Friday, August 16, 2019

Master of the Desert Nomads Part 4: The Salt Swamp

Tetsukichi, Bayan, Bo Jing, and Bangqiu continued their way up the river. The river became wider, and more shallow. They pushed their way forward, their poles sinking into the soft brown mud. The air was thick and still and the smell of salt burned in their nostrils. Whithered palms and dry reeds were covered with brownish white crystals. As the day progressed, a salty film settled on their eyelashes.

Everyone was hungry and thirsty. The water was teeming was pale, sluggish fish. Damai speared one. When he cut it open, worms burst out and he flung the gooey mass back into the water. The water of course was undrinkable.

The sunset and as the swamp darkened, the party noticed a light a head of them. They pushed their raft forward, sometimes slashing through reeds and even knocking down small rotten trees.

The light came from a wooden hut, raised on high stilts with a dock at the bottom. A ladder led up to a doorway, covered by a rough curtain, glowing with light from within the hut. The travelers tied their raft to the dock. Bayan volunteered to climb the ladder. Reaching the top, she called out. Receiving no reply, she drew her sword and entered. She found a small, bare room with one window looking out on the dark swamp. There was another room, its doorway curtained, and the source of the light seemed to be within this inner room. Pushing the curtain aside with her sword, she peered in and found another small empty room. She went back and called for the others to come up.

A cool breeze stirred the air outside and rain had begun to fall. Within minutes, the light wind and rain had turned into a fierce storm. The hut was cramped, but no one wanted to stay with the raft. Without bothering to set up a guard, everyone lay down and slept.

Bangqiu woke up hot and sweaty and began yelling at the others. Tetsukichi and Bayan woke up. It was hot and bright again, maybe close to midday. Everyone had experienced terrible dreams. And one of the soldiers would not wake up completely. He opened his eyes and rose and followed simple directions, but he wouldn’t speak and couldn’t be distracted from staring at nothing—or something that no one else could see.

Damai wanted to explore the hut. He found no end to the chain of small rooms with curtained doorways and became absorbed in looking for small differences between them, mapping the design of scratches in the floor.

Tetsukichi went outside. The raft was gone. And most of the remainder of their provisions.

Bangqiu announced that he could assume the form of a hippopotamus and ferry everyone to shore. But first he would take on the form of a bird and find the way to shore. The day was cloudy and didn’t thin out as Bangqiu rose higher. Flying at a lower level, several feet above the turgid water, he weaved through the vegetation toward the horizon. He saw some kind of structure ahead of him and flew faster. As he drew closer, he saw the already too-familiar shape of the hut.

Bayan led efforts to rebuild the raft, and began by tearing off the planks of the hut.

Everyone was nearly overcome by hunger, thirst, and fatigue and the day passed in slow misery. As the sun began to set, someone raised the question of whether it would be safe to sleep, nodding towards Nayan, the catatonic soldier who had spent the entire day standing at the window. A good question, but not one that anyone had the heart to answer.

Then they started hearing whispers out in the swamp . . .

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