They finished rebuilding the shrine by dusk. While anywhere but the depot seemed a better place to be, none of us much fancied setting out across the sand in the dark. We retreated to the top of the tallest rocky mound: the Chthonians - if that's what they were - had avoided rock.
Fogrim and I did not sleep: we stayed up around a fire, watching and listening. From where we were perched, we could see Tela; her slender body lit by a campfire a few feet from the tree. It was not there to keep her warm but to deny her to the giant scorpions. She remained still, quiet as a corpse.
"This has gone far enough," I held my hands to the fire. "The fortress guards can't still be looking for us. Let's go."
"Stikken will say we deserted," he sipped a mug of tea. "At the least, that will draw attention to us. And then, we will be found out."
"What makes you think the idiot will survive long enough to get back?"
"The giant vultures have not attacked us yet because we are still too many in number," he replied, looking into the fire. But they will not be afraid of just two men in the desert. Even giant scorpions would not be afraid. But, the Hataduri thieves took most of the food. This band has supplies for only another two or three days before we must turn back. We are almost at our dig site. If we remain, we will lose only a few more days - and we will be more likely to survive."
"I'm more worried about surviving this night!"
"The Chthonians will not cross rock," he replied. "I'm sorry I brought this upon us, Gerard. This detour has cost us valuable days at the least, but we must not rush into danger absent reason or need."
"Escaping into the ruins was the right thing to do," I replied, crossing my arms. "But now, we need to do the right thing, again. Stikken will kill us off. It will come down to just the two of us and him, anyway. But, we'll be deeper into the ruins by then. It will take longer to get back. We'll be in more danger than if left now."
His eyes had a faraway look.
"Snap out of it," I waved my hand in front of his face. "You're like a walking dead man. You're thinking about the curse, aren't you? There is no curse! Megaros said so."
"Who is he to know of such things?" he looked at me, scowling.
"Who's he? Someone who has survived here for years."
"So he says. No man can live out here!"
"Fogrim, you didn't give up worrying what Yog thinks of what you had for breakfast, to let another dumb superstition rule you. It's all the same. There's no proof behind any of it. You just see patterns where there aren't any. It's human nature."
He did not seem convinced.
"Yog does exist," he said finally. "My mistake had been thinking he cared for his followers and that his worship brought reward. I reject the worship of Yog, but he still is. A curse is the same. It does not require my accepting it to have power."
"There is no curse, Fogrim."
"And yet, our number is halved."
"Their number is halved. It's because of Stikken's stupidity, and nothing else."
"Then, perhaps Stikken is the curse?"
I rolled my eyes. "Then let's just kill him!"
"But what if he is not the curse?"
"You see how you've trapped yourself?" I threw up my hands.
He looked back at the fire and wrapped his arms around his knees like a small child. It was the most afraid I'd ever seen him. This was the man who had climbed down an ancient well to help me, back at the Borderlands. A crack shot with a spear. A man who raised a posse of warriors to take on a force more than fifty times their number.
Here is how this world controlled such men. In the doubts and terrors of their own minds.
I patted him on the shoulder and stood. We were going to leave, but it was up to me to figure out how.
At the edge of the camp, looking down over the still-smoldering ruins of the depot, was a guard. Ikram, I think his name was, a city man from Koval. He stayed behind a campfire at all times, ruining any chance of night vision. I studied him till I was sure he would not turn around.
I went to the supply sleds.
The two were parked together in the center of our camp. There were no slaves about: they were secured in our tents. Wrapped parcels and crates were tied down on the sleds. At the center of each sled were large, clay jars, sawdust, and straw packed around them for protection.
I knelt and opened one: it was filled with water.
Water!
Was it really that simple? I lifted the jar and studied it, wondering how it could best lose its contents. I could just dump it out, but obvious sabotage would create problems. What if I made a hole at the bottom? The leak would ruin our other supplies, but what did that matter? If we needed food, we could hunt.
I put the jar down and tried to estimate how much water we would need to make it back. Yes, just three of these… the others I could destroy. Stikken would have no choice! Megaros had a well, but if Stikken had known of it, surely he would have had us refill there? No, this was the perfect-
"What are you doing?"
I looked up.
Zealot was walking towards me, his hand at his hip. I did not need to see the knife to know it was there.
"None of your business."
"Get away from there."
We locked eyes. I wondered if he was weighing murdering me, as I was, him.
"I needed some water," I put the jar down and stood.
"You have your day's ration! Do not seek to deprive others what you have pissed away in the sands."
"Of course," I dusted my hands. "I forget myself."
"I will report this," he faced me, feet apart, stance tense and ready. "Stikken will punish you."
"No doubt," I cracked my knuckles. "Whatever happens from here, I have no one to blame but myself."
We stared at each other.
"The sand! The sand!" Ikram yelled from the edge of the camp. "There's something in the sand!"
Stikken popped out of his tent, grabbed a burning brand from his campfire, and ran to see what it was. Zealot gave me a last murderous look but then followed Stikken like a lapdog. An old, bearded man, a quiet Darfuri who was the only other surviving man, emerged from the shadows barely twenty feet away, his bow ready. Had he been there the whole time? He gave me a knowing look and then went to see the commotion.
He could have shot me at any time.
I went to see what the fuss was about. Ikram was talking so fast he mumbled, pointing again and again at the sand out beyond the depot. Stikken yelled commands and waved his sword at the dark.
