Wielder's Rising (8 page)

He picked the other one back up and got to his feet.  He put them both back in the golden chest and returned the elaborate box to his saddlebag.  Maybe when he learned more of how to use the ambience he would be able to study them better and figure out what they were for.

Traven walked back to the small shelter and gently shook the philosopher awake.  Studell blinked and swiveled his head from side to side, looking disoriented.  After a moment his eyes lit up and a grin graced his face as he remembered where he was.

“Is it time to continue on?” he asked.  “How long before we reach the Keeper’s Staff?  Let’s get moving.”

“You probably want to eat something first,” Traven said with a smile.  “If we start heading for the formation right after you finish eating, I think we should reach it sometime in the middle of the night.”

Studell ate a quick meal and guzzled down some water.  Traven wanted to advise him to go easy on the water but knew the elderly philosopher needed it.  They put on their head wraps and took down the camp.  Then they set off for the Keeper’s Staff.  It wasn’t long before the late afternoon heat had them dripping with sweat.  Traven was glad that the sun would be setting before too long.  As much as he disliked the cold of the desert nights, the cold was easier to travel in than the heat of the day.

As they got closer to the tall formation, signs of life began to appear.  Dry looking scrub bushes could be seen here and there along their path.  Traven also noticed a lizard or two scampering behind the bushes as they passed.  By the time the sun set, he was feeling much more optimistic about the journey.  This part of the desert was obviously not completely devoid of moisture.  Hopefully the spring really was nearby.

With the setting of the sun, darkness began to creep over the desert once again.  As the temperature began to drop, Traven was happy to see that there were plenty of scrub bushes around them.  It would be easy to get a small fire going to warm them up when they stopped for a break.  The darkness eventually took over and thousands of stars began winking in the night.

They continued in a straight line towards the tall rock formation mostly in silence.  Something about the darkness and the immense dome of stars looking down on their small party made them content to keep their conversations to a minimum.  As they got closer to the formation, it appeared to reach higher and higher into the heavens.  Sometime around the middle of the night, they reached its base.

Despite how thin it had appeared from far away, the base of the Keeper’s Staff was actually incredibly wide.  It looked as if it was at least fifty arm spans across.  Studell commented on how small he felt with it rising above them, blotting out a large swath of stars.  Traven agreed with him and went to collect enough of the scrub bushes to get a warm firing going.  When he had gathered plenty, he put several together and lit them with the ambience.  They burst into flames, burning much faster than he had anticipated.  He gathered a few more bushes and sat down next to Studell to warm himself by the fire.

The heat of the fire was welcome and quickly dispelled the chill from the night.  Traven and Studell munched on some of their food and took several sips from the last full water skin.

“I hope this spring of yours is close,” Traven said.  “If we are careful we might be able to make this water last through another day.”

“It will be there,” Studell replied.  “Everything else has been right where the map said it would be.”

Traven didn’t have a problem trusting the map.  After what they had seen so far, he believed that the map was accurate as far as how things used to be.  However, just because a spring existed in ancient times when the map was made didn’t mean that it still existed.  He tossed the last of the dry bushes into the fire and tried to relax.

The crackling of the fire was distracting and reminded him of his journey to Calyn with Blaize.  How many fires had he shared with the grizzled warrior on their journey to the capitol of Kalia?  He missed the talks they had shared and the stories Blaize had told.  He supposed that now he would have some stories of his own to share with Blaize once they met up again.  Hopefully they really would find some interesting treasures amongst the ancient ruins.  Then he would have even more to talk about when he eventually met back up with the army.

As the fire began to die down, they remounted their horses and made their way around the base of the Keeper’s Staff.  They continued north towards where the spring should be.  Traven kept a sharp lookout for the spring, but after a couple of hours they still hadn’t found it.  To the east he could see the outlines of the mountains known as the ‘Twin Guards’ that would lead them on their way to the ruins of Faldor’s Keep.

The spring should be somewhere close, but he couldn’t see any sign of it.  After another long stretch of night without seeing it, he began to get really worried.  The horses had needed a lot of water thus far.  He knew that realistically their meager supply wouldn’t last another full day.  His lips were cracked and his throat was dry.  If they didn’t find water soon, they would all eventually die.  Traven tried not to panic as he continued to scan their surroundings for any sign of the spring.  He was afraid that he might miss it in the dark and wondered if it would be wiser to wait until the morning to look for it.  He once again wondered if it even existed anymore.

Perhaps it would be wise to suggest that they should turn back.  As he considered how best to explain his thoughts to the philosopher, he noticed something different on the horizon.  He strained to see what it was but couldn’t tell.  As they got closer, he realized that the shapes were trees.  His heart leapt at the sight.  If there were trees, there was water.  He happily pointed them out to the philosopher.  Despite the man’s assurances earlier, Traven noticed a visible relief wash over him upon hearing the news.  It was not long before Traven could clearly make out the small oasis.

There were seven trees and a spattering of bushes clumped in a small, tight circle.  The trees looked like none he had ever seen.  The trunks were tall and skinny.  The numerous green branches at the very top of the trunks fanned out in all directions and drooped slightly.

As they rode closer, Traven searched for the spring.  As hard as he looked, he couldn’t make out any sign of water.  He hoped it was just hiding behind some of the bushes, but once they arrived at the small cluster of trees, his hopes were crushed.

They dismounted and searched the small concentration of foliage but found nothing other than dirt.  They searched the entire area several more times but to no avail.  Traven noticed a distinct change in the philosopher’s countenance as they continued looking.  The man’s shoulders slumped and the enthusiasm with which he had faced previous obstacles was completely gone.

“I’ve doomed us,” Studell said sadly as he collapsed to the ground at the base of one of the strange trees.  “My foolishness has led us to our deaths.  I let my excitement get in the way of my reason.  I knew that springs come and go.  Some springs last for years and then suddenly disappear. I should have planned for the possibility.  I should have . . .”

Traven shut out Studell’s ramblings as the philosopher continued to lament about his foolishness.  It wasn’t the elderly man’s fault.  Traven had known the risk before they had begun traveling across the desert.  He cleared his mind and tried to focus on what needed to happen next.  Their water supply would run out the next day.  Perhaps they could make it back to the beach if they turned around immediately.  They would have to ration the remaining water and only travel during the night.  They would have to leave any unnecessary supplies so as not to burden their mounts anymore than was necessary.

Even as he began planning for the return trip, he knew that they probably couldn’t make it back across the desert.  There just wasn’t enough water left.  He might be able to survive without water for a day or two, but he knew that the elderly philosopher could never make it.  Their other option was to continue following the map, hoping that they found water somewhere else.  But where would they find water in the middle of a desolate desert?  Perhaps there was a water source near the ruins of the keep, but that was still a couple days away as well.

For all he knew there might not be water anywhere in this blasted desert.  However, he knew it wasn’t true.  He had seen signs of life and these trees and bushes had to have water to survive.  Their leaves were lush and green.  There was water somewhere.  He paused as the answer hit him.  It was just below the ground!  Traven hurried to the pack horse and pulled out the small shovel that the philosopher had brought.  He looked around and chose a spot in the center of the clump of trees.  He took the shovel to the small clearing and after taking a deep breath, began to dig.

He was thankful for the cold night air as he began to sweat with the effort of digging.  He removed his robe and continued to methodically thrust in his shovel and create an ever growing hole in the sandy dirt.  His muscles eventually grew tired from the effort and screamed for him to take a break.  He stopped to rest but resisted the urge to drink any water.  Studell had come over to see what he was doing and reached down into the hole.

“The dirt does seem a little damp,” he said dejectedly.  “But there is no water.  You could dig for hours and not reach the source.  We’re doomed.  How foolish I am!  What was I thinking?  Ohhh.”

