Previously
Jacinta had tried to keep track of the passing of the days but her time alone in the desert was now a blur. She could have been out there for two days or two weeks for all she knew. No. Not two weeks. She would not still have been alive if she had been alone for two weeks. Being raised by desert dwellers had given her the necessary skills to survive as long as she had but her body and mind were now feeling the effects of the relentless, merciless sun.
A small group of rocks, which were out of sight of the camp, had become her home. These rocks would have provided little in the way of protection for an adult but Jacinta had managed to make use of them. She had crept into the camp one night and taken some scraps of food and a blanket woven from goat hair, the same material her people used for their tents.
Each morning, as the sun began to taunt the valley, Jacinta created a shelter among the rocks. She hid under her blanket which she covered with a thin layer of sand to help her blend into the surroundings. During the day she slept fitfully, occasionally drifting into the same, fevered dream of an unblinking blue eye staring at a rock from which dark red, almost black blood was flowing slowly. In the middle of one such dream a distant rumble invaded her sleep. Quiet at first it gradually got louder and louder. The blood seemed to flow from the rock in time with the insistent pounding as the blue eye pulsed malevolently.
Jacinta jolted awake, her heart beating wildly, every part of her body tingling with anxiety. She became aware that the noise from her dream was disturbingly real. She kept still under her blanket and listened. After a few moments she carefully peered out of her makeshift shelter.
The last rays of the sun were dancing on the horizon providing enough light to see the source of the noise clearly. A little way off she could make out a group of travellers and the creatures they had been riding. They must have been riding hard to make that much noise on the desert floor. There were three of them, tending to their rides and preparing a camp.
It was the creatures which captured Jacinta’s attention first. She had never seen anything like them. She studied the one closest to her. Four highly muscled legs supported a sleek body which must have been twice Jacinta’s height. An elongated head was supported by a strong neck on which a tangled mane of hair glistened in the dying light. A long tail twitched aimlessly at its rear. The body, neck and head were a deep reddish brown but the legs and hair were as black as a starless night. It was both majestic and frightening.
Turning to the riders Jacinta was struck by the paleness of their skin. They took off their plain looking riding cloaks to reveal a colourful array of what she presumed were well crafted garments. Just before the sun finally dropped to the other side of the world she caught glimpses of gold and silver, ruby and emerald.
The trio hastily erected a small tent and built a fire which they were soon using to prepare a meal. The smell of cooking assailed Jacinta, teasing her and reminding her how hungry she was. The aroma was strange but not unpleasant. The only thing keeping her from revealing herself was that her fear was far stronger than her hunger. She remained hidden under her blanket among the rocks and watched. And listened.
The strangers’ words slithered faintly to Jacinta in the night air, not clear enough to be fully understood. She could hear enough to know that the language was similar to her own but it sounded much softer and more lilting than the harsh, staccato tongue of her tribe. There was one word, however, which she heard repeated several times and which was pronounced exactly the same way as it was by her people: passcode.
A brief glimmer of hope rose in the midst of her fear and uncertainty. Did these people hold the key that could free her brother Mikel from the Watcher? Hope and fear and wonder and frustration swirled within her. She wished she could get closer in order to hear more but there was no way to do so and ensure she stayed undetected. So she remained still, trying to calm herself by silently reciting the Prayer of the Desert Mothers.
The travellers finished their meal, extinguished the fire and settled down to rest for the night. Jacinta hoped this might give her the opportunity to scavenge but one of the riders always kept watch while the other two slept. The night seemed to last forever, enveloping her in a shroud of loneliness.
Eventually the darkness let the merest hint of light taint it. The riders packed their camp silently, forgoing breaking their nightly fast but ensuring their steeds were fed and watered. They mounted and began to move up the nearby incline. Unlike the noisy gallop of the previous day they moved slowly, almost reverently.
When they reached the crest of the hill they stayed unmoving for a long time. Jacinta knew that they were looking down upon the concrete wall which was part of the Watcher’s Keep. When the sky contained more light than dark they moved again. As they descended and their heads disappeared from view Jacinta also began to move. Slowly at first but then suddenly breaking into a run.
She wanted to warn them about the Watcher, to tell them of all those who had gone before them only to fall at the last. But mostly, she wanted to tell them of her brother, her only remaining family.
She ran faster, every moment fearing the flash of light which always came when visitors stayed too long and raised the ire of the Keep’s guardian.
Jacinta reached the top of the hill and collapsed as she looked down to the Keep. There was no sign of the riders or their mounts.
***
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Shelley, Ozymandias
