Heat and dry air filled his lungs. Hot sand pressed against his skin where and the dry desert winds blew his long black hair in all different directions. Gradually, consciousness returned to him and he stirred, groaning into the sands and furrowing his brow with the effort to figure out where he was. He opened his eyes and took in a breath before immediately coughing as sand was inhaled into his throat. Sputtering and spitting into the hot desert floor beneath him for a few moments, he rolled over onto his back and was met with the harsh glare of the midday sun.
Closing his lids to shield himself from the harsh rays, he drew his left arm over his eyes and turned his head as he coughed out the last bit of inhaled sand; His throat now felt dry and raspy as if a layer of the desert film was still there, causing him to cough occasionally. He rolled back over and got onto his hands and knees, looking down at his shadow on the ground. He took in another breath to stabilize himself and then sat upon his knees, tilting his head up and looking through squinted eyes at his surroundings.
He was completely surrounded by sand, a seemingly perfectly circular dune that surrounded him that was easily fifteen feet high. He was down at the bottom of this pit, and he was wearing what amounted to rags at this point. What color they might have been he didn't know as they were just various shades of gray now, torn and tattered, barely hanging onto his body. The cloth was thin and light, billowing in the desert winds along with his hair. Looking around, there was nothing else with him in the pit aside from the sword.
Half buried in sand as he had been just moments before, its intricately carved hilt was sticking out of the sand right beside him. All that could be seen of the thin metal was the waved pattern embedded in the blade itself and the indented crescent shape near the guard. He reached out and took a hold of this blade, gripping it tightly before yanking it out of the sand and kicking some up for his efforts. Coughing again, he looked up to the top of the dune and decided it was time that he got out of it to see what else was around him.
Getting to his feet, the blistering sand burning into his soles, he walked forward and leaned into the side of the dune, trying to traverse it. He made little to no progress this way and when he did he was sliding back down to the bottom of the pit shortly after making said progress. The walls were too steep for him to simply walk out of. His solution was to stab the sword into the side of the dune when he got as far up as he could, dig his feet into the side of it along with his spare hand, then pull the blade out slowly and reach up with it. He made inches at a time, but it wasn't long before he was at the top of the dune and crawling out of it.
Rolling onto his back, he rested a moment and caught his breath, trying to get used to the now much harsher winds. He wasn't protected by the dunes anymore and the hot gusts were easily twice as potent as they had been before. When the moment had passed, he got back onto his knees and then to his feet and looked around to discern his surroundings.
Desert. Nothing but sand and dunes and desert as far as the eye could see. Beyond a point it just faded into heat and the blue of the sky in all directions. He was stranded and had nothing to his name except for the sword which he held onto fiercely seeing the overwhelming task ahead of him: navigating the Wastes. He began to walk away from the pit.
The sun beat down on him fiercely. Sweat ran down his brow and nose, leaving droplets of himself as he went along across the sands. He kept his head low enough to see ahead of him but never high enough to look up. He would need to conserve his energy if he was to survive this and didn't need to waste it on looking for something he wouldn't see. What he needed was an especially high dune with shade that he could rest in for a while and try to get his barrings, but the desert was mostly unyielding even in this. His feet began to burn.
At long last, after nearly an hour of walking, he came across one such dune that was casting a shadow. Collapsing beneath it, he leaned into the sand and closed his eyes to basque in the cool of the shade, sword in his grip. He tore the rags on his chest off and wrapped them around his head, thinking that they might provide him some shade while he walked or comfort while he rested. Things did not look good and already the want for home was sinking into him.
No sooner had he begun to think about home though did things change all around him. For one brief moment there was an eerie still across the desert, one which he might have missed had his ears not started to ring from the sudden silence. He looked up from his position in the shade and looked around, trying to see what it was. He could hear something in the distance, a low sort of hum that reminded him of a bonfire roaring. He noticed that the wind had died down and that's when the realization hit him. Frantically he scrambled over the side of the dune and looked out towards the horizon.
