A Shadow in the Desert
Between the shores of the inner sea and the borders of the living forest, there's a desert which, according to legend, has existed since the world's creation. A patch of land larger than many nations, but belonging to no one, as it is considered unconquerable and unlivable. The sands there, though, are said to hide many secrets the world has forgotten, as Eons of conflicts turn history into a muddy subject, and facts become myths. The sand remembers, however, for it is not just crushed rock, but everything that once stood in that place where no one would live, except for the tribes.
The Guide was one of them.
Raised to read the pathways beneath the sands, she received her tattoos as soon as she was deemed ready, still a teenager, as it was her people's tradition. The elder would mix a clear-shaded ink made of sand with water from a sacred place — its complete formula a secret passed down as oral tradition — that turned into a shifting shade of blue after being etched into the skin. The lines would run through her body, from the feet to the hands to the head, always in a symmetrical pattern. The clothing would cover most of it, but the symbols were still visible on her face, sometimes seemingly shining ever so faintly when she was concentrating.
And that's how she would become a Guide, one of her people whose job was not only to make sure others crossed the desert, but also to keep strays away from forbidden places, places only the tribespeople have the right to access, where they've hidden secrets of their survival and knowledge through millennia. She would read the stars at night to know her location; she would look at the shifting sand, read its patterns, learn as much as possible of its history, and follow the safe paths hidden below; she would make gestures and rituals, just as the elders taught, to access knowledge others couldn't see; and she would write her own story along the way, leaving markings in the cosmic fabric for others who could also access the things humanity don't really understand anymore, who could read and, in turn, guide themselves.
That's why she, usually, was never surprised by trouble.
Treasure hunters joining the caravan wasn't anything new, as the desert hides a myriad of things that could be worth whole kingdoms, thousands of lives, or nothing at all except intrepid stories. Some of the things were kept hidden by the tribes, and these were never to be discovered by outsiders. Some of the things were kept hidden by the sands, and these could prove fatal to everyone but the most experienced tribesperson. The Guide tended to keep away from people seeking the latter, as they sealed their own fate even before putting their feet in the desert.
This group, though, was different: they were quieter and more knowledgeable. They had trinkets and artifacts that worked like some of the things her tribe knew of, but theirs seemed cruder and older. Their accent was unknown to her and, sometimes, she could swear she smelled ozone and salt near them. There was a mystical aura around these people and, whenever they spoke, she heard waves crashing and the sound of wood bending under great pressure.
One night, one of them was on the edge of the path, next to a lower dune that rose up only a few dozen meters above their heads. He was very still, with eyes closed. She approached him, her steps as silent as the sand allowed them to be.
"How are the paths kept safe?", he asked her.
She shrugged. "They just are." She knew the answer, but outsiders weren't privy to the tribe's knowledge.
He exhaled in frustration, opened his eyes and moved his head around, as if listening to something. There was nothing the human ear could hear, but plenty the senses could feel. "This place is incredible", he said, going one small step towards the dune and stopping there. "It doesn't seem so, but it's crawling with things we can't see. The dunes hide their secrets and protect them from the sun, but they come alive at night." He turned to the Guide. "Is it possible to create new paths among the dunes?"
"Many have tried. All have been swallowed by the sand. The unlucky ones, by the things buried in the sand. The current paths are the only ones we have."
"Hm." He scratched his chin.
The Guide looked at the stars. She should get some sleep if she hopes to keep people on the path tomorrow. The treasure hunter, who seemed to be the oldest among the crew, turned away from the dunes and, as if reading her mind, went back to his spot in the caravan.
That night, the Guide dreamt of things she had never seen before.
There was water all around, as far as the eye could see. She knew it was the ocean, as it borders the desert on the east, but she never stood in its middle as she was now. The water moved ferociously around her, in motions similar to the dunes, but with movement that lasted seconds instead of weeks.
She was on a watership, looking at the horizon, but the water-dunes kept tossing the ship around. The wind was very strong, and even though it was day, she couldn't see the sun, as water also covered the sky. She was wet.
