Madrik lay on his back while his eyes searched endless blue skies, praying for even a wisp of cloud to shield him from the morning sun. It was a desperate yet entirely pointless prayer. Sand cracked beneath him as if it had been baked for millennia, never having experienced the sensation of cool autumn rains soaking through.
That was changing, in a sense. But the barren grit’s first lesson in hydration did not come from a sprinkling of water. Instead, it discovered liquid through a sticky substance of a crimson hue, one that was of singular value to Madrik. One that he really could not afford to spare, especially as seething sunlight began to flood the desert.
Madrik eased himself up while attempting to hold his numerous wounds closed, but quickly discovered he did not possess enough hands to do so.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded of vacant air.
It had been a long night. A long week, for that matter. Hell, it had been a long bloody life.
Desert covered vast swathes of Renryre Island, a hundred leagues of sand, shrubs, and death in any direction, and an occasional snake if you cared to scour beneath loose rocks. Few who still held possession of their wits ventured into the desert, unless of course they were trying to become lost.
Those who preferred to live a longer life remained in towns and cities sprawled along the fertile western coast, hauling fresh fish from the sea, and relishing sweet water flowing down lush valleys. Mountains cut straight down the island, dividing desert from flowering pastures, a literal line between life and death. A line that Madrik had crossed… at around the same time he crossed Tailfin.
Renryre Island’s most infamous crime lord had earned a reputation for finding creative ways to make his problems go away, along with his competition. Madrik was just that. A rival entrepreneur with a fool proof plan. But it turned out he was the fool. Tailfin had grown suspicious and opted to remove the complication before it became too… complicated.
Madrik had expected to be thrown to the ravenous tailsharks – alive, dead, or more likely somewhere uncomfortably between the two. Instead, Tailfin packed him up in a sack, dragged him deep into the desert, and left him there to wither. Didn’t even bother opening the sack before he set off home, but he did remember to kick him a few more times and damn near break his ankle.
Well, Madrik had a new plan now. He would take down Tailfin; cut him into pieces and throw him overboard – making godsdamned certain. Nothing but bloated fish would wash ashore.
Tailfin had left him with only one thing of use: the sack. Parts of it were already wrapped around his ankle, and he ripped off more strips to bandage his remaining wounds.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted again.
He had been hobbling along under starlight when out of nowhere something attacked him. Didn’t see or hear it, had no idea it existed until he hit the ground fighting for his life. But as quick as it arrived, his assailant bolted.
Madrik had never heard of any such beast in the desert. Nothing bigger than a wild hare could survive, aside from the occasional snake – and they ate the hares. Judging by several deep wounds in his arms and chest, his attacker must have been the size of a giant tailshark. The bastards weren’t known to walk on dry land, but still it ranked his most plausible theory.
Gritting his teeth as his ankle struggled under his weight, he lifted himself gingerly. The scene had not changed much since the previous sunset. Desert dominated in all directions, with mountains swallowing the western horizon, and he remained unsure where the nearest coastline lay. For two nights he’d been walking south while taking shelter during the heat of the day, but the stars had been restless, and holding a course in darkness while the sky kept moving was no easy task.
He searched for any sign of shelter nearby. Maybe even an oasis, with a fireplace prepared and a lamb waiting, willing to sacrifice itself as a sumptuous dinner. The best he could find was a half dead tree with a trunk fat enough to lean on, but it would be no good to him come midday. Despite the pain in his ankle, he forced himself on, all the while keeping watch for any tailsharks wandering around on two fins. With lips cracking, head aching, and eyes burning, he didn’t fancy his chances much – not without a little divine intervention. Yet by noon, his pains were thrice as bad, and still no divine entities had bothered to intervene.
That was when he heard an unusual noise. By sight alone he could swear there was nothing there, but his ears insisted something enormous approached. It sounded like a dog the size of a house, warning an even bigger beast to back away. Another growl soon followed, even louder; it came from right in front of him.
As the most obvious course of action in such a situation, he turned to run, having momentarily forgotten about his ankle, and only managed to topple over in a heap of groaning pain.
A vicious hiss soon challenged the growling. The damned things were right there, yet he still couldn’t see them. Despite a lack of visual confirmation, he felt fairly certain a giant invisible dog was about to fight a giant invisible cat. Godsdammit, that couldn’t be right.