There, rushing towards his position, was a massive cloud of sand. It was moving quickly, carried by what was surely a massive gust of wind. For a moment he feared that it was a sand storm. Ducking down beneath the dune, he slid down to the bottom and brought his knees up to his chest tucking his head between them with his arms wrapped around his knees. He clutched onto his sword for dear life, knowing that if he let it go for even a second in the gale that was coming that it could be lost either by being blown away or buried in sand.
He sat that way, not knowing just when the winds were coming but listening to their approach. It grew like the beating of a single drawn out drum accompanied by thousands of feet. Then it was upon him all at once. Though his back was pressed against the sands, the cloud of dust washed over him and the dune like the insignificant duo they were. His hair blew in every which direction and the rags on his head threatened to be torn right off! Sand struck every part of him as it passed and the winds howled in his ears so fiercely that he could scarcely hear anything else. His eyes were closed so he couldn't see but he could feel the desert shifting around him as his feet were cloaked and his back blanketed. It wasn't long until he could feel the sands start to creep up his sides as well!
Then it stopped, just as he was worried that he would be buried alive. The wind passed and the sand settled, individual grains sliding down each other into place before coming to rest. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, bits of debris falling from his make shift hood and hair around his shoulders. Looking around he saw that the dune he had been resting against no longer existed and that he was buried up to his arm pits in sand. He wriggled and twisted his body, pulling one arm up out of the sand and then the other, until he was able to stand up and shake as much sand off of him as he could. He wasn't sweating anymore because the sand had scrubbed away his perspiration. Looking around, he saw that everything was different now. The winds had come and reshaped the desert around him and left him in some unfamiliar place once again.
Lowering his head, he pulled himself out of the sand completely and started to walk once more.
How long he walked for he had no way of actually knowing. In the desert heat, time felt strange to him. The sun up above him bore down like an oppressive quilt, drawing the water out from his body as he might have done from a well, while the sand beneath his feet bit at his soles and vomited hot air on his skin. The unrelenting heat made it excessively difficult to concentrate on things as arbitrary as time and distance. Minutes were hours, hours were seconds, a foot was a mile and a mile might as well have been an ocean he had to walk across.
He didn't think about it though, as much as he could. As his lips dried and cracked and the skin on his back felt like it was bubbling, he thought about the sword in his grip and how he'd gotten into the pit in the first place. Falling had barely registered to him while it was happening, but now that he had time to just think and gather his thoughts on the matter he realized just how much of a miracle it was that he'd survived the descent in the first place much less the sword. Soon, he grew tired.
He started to see shapes in the heat. Shadows across the shifting dunes that he thought were hallucinations at first brought on by dehydration and weariness. They always seemed to be just out of eyesight and they moved with the sands around him. No matter where he looked they were there, blurred and runny. When he turned away from the shadows in the distance he'd only find more waiting for him whatever direction he turned. He stopped and stood up straight, squinting against the bright day light to try and figure out if these shapes were real or a figment of his imagination, and if they were real if the fear that was slowly creeping up his throat was warranted or not.
Wandering and worrying about the shadows wouldn’t get him anywhere though. He was parched for thirst and had no idea how long it would be before the sun set; whatever those shadows were he couldn’t risk running towards them and wasting precious energy. He knew they were watching him, he just knew it, he only lacked the knowledge of what they were to begin with. Looking around for a proper sized dune, the young man made his way over towards it and sat down in the shade it created, huddling up and keeping his blade close. Here he would sit and here he would wait, staying out of the sun as best as he could and waiting for the figures to come to him. With any luck at all, they could help him out of this wasteland…
An hour passed. To him, it felt as though many crawled along on their bellies. The constant worry of the unknown and the harsh desert sands digging into his back, all the while the shadows drew closer: he would have been perspiring heavily were the heat not already robbing him of sweat.