At the tip of the ship stood the older treasure hunter. He looked impassively into the sky. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, as bright as the sun, over the horizon. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but then there was another one, closer. And another one. The older man put up a metal rod over a metal plating, atop a metal box, and made sure it wouldn't budge to the wind or the water. Then he was yelling something she couldn't hear over all the noise of what was going on, but every person on the ship took cover under the wood.
There was another flash of light, right in front of her. Its sound was impossible to bear, and the light shone like a thousand suns straight into her pupils. She closed her eyes, but it didn't matter: there was only white.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying down in her spot in the caravan, the sun no more than a small flame over the dunes.
"Are you ok?", asked the Merchant, her partner through most of the crossings.
"Yes, I think so."
"You were tossing around. Bad dream?"
"No." She grabbed a handful of sand and released it slowly, watching the wind spread it around. "I think the desert was trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. Forget I said anything."
The Merchant sat by her side and kissed her on the cheeks. "Someday, you'll have to start explaining the things you say."
“Maybe.”
The Merchant gave her a side look with a wry smile. "Things like that. But it doesn't matter. You can rest some more until the sun is fully up."
Before she even finished speaking, the Guide was already fast asleep, this time seeing nothing but the comforting blackness of a dreamless rest.
The Guide opened her eyes to find a sun already scorching the desert. She got up quickly and looked around: things were still the same as when she went to sleep. There was dried meat and water at her arm's reach, which she helped herself with before starting the checks on her vehicle, an immense monster made of metal.
It was possible to cross the desert on vehicles pulled by beasts of burden, but the extra load required to keep them fed and hydrated made it all harder than it was worth it, so rules were passed that only machines could transport people and cargo on the caravan. Most of them, though, have been running for centuries, the instructions about their maintenance being passed down from previous owners, so every morning the conductors would do a quick check. The Guide drove her own vehicle and was proud of herself for memorizing every bit of information she could, and then making the heat dissipation more efficient, ensuring her machine could run for longer than originally intended without melting the engine.
She was taking the last temperature measurements when she saw the Merchant approaching. She was coming from the treasure hunters' vehicle.
"You know the weird guys that are traveling with us? They are having issues with their machine."
The Guide sighed, heavily. "What kind of issues?" It wasn't that common but, occasionally, people would try to test-run their vehicles against the harshness of the desert. It would rarely go as they expected because most never studied the treatises about the climate in the region. They would always cause trouble, thinking the tribespeople didn't understand technology and ignoring their warnings.
"They said some fuel just disappeared overnight." Watching the Guide's expression, she kept going. "I know, I know. They said they might be able to go for a few more hours, but will need to stop to recharge."
The Guide sighed again, not so heavily this time. "If they can last until lunch, they can recharge by then." The Merchant nodded and left, going back in their direction.
However, something was wrong. Fuel shouldn't go down overnight without a reason. The Guide knew this could be a bad omen. She looked around at the desert and took a deep breath. A few minutes later, the caravan started moving, one vehicle following exactly the tracks left by the other. The path wasn't as narrow as the vehicles' width, but people liked to keep a safe margin around them to, sometimes, walk a bit side-by-side with the machines, avoiding getting sores from just sitting all day.
Everything was going smoothly and a few hours went by. The sun by then should've been getting higher and even hotter, but the Guide felt a shiver down her spine and noticed her vehicle was over-performing under the heat of what was supposed to be the hottest hour in the day. Her new dissipation system was good, but not that good, so she was suspicious. Normally, physics doesn't work that way. When the rules of the natural world start to break, it's because something has gone wrong. The Merchant noticed the look on her face.
"What is it?"
"Do you feel a chill breeze blowing or something?"
"No, I don't think so. Why?"
Without another word, she just went atop her vehicle and looked around. Everything seemed fine until she noticed a shading in the sand: over the horizon, the ground was glistening in yellow and gold, but as she drew her eyes towards the very point the caravan was going through, it became gradually opaque. The shadows around her were disappearing.
"Oh, no", she thought. "No, no, no." She quickly went down and turned to the Merchant. "We won't be stopping for lunch."
"What? Why? What happened?"
"You know the stories about a moving shadow that eats everything in its path through the desert?"
The Merchant nodded affirmatively.
"Well, we are under it."
The world doesn't always make sense. Humanity always tries to rationalize what they don't understand. The tribespeople do their best to pass down the knowledge they have about how the natural world works, but some things are just beyond their comprehension. Sometimes, it's a machine they don't understand how it does what it does, but they know how to operate it. Sometimes, it's a phenomenon with consequences so far beyond any sensible explanation that they can't do anything but chalk it up to gods or myths or legends.
The last part could, in fact, explain a lot about the desert, such as why nobody is able to chart new paths, or why the sand moves the way it does and doesn't go beyond where it can't go, or why people sometimes think they hear ghosts talking in the dunes, or how the wind can be howling when there's no actual wind. The world has lost a lot of knowledge through the ages, and oral traditions aren't good enough to keep the minutiae of everything, so, sometimes, knowing just enough to avoid danger can be all one needs to survive. That's how the tribes dealt with the sun's shadow.
The shadow doesn't seem to follow any kind of rule or logic: its approach is imperceptible except to the most experienced desert dwellers. The Guide wasn't up to that level, but she knew enough to recognize the hints that something may be wrong.
At first, there's an overall chilliness in the air, so subtle that sometimes it's barely perceptible. People might shiver occasionally, or talk about feeling a cold breeze, but thermometers don't register any change. However, something is already there, with decimals of a degree below the usual temperature over a large area under the scorching sun. The vehicles that have engines even stop venting as much heat as they usually do. This indicates the place where the shadow will move into.
Then, shadows start to disappear. It's not that they go missing under the sun, but that the ground gets darker. The end result is the same as if heavy clouds were hiding the sun on a hazy day, but with no actual clouds in the sky. The change is, again, so subtle and slow that most people never notice it.
Then, after some time, people stop feeling the sun burning against their skin. Some notice the relief, but not the cause. That's when strange things start happening, and they are rarely good.
The tribespeople had previous encounters with the shadow over their history, and memorizing the stories was part of the Guide's training.
The Guide sounded her horn and told the guards that they weren't stopping for lunch. They should run along the caravan telling people that all food should be safely stored, all machines currently working shouldn't stop running, everyone should get out of the sand, and all repair checks that were due during lunchtime should be postponed. If people asked, they should just tell that the area wasn't safe for raising camp. Most outsiders never believe the tales about the desert, so to hear about the sun's shadow would be no different.
There was a commotion near her vehicle, so the Guide stepped onto the sand. Straight away she felt lightheaded in such a way that she had to support herself against her vehicle. A guard arrived, and she knew exactly what he was going to say just by looking at his face.
"The large group with a vehicle that fuels itself with the sun can't move, so they won't leave." The guard, silent, nodded. She sighed. "I'll deal with them. Hold everyone for a while, keep the machines running, and be ready to leave at my signal."
She passed through rows of people anxiously looking over the dunes, afraid of what might be coming for them, unaware they were already in danger and that a small group was delaying their escape. The older treasure hunter was in front of their vehicle, arms crossed, looking at everyone else readying themselves for a non-stop journey. When the Guide came into view, he didn't uncross his arms.
"I thought we would be able to stop to get fuel from the sun." He pointed to the machine with his head. "We are almost empty, but just need one or two hours to have enough to go on."
"We can't wait. This area isn't safe."
"Isn't that the reason the caravan has guards?" There was a smugness in his voice. There were repairs to be made and things to investigate, and he didn't like to be rushed.
She breathed in heavily, exhaled, then looked him in the eyes. "It's not that kind of danger." She pointed to the ground without breaking eye contact. "Do you notice something unusual?"
He turned away from her and looked around. It took a while. "The shadows are fading away. Why are the shadows fading away?" He uncrossed his arms.
"Captain!" One of his crew came running. "Captain! The charge is draining faster than usual. It's as if there was no sun and no batteries connected. It should work even when there are clouds, but it's not. I think there's a malfunction with the panels or the cables. Give me half an hour to run some tests."