Dust burst from the ground as chunks of dirt began spraying in all directions. Half-dead trees became all-dead as they were trampled, trunks smashed under the weight of the beasts. Snarling and hissing rapidly grew fiercer, punctuated rhythmically by yelps of pain. Madrik could do little more than back away on his one good leg, cursing that this wasn’t the sort of divine intervention he’d been hoping for.
The fight carried on far longer than he would expect of a couple of oversized domestic pets – he had suffered strays around his home often enough to know that these brawls usually ended in floating tufts of fur by the time he tried to chase them away. Soon enough, the fight went the way they usually did. The cat made a bloody noise and scampered away in cloud of dust.
Madrik heard the dog approaching him, and the ground shuddered as its paws hit cracking dirt. He squeezed his eyes shut, resigned to be engulfed by enormous sharp teeth closing over his head. Instead, the beast sat down beside him, whimpering. Madrik frantically searched his memories for everything he’d ever learned about gods and found nothing related to invisible dogs. He must be hallucinating. Or worse, it was real.
Shrugging at the absurdity, he risked putting his hand out to touch the creature. Even though he still couldn’t see it, he sensed its face there. His fingers touched something warm and wet as he ran his hand along its nose and down to its mouth. It felt sticky, with slobber or blood he couldn’t tell; his hand still looked completely dry.
Creeping closer to the enormous dog, he felt along its face and neck, through thick fur the length of his arm. While he blindly navigated the dog’s body, it panted ever louder, pleased with its appraisal. Madrik soon bumped into its leg, or its shoulder perhaps. It proved to be a ledge big enough to climb onto. Pulling on fur, he lifted himself onto its back. With Madrik clinging on, the creature gently stood up, raising him some twenty feet. The ground fell away below him, still visible right through the animal’s body as if only fresh air loomed between him and a painful landing on the desert below.
“Well… this seems perfectly rational,” he mused. “Let’s go, pup!”
The dog leapt up and bounded away southwards with Madrik’s fingers wrapped tightly into its fur. He found it surprisingly easy to hang on, and he didn’t even need to struggle to look past the dog’s head to see where he was going. Even his own pain seemed to fade as they raced through the desert towards the southern coast. At such a pace, they should arrive in little time, and he would be able to find a boat and return to Helen’s Bay and deal with Tailfin. And when people asked where he had been, he would spin a tale of heroic escape driven by pure vengeance, perhaps skipping minor details around oversized invisible house pets fighting. He did not want to be thrown to the sharks as a lunatic.
By late afternoon, the dog began to tire and slowed its pace to a steady walk. Madrik searching for the coast, but all he could see was vast barren wastes of the desert, with yet more desert beyond that, as if the view had not changed at all since morning. The dog eventually stopped altogether and sat down, leaving Madrik to slide down its flank. He landed wet, covered in invisible sticky ooze. Sweat he hoped, for the dog’s sake. But if it had tired, that didn’t stop it from leaping up and bounding away.
“Wait!” he shouted, but to no avail. “Godsdammit! That was my ride home!”
He grabbed a rock and threw it after the dog. It likely landed nowhere near, not that he could tell. Angry, he spun around, stamping the ground even with his dodgy ankle, and stormed away in the opposite direction. Before him, not fifty yards down, a clump of bright green trees broke barren landscape, and a gentle trickle of water summoned his ears. He could have sworn the oasis had not been there a moment earlier. Perhaps too much desert sun baking his head had taken its toll already, but the trees looked as real as his own hand raised before him.
Carefully he edged towards the oasis, scanning for a trap, cautious of more invisible beasts waiting in ambush. Under the dense canopy he found protection from the worst of the sun and immediately began to feel better. Losing all semblance of caution, he vaulted towards the spring as fast as his ankle would allow, dropping to his knees and gulping sweet water for what could have been half a day.
Finally, he washed his face and sat back. The oasis appeared exactly how he imagined an oasis to be: a paradise in the desert. Lush green grasses grew across the ground while mosses crawled their way up the tree trunks, A forest green canopy formed a shelter above, rich with the songs of birds swinging in the branches.
Exploring his new haven, his eyes followed the stream while thoughts of returning home temporarily ceased, all plans of revenge against Tailfin fading with them. Then he saw something that, despite ever increasingly peculiar events of the day, took him by surprise. As if prepared just for his arrival, embers glowed beneath licking flames of a blazing cook fire. Next to it sat a lamb on its hind legs, just waiting there, peering back at him. Madrik could swear its lips moved. It begged him to eat it.
“What is going on?” he asked, as if dinner could offer a reasonable explanation.
