One of the peaks in that northern range was especially notorious – it stood a little separate, higher than the other peaks, and had a distinctively sharp apex. I made it my landmark; I drew an imaginary line between the shop and this peak, stood face to it, memorized the sun's position relative to this line, and went forward. The idea was that I would keep track of the sun relative to its position when I was near the shop so that if necessary I could return to it.

I strode on across the flat white plane, bag on my back, hoodie and jacket between straps. The sun was going lower and lower. The air was still warm, but the breeze was becoming cooler. After about an hour I stopped. The surroundings were still empty, the sun was very low, the lands turned from blinding white to yellowish, and the mountain range on the horizon became reddish-grey. I was not going to get anywhere, and I realized, that returning to the shop and staying there would be a much better idea. I rested a little and went back.

The peak was still visible; I kept it straight behind me and tried to orient by the sun – I figured that it should be further on my right hand now. Another hour of walking passed. The sun hid behind the western ridge leaving a line of red sky above it. In an incomprehensibly quick time, the heat turned into cold, and the wind became stronger and chiller.

I went on and on, and on, and on. An hour and a half passed after my turning point, and I still did not see the shop. The terrain was becoming bluer and darker. The red patch of sky was shrinking and fading; it was full-on dusk, and it was turning really quickly into a full-on night.

I stopped and looked around. No shop, no lights, no nothing. My brilliant orientation plan went completely wrong – I was lost. I was already lost figuratively, and now I was lost literally.

Nice, eh? Funny, I'd say even. Utterly hilarious.

I put on my hoodie and jacket and sat down on my backpack to rest and calm down a bit. I had my smartphone with me, and it still somehow had access to the internet. I was googling for ways to survive in the desert at night when a blink of light hit my side vision. It was a car, and it was running past a little afar.

I jumped up screaming with my phone high in the air. It was not too dark, and I was pretty sure they were going to notice. They did – the car slowed down and turned in my direction.

It was an old and dirty pickup. The driver – a middle-aged woman which I could not see clearly in the dark – did not hide her amusement.

“Just what kind of a devilish wind brought you here, little bee?” she asked while stopping beside me. Usually, I'm very hesitant to ask other people for anything, but this time it was desperate.

“I'm sorry, but I need a place to stay overnight. I'd really appreciate it, if...”

“Sure thing, pal, pop in!” She said without letting me finish.

----------------------------------------

We were traveling over the desert at a ridiculous speed – way past 60 m/h. The sand in the headlights flew so fast that it looked like a solid white blanket.

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The driver's name was Maisha, she lived on a farm (a farm?) not so far away (not so far?!). She asked me how I ended up in the middle of the desert; I told her how I arrived, how I had dinner in the 'Dead Fish', about my wanderings, and about the mountain.

“Oh, another one fell prey to that swindler Dow,” she remarked when hearing it. I did agree, that the prices there were rather high.

“And he didn't even offer you a staying?” she asked.

“No. Should he have?”

“Of course, this is desert after all... uh, whatever.”

She swayed her hand as a sign of disapproval. For some time we rode on in silence.

“What did you mean by 'another one'? Are there many others like me?”

“Ho, boy, loads of them. Coming in every day and every night, from every side of the Universe.”

I pondered over the last statement.

“There doesn't seem to be a lot of people here now, though?”

“Well, it's a huge place, the crowds dissolve quickly.”

The car bumped over something – the first obstacle in our whole trip.

“Have you ever been to the mountain?” I asked Maisha.

“Nah, I don't care about that. Well, I did care when I first arrived here, but now I live a good life on my good little farm, with my good old husband, and I don't want no mountains in my range anymore.”

She moved her hand in a crossing gesture, which affirmed that she actually meant what she said.

“Has your husband ever been to it?” I asked.

“Yes, he very much has. And sometimes he still goes there.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. You're gonna have a really worthy conversation with him, he loves talking about it!”

We talked more as we were riding across the desert. She told me about herself – apparently, she had come here following her husband, who had been dreaming about climbing the mountain his whole life. They came to White by boat (by boat?!), and settled near Bold Hill, where now their farm is. He spent three years searching for a way to see the mountain. All this time she was making money for the family, which was a challenge for her and for the family's integrity, but they managed to overcome it. He finally found a way, and one day they set out on a journey together. It did not go well: he got seriously injured, she herself almost died (she omitted the details); they returned to their house and did not make new attempts for a year. He was eager to go there though, and she said that he'd have to do it alone now. He agreed, and since then they had lived a harmonious life, with him occasionally leaving for the mountain and returning with precious extractions.

“What kind of extractions?” I asked.

“Different kinds. Artifacts, writings, some weird stuff that I'm not even sure how to describe. Sometimes it's something valuable, that we can sell on the market for a good price, sometimes more of a fancy gimmick, that we either give to somebody or keep for ourselves. I don't know, it's different every time and quite interesting. Yeah, overall, I must say that it is quite an interesting life we're living.”

Maisha said it while concentrating on slowing down and making a right turn into darkness. I couldn't see where we were turning to though; except for a light bulb hanging in the air, there didn't seem to be anything around.