Appo was no stranger to late nights. He was used to staying awake past the point of exhaustion. But the tediousness of looping around sand mounds from sunrise to sunset was becoming tiresome. He had nothing to do but guide his camel. It was mind-numbing.
The group had been fortunate, for they encountered no obstacles on their journey thus far. It was by design, as the group intentionally took the route least likely to cross any raider lines. They considered it a blessing though slightly concerning. Appo couldn't help but be nervous. He had seen so many screamers his first night and to avoid all of them not even two moons out? Strange as it felt, running into one would have motivated him. He needed to be reminded of what he faced.
Appo had not been awake his entire ride. He drifted off on occasion, propped up by his saddle. He occasionally awoke in fright, clutching at his now missing hand. Appo calmed himself by a reminder of where he was, which was typically accomplished by finding Gizzal’s stout frame outlined by moonlight. The Head fared far better in the desert than Appo expected. At a brief stop under a rock outcropping, Gizzal told tales of how he raced camels in his youth and had even been interested in breeding them before he took over the family gemstone business. He claimed he hadn’t ridden in over a decade, but after only an hour he appeared as competent as ever.
Gizzal remained a mystery to Appo. From his conversations with the other Heads, Appo had thought him to be little more than a miser. Gizzal himself would probably agree. But something was driving him, even it was little more than a guilty conscience. He was willingly guiding several strangers to Zabukama, a place so fearsome that a fighter as skilled as Isbibarra refused to share what he encountered.
And then there was that city: Zabukama. Isbibarra had told Appo it was not the true name, but rather a translation of what locals described it. It meant “Black Waste.” From what Mikal had told Isbibarra during their journey, it was an apt description. Appo often shuddered at the thought of what horrors awaited them in the city that released the Screaming Plague.
These ponderings carried Appo through his ridings. Before long, the sun rose over the dunes yet again. Appo could see that they were smaller. Flatter ground meant a quicker pace. After rest, they would reach their destination within two moons.
After passing through another valley, Gizzal reversed course back to the group. He spotted the halfway point. The three yipped their camels up the side of a particularly large dune.
First, Appo realized that far in the distance he could make out the Fincur Mountains. Barely a white border, the snow-capped range stretched into the horizon, fading into the Eivettä but continuing as far as he could see southward. The foot of the mountains was perhaps a month’s travel away, but it awed Appo that he was essentially looking at the eastern end of Ostior. They looked small from here, but Appo knew that if he got closer the mountains would keep rising farther to the sky, forming a wall that obscured even more mountains behind it. None knew what lay beyond its ridge, whether it be dragons or golems or forgotten gods. Perhaps the drunkard, Kostya, could have told him, but that was ages ago.
Nevertheless, the Fincurs were beyond their reach. Instead, Appo’s attention turned to a dune not half a league in front of them. He saw what looked to be a tower erupting behind the dune, built with the same weathered sandstone that comprised the temples of the Eivettä. Seeing any structure in the desert was an abnormal sight.
“We mustn’t haste,” said Gizzal. “We aren’t the only ones searching for shade. This tower is not on any of their routes."
"True," Appo agreed. “But what wasn’t on their map before could be there now. We should scout it, see if there's anyone inside.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Isbibarra. “Get me closer. My abilities are of little use in the sand, but if there is anyone in that structure I will be able to tell from a safe distance.” Neither Appo nor Gizzal complained. If they had to hide behind a blind man for this leg of the journey, so be it.
The trio led their camels down into the valley, coming around the other side. The tower was barely visible from this vantage, and the lack of any ridge patrols proved somewhat promising. At the edge of the dune, Isbibarra motioned for the group to halt. He gingerly lowered himself to the sand, extending his toes to cover as much ground as possible.
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“No one is inside,” Isbibarra announced.
“You’re absolutely sure?” asked Appo.
“The tower continues on twenty meters below us. It is about ten stories tall, most of it buried. If there is anyone inside, they are either dead or dying.”
Gizzal didn’t hesitate. He immediately led his camel up the slope. Appo wasn’t as eager, letting Gizzal confirm that the coast was clear before making his own way up. He was still adjusting to riding one-handed, and his good arm had long expended all of its strength. How the camels still had so much energy was staggering.