“Divine intervention, perhaps?” came a sweet voice from behind him.
Startled, he swung around to find a woman waiting tentatively just beyond reach. She wore bare remnants of old clothing, just about covering the most important parts. The rest of her radiated the deep golden brown of someone spending years perfectly maturing in endless summer. Her sun-bleached hair hung loose, crudely combed.
Madrik wasn’t stupid. Something was very wrong. If the dog wasn’t a hallucination, this surely must be.
“I can help you treat those wounds,” she suggested. “Then we should eat, you must be hungry.”
Madrik gawked for a few more moments.
“Starving. But… how is this—”
“Unless there is something else you would like to do first?” she asked. “You know, I haven’t seen a man in a very long time…”
“Right…” muttered Madrik, eyes shifting.
“I am Lytette,” she said. “What’s your name?”
Madrik fumbled for words, but his tongue refused to cooperate. He glanced at the lamb that waited there, its mouth still moving. If he could read a lamb’s lips, which he felt confident was not even possible, he would have sworn it tried to warn him of trap!
“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” suggested Lytette.
She stepped forward causing Madrik’s heart to race. His head told him to flee, but none of his limbs cooperated. Then she slapped him. One of those hits that come from nowhere, a vast swing of her arm planted perfectly on his cheek.
“Ow! What was that for?”
She did it again, harder even.
“Wait! Stop!”
Once more. This time with enough power, he reckoned, to flatten a mountain.
“Bloody hell, what are you—”
“I didn’t want to hear what you were about to do with Lytette.”
Madrik blinked. It was dark. And an old man leaned over him, his hand held ready to deliver another blow. Hesitating momentarily, Madrik lay still a few more moments before sitting up sharply, backing away, and remembering all too late that his ankle wasn’t in any shape to accommodate sudden movements. He glanced around hurriedly in confusion; then finally thought of something intelligent to say.
“What?”
“You mumbled Lytette’s name, started smiling and making funny noises,” said the old man, “so I hit you before it became awkward.”
“Oh. Er… where am I?”
“You’re not at an oasis, you’re just stuck in the desert. With very little chance of surviving.”
“And you are—”
“That little chance of surviving I just mentioned.”
“What—”
“You were attacked by the ancient spirit that haunts this desert,” he said. “He doesn’t like to kill, just to wound you and watch you suffer. His poison causes deep sleep, dreams, even hallucinations. Then he leads you to her, somewhere between the dream world and this.”
“Lytette… she was just a dream?”
“Not exactly,” said the old man. “She is something worse. Or better perhaps, it depends how your experience goes.”
“I don’t understand,” said Madrik.
The man shook his head and sighed in an irritated manner. “Naive city folk should stay far away from hostile wastelands, that’s all you need to understand.”
Madrik studied the old man. His skin cracked liked aged leather, his rough hair hung loose around his neckline, silver from sun or age, or both. His clothes were worn, repaired too many times. Evidently, he had been there some time.
“I need to get back,” said Madrik.
“To Tailfin, right?”
“Right. Can you help me?”
“You need to take it easy, stay off your feet for a while and heal. You would be better off staying with me until you are ready. I am compelled to help you.”
“Compelled?”
“Conscience.”
“Ah.”
Madrik tried to relax, tried to allow his wounds to heal.
“This desert spirit…”
“Ancient, yes.”
“Why did it attack me?”
“Just paying old debts,” he shrugged as if to suggest he’d asked a silly question. “What did you see? What was in your dream?”
Madrik checked himself before answering. Even if he had been dreaming, it still seemed a little silly.
“A giant dog. Invisible. Fighting a giant, er… invisible cat.”
The old man nodded his head solemnly. He didn’t appear at all surprised, as if he had heard it all before.
“Lytette?”
“Afterwards,” said Madrik. “Once the dog ran off.”
Thoughtfully, the old man nodded again. “Well, the cat was a nice touch. You should rest. When you are feeling stronger, I will help you make your way home.”
A few days later, and Madrik had hardly moved, lying in the sand watching stars restlessly wander above him. One of them appeared to be chasing another. Halfway across the sky they sped before the pursuer finally caught up, and then they both slowed, circling each other while several other stars gathered around them. Legend had it that the gods were watching from above. As far as Madrik could tell, they were just as lost as he was.