Fogrim walked up to me.
"I don't see anything."
"There's nothing out there to see," he replied. "The guard jumps at shadows. We will get poor rest tonight. What were you doing?"
"Nothing I could finish in time."
"Would you, given second chance?"
I regarded Zealot - he was staring at me, eyes slitted.
"I've not killed a man I didn't have to, or who didn't deserve it," I replied. "I'm not changing that."
***
I awoke in my tent the next morning to Onska's lips around my penis.
The brunette was kneeling between my legs, head down, wrists bound behind her back. I had also tied her ankles to her lower thighs. This was called a 'frogtie' in the 21st century as made for a frog-like stance. Hyperboreans called it 'the blooming flower.' It forced the legs apart, baring the treasure that lay between.
Her head bobbed up and down, her mouth making dulled sucking sounds.
She looked up at me and smiled.
"Do not stop, Slave," I sat up on my elbows.
She got back to work, head pumping. I gripped her head and pressed it down as I came. She remained still as I ejaculated. When I was done, I let go of her head.
She lifted her head up, half-opened her mouth, and showed me. It was filled with light grey. She remained like that as I sat up and leaned forward, studying it.
I spat - she winced as I missed, saliva hitting her cheek. I spat a second time - it went into her mouth.
"Swallow."
She closed her mouth and obeyed. She opened her mouth and showed me before smiling proudly.
"Thank you, Master!"
"Finish."
The thoroughly degraded girl put her head down and cleaned the shaft, wiping it with her tongue and lips. She kept on licking once the semen was gone, determined and careful. I enjoyed the sight of the tall, tanned brunette pet hard at work.
"You are clean, Master," she stopped and looked up at me, her breath warm against my penis. "Shall I continue, Master?"
"No," I stroked her cheek. It was warm, soft. I wanted to bite it. "No, now is not the time for sport with you, pretty bitch."
"Yes, Master," she sounded disappointed.
I first removed the ties that bound her ankles to her thighs.
"I have not been bound that way before," she looked down the ropes and slowly stretched her legs out.
"You have lovely, slim legs," I smacked her thigh, "but you look best, kneeling and lying on the ground. There's a quiet little town in the Borderlands named Dura. Have you heard of it?"
"No, Master."
"Dura has cold winters. If we get out of this, I'll steal you and take you back there. You'll be on a leash this short," I indicated two handspans, "chained to a floor ring, in front of the fireplace."
"You will keep me on a rug, Master?"
"You will be my rug."
She brightened.
I dressed and stepped out of the tent. Slave girls went about preparing the morning meal, heads down, and rushing.
One of them was Tela.
"Hey!" I snapped my fingers.
The tall Darfuri beauty stopped, one of the clay water jars held with both hands. She turned to face me, head down.
"What happened?"
"It did not come for me, Master," she said to the sand. "Master Stikken cut me down and set me to task."
"So that's it then? You're safe!" I was relieved.
"May I attend my tasks, Master?"
Why had she been spared? I waved her away.
All the men but Fogrim sat around a fire. Stikken was regaling them with some tale or the other; his manner seemed brash and full of swagger. He saw me and smiled like a plotting palace courtier.
"Greetings, Tenth Man!" he called out. "Did you sleep well?"
"He looks most displeased," said Zealot. He gave me a murderer's smile and scraped porridge from the bottom of his bowl.
"True words, Brother," said Ikram. "Maybe he is disappointed the Mi-Go protected us for our faith!"
"Do not look sad, Tenth Man," Stikken held his cup out to me. "Maybe tomorrow we will all be eaten, yes? And then you will be right!"
Stikken and the men laughed. I went to find Fogrim.
He was just beyond the bounds of the camp, standing on a boulder and looking down at the ruined depot.
"There was something here last night," he pointed to sands below. "Look at those trails."
"What trails?"
"Look."
I studied the destroyed camp. I was about to give up when I noticed a slight upwelling that cut across a dune.
"I think I see it."
"There's more. They're all around our mound like it was looking for a way to enter."
"The shrine is still up," I shook my head. "I don't understand. Why didn't the Chthonian destroy it? And why did it spare the slave?"
"I cannot say," he got down from the boulder, "but if I was hunting quarry that had gone to ground, I would give it no reason to remain hiding. I heard Stikken saying he thinks that the beasts are gone. Once we leave the safety of these rocks, we will be in danger."
I regarded Stikken and his men. They were getting up, slave girls rushing to clear away the remains of the meal.
"Then this is it," I said. "This is our last chance to desert."
He shook his head.
"Fine. I'll back you on this."
"Thank you, Brother."
All that mattered now was that we came out on the other end of this. Our whole journey had come down to this critical point!
Tela carried her water jar to the men around the fire. She knelt at each man's feet and waited for him to hand her his waterskin. Once she'd finished with them, she walked towards us.
I held out my waterskin.
She froze and looked back over her shoulder.
Stikken was watching us. He sneered and shook his head.
"I am sorry, Master," said the Darfuri girl. "I do not know what to do."
"It's alright," I put away my empty waterskin. "Fill my friend's."
"Yes, Master," she bowed her head and went to Fogrim.
"What's that about?" Fogrim handed the slave girl his water skin.
"Consequences for actions," I replied. "Nothing I didn't expect."