The sand stretched into the golden haze of the late afternoon and simmered there. Nia-Uro scanned the horizon for the faintest hint of green or blue; the angularity of a structure; overhead for the wingspan of a vulture; and was met with cloudless skies. Goraning, she dismounted and dug around her satchel. She laid the papyrus taut against Ajaxi’s flank. With practiced precision, she marked the dead end with charcoal.
“The Dunelands claim us all.” She muttered to her horse as she restored her supplies. Nia vaulted back into the saddle and closed her amber eyes. Goddess, every blasted day was getting longer the further she traveled into the dangerous Dunelands, and with every passing night she had less to show for it. The rhythmic sound of Ajaxi’s hooves lulled her to sleep as he backtracked east.
Her chin hit collarbone. Her legs scrambled for purchase as Ajaxi bucked her. She fell head first into the ridge. Nia’s hands rushed to gain purchase as she rolled down the ridge. Nia closed her eyes; dizzy from the sky and earth bleeding together. It was not the first time she had fallen down a dune. She just had to wait until her body —
THUD!
“Huuuuuuuuuuugh.” The air escaped her chest. “Yup.” Nia hissed “that was it.” She gingerly rolled onto all fours, coaxing dust from her lungs. Wiping her lips, Nia craned her head up to Ajaxi. Her horse glowered back down from the top of the ridge. “Would it kill you to watch where you are going?”
The dusty colt huffed and shook his head. He took a cautious step down the sheer ridge.
“Fucking donkey.” Where even am I? Nia’s fingers met unnerving smoothness as she moved to rise. Curious, she swept with her sleeve to reveal packed mud brick. “Holy Skytops, Lady of the Dunes.” Nia observed her crash site slowly, realizing that she had fallen into a shaft. Nia pressed her fingers against the brick, prying it loose. The brick fell away into the earth. Nia rose and kicked a few of the surrounding bricks, almost gleeful as the earth ate them. Only one thing to do now, it was time to dig.
It was nearly dusk when Nia-Uro peered into the dark and disgusting tunnel that dropped into the unknown. Ajaxi watched curiously from the shade as she walked over to grab a torch and rope out from her satchel. “You coming?” She asked.
Her horse shook his brown violently back and forth.
“Coward. Your butt wouldn’t fit anyway.” Ajaxi jutted his head towards the opening, as if daring her. Nia stuck out her tongue and tied her guide rope securely at the entrance of the cave in. If this was another barren sand trap, the day was wasted. Nia lit the torch and peered into the tunnel. “Here goes.” She muttered, dropping the torch. It gave an anti-climatic tap-tap. Nia ensured her rope was secure and began her descent: legs first, then turn, grabbing the broken wall for purchase before climbing down. Her sandals quickly met rock. Flushing, Nia knelt down and grabbed for her torch. She ran it close against the brick walls, following the tunnel until she arrived to a frieze of lotus columns. The kiyr naming seal was a dead giveaway she had stumbled upon a tomb.
The brick that would have originally closed the tomb had long been destroyed. Nia moved underneath the freeze and further into tunnel, hopping that whatever she was about to find hadn’t already been plundered. Rock snagged her braid as she shuffled through the narrow channel.
She entered the antichamber. Breathlessly, Nia rubbed her irritated eyes and the air escaped her lungs. She tiptoed forward around flipped crates and tables. Although the tomb appeared to have been ransacked, whoever had been here was clearly spooked, as the small cedar tables were piled high with gold plated houseware and valuable jewelry. Nia bent over a bowl and ran a few golden shras, the currency of the old kingdom, through her filthy hands and right into her pocket.
She had come across an incredible tomb filled with enough treasure to pay the Conqueror’s tribute for years. Nia had to reach up and pinch the relieved smile to ensure she was not dreaming. Emboldened, she pushed through the antichamber in a weightless trance, enamored by the sheer mass of it all.
The burial chamber was circular, the domed ceiling long painted with five sided stars. At the other end was a small alcove with an upright coffin. Nia waved her torch in front of the death portrait. The stony gaze of a young man looked right through her. The artist had replicated the man’s countenance perfectly; from the prideful glint in his warm eyes to the thoughtful line of his lips.
“Who were you?” Nia wondered.
The death portrait extended down to the torso. In the dead man’s hand was a set of writing utensils and a reed staff. A scribe them. A hawk’s wings spread across his bare chest. Nia gulped, suddenly realizing what his aker had been.
He was lucky to have been born, before the Conquering.
Shame flared in her gut, hot and familiar. Would this man be ashamed that is descendants were no longer rulers but the ruled? That his kin were but a shadow of a once powerful kingdom?
Nia abruptly pushed the thought away. The man was in the oasis now. It was not his concern that her family was useless, honorless. If anything, she should be responsible, put her sentiment aside and raid the tomb for all it was worth.
Nia tore her eyes away from the portrait and to the weapons laid out on the altar in front of the death portrait. There was a bow with two quivers full of splintering arrows, as well as the man’s rotting reed staff. Nia took a step closer to examine the bow and shrieked at the snapping sound underfoot.
Nia reared back her boot and squatted to see what she had squashed. Half hidden in the dust was a shriveled and now crushed remnants of a hand. Nia wiped the surrounding area with her sleeve, noticing the long dead fingers were curled around something. Nia blew away the dust to reveal the hilt of the most brilliant knife she had ever seen. “By the lady’s golden tits.” Nia swallowed bile as she carefully pried the knife out from the dead man’s grip and held the weapon up to the torch.
She turned the blade over slowly. Front tip to hilt it was about the length of her forearm. It was well balanced, finely crafted; the dagger’s hilt was copper, with a cracked leather grip. Nia ran a finger along its razor-sharp edge. The blade was made of a material that was almost obsidian, but harder, and free of nicks. A gold cobra reared it head across the blade’s surface, scales refracting gold and orange in the torchlight.
Painted eyes burned into her hand. How a weapon that rivaled even the best of Ashenian steel arrived here was beyond her, but Nia was not in the business of asking questions of the dead. “I mean, it’s not like you need it.” Nia whispered, flipping the dagger over and shoving it in her belt.
Nia ducked back down, searching for the rest of the hand’s body. But all she found in the sand was a slender lamp, similar to the oil lamps used in De-Asha’s dingy pleasure houses. The handle snaked from a thin lid to the body with a flattened indentation. The lid bore ancient kiyr symbols inside an ovular naming seal. Nia’s contact in the market would pay a stiff price to own the antique.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Nia raided the remainder of the antichamber with her back to the burial chamber. Her hands methodically stacked coins, jewelry, and funerary statues into the narrowest crates she could find. She took her first trip through the narrow passage. Sweating, Nia transferred the remaining two crates.
Planting her feet squarely, Nia heaved a crate over her shoulders and gritted it above her head to the surface. There was a soft clink as the items spilled over. Nia was struggling to throw the third and final crate over her shoulders when Ajaxi neighted in warning. Nia climbed the rope to the surface and gasped at the sight of the raider.
“Hya! Get away from my horse!” Nia sprinted towards the attacker.
The raider startled and turned slowly, raising his hands. The thief was dressed in filthy travelers robes: the purples, indigos, and reds of his sleeves faded and fraying. He seemed older, easily a decade her senior. Sweat slicked black hair was covered by a stomped geometric hat. His thin eyebrows pitched in surprise. “You’re a woman!”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, thief!” Nia brandished her torch. “Now get away from the horse.”
“I don’t particularly feel like doing so.” His voice carried the effortless lilt of a Duneland’s dialect Nia couldn’t quite plate. “I rather liked him.”
“I liked him first!” Nia retorted, immediately furious with herself for getting into a fruitless argument with a raider. Nia glanced around his square shoulders. He had no horse, no camel. How did he get here? Did he walk?
“Well, I’m here now. So he’s mine.” The man hiked into her saddle with some difficulty.
“Ajaxi.” She barked. The colt bucked, throwing the man. Nia advanced. “You’re pretty unqualified for a raider.”
The stranger rose, his scarf now askew from his neck, exposing wind scarred cheeks and thin lips. “And you are the most unpleasant member of the fairer sex I’ve ever had the displeasure of setting eyes on!” He roared. “And for your information woman I am a peddler, not some lowlife raider.” He kicked sand at her.
“Right.” She said slowly. “So you are but a peddler stuck in the middle of the Dunelands, with no gear or supplies, trying to steal my horse?” Her lip threatened to quiver upward.
“I never said I was a good peddler!” The stranger’s voice lifted in exasperation. The stranger sidestepped her and backtracked towards the tomb entrance. Nia tensed as the stranger rummaged around the spilled crates.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh.” He tisked. The stranger pulled the oil lamp and held it up. “Here!” He thrust it towards her. “Want to rub it? I’ve heard it’ll bring good fortune.” His thin eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
“That is not yours.”
“Well, its not yours either.”
Nia watched the thief in silence, torch wavering, as he continued to wipe at the cracked lamp. “Stop that. It’s pathetic.”
“Not as pathetic as a tomb raider.”
Her cheeks heated. “I’m not—”
“-so shameful-” He chided.
“-a tomb-”
“Honestly! What would your ancestors say?”
“Raider!” Nia finished. “And don’t be a hypocrite. You just tried to steal my horse.”
“There is a difference between robbing the living and the dunes themselves.” The strangers sing-song voice now brimmed with threat. “Tell me, if your family found out, would they cut off your hand or exile you and be done with it?”
Her cheeks grew hot. “You speak nonsense.”
“Truth is not nonsense. For the truth is I am but a lost merchant in this vast sea of sand.”
“Obviously.” Nia muttered.
The man gestured around the dusty abyss. “I must have wandered off the pathia some time ago.”
Nia’s head jilted upright at the ancient kiyr word. “Where were you coming from?” Hope, flimsy and unguarded, surged through her chest. “Was it Aker-San?”
The stranger snorted. “Why would I go to Aker-San? The food is terrible.”
“You’ve been there?” Nia could hardly believe her ears. She was actually talking to someone (admittedly, not the most trustworthy source) who had been to Aker-San.
The stranger waved his hand dismissively and stood. “It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, only where I’m headed. Speaking of which, do you know where we are?”
“The Dunelands.” Nia deadpanned.
“Where are you going?” The stranger responded in an equally condescending tone.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m headed, only where I’ve been.” Nia smirked as her eyes detected his motions of strangulation directed at her throat.
“I’m serious. Where are you going?”
Nia sighed. “De-Asha.”
“Take me with you!” Gone was the bantering merchant, his jaw clenched with resolve as he thrust out the lamp. “Please! I’ll give you the lamp. It’s a very nice lamp.”
“I already took that!”
The man threw himself down in front of her, raising his hands in deference. “Honorless raider, wait! Wait! I’ll pay you for your trouble. I have gold.”
“That’s also mine.” Nia said humorlessly.
The merchant cocked his head to the side. “Fine. you strike a hard bargain raider. There is nothing material that I can give you. That is, that you haven’t already stolen. But surely there must be something I can give you in return for your guidance out of this desert!”
“I’m not some guide.” But Nia closed her mouth quickly. Even if he’s a liar, he’s your only lead. Was he really worth the risk. Her mind circled around the possibility. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I want information.”
The merchant’s smile was saccharin. “Name your terms.”
“I get you to De-Ahsa—”
“-alive.” The stranger shrugged. “I thought it was important to point out.
“Alive.” Nia amended. “And in return you will tell me, truthfully, everything you know about Aker-San.”
The stranger nodded enthusiastically. “Very well, I agree. Thank you, thank you! Oh the Goddess has smiled upon me this day by granting me, wait, I just realized I don’t know the name of my guide. What should I call you, tomb raider?”
“I’m not a, forget it. My name is Nia-Uro.”
“Nia Uro!” He said with surprise. “My how the mighty have fallen if one of their own is out here.”
He has no idea. Her cheeks flushed. “Enough. Who are you?”
“Oh, I am but a peddler, a wandering merchant, a feather in the breeze of life.”
“Right. Peddler it is.” Nia swallowed her mounting irritation as the aker stirred. For once, she and the monster were in agreement. “We’ll camp here tonight and ride at dawn.”
The sun had long set when the Peddler unfurled his lean body onto his geometric robes and fell asleep. Nia gathered the grave goods and neatly stacked the crates beside Ajaxi, tying them down to keep them secure for the night. She peered back to the tomb longingly. There was no way she could clear out the rest with her new companion. Nia marked the placement of the tomb onto her map before storing her supplies. Her head turned westward, towards Aker-San— the land of new beginnings— and the opposite direction of where she was headed.