Within the hour they drew near, coming up towards him and his dune just out of sight. The shadows remained hidden behind the protective veil of the desert heat until they had surrounded him in a closed semi circle. There were twelve in total, each roughly the same size as the one next to it. If he squinted his eyes, he thought he could make out two distinct colors from among them – blue and green. They came for him then as he sat with his back to the sand, his skin red and blistered and his sole form of protection in his hands.
Monstrous creatures they were the likes of which he had never seen! Reptilian in appearance, they stood bipedal with bright flamboyant scales. Smaller arms with triple digit mandibles jutted out from torsos held up high off of the sands. Each of them sported a long tail that whipped to and fro excitedly, thin and powerful. Their legs were thick and muscular, ending in long toed feet with dark claws that dug into the sand in search of purchase with each step. Their heads, though, were what drew the boy’s eyes in shock and awe. Long almost beak-like snouts stuck out from oval shaped heads sporting two pairs of beady eyes. Atop these heads were a very exuberant display of feathers of all different colors, shorter towards the front and longer the further down their long, slender necks they went, ending at the shoulders. Two sets of jaws completed the picture, one atop the other for each, snapping and biting at the air impatiently with tongues, thin and wet, lashing out between amazingly pristine fangs.
The creatures swarmed around him! As soon as they were within view they darted around one another as if held at bay by some sort of invisible line. Three of them were green primarily, the rest blue. The blue ones had what appeared to be wings on their backs, tucked in and feathered with a menagerie of colors like those on their heads. He couldn’t tell at first, though. The twelve of them moved swiftly in front of him, mixing among themselves with such grace and speed to the point that he wasn’t sure how many of them there were until they stopped, all of them staring at the meal before them.
Three of them, the green ones, stepped forward away from the rest and as they did the blue ones dipped their heads down and lifted their tails, waving them back and forth while their wings flexed in waiting, nine sets of four eyes fixated on him so as to not lose sight of their prey. His gaze was upon the green ones though as they came closer and closer. He lifted up his blade and pushed himself up into a crouching position against the dune. Adrenaline and fear pumped through his veins.
They spoke to him.
“Look! It means to defend itself!” one of the green beasts hissed, its voice raspy and agitating to listen to.
“Amusing,” another spoke, its jaws alternative between syllables as it spoke. “It must believe it stands a chance...”
“No, it does not,” the last spoke, its head tilting and turning from side to side as it looked over its presumed meal. “Look! Look! Look closely and see – it knows it can’t run, not with nine barking in its direction!” After saying this, the creature lifted its tail and slammed it down into the sand, sending a small dust cloud up. This triggering chattering hisses and snapping jaws of each and every one of the blue variety, their necks swiveling back and forth in anticipation. “It must be delirious with thirst by now...”
He spoke back to them, his voice weak but defiant. “What are you?”
“It speaks to Us!” one of them hissed, lifting its head up and taking a step back as if offended by his words.
“Let it be of no concern,” the third to speak said, fixating its gaze upon him. “Let those be its last words as We sink our teeth into its throat!”
Slowly, the three of them began to move forward, closing the distance of perhaps ten feet from him to they in steps, each one taking them a bit further from each other. Their intent was simple. They meant to surround him themselves while the nine blue beasts stayed and stood guard. Though he could easily determine the reasoning for their movements he could not properly defend himself against them. Thoughts blazed through his head as fear began to truly take home, his arms nervously waving back and forth in front of him as he brandished his sword like a torch trying to scare away monsters in the dark.
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A shadow fell over the three green creatures and they looked up as one, crouching down in the next instant and letting out a combined hiss. They stepped back away from him and the nine other creatures lifted up their heads, suddenly alert and excited by something that wasn’t a potential meal. Behind the line of winged things came four shining figures, the light of the sun gleaming off of their person. They appeared in similar fashion to these creatures as though out of thin air, concealed by the heat until now. They caught the attention of a few of them who quickly spread their awareness through fevered barks to the others. One of the gleaming figures made a move and the nine took flight.
They took to the air almost as one, springing up from the sands in a scattered, unorganized, panicked manner that suggested the instinctual response of genuine fear brought on by surprise. Their green counter parts looked around at the spreading chaos and then to one another before turning away from each other and the boy and dashing away into the desert with astounding speed, their combined launch kicking up sand and giving him a hot coating. Just like that, the creatures were gone!
Their circle was replaced by even stranger figures. They stepped out of the rising heat of the sands clad in clothing almost the same color as the sand itself. Humanoid in general appearance – that is to say two arms, two legs and one head connected to a torso – they all wore similar garbs. A turban of sorts wrapped around their heads with a cowl draping down over their necks and shoulders with a covering over the lower half of their faces. Large, round, dark goggles covered their eyes. Their hands were gloved in a leather that appeared to be cut from the same cloth as their shirts and pants, each of which was held in place by a belt of some sort that kept every bit of their skin from being exposed to the hot sun. Most of them wore a cape as well – or perhaps it was a cloak, the boy could not rightfully tell.
After them, the gleaming ones came into view. Stepping behind the others, their foot steps heavy and accompanied by the sound of expelling air and the whirr of many a gear, they towered over all others present at what must have been eight feet tall. Their armored exteriors were thick and bulky, plated over itself in places so as to resemble platemail. They had no distinct faces. Only a dark cross cut into the metal of their helmets served as a facial feature. They were polished to the point of sparkling in the desert sun.
One of the leather clad people stepped forward away from the others and towards the boy. He spoke in a language that he could not understand and it earned him only silence as a response. He was doing his best to keep his sword held up high but his strength was failing him. His arms quaked and his vision was becoming blurry. After a few moments, he was asked again by the same person and their voice was deep and distorted, static and crisp in the hot desert air.
“Who are you?”
He blacked out and fell into the shade of the dune.
***
Cool water splashed against his cracked and dry lips, falling into his mouth and filling it before gradually slipping into his throat. It was accompanied by the taste of blood as the water washed over scabbing sores but it was a welcome relief all the same. He coughed as some went into his lungs instead of his stomach and he woke up again, frantic and wide eyed. The water stopped pouring.
“Easy,” came the same distorted voice from before, drawing his gaze to his upper left. The person in leathers was sitting beside him on a bench. They were both in the shade of a covered wagon of sorts. He was laying down. “You have been through plenty so far, you don’t need to drown now by accident after coming so far.” An arm was extended to him with a bladder of water in its hand. “Drink, carefully.”
He reached up and took the bladder, still coughing sporadically and painfully. When he found himself not coughing he took a drink and guzzled it in great gulps. The effort was hampered slightly by the bouncing of the cart. All the while he drank his companion watched him as though studying him. He stopped half way through a gulp and lowered the life giving water from his lips, looking over at what very well could have been his captor before frantically looking for his blade. He’d realized that he wasn’t holding it anymore.
“Relax, relax,” they said, holding their hand up and pointing to his right. “It is right there, we barely touched it.” The boy turned to his right and saw his blade leaning up against a bench to his right, well within his grasp. “We could barely get it out of your grip when we found you. You are very lucky that we did. Not many wandering the Wastes have the pleasure of running into a full hunting pack of reauslers like you had.”
“Reauslers?” the boy asked after a moment of contemplative silence.
“The creatures that stalked you, surrounded you, and were more than half way through discussing eating you,” they said. The wagon went bump over some invisible dune or rock, jostling the two of them together. It was then that he noticed that he was covered by a blanket and that his skin was red and angry, burning with everything it touched. The leather clad individual leaned back against the cover of the cart. “So, what is your name?” they asked. He didn’t answer.
A moment passed in silence and the passenger sighed. Reaching up, they pulled down the cloth covering over their lower face and revealed a dark, metallic device which covered everything from the nose down. Two cylindrical tubes stuck out from the bottom of it at diagonal angles and a large, circular ring was placed in the center of it. With the cloth hanging on the right side of their face, the leather bound individual reached up and took a hold of the mask, fingers being placed in precise locations so that a small hiss of air escaped before he removed the covering entirely. There was a face beneath it after all, clean shaven and with dark skin.