Before he could answer, the Guide was already speaking. "It won't work. The sun can't reach us anymore." Looking up and around, they seemed confused. "Take your gloves off and roll up your sleeves. Tell me if you feel the sun burning your skin."
They both did as told and stayed with their arms stretched, hands with palms open, for longer than the Guide would've wanted to. They were losing time, after all.
"What's going on?", the crewman asked, looking confused at his arms and the sun.
"There's no time to explain." She turned to the captain, this time trying to convey with her voice the urgency she was feeling. "Tell your crew to gather everything they can carry and spread over the other vehicles. You're gonna have to leave yours."
"What? No. No! That's a class-A exploratory machine, I traded boats and lightning generators for it! It has everything we need to survive under the sun."
"It's useless now. If you want to stay, stay, but I'm taking the caravan out."
The captain closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he started yelling orders, telling his men what to grab, what to leave, and shutting off any kind of question. In just a couple of minutes, everyone was spreading out while he was going to ride with the Guide. She quickly ran back to the front, got into the vehicle, and told the Merchant to sound the horn. After a long press, she counted every response, making sure everyone was ready, and set the vehicle forward. The guard on top confirmed the whole caravan was following.
During the escape, some vehicles almost steered away from the path a few times, which could prove disastrous: the Guide remembers the stories about people disappearing into nothingness under the shadow, or being covered and swallowed by sand. It didn't seem a good way to go. Also, her lightheadedness seemed to be coming and going, and each time she lost more and more sight of the path. This was almost as dangerous: if the caravan veered off the right way, they could go straight into hazardous territory. Without her sight, nobody knew what could be lying in wait.
The Merchant noticed the Guide's tattoos were becoming paler with each passing hour. She was losing her connection with the desert. The Guide was well aware of that. "Do you think the machines could handle an increase in velocity?", she asked the Merchant without taking her eyes off the road.
"Isn't that dangerous? They would need to vent more heat, and not everyone would be able to do it with the sun also heating up the chassis and engines."
"Normally, yes, but it seems the shadow eats up heat. The temperature has dropped and the sun hasn't been able to heat anything since we started moving. Maybe we could increase the caravan's speed to get out of the shadow faster."
The captain spent the last few hours just silently staring at the way they were going. The Guide knew he was trying to read the sand, looking for signs of what marked the safety of the path or the path itself. So far, every stretch of sand looked like any other. The dunes were always moving, so there was no point of reference. For him, it was infuriating.
When he turned to the Guide, the change in her tattoos was obvious. "Why is this shadow affecting you this way?", he finally asked.
"I don't know. There are no stories about this ever happening."
"Is it affecting your ability to locate yourself?"
She was silent. "Yes", she said after a while.
He raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin. This was proof enough that the tribespeople are connected, in some way, to the force that controls the desert, probably some kind of technology the tribes keep secret. He certainly wasn't the first to think so, and if he could prove it somehow, then maybe other people would be able to chart new paths, or even establish new settlements. But it wouldn't matter if they all died there.
Lost in thoughts, he started to look around, touching things in an unusual way, with palms wide open and no gloves, covering as much surface as possible. The Guide glanced over and saw unusual markings between his fingers, something she hadn't noticed before. If rituals like the one she went through exist in other places, it could bring forth a connection with forgotten knowledge. That certainly would explain how the captain was more perceptive than his men to things the common senses don't notice.
The captain touched the chassis from inside the vehicle, then put his hands outside and did the same. He walked through the vehicle and touched the fuel tank, the tubes connecting it to the engine, the tubes coming out of the engine, and the area around the engine itself. Then he picked up a notebook and a pen and started scribbling on the paper. The Merchant gave a quick look and recognized some of the equations, and she knew the Guide would recognize them too. They were both in silence while he worked.
"I think it's safe to go faster", he said. Before the Guide could answer, he went on: "I've been taking measurements of the desert temperature over the last few days, and compared them with the current temperature. I'm making a lot of assumptions regarding the material's thermal conductivity, and I'm also assuming the sun is always heating the desert the same way."
"I know. I also know this vehicle can handle more speed. What I don't know is if the rest of the caravan would be able to keep up."
"If what you say about the shadow is true, you can try to save yourself and some of the others, or we can all get lost in the desert and die."
The Guide didn't like that. Not the idea of saving a few rather than losing everyone, but the way he spoke about it. Living in the desert always required making hard choices, and more often than not they involved leaving people behind — although usually with the general direction they could go to reach the nearest safe zone. He was very perceptive of the natural world, but not as much of other people.
"Call the guard", the Guide told the Merchant. "Tell him we're gonna speed up. He should keep his eyes behind us, and should tell me immediately if some vehicle can't keep up."
The Merchant nodded and did what was asked. The Guide was slowly accelerating. There were a few thumps coming from the ceiling and she knew the guard was ready.
The captain was observing the sides and rear, watching as machines sped up. He was intrigued: no dust was raised despite the extra velocity. However, it seemed that, sometimes, speckles of shadows would fly up, thrown by the wheels spinning above them.
After a few hours, the overall temperature started rising. The Guide knew this was a good sign and slowly reduced the speed until she could finally stop her vehicle. Everyone was able to leave the shadow safe and sound, but there might be repairs to be made: the vehicles, after all, were built for marathons, not racing.
Atop of her machine, the Guide spent a good while looking the terrain around. She could see the path again clearly and could hear the desert whispers. Paying attention to the ground and the sun, it didn't seem like the shadow was going their way. She counted herself lucky: they probably went through the thinnest stretch instead of running along its length, a journey that would've probably taken days.
The captain was already on the sand, going through the caravan and reuniting with his crew. They sat all together in a circle opening parchments and books, which comprised most of what they carried out of their vehicle. The Guide could see them waving their arms around and talking loudly about coordinates, the sun, walking at night, and supplies. It was obvious what they intended to do.
"The vehicle is still there", said the captain, showing a red dot on a map to her. The map itself was a square-ish metal thing with runes and geometrical shapes running through its surface. It was an old artifact, but rugged and reliable. "How long does it take for the area to become safe again?"
"What?"
"How long does it—"
"I heard you, I just didn't believe it. You want to go back."
"Yes. That vehicle is worth more than a city. We marked our path back here and compared the data, we believe we can chart—"
"It won't work."
"What?"
"To chart your way. I told you before: it's not possible. And you know it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"The desert has its own rules. You noticed it. We, the people born in it, are trained since young to learn them and avoid its dangers. And a lot fail. People have been trying to chart paths for centuries, but unexplainable things keep happening. I'm sure you heard of it: people getting lost, impossible things being found and swallowing whole caravans, creatures and ghosts roaming the sands, following coordinates but never arriving at the destination. There's a reason we have guards, even though we don't fear bandits here."
"There has to be a way."
"How do you even know it's your vehicle? What if it's just a shadow signal? What if it's something copying it to lure you and your crew? How can you know your vehicle will still be the same after all? There are traps out there that have been active, undisturbed, for millennia. You could be walking straight into one."
"Fine, so we'll hire you to guide us back to it."
"I don't follow points on a map", she said scowling at it. "I follow the path. Things move, the path doesn't. There's no guarantee your vehicle will still be at the same place."
He was still determined, but she was getting through his stubbornness. He's seen a lot of things, she was sure of it, so her warnings weren't being treated as mere folklore. The fact that they crossed the sun's shadow was proof that not all stories are myths.
She slowly breathed in. "Look, there's no way of knowing the sun's shadow route. If there was, we wouldn't have run into it. I'll send a warning as soon as I can to halt all travels in the area for a few days due to its presence. The shadow might station there for a week, or it might have already left the place we were. You can come with us to Blue Sun, then wait to go back to the coast with me. Or you can do whatever you want, I won't stop you, but the desert won't be gentle."
He took a deep breath and looked around for a while, occasionally waving his arms as if he was arguing with himself. "Fine", he exhaled. "I'll talk to the crew and we'll go to the capital, then we'll see our next move."
"Wise choice", she said.
As expected, most people didn't notice anything unusual with the temperature or shadows, so she had to make some excuses about the systems detecting large groups of sand creatures crawling about, following the caravan trail. Although the creatures do exist, they never go near the paths. The rule doesn't apply to the sun's shadow though, which does as it pleases.
The trip to Blue Sun, the capital, went uneventful, as all trips through the desert should be. The Guide's warning stopped most crossings for a week, which angered many people until a sandstorm started blowing violently on the second day. The complaints quickly subsided after that. On the third day, the captain set up a meeting with her.
Despite the place being almost empty, he sat at a corner table, alone, with a wall on his back and to his side. He was drinking from a glass of water so crystalline it seemed out of place. There was not a hint of alcohol on his breath, which was surprising for such a place.
The bar itself was a run-down joint that would otherwise be very lively if not for the sandstorm raging outside. With the filtration system running, it didn't smell as dusty as it looked. Considering it's in a city in the middle of the desert, it was a wonder people were able to make a living there and enjoy life as anyone else living outside of such a dangerous area.
"I appreciate you coming here."
"What did you want to discuss?"
"You see, I've studied many things over the decades. Most places in the world have institutions where people keep their knowledge open for others to learn. It helps us understand things. But this desert is one of the few exceptions: it's just a blank, knowledge-wise. I want to understand it. So I'm going back today."
With her elbows on the table, the Guide took her hands to her forehead and sighed. She didn't want to deal with this again.
"I don't want to fight or argue with you." He said. "I understand the risks, but I'm willing to take them. I'm—"
"Do you know how this desert came to be?"
He stared at her, blankly. "No. There are no mentions in any of the records I've read."
"And you know why the tribes don't keep written records?"
"Why?"
"Because the desert is dangerous. Not just for the people crossing it, but for everyone. There are things buried by the sands that should never see the light of day. This desert was created when life ceased to exist. It should stay a desert for as long as we can keep it."
"You... have the technology to keep this desert… a desert? How does that work?"
She was getting tired of this. It was like talking to a wall. She never met a researcher who couldn't understand the subtleties of her words. This one liked to dance around her warnings.
"Why do you keep this technology a secret? Do you understand what we could do with it if we knew how it works?"
"I’ll stop you right there. The technology to reform environments, if the myths are true, was banned for a reason. You probably know why. In any case, listen closely, because I'm going to say it only once: we don't control anything. We are just caretakers. The things in the sand are not for anyone to use. Stay away from them."
He stared at her in silence.
"Also, I know you were able to connect to the things in the sand. I bet it wasn't as clear as feeling the wind, water, and lightning, but it should've been enough to warn you. The desert tends to itself, and it is ruthless. Losing someone with your knowledge would be terrible for other researchers. Do. Not. Go. Back."
He stared at his glass of water for a while. "Did you notice my eyes are not biological?"
She raised an eyebrow. "No, I didn't."
"I lost my sight many decades ago. Someone, way before my time, followed legends about mutants and human farms and found some ruins, deep in a mountain. They uncovered stories about growing flesh and mixing it with machines. There are horrible accounts of what they've seen there. But, thanks to them, I was able to see again. The legends told people to keep away from the mountain, and the simple folk were furious at the researcher. But, in the end, the knowledge proved to be invaluable for people like me."
She was looking straight into him. "We are not simple folk."
"I understand that now. But still, old knowledge can always be useful. My crew and I are going back today to track our vehicle."
"Your fate is sealed then. Nobody will ever hear from you again. I pray that you get a quick death, otherwise, your suffering will last longer than a lifetime."
He moved his mouth as if to say something, but the Guide got up and left. The Merchant was waiting for her in their hotel room, and she would rather spend her evening with her than dealing with an old man who thinks he has everything figured out.
Unsurprisingly, that was the last time she saw him.
On her trip back, a week later, she heard whispers from the desert. Of the whole crew, only the captain was able to avoid death. It seems he found a way to someplace else outside the desert's reach, putting his fate on hold.
The Guide didn't care: she had a job to do and, hopefully, this time there wouldn't be any researcher in the caravan.