Traven watched as the distressed philosopher made his way back to the tree and collapsed.  He dropped the shovel and hurried over to the elderly man.  Luckily, he was just sleeping.  The strain of their journey and current predicament must have finally been too much for him.  Traven balled up his robe and put it under the philosopher’s head, trying to make the elderly man more comfortable.

He then returned to the hole and continued digging.  It was now obvious to him that the philosopher wouldn’t be able to make it back to the beach unless they found water.  He made the hole wider and deeper, but there was still no water.  His muscles again screamed for him to stop and his parched throat called for water.  He took a small sip to wet his throat and collapsed at the side of the hole.

He knew that he couldn’t keep digging much longer.  He had already exhausted himself to the point where he could barely lift the dirt out of the hole.  They had plenty of food left, but what he needed was more water to keep going.  He stared at the hole with frustration.  What more could he do?  The philosopher had been right.  There was no way he would be able to dig deep enough.  The dirt was definitely moist at the bottom of the hole, but that was all.

Traven put his face in his hands in exasperation.  There had to be some way to get to the water.  If only he could make the hole bigger and deeper with his mind like he had done the night before with the flame.  He paused as the thought took hold.  Maybe he could.  He let his hands fall back to the ground and took a deep breath.

He stared at the hole, trying to picture it bigger and deeper, but nothing happened.  He blinked several times and concentrated harder.  The air started to thicken and time slowed, but still nothing happened to the hole.  As hard as he struggled, his efforts were in vain.  No change occurred.  He closed his eyes in frustration.  Why couldn’t he enlarge the hole like he had the flame?  He tried to block out the pain of his sore muscles and cracked lips as he searched his mind for an answer.

In his focused state, the faint memory of a lightning bolt flitted at the edge of his memory.  Had he really created one?  If he could make a bolt of lightning again, perhaps he could blast the hole deeper.  He decided that it was worth a try and opened his eyes.  His strength was nearly gone, and he couldn’t think of any other options.

He looked up pleadingly and reached towards the night sky.  He concentrated and slowly began to form a lightning bolt.  He began shaking with the effort, but continued forming it in his mind’s eye.  After struggling for several long moments, he managed to direct a sizable bolt of lightning down from the clear sky and directly into the center of the hole.  He expelled an exhausted breath as he focused on the imagined bolt.  It was there, just beyond sight.  Without stopping to think further, he used the last of his strength and yanked it into existence.

The extreme force that accompanied the blinding flash of light knocked him backwards through the air and into a tree.  He slid to the ground and lost consciousness as a deafening boom washed over him.

* * * * *

Studell bolted upright with a ringing in his ears.  The horses were neighing and rearing in panic to his right.  He shook his head trying to stop the ringing in his ears.  What had happened?

In the dark he could just make out the form of Traven sleeping a little ways to his left at the base of one of the palm trees.  Whatever had made the sound had not disturbed the young man.  He must have been exhausted.  Studell remembered watching the young man digging before he himself had fallen asleep.  Traven must have finally given up and decided to sleep as well.

He frowned sadly.  There wasn’t any hope of finding water.  They were going to die.  Dying of dehydration would be a horrible way to go.  His hopeless thoughts were interrupted by the horses.  They were no longer rearing in fright but struggling against their ropes to get to something.  He peered into the darkness but couldn’t tell what they were so anxious about.  He stood up and walked toward where the horses were straining to get to.

He took several more steps forward and stopped in amazement.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  He rubbed them and stared.  The philosopher had never seen anything so wonderful in his entire life.  Directly at his feet was a pond full of glistening water!

7

Traven awoke at dawn with a splitting headache, a sore back, and a parched mouth.  He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and blinked in the bright dawn light.  He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.  He let out a groan as he stretched.  He felt horrible.  He reopened his eyes and located the philosopher.