Setting the mask down beside him, the man reached up and took off his goggles revealing the rest of his face. He had dark brown eyes and a keen stare. “I am not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice no longer distorted and fuzzy but instead clear and deep. “We are taking you to a safe place, protected from the Wastes. I am only asking your name to get to know you.”
Another moment passed between them with the boy remaining tight lipped. The man did the same, waiting for some sort of response. Finally, the boy spoke. “William,” he said meekly, taking another drink from the bladder. The man smiled and nodded.
The wagon crossed over another bump. “My name is Joscur. You are in good hands now, William. We will take you to our city, Mirage. There, we will find you a place to call home… after we get to know you, of course.”
Joscur sat back on his bench and turned his head to the left, looking out the back of the wagon and into the desert. William followed his gaze and saw marching behind them a set of six men similarly clad in leathers like Joscur. The two of them did not speak as they moved along. Both knew that words would come later through means of conversation or interrogation, depending on how strong willed William was feeling. For the moment though, both rested. Each were equally thankful to be out of the blinding sun of the Wastes, William more so than his new companion.
As they rode along for what felt like hours, William drifted in and out of sleep. He was startled awake several times by the bumping of the wagon they were in or by the mangled voices of those men still wearing their masks. Only once was he shook awake though by Joscur who informed him that a blast of sand was headed their way and that he should cover up. He did so, hiding under his thin blanket while Joscur put his mask and covering back on. The wind and the sand battered against the caravan and yet it marched on.
When at last the wagon came to a stop with the sound of clanking metal and the hiss of escaping air, Joscur shook William awake once more. “We are here,” he said. His mask was off once more. “You have never been to Mirage, am I right?” he asked.
William shook his head, answering, “No.”
The man jerked his head towards the back of the wagon. “Come on,” he said to him, getting up from his seat and holding a hand out for him to take. “You will want to see how we get into the city.”
He took his hand and got up to his feet. He felt better after some rest and plenty of water though he was still woozy and he felt hungry. He kept the blanket wrapped around him as they exited the wagon. The six who had been in the back had all moved to the front, their masks off and each of them chatting among themselves. William followed Joscur around the left side of the six wheeled covered wagon and paused only upon getting to the front of it and seeing that it had no beast of burden carrying it along. In fact, there was none in sight.
He looked around and saw nothing in front of him save the group of men and the four huge, gleaming human shaped towers of metal that stood in front of the group of men. Beyond them was nothing but the rising heat from the desert sands; it distorted all else beyond the group unlike any other part of the desert he’d been in although it felt no hotter. William looked around confused, wondering what they were all looking at. Then, as if in answer, the four armored men raised their arms up in front of them and spread them apart, palms flat in front of them. At their touch, the air seemed to distort and ripple as though it were water. Then, the way became clear.
A circular opening in the air revealed that which was hidden – a city, streets, people. A rush of sound came out from the area that the four had opened and beyond them William could see what appeared to be a bustling settlement of people. As one, the group of men moved forward. Many of them removed their turbans, goggles and masks, smiling at one another and patting each other on the back for having made it back alive. Joscur looked to William and jutted his head towards the opened way.
“Come on, let me show you Mirage,” he said and stepped forward towards the others.
William followed. “What about the cart?” he asked.
Joscur looked back at him and gave a shake of his head. “Oh, do not worry about it, the animunculi will get it.”
William furrowed his brow and looked at the tall, gleaming figures holding the way open. He could only assume that they were what he meant by animunculi. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the word, animunculi, resonated with him: a memory distant making ripples on his mind as a stone thrown over water. The more he looked at them and thought of it, the more he doubted that they were ningen. Too big, too bulky, too still to be ningen in his eyes. “Come on!” he heard Joscur call to him and he followed, turning away from the animunculi and walking past them and into the oasis city of Mirage.
