The Fragile - Part 2

A month was spent amid the ever-shifting sands, and our caravan trundled onward. After what seemed like an eternity, the landscape began to change: patches of grass, prickly bushes, palm and date trees started to appear in patches around us. I remembered the old tales, of how the djinn had made the first gardens out of the arid wastelands, that only those who survived the trials of the desert would see them. I felt, as the land became more rich with greenery, that we were wandering into such a paradise garden.

At last we came upon the city, the White Jewel of Suhalla, gleaming as brightly as the sea it rested beside, and my fantasies were confirmed. It is difficult to describe the wonder that fell over me as we passed under the great alabaster arch, coming upon the bustling entrance plaza of this greatest of cities. Everything here was grand and beautiful to behold: towers bore rounded, gleaming minarets. There were sprawling salons, bathhouses, temples, libraries, theaters, centers of art and culture. Everywhere I turned, there was water; azure canals, shining fountains, marvels of architecture and liquid. Above it all, from any point in the city, you could see the spires of the King's Palace, a treasure built of dark stone, whose walls seemed to bleed the life-giving pure water that ran through the city.

Our caravan moved through the crowds and into the Marketplace, an avenue of goods that made Sida's Moonlight Market look small and pathetic by comparison. There was no end to the spectacle. Here was a man who ate fire and spat it into the air; there a woman who danced barefoot amidst cobras that swