Chapter 3
Pavo woke with a start, the now-familiar pain digging into his arm. It perfectly accompanied his gritty eyes and aching back.
He pushed himself into a sitting position with his good arm, leaning against the wall. He groaned in the back of his throat as he did so. It hurt like hell, that was for sure, but something seemed to have changed. When he opened his eyes, meaning to inspect the wound, he was instead greeted by the sight of a small fire burning a few feet away from him, lighting the entire cave. A man was sitting on the other side of the fire, pressed up against the wall and staring at him in a somewhat horrified manner. A goat was lying down near the entrance to the cave, watching them both with mild interest. It was pitch-dark outside, so he had obviously been sleeping for a while. He could hear howling wind.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, turning to face the stranger. His vision blurred momentarily as the walls caught up with the movement of his head.
“Who are you?”
“I asked first, so maybe you should answer first.” Pavo swallowed with some difficulty; his voice sounded like a rock being dragged against the wall.
The man—actually, he was little more than a boy—glared at him. “My name is Cane. Who are you, and what are you doing out here?”
“The name’s Pavo. And what I’m doing out here is dying slowly, thank you very much. Now kindly go, and take your horned friend with you.”
The boy peered at him. “What do you mean, dying?”
There was curiosity in his voice, and Pavo didn’t particularly care for it. He’d heard stories about bandits living out here in the wilderness, just waiting for some unsuspecting traveler to rob, and possibly murder.
He decided to tread carefully. “What I mean, is that I’m utterly lost, and I haven’t had a drop to drink in two days. This damned desert is unending.”
“Fine, then. When the storm dies down, I shall leave you to it.”
Pavo gave him a second look. The fire—which appeared to be just a strangely burning plant—showed his young, somewhat nervous face in great detail. He didn’t look or sound like a bandit; just an irritated adolescent.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”
The boy gave him a wary glance. “I am on a pilgrimage to the town of Kaitos.”
“And where is that?”
“West.”
Traveling east was what had landed Pavo in this mess. West evidently meant getting back to civilization.
“Well, Cane,” he said, making his tone nice and chummy. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sorry about the hostility earlier; it’s just sort of odd to fall asleep in an empty cave and wake up with company.”
“I thought that the cave was empty when I came in. The goat led me here.”
“Ah.” Pavo smiled brightly. “Well, Sir Pilgrim, would you mind terribly if I came along with you? I’m afraid my horse deserted me—no joke intended—and I don’t fancy the idea of wandering aimlessly through the sand until my legs fall off.”
He could tell the boy was thinking it over carefully. “It’s a five-day walk, and I was sent out with enough water for myself. It won’t be an easy journey.”
Pavo kept his smile in place. “I can make it, no worries.” Anything to get me out of this damn place.
“Hmph.”
“Should I take that as a ‘yes,’ Sir Pilgrim?”
“Alright, I guess so. But if you start to slow me down, I will leave you on your own.”
Pavo was suddenly very happy that he had obeyed his instincts and neglected to mention his injury. “I believe we have a deal, Cane.”
The next day, as Cane and the goat led him across the desert, Pavo marveled at the vast number of identical sand dunes, identical cacti, and identical patches of anemic grass.
The boy was indeed young, maybe in his late teens. In the light of day, Pavo had gotten a better look at him; his hair was black, tidy in contrast to his well-worn clothing. His skin was light brown, a shade that was rare where Pavo came from, but he assumed that if he lived in the desert long enough, he would attain a similar skin-tone. But the boy’s eyes were most unsetting—a very pale blue that almost hurt Pavo’s own eyes. He tried to avoid making direct eye-contact for too long.
“Do you really know where you’re going?” he called, squinting across the shiny ground and lagging behind somewhat.
“Nothing has changed since the last time you asked me that.”
Sighing, Pavo reached for his flask with his good hand. Ah, good. Nearly empty. I should just stab myself right now. Cane had filled it from his own wineskin, but the meager portion wasn’t going to last much longer.
“How far did you say this town was?”
The boy turned and looked at him. “A four-day walk from here. Longer, if you don’t pick up the pace.”
They walked in silence for a while. The goat stayed close, only pausing to sniff a rock here or nibble at some grass there.
“Is she your pet?” Pavo inquired.
The boy shook his head. “If you insist on chatting, don’t make me keep shouting over the wind.”
Sighing, he caught up with Cane and repeated his question.
“No, she’s not mine. I found her in the desert, and she’s been following me since.”
“Does she at least have a name?”
“I do not name things I may end up eating.”
“Even a doomed man has a name.” Pavo looked over at the goat. “Capella seems fitting enough.”
“What kind of name is that?” demanded the boy.
“You have no sense of the dramatic, do you?”
“What?”
Pavo sighed. This will be a very long walk…
They walked for two days, and Pavo tried to ignore his injury. He’d discreetely washed it with a bit of spit the first day—not wanting to waste his precious water—but now he was almost afraid to look at it. Last time he had seen it, the edges of the gash were swollen and yellow, with painful redness stills spreading up his arm. He was certain that Cane would abandon him if he saw it; the prospect was not a pleasant one.
The sky had taken on a strange habit of swirling momentarily, the clouds racing around willy-nilly like crazed…crazed...
He forgot the word that had previously come to mind. And this terribly rare loss for words was what brought him to reality.
“Excuse me,” he said. That was odd…it must have been a trick of the sand, because his voice sounded miles away from his ears. “I feel sort of faint…”
The last thing he saw was a pair of unnervingly blue eyes.
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