It was beautiful! Truly a wonder of a hidden gem. All around him, as far as he could see, were tall, bulky buildings that looked as though they simply rose up from out of the ground as though they had always been there. Dark sand stone composed their superstructure with windows and door ways and rooms and stairs all carved out of the stone itself. Intricate carvings and statuettes were placed along frames and on the corners of buildings, depicting all sorts of fantastical creatures that William had never seen before. People were everywhere, dressed in every color imaginable, thronging the streets and walking from place to place, cheerful and gay. The streets on which they walked were lined with stained glass that melded into itself to create a river of color in the sand, which stopped just short of the invisible barrier; immaculate. Stalls lined the streets and buildings with merchants selling goods or attempting to to whoever passed by – food, clothing, jewelry, oddities, there was too much to take in at a glance!
What’s more, as he followed in Joscur’s steps, he tilted his head up to find the tallest buildings and the skies itself occupied with people. Above them, rising a good five feet or so above the animunculi’s heads were people riding on floating carriages of flat metal, a bright green orb beneath them. Those who were closest to the ground drifted lazily along, chatting amongst themselves or even laying about lazily, apparently enjoying the sun, while those above them moved quicker and with a purpose. William noticed the distinct drop in temperature the further in he went. Within the city walls, the heat wasn’t so bad at all.
His bare feet padded on the smooth and glassy roads as he stumbled forward, his head craned up high to the skies above him in awe. Someone bumped into him by accident, tearing his gaze from the sky and making him spin. He found himself looking at an older, dark skinned woman who was looking at him and the blanket he wore with concern on her face, her arms held out in front of her as though to caress him. She spoke to him questioningly, speaking in words he didn’t understand. To her, he looked a pale, ragged young man fresh out of the Wastes in need of food and care. She wasn’t wrong.
A more familiar voice drew her attention away from William and he in turn followed her gaze. Joscur was approaching, his left arm held out in front of him. He spoke to the woman in the same language she was speaking, saying to her that he was a survivor from the Wastes. Her eyes widened and she turned back to William, a look as though tears were about to well up in her eyes on her face. She stepped forward and extended her hand, caressing the young man’s face. She remarked how pale he looked and asked if there was anything wrong with him. Though he did not understand her words or what meaning they might hold, William incidentally noticed at roughly the same time that everyone around him was dark skinned.
A few more words were passed between the two, with Joscur making a small gesture with his hands towards William that firmed up the woman’s face. Turning to him, she smiled warm as the sun and asked, “Are you alright now, child? This man tells me he rescued you! How grateful you must be!” She beamed, and her cheerful manner of speech and utter kindness in her face shocked him into silence. He could not remember the last time a stranger had been so kind to him out of mere concern. Joscur stepped over by his side, looking between the two of them.
“We must be going, ma’am. He needs to be registered,” he told her. She smiled and nodded. “Oh yes! Of course, of course! Please, if he is in any need, come and find me! I will feed him and give him clothes!” she said. William remained dumbfounded and silent, perhaps appearing to all onlookers as though he were he were some sort of mute. The woman turned and walked on down the way, leaving the two of them to their own business. Joscur looked down at William and gave a soft smile. “I’m sorry for that. Perhaps it is overwhelming to you to be observed and offered such kindness? You’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Though, you’ll have to tell them that you do not speak Mirage-Tongue,” he said, placing his hand on William’s shoulder and walking him down the street.
“The language you were speaking before?” he asked.
“The very same,” Joscur explained. “You see, Mirage is… well, as you might imagine being located here in the Wastes, a very isolated and self sufficient city; it has been for ages. Thus it is only natural that the people made a language for themselves over time. Makes sense, no?” he asked the question casually, stating a fact more than asking for an opinion. William kept silent on the matter. “Anyways, it is obvious to anyone looking at you that you are not from around here. We have a couple of legal errands to run before we can get you settled, but before that we can get you some new clothes and I can show you around the city a bit. Let me now formally welcome to you Mirage!”