His ankle felt much better already, the swelling having receded. His wounds likewise were healing well. Nothing of note had happened since the old man woke him from his foray into Lytette’s oasis. Madrik had rested while his succourer fed him, checked his wounds, and occasionally mumbled things about city folk needing to stay in city. Madrik cared little for his conversation but felt grateful for the aid. He hadn’t even learned the old man’s name, though he suspected someone living in solitary required little used for names. It meant little to him, he would be far from the desert soon enough, and on his way to see Tailfin. The old crime lord would get what was coming to him.
Sunlight gradually brightened the sky while the stars settled down for the day. When the old man returned, he produced something resembling a starved rabbit and, after skinning it, hung it over the fire. Madrik saw no reason to question the source, he ate it happily enough.
“You should get some sleep today,” said the old man. “Tonight, we leave. We will make for Lexlish Pass.”
“Lexlish Pass?”
“Best way through the mountains.”
“Why don’t we head to the coast and catch a boat round?”
“I don’t take boats any more,” said the old man. “When I was young, I stole a boat and rowed over to Renryre Island. Drank a few too many in a tavern that night and followed those up with a few more. Next morning I woke up, and the mainland was nowhere to be seen.”
Madrik didn’t push it. Older people liked to tell stories about the mainland.
“Went searching for it for a while,” he continued unprompted. “Years in fact. Made a lot of friends, then lost most of them to the sea. The mainland is gone, and those who spend their lives searching for it die soon enough.”
“That’s why you are out here?” asked Madrik.
He only shrugged and pulled the canopy over the camp site.
“Best you get some sleep.”
Madrik closed his eyes, hoping he might receive another visit from Lytette. When he opened them, evening was already drawing the sun low, leaving him disappointed that he had spent his uneventful dreams alone. The camp site had been packed already, and the old man watched him impatiently. Hint taken, he lifted himself onto his feet, smiling appreciatively as he found his ankle felt much stronger.
Following the sunset they departed on foot, leaving Madrik to wonder how the old man could navigate the desert at night. By the sound of it he had lived there for a decade or more, yet that hardly seemed enough to learn the sparse landmarks of a barren wasteland. But only a few nights later they arrived at the mountains, which looked as bleak, dry, and endless as the desert, save for a single valley which spilt greenery into receding sands below it. The way in. The only way, as far as Madrik could tell.
The ascent proved difficult, and he would have struggled even if his ankle had been in perfect condition, but the old man never complained once. He didn’t say much at all, offering only an occasional grunt. It was not until they summited the pass that he finally spoke.
“I’ve brought you this far, you can make your way to Helen’s Bay from here,” he said.
He cast his fingers towards the bay below. Helen’s Bay: the only safe haven for sailors when dangerous weather struck. Overcrowded by far, the smell of rotting fish and sewers mingled to create an almost unbearable stench, cured only when brisk winds blew it out to sea. Once quaint coastal villages had grown over untold years; first into pleasant towns, then into unpleasant towns. Before long they all merged into one immense city skirting the inside of the bay, and inheriting its name for lack of another peaceful consensus.
“Best of luck with Tailfin.”
With that, the old man turned and ambled away. Madrik barely managed to mumble a meek thanks in response. Lost in thought, he strolled towards Helen’s Bay. It was nice to be able to walk in daylight again. Somehow the sun just didn’t feel so powerful on that side of the mountain.
His mind roamed back into the desert. The ancient spirit that attacked him. The adventure with phantom domestic beasts. The oasis. Lytette. Her golden skin and threadbare clothing lingering in his memory. Even after a night of rest in the lower slopes of the mountains and another day on route to Helen’s Bay, he could not quite expel her from his thoughts.
The old man hadn’t exactly clarified who, or what Lytette was, only that she existed in more than just dreams. For that matter, he hadn’t even mentioned his name. But Madrik supposed it was for the best, he couldn’t owe someone whose name he didn’t hold.
But he did owe Tailfin, and before he knew it, he had reached the crime lord’s headquarters. A gambling den. Where grown men careened to waste their lives. Where criminals flocked to make new unsavoury friends. Where dockworkers converged to lose their meagre income. Where men like Madrik went when they thought they could outsmart the likes of Tailfin.
The door opened, and a colossal man with far too many muscles studied him with an expression that suggested that it did not matter who stood there, he would accost them with that dirty look anyway.
“What you want?” demanded the henchman.
“I’m here to see Tailfin,” said Madrik, trying to sound confident.
He hadn’t really planned this, he thought to himself. Nor did he carry a weapon. And already he found himself deep in Tailfin’s fortress. What exactly was he going to do? What could he say?
