expressed my gratitude, executed a slight bow, and took my leave from the wagon.