The Jongurian Mission (58 page)

Sometime in the afternoon on that first full day out of the mountains they reached the Ithmian Sea.
The smell of saltwater in the air was heavy and the sun beat down on them mercilessly, forcing them to shed all unnecessary clothing. The beach was made of fine-grained sand and stretched on for leagues. Small waves lapped up against the shore.

“Do we just wait here then until a ship passes?” Rodden asked when they got to the water’s edge.

“That could be a long wait,” Willem said, “it would probably be best if we kept walking west.”

“I agree,” Jurin said.
“There’s no telling how close the Jongurians are behind us. Best to keep moving.”

“We don’t even know that there are Jongurians behind us,” Rodden said.

“I don’t want to sit here and wait to find out,” Jurin replied.

That ended the discussion.
They picked up their packs and began walking along the edge of the beach where the sand ended and the dry, cracked ground of the plains began. The sand of the beach continually encroached further up into the plains and soon they were forced to walk along it if they wanted to keep the water within sight. Willem asked if they should do anything about the footprints they were leaving behind them, but Jurin just shook his head. If the Jongurians were after them they wouldn’t need footprints to find them, he said. They didn’t spot a single ship all that day and into the evening. The sun went down somewhere over the flat horizon far ahead of them, turning the skies above the water a dark purple then bright orange before the black of night took hold. Jurin called for a stop. They needed to get some rest if they wanted to put the leagues behind them the next day. They drank sparingly from the water skins, the only nourishment they had. Bryn fell asleep almost immediately after putting his head down, the dull sound of the waves washing ashore a soothing relief to his numbed mind.

They woke early the next morning as the sun was just beginning to crest the mountains to their rear.
Once again they started another day with no food. The biggest problem would be the sun, Jurin told them. They all wrapped an extra shirt or some cloth around their heads to protect against its bombardment, but nothing could be done to assuage the heat they felt. It was as if they were baking in a large oven hour upon hour. There were no trees or even any large rocks to provide shade. There was nothing to do but keep putting one foot in front of the other and press on.

T
hat afternoon Willem said that they only had one full water skin left for the four of them. By nightfall it was only half-full. Jurin told them that their best chances at getting through the desert were to travel by night when the sun was not so hot. They took an hours rest while the sun set over the western horizon then got back to their feet.

There was no reason to light a torch: there was nothing ahead of them but flat sandy ground and they could see the faint outline of where the waves crashed against the beach.
The moon was still large enough to impart enough light that they had no trouble seeing. The unrelenting heat of the day gave way to a deep coldness at night. There were no clouds to speak of overhead to keep in the warmth of the day, so as soon as the sun set, the temperatures dropped. The sweat in their clothes grew cold, and instead of being a welcome relief to them it was much more of a burden. All of them were shivering as they moved through the darkness. The first rays of dawn put smiles on their faces and they pushed on another hour before the sun was beating down on them and they were sweating once again. They planted the swords and crossbows into the sand and tied extra shirts, pants, coats, and anything else together to create a makeshift shelter to keep the sun off of them while they slept through the day. After walking all of the previous day and through the night they were fast asleep.

They drank the last of their water before setting out that evening.
Rodden asked Jurin and Willem how much further they’d have to walk, but neither had an answer for him. Their morale had been dropping since the end of the first day when they hadn’t seen a ship. It grew worse each day that the sea remained empty. At one point during the second day Willem shouted and began waving at what he thought was a passing ship far out on the horizon. It turned out to be just a seagull flying far off in the distance, however, and they returned to their silent walking. By the third day they rarely bothered to even look toward the sea. All hopes for catching a passing fishing boat were gone. All they could do was continue walking, and even that became difficult. Their pace slowed considerably as they shivered through the night and they stopped well before dawn to erect their makeshift shelter and collapse into sleep. Jurin woke them all when the sun was still high and said that they needed to keep moving. Without water time was now as much against them as the sun; it wouldn’t do to sleep more than a few hours each night now.

Their bodies began to break down.
First their lips became dry and cracked from lack of water. All of them had severe sunburns which were little more than a nuisance at first but eventually inhibited their movement, the pain was so bad. They became lightheaded and disoriented, even more than they’d been from the lack of food. Often times after they would resume walking after taking a short rest break, one of them would invariably begin moving in the wrong direction without knowing it. The flickering heat waves began to play tricks on their minds and all of them had begun to see things that weren’t there. The most often sight was a distant pool of water just over the horizon. Sometimes they’d all get excited at how adamantly the claim was expressed and their pace would increase for a time until it became obvious there was nothing. Another hour or two would pass and the process would repeat itself. It was all each man could do to just focus on his feet and somehow will them to move.

The sun was high when they stopped for the day.
They didn’t even bother staking up their shelter; instead each man took a shirt or coat and draped it over himself for protection. The hunger pangs and the dryness of their throats made sleep nearly impossible, but nobody wanted to move anymore either. They just lay there in misery.

The fourth day began like all the others.
The sun shined straight down on them as if laughing at their plight. They pulled themselves up and moved, but shortly after starting out Willem fell to the ground and didn’t get up. Jurin moved back to pull him to his feet and he made it a few more steps before crashing down to the ground again. He said he couldn’t go on and just needed a little more rest. They urged him to get up, but he couldn’t be convinced. They pressed on without him, telling him to just catch up when he could. After a while he disappeared behind them and it was almost as if they’ always been three moving across this vast desert. Colors began to swirl in their vision and walking in a straight line became impossible. They were no longer even following the sea Bryn noticed when he looked over to his left at one point. Fine golden sand completely surrounded them in all directions.

At some point that afternoon, or morning, or perhaps close to evening, Bryn couldn’t tell anymore, Jurin just sat down and stared off into the distance.
Bryn and Rodden didn’t even slow their shambling gate to ask him what he was doing, they just kept moving.

There was no sound in the desert around them except for a steady ringing in their heads which they thought could only be the sound of the sun slowly killing them.
Bryn began to think that it would’ve been better to die in the Oval with the rest of the men, and he hoped that Iago, Trey, Jal, and Wen didn’t make it out so that they wouldn’t have to move through this hell. The sun began to set and Bryn turned to Rodden to suggest they sleep for a few hours, but Rodden wasn’t there. He slowly turned to look around him, but he could see him nowhere. He was completely alone. He fell to the ground and would have cried if his body had enough water to spare for tears, which it did not. Somehow he managed to fall asleep or pass out.

He woke with the sun shining painfully in his eyes.
He decided not to get up. What was the point? This would be the fifth day that they’d been in the desert he thought, but couldn’t be sure. The other three men were lying down somewhere behind him, dying slowly. He would quietly join them. As he stared up at the clear blue sky above, Bryn thought about the rolling green fields of Eston. He would never see them again, but it didn’t seem to bother him that much. He was beyond caring about anything. A feeling of peaceful serenity filled him and all of his cares vanished. The pain in his stomach grew less and the taste of water didn’t constantly fill his thoughts. He knew that he must be close to death, and welcomed it.

Death himself must be walking toward him now, he thought, when he heard what sounded like footfalls approaching from the distance.
The sound grew louder and then suddenly a shadow stretched over his face and then a man leaned over him to block out the sun. He had a white towel wrapped around his head and a loose fitting type of robe around him. He put a water skin to Bryn’s lips and he was filled with such a feeling of joy at his first taste of water in three days that he began to cry.

“It’s alright,” the man said as he rubbed Bryn’s hair back.
“Who are you and how have you come to be here?”

Bryn’s voice came out harsh and cracked and seemed barely audible to him.
“Bryn Fellows, from Tillatia,” he croaked. “We were attacked by Jongurians.”

“Are there anymore of you?” the man asked him.

“Yes, three more behind me somewhere,” Bryn managed to say. It was harder to speak than he realized and it drained him. The man gave him another drink of water and Bryn got a look at the water skin. It had the Ithmian insignia on it, a single castle tower on golden sand surrounded by water. A huge smile crept onto Bryn’s face at the sight causing his lips to crack painfully, but he didn’t care. He pointed at the water skin and looked into the man’s eyes.

“Palen,” he said before
losing consciousness.

THE END

About the Author

Greg Strandberg was born and raised in Helena, Montana.  He graduated from the University of Montana in 2008 with a BA in History.  He lived and worked in China following the collapse of the American economy.  After five years he moved back to Montana where he lives with his wife and young son.

Connect with Greg Strandberg

Visit my website on writing and Montana:
http://www.bigskywords.com

Visit my website for teachers in China:
http://www.esladventure.com

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