Leaving the Caravan

We reached the first valley a few days later.

It was quite unexpected. We simply came over yet another dune, the gafl puffing with the effort, and instead of yet another channel of hot golden sand, we found ourselves looking down into a small orchard.

It filled the shaded space between two dunes, and nothing more. At the crest of each dune, scrubby grass gave way to bare sand in a line as sharp as the top of a topiary hedge. The trickling of a small stream from below explained how the plants were able to survive. Compared to the fiery late-afternoon sun streaming across the dunes, the shade in the valley was a violet-blue so deep it was nearly black. It took me several minutes of squinting before I could make out more than the occasional glint of running water.

The trees were a mix of apples and Desert puddens, a dusky purple fruit like a dry-weather plum. None of the trees grew higher than the crests of the dunes around the valley. They stretched their branches out sideways instead - quite far, for the ones near the crests. Their highest leaves were brown and curled around the edges, as if the dry Desert winds had singed them.

Between the trees, in the shade of the dunes, was an enormous man with a long staff. He resembled a crocodile; his back was covered in deep green scales, as rough as bark. The shade made the paler, square scales down his front look pale blue. As I watched, he tapped a couple of branches with the staff, expertly catching the fruit that fell and tossing it into a basket strapped to his back. He turned and gave us a wave as we passed. His smile was quite friendly, considering that he had more teeth than a bear trap.

I had finished the canopy painting by then (to effusive and gratifying thanks from my host; he said the sight of fish overhead reminded him of home) and was back in my own wagon, so I had an unobstructed view. I was so captivated by the little green valley - which contained far more plants than I'd seen in one place since leaving Thrass Kaffa - that I almost missed Mogen running past me, toward the lead wagons. The whole caravan stopped a moment later.

The news spread quickly; I could hear the murmur approaching my wagon, like an oncoming wave. It was a breathless Mirenza who finally carried it to me.

"Did you hear? Fish-traveler is leaving caravan!"

It seemed that Chakramalsian, having recognized something in the small valley that was more promising than the endless sand over which we had been traveling, had decided to part ways with the caravan at last.

It didn't take long for me to decide to join him. I had enjoyed my travels through the Golden Desert, but the section the caravan was currently traveling through was hotter and more monotonous than most, and it showed every sign of continuing so. Members of the caravan had spotted signal beacons on the horizon, massive stone towers fitted with lenses and parabolic mirrors the size of small houses; these focused the rays of the sun onto chunks of volcanic glass, which absorbed sunlight during the day and released it in a handsome shade of violet all night. Those who recognized the structures said that we were most likely approaching the canyon city of Kafhipar, which is located in an especially heavily baked area of the Golden Desert. The beacon towers are both an invitation to travelers and a navigational aid to the city's own residents; as the entire city is built below ground level, where the heat is less intense and water occasionally remains liquid for more than ten seconds, the towers are all that make it visible before one stumbles into it.

As much as I would have liked to see the canyon city, the shady green valley - and the others like it that I could see speckled across the dunes beyond - were too tempting to leave behind. I had had enough sand and sun to last me quite a while.

I informed Tirakhai of my intentions first, to make sure that I owed nothing further for my passage with the caravan. "Of course not!" He boomed, giving me an affectionate pat on the back that nearly knocked me flat. "You have done your part already, and we are nearly to the city. We will not be meeting the Painted Ones again. You do not complain, but I can tell you are no Desert flower. I wish you luck in a place where the sun does not wilt you so much." He bade me a fond farewell and gave me a rib-creaking hug to go with it.

When I returned to Chak's wagon, a second wagon had pulled up alongside. As it turned out, Karlishek and Garnet felt much the same as I did.

"I've seen enough canyons to last me all year," Karlishek said. "Besides," he added to me with the flutter of his antennae that means he's teasing, "someone has to help you with your Amrat. A little work on your pronunciation, and people might actually understand you."

Garnet was silent, as usual, but her shyly smiling presence was enough to indicate that she'd decided to come along. We invited Mirenza as well, asking if she intended to continue to Kafhipar.

"Kafhipar? Keh. Barely a hundred years old." Mirenza dismissed the city with a wave of her hand. "Too new for anything of interest. But I stay with my group. We have more to see."

Though we'd met fairly recently, the four of us had grown rather close during our misadventures. Mirenza sent us off with a round of feathery hugs and strict instructions to write to her at the University of Shakrazizli, where she has a postbox that she checks once every year or two. "Be safe!" she told us with a twinkle in her black eyes. "Stay out of trouble, unless it is the interesting kind."

After saying our goodbyes to the other friends and acquaintances we've made in the caravan, and checking many times to be sure that we had all the necessary supplies, we parted ways at last. Our two wagons - one open, one veiled - stopped at the valley's edge, and we stood under one of the stunted pudden trees to wave to the caravan as the gafls and their carts trundled off toward the flashing signal towers on the horizon. We could see Mirenza's black-feathered arm waving to us until the caravan vanished among the heat-rippled gold of the dunes.