The Cursed Sun

The horse I was given was an old brown-haired nag that had seen better days. But at least her gait across the desert was smooth which helped the pain of my bruised and battered body. Except for the drum of the hoof and the canteen clattering against the belt that held my sword, it was quiet. The bags, rolled blanket and bow hanging behind me were cinched uncomfortably close against the saddle. I will freely admit that I’m no horseman since I rarely needed to rely on their service when living in Ewark. I was also no warrior. I never had a need for weapons when I could depend on my own brute strength to handle any trouble.

  The setting moon was full, making strange, long shadows over the desert land. I cast a glance over my shoulder, where against the eastern horizon I could still just see the glow of my burning hotel. I had never left home before. It felt wrong to leave Ewark on this fool’s errand, but what other choice did I have? If I stayed, I would be eventually discovered and killed by the Mujadeen. I could flee north to some other city, but I feared that Rasid’s reach was long. There was no safety here.

  Kalam had given me this horse, some water, a bedroll, and enough food to see me through for the next few days. The coded note of Tai was hidden inside an inner pocket of my jacket. Kalam had also given me directions to this Rebel town, along with a roughly drawn map. According to his instructions, I was to go around Lake Supri where I would then enter into the Wasteland. From there, after some traveling, I was to find an entrance to a low, rocky valley where a river once flowed. The valley pointed to the mountains of the Rebels like a long dagger. It would be a matter of traveling through the valley and on to the mountains beyond. The journey seemed easy enough, provided the Mutans would let me pass.

  The advice I received from Kalam for dealing with Mutans was simple and direct. “If you see a Mutan, run or hide since they have a strong taste for the flesh of man. There is no reasoning with them, so don’t stop to try. Traveling by horse, you should be able to make it through the valley in one night; the Mutans cannot abide the world without the sun. It is best to stay out of the city ruins, since they are more numerous there. Stay close to the southern wall, where there is a trail. You should be safe enough, provided you use those wits of yours.”

  The Mutans were creatures of legend – the sort of nightmare used to scare little children. I had never seen one myself, but the many stories by the travelers that stayed at my hotel told of a ferocious manlike creature that killed for pleasure. The few Traders that dared to explore the depths of the Wasteland were never seen again. What chance did I have? I shook my head at the thought, wondering how fate had put me in such a dire position. I had no choice but to make the best of it.

  I rode for another hour or so, the sound of the desert unbroken except by my passing. I thought of Molli and how unfair it was that she had died. I also thought of my mother and father, and how disappointed they would be with me. Was I doomed to live in poverty and squalor, all because of a misunderstanding with the Mujadeen? I still wanted no part of this so-called rebellion and cursed Kalam for involving me. If only I had refused that room to Tai!

  My passing thoughts were broken by the neigh of my horse. I leaned over and petted her neck, trying to quiet the old girl down. Perhaps she sensed some danger that I did not. I looked ahead but saw nothing. However, my sense of ease quickly disappeared once I heard from behind the galloping of an unknown number of horses. Everyone knew that the Mujadeen patrolled this area to protect us from the denizens of the Wasteland. If I was caught by the soldiers, then there would surely be questions that I could not answer. I kicked the flank of the mare, and she bolted ahead.

  I really had no idea how long my horse would last since she was nothing but an old nag. To my surprise, our speed was considerable because it took whatever limited skills I had to stay on her back. My hands held tightly to the bridle while my aching thighs stayed cinched around the sides of her heaving flanks. We rode this way over the deserted plain while all along I had no idea how close our pursuers were. I was too afraid to turn and look since I would have lost my balance. Ahead, I could just make out a long dark shadow that stretched the length of the horizon. Was that Lake Supri? It had better be, or I was going to end up being caught.

  Suddenly, in the limited light of the moon, I saw an arrow fly by and strike the sand ahead. Without even thinking, I turned my head to look at my pursuers. I barealy stayed on my mount. Some hundred yards away, there were at least a dozen of men on horseback, their steeds pressed forward in chase. To my horror, the Mujadeen soldiers were quickly gaining, stirring up a streaming trail of dust as they went.

  Leaning forward, I kicked hard against the flanks of my poor horse. She responded with another burst of speed, but I could tell the old girl was beginning to tire - the once sure-footing was becoming clumsy, and her breathing was now ragged with exhaustion. She wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate.

  Behind me, the sun was starting to rise. All through the night, I had been heading roughly southwest, hoping to strike the very edge of the lake. And there it was, right in front of me. It only a few hundred yards away. Beyond this body of water was the lifeless Wasteland.

  My horse stumbled and then slowed to a canter. Another arrow sped past me, followed by another half-dozen. They all missed and plowed into the sand ahead. I looked over my shoulder once again and found that my pursuers' speed had also slackened. They were only fifty yards behind me, but to my surprise they were looking at another horseman, galloping towards them from the right. It was a man dressed in a long black robe, riding an equally black horse. His hands were waving in the air, as if motioning the soldiers to stop. To my surprise, the pursuers slowed their pace.

  I hit the edge of the lake, the sun above shimmering on the still blue water. Another glance showed me that the Mujadeen soldiers had stopped. One was talking to the robed stranger, while the others watched as I rode to the water’s edge. There I let my horse slow and walk along the pebble-strewn shoreline. I continued to glance at the soldiers, wondering why they did not press their attack.

  My horse was too tired to continue, so I was forced to stop and dismount. Keeping a wary eye on my would-be pursuers, I let the mare drink from the lake. She was in a lather, so with an old rag, I began to wipe her down. While I was doing this, the soldiers wheeled their mounts around and began slowly riding away. The rider in black stared at me momentarily, his features indistinct because of the distance, before following the others. I was mystified by this behavior since I was still within bow range. Why didn’t they strike me down while they had the chance?

  I let the horse rest. She continued to drink from the lake and then ate some of the yellow grass growing along the shoreline. I sat, slumped in the sand, watching the small waves of the water. The rising sun beat against my shoulders. I’m afraid to say that I fell asleep. The pain and shock of the night had been too much. There was no energy left to continue on.

  Chapter 7