The cylindrically-shaped tower exited the other side of the dune at a slight angle. Two floors were visible, the top one half-ruined by a collapsing wall foundation. The lower floor appeared stable, though it was half buried in the sand. The walls were adorned with column fixtures spaced between three slit-like windows. Although well worn, the tower’s design was far more elaborate than anything Appo had seen in the Eivetta thus far. Most importantly, Appo couldn’t see any signs of recent activity. No footprints, supplies, or evidence of fire. The tower had long been abandoned.
“Unbelievable,” murmured Gizzal. “Ten stories, you say? Raiders are quite innovative for savages.”
“You give them credit they do not deserve,” replied Isbibarra. “Raiders do not build anything they cannot carry on their backs. This is Shadeonite work. This tower could be hundreds, even a thousand years old.”
Appo motioned his camel down the slope, gripping the back of his saddle to keep from falling. The window itself was half buried in the sand, but it was still two meters tall. The closer he got, the more Appo appreciated how massive the tower truly was. If it was as tall as Isbibarra claimed, it would have been far taller than any structure Appo had seen on the mainland.
Inside, the tower revealed a massive spacious room covered in thin layer of sand. The room had a spiral staircase leading up to the top floor on the right side of the room, and an adjacent staircase going down on the left. A makeshift firepit was in the center of the room, previously dug out by prior settlers. Otherwise, the room was completely empty. Whatever this tower held within, it had been picked clean by centuries of looters. Still, Appo acknowledged the architectural ingenuity its builders possessed. Upon closer inspection, he recognized the crisscrossing of parallel dashes and wedges; they were the exact same language carved on the walls and ceilings of Ash’s temple. Likewise, the carvings covered every space within, at least the ones not weathered down by time.
“Isbibarra, what do you make of this language?” asked Appo. “I saw it in Ash, but no one told me what it was. I presume the Shadeon carved it?”
“You would be right.” Isbibarra trotted down the sand slope through the window slit, using a spear to tap his way forward. “Shadeon left their trace on every stone they could find. I cannot translate it, though. None can. It is a forgotten tongue.”
“Forgotten? Has no one attempted to study it?”
“Towns along the Thorne are new. Like crabs searching for shells, they have made their homes in the skeletons of older civilizations. They do not know the horrors that were committed within their walls. My people were well acquainted with their atrocities and wanted nothing to do with them. When the empire disappeared, all of their works were banned. Little could be done about those faraway temples but their language has been erased nevertheless.”
Appo sighed. “Shame. Anything could be written on these walls. If the plague came from the Shadeon, maybe they wrote about it? What if they discovered a cure?”
Isbibarra laughed. “These are a cultureless people, Appo. They were only interested in the art of torture, the breeding of slaves, and the science of war. They cared not for the cultivation of this world, but rather the destruction of it. If you were to translate what was on these walls, it would not be poetry or the appraisal of gods, but rather the gloating of how many severed heads they could stuff into a sack, or how many babies their dogs could kill. The less you know about the Shadeon, the better.”
As Isbibarra ranted, Gizzal led the camels inside. They groaned as they trotted through the slit, and as they found solid ground they immediately lowered their bodies. Appo had to give them credit, they were flawless at desert travel. They deserved their rest.
Before settling in, the trio explored the tower. The spiral staircase below led to a similarly sized room completely shrouded in darkness. The floor below that was completely engulfed by sand, limiting further investigation. After their rest, the camels were led down to the bottom floor; in case anyone needed to hide, they would not need to be moved. Upon traveling to the floor above, Appo realized that while the wall had collapsed, there was a wide opening previously built into it. The three spent the rest of the moon debating over what the tower was built for. Isbibarra guessed the tower was once used for spotting enemies, and Gizzal suggested it could have once been a lighthouse. Appo couldn’t disagree with either theory, though he noted how easily he could view the sky from this angle. As a boy, he had been interested in astronomy, and often spent nights tracking the erratic movements of the stars. He could have easily done the same here.
Whatever the conjecture, the three had little energy to explore much else. They ate their ration of yak meat, drank a satchel of water each, and prepared to rest. Isbibarra and Gizzal slept near their camels, using their bellies as makeshift pillows for comfort. Appo simply curled up in a ball near the stairs, undeterred by the hard sandstone floor, and drifted off to sleep.