“He’s busy,” insisted the henchman. “Go away.”
“He’s always busy,” said Madrik. “He’ll make time for me. Tell him Madrik is here to see him.”
The henchman seemed a little unsure, and then stalked into the back office leaving Madrik standing idly with little time to plan his revenge. His mind soon wandered away from the task at hand behind his prowling eyes, which skimmed over the usual punters and landed on the odd man out, sitting in a quiet corner, with parchments neatly stacked as he pensively tapped his quill on the table.
The henchman poked his head out and signalled for Madrik to follow. He entered the office and found Tailfin sitting behind his desk, accompanied by a few brawny guards standing around the room appearing as intimidating as they could.
“Madrik?” said Tailfin. “How nice to see you. You look like hell. What happened to you?”
“You threw me in a sack and dropped me off in the desert, after a few complimentary kicks.”
“Well, yes, I know that,” said Tailfin evenly. “I am more interested to learn what happened to you since then.”
“I survived,” said Madrik. “Made it back alive.”
“With the sole purpose of wasting my time?” he asked impatiently. “What do you want?”
“Revenge!”
“And this was your plan?” said Tailfin. “To ambush me from the front, with my lackeys standing ready?”
Dammit. What was his plan? Tailfin appeared completely unconcerned that Madrik had made it back – perhaps he wasn’t the first to survive the desert run. He expected Tailfin to at least act mildly surprised. Instead, he seemed impatient and annoyed. Tailfin would have him escorted out in no time. Violently.
Madrik laughed out loud.
“Well, of course not,” he said. “I came here to show you that I am alive and well, so that you know I may be working on a revenge plan. It’s not like I am going to jump one of your guards, steal his blade, and throw it at you!”
But that is exactly what he did.
He leapt to the nearest guard, punched his nose, and pushed him back as he grabbed a dagger from the brute’s belt. He turned quickly, took half a moment to aim, and flung the blade straight at Tailfin just as another lackey tackled him down.
The blade struck the wall some two feet off the mark, while Madrik hit the floor several feet from his.
“Godsdammit,” he sighed as several lackey arms pulled him up.
“Indeed,” said Tailfin, shaking his head with a disappointed frown as he signalled to his henchman. “Too rash.”
Madrik felt a thud as his vision blurred. Another thud followed, and then darkness. When he came to, his mind was still foggy, and he hadn’t a clue how long he’d been out for. Worse, he couldn’t move at all. He’d been wrapped up in some sort of linen. A sack. Another bloody sack.
“Tailfin?” he called out, as if he didn’t know what was happening.
“Yes, Madrik?”
“Where am I?”
“I should be more worried about where you are going to be,” answered the crime lord.
Another blow to his head cut short the conversation. Vaguely aware of his intermittent bouts of consciousness, it became increasingly difficult to track time. Eventually, he felt himself thrown to ground.
“Congratulations, Madrik,” said an unusually cheerful Tailfin. “You are back in the desert.”
A kick to his belly was quickly followed by another to the head, a then by a handful of less accurately targeted blows. He could hear men chuckling and cheering each other on. When they stopped kicking, he groaned a question.
“Why don’t you just kill me?”
“I am intrigued to see what your next revenge plan may be, should you survive again. I rather hope it will be significantly better calculated than the previous. And you might even consider taking a bath before confronting me, you know, showing a little respect. Besides, I find it boring killing idiots. Good luck to you, Madrik.”
Madrik heard footsteps fade away. He struggled with the sack to pry it open, eventually breaking free. He could still see Tailfin and his men away in the distance, while a vast desert surrounded him with only mountains breaking the monotony far to the west. He was in the same place he had been ditched no so long ago.
This time his ankle wasn’t injured. Instead, Tailfin left him with something much worse. Each ankle had an iron shackle locked around it, with a hefty metal ball joined six inches down a length of chain.
He took one step forward, the ball dragging grudgingly through broken sand. He could barely move his feet. Wouldn’t be able to walk a league in a day. Certainly wouldn’t be able to run from anything.
He really should consider not going up against Tailfin again. But that was precisely the opposite of what he was considering at that moment. He would have his revenge, this time. That is, of course, if he could make back alive again. He wondered where the old man of the desert could be. What was his name?
He scanned around him, searching for anything that might help, a possible salvation. He didn’t have a clue what to do, or where he should go even if he could move. He found himself at the mercy of the desert once again.
Godsdammit.
Next, Chapter II: The Impossible Job
M.A.B. Holloway 