Red Earth

The sun bore down on the brown earth, baking it into a dusty cracked clay that stretched for miles to see. If you stepped on it you would feel it crunch beneath your feet and the hot sand beneath would pour free, ready to be baked by the sun again. Because of this footsteps would stay visible for many days on the great plain. If you ever got lost, you could just turn around and walk your way back, following the line of your own red feet, painted red.

The people called it the grace of the sun. They believed he was helping guide travellers from his realm back to their own. Xotoi however knew that was a ridiculous notion. If the sun god cared so much for his travellers, then why would he watch from on high as they died of thirst day after day. the hypocrisy of immortals never failed to amuse him. If the sun god loved him then he would send some water for Xotoi to drink, until then...

Just thinking of water make the merchants mouth feel dry and he was unable to stop himself drawing from his canteen. The cool water slid down his throat and Xotoi thought that there was no sweeter taste in all the world.

His old Ulmata watched him drink with wide sad eyes. Xotoi shook his head at her apologetically. The wide horned creature was built for the desert crossing. her heavy plates provided shade and her thick abdomen held water for far longer than Xotoi could. You knew times were desperate when you had to let the Ulmata drink before you.

“I am sorry Metis, but I am much thirstier than you eh. When we find the path, I will let you drink till your wide belly is full, yes?”

He patted her on the side, and she let out a long snort from her nostrils. Metis was an old girl but Xotoi would not trust this journey to any other beast. She had walked with him across the Isku hills and back a hundred times or more and he trusted her more than he trusted most of his friends. Then again, he trusted very few of his friends at all.

Xotoi pushed in the stopper on his water-skin and pulled on Metis’ reins to get the beast moving again. She plodded after him, her metal plates clicking a comforting rhythm as she walked. Xotoi needed that rhythm, it reminded him that though there was nothing in sight for hundreds of miles he was not alone. Travellers got used to being alone but just having a beast like Metis gave you someone to talk to when the days stretched on. Xotoi peered up at the sun. Benevolent god his hairy arse. Whoever was up there they were having a damn good time watching him burn.

The sun had been beating down for nearly three weeks straight and the poor folk beneath it were beginning to find that they were desperately low on supplies. Xotoi had seen this and been torn between taking the trip to the north and summering in the cool seaside of Bomor or making the long but worthwhile trip to Reth across the desert. Xotoi regretted to admit that greed had seized him and seen him take the desert road. The promises of high prices for his spice and silks had been too alluring to deny. Now he found himself dreaming of cool sea breezes and pretty serving girls with iced wine.

“It is ok.” He said, more to himself than to Metis. “We must only be a few days from the city and when we are there, we will have enough wealth to have a bath for the both of us if we wish it.” He said it confidently but a part of him was uncertain. When the water ran low it would not be sold for all the gold in the southern sand. He shook that thought away, it was impractical to think of things that had not yet happened and were outside one’s control. Besides he had managed in hard times before and he would manage yet again. If the worst came to, he would sell Metis and buy her back on his next trip to the city

“Or still.” He said letting out a barking laugh “I could buy a younger and handsomer beast eh? One that does not fart all night and keep me up with her stinking.”

Metis snorted and Xotoi laughed at the indignant look in her eye. He wondered if he was going a little mad. Ah well, who on earth wanted to be completely sane. Yes, he was quite sure that things would work out, they always did.

He smelt the city before he saw it. It was a smell that lingered in the air like a sickness. Xotoi had smelt the same stink years before when he had served in the archon’s army. He had smelt it once more when years later he found his son on the battlefield, his young body pierced with arrows, the light fled from his brown eyes. It was the unmistakable, hideous stench of burnt flesh. He had wanted to turn back but sick curiosity seized his feet and marched him like a puppet up to the top of a cracking hill where he looked down on the sight.

Reth, or what was left of it, was burning. The flames, stoked by the heat of the sun, reached up to the sky like a fluttering flag. In some sick way it reminded Xotoi of the offering pyres his people built to burn pigs alive. The city had been burnt like one of those offerings, from here he could hear the distance screams echoing through the streets. Xotoi put his hand to his mouth, his eyes threatening to drip precious water. He had walked though those streets only three months past with Meera, discussing prices and talking about their families. She would be dead now. her pale arms cold to the touch. He bit into his hand, trying to fight back a sob.

He could see men now, moving through the city like ants on a corpse. Their curves swords glittered in the sun and Xotoi could also see warriors on horseback milling around the walls. He turned and grabbed at Metis’ reins pulling the beast down and back the way they had come. If he was seen now, they would not hesitate to kill him. They were Latharian royalists, pushed out years ago by the republic, now returned and with a vengeance. They would cover the earth desert with blood, each death a small repayment for the murder of their king.

There would be no stopping for supplies for Xotoi, no selling of his fine silks and spices, no water to be purchased. If he stayed here, we would be lucky to only be gutted by the royalists and not much worse. Before him stretched the long flat line of his own footprints disappearing as a red line of sand on the cracked brown earth. The sun beat down and Xotoi began to walk. He knew already that he would never make it home. He was already out of water. It did not matter. He had always been practical, there was nothing left to do but walk so he started walking. Following his own footsteps towards his inevitable demise.

It was only two days in that they ran out of water. Xotoi poured the last drops into Metis’ dish and watched with parched lips as she licked it up with her thick tongue. It killed him to do it, but he knew that if he dropped on the creatures back, she would be able to continue on for many days. There were tales of traders who’s lives had been saved by their Ulmata. Xotoi looked up to the blue sky with tired eyes. There was not a cloud in sight and the sun beat down with almost mocking force. He groaned and put the dish away, trying not to think of licking the bottom of it himself. Even in desperate times it did not do to behave like a beast.

“That’s right!” Xotoi said, patting Metis on the side of the head “I may be as ugly as you, but I am not about to act like you eh?” he laughed but Metis didn’t seem to get the joke. It was then that he heard it.

Xotoi stepped back from Metis and strained his ears to the wind. The dehydration was giving him a pounding headache and it was hard to concentrate. It was distant but unmistakable. Hoofbeats! Xotoi swore an insult to the sung god and began searching his saddlebags desperately. The royalists had found his footsteps and sent riders after him it would not be long till they were upon him. Finally, his hand curled around a polished wood handle. He pulled the hand-crossbow from the bag at started stringing it with shaking fingers. he had bought it years back when resting in Bomor, a friend had insisted he buy one as a precaution but Xotoi had never had to use it. A part of him knew that it was going to be utterly useless against royalist cavalry but the old soldier in him fought against that idea. If it wasn’t for his paunch and aching joints Xotoi could almost imagine himself as a young soldier once more. An eager young fool who was about to find his own son, lifeless and cold on the battlefield.

The hoofbeats were closer but Xotoi dared not look up for to do so would cost vital seconds. The hoop of the bow finally slipped on and Xotoi fumbled a bolt into the loading slot. The bolt slipped from his fingers. he cursed again and scrabbled on the ground for it. The sun beat down and Xotoi could not hear the hoofbeats distinguished from his own heartbeat anymore. Where was that blasted bolt?! He thought desperately, the image of sabers falling on his back as he scrabbled in the mud was bringing sweat to his forehead, more moisture he could not afford to loose. He spotted the bolt and grabbed it, slipping it into the crossbow with sweaty fingers and turning to face the riders.

They were almost upon him. Three of them, well armoured in Black chitinous Armor riding desert steeds. They had sabres at their sides and Xotoi could see their eyes beneath the slits of their dark helms. Xotoi pulled up the crossbow and pointed it at the first rider. He drew short, the other stopping behind him. All three watching the crossbow with amused eyes.

“Turn from here and leave me be! I have nothing to give you.” Xotoi roared at them, surprised when his voice did not waver. The lead rider began to reach up and Xotoi’s hand tensed on the crossbow trigger, but he only took off his helm. The man beneath was young and handsome, cool blue eyes looked out from a mop of black hair. He was a tracker. The blue of his eyes a symbol for the genetic mutations he would have undergone to hunt the dead kings enemies. He smiled at Xotoi as he saw the recognition in the old traders face. When he spoke his voice was calm and confident, a young man swimming in deep water, unafraid of the dark.

“I have fought all over the world and I must admit this is the only place I have found my skills somewhat redundant.” He gestured back to the path they had come, a red line in the sand.

“It does not take someone with my eyes to see where you have been trader, what you have seen.”

He slipped from the saddle and stepped towards Xotoi as If daring him to pull the trigger and release the bolt. And why wouldn’t he, this man was going to kill him. Surely this was a fair exchange. But no. Xotoi thought of his son and how he had found him. His face down in the mud, his skin so cold, eyes so empty.

I will not leave another father without a son.

Xotoi realised it and his finger fell away from the trigger, the fight gone from him before it even began.

The tracker hit him and Xotoi stumbled finding the crossbow wrestled from his grip with overpowering force. The tracker held it now and lowered it towards Xotoi. The trader stared down the bolt and found himself fixated on the sharpness of it. soon, soon he would see his son. Then the tracker smiled.

“you are a long way from home, and I like you. You remind me of a man I know. So, I don’t think I will kill you.” As he said it, he lowered the crossbow and Xotoi felt his breath ease out. “but I can’t have you sending a message I am afraid” the crossbow came up again and pointed at Metis’ eye. There was a thwang of the crossbow string and the old beast let out a piteous bellow of pain. Then she tottered on her feet and fell. Her great weight sending up a cloud of red sand as she collapsed. Xotoi roared in anguish and leapt at the tracker who was not prepared for this. Xotoi’s nails dug into his face and scratched deep lines in his skin. He roared in shock and Xotoi suddenly felt an intense pain in his chest. He stumbled back from the tracker and saw a knife protruding from his chest. He stepped back and fell to the ground against Metis. His eyes fixed on the blade. The trackers face was bleeding and he cursed moving towards Xotoi with visible rage. He reached for his saber then stopped, his eyes going from Xotoi to the land around.

“Better you die slow.” He growled and walked to his horse. He climbed onto his back and glared down at the dying trader. He pulled out a water-skin and held it out, for a moment Xotoi thought he would give it to him. He pulled off the wax stopper and poured it onto the earth an inch from Xotoi’s reach. He pored until it was empty and smiled down at Xotoi, a cruel smile.

“Die slow old man, die slow.” Then they turned and rode away.

Xotoi stared at the place the water had fallen and licked his lips. He longed to suck the water from the sand anything for once last sip, but no, he was not a beast, he would not behave as one. The blood poured from his chest as he found his eyes fixing on the line of red footprints that stretched out homeward.

Such a silly place to die. Such a stupid thing to die for. He closed his eyes and decided to rest for a moment. He would wake up in time for his death, he was sure the sun would not allow him to miss that particular pleasure.

Something wet landed on his cheek. He touched it and saw to his dismay that it was water. His eyes looked heavenwards, and he saw with great surprise that a great dark cloud had covered the sun. another droplet hit his forehead then another. The sky opened and the rain began to fall. It fell cool and clean on Xotoi’s face. He opened his mouth wide and laughed as the water struck his tongue. The ground around him began to melt. The thick clay surface dissolving in the rain and mixing with the sand below. Xotoi watched it turn red. He watched his footprints, the last markings he had left on this earth, begin to disappear. He felt very tired now, so very tired. He eased back and rested his head on Metis’ thick hide. He patted the unmoving beast sadly and smiled.

“See, I told you I would get you a drink old girl, things always work out for the two of us in the end. don't they... eh?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, a cool dreamless sleep tangling him up instantly and bearing him down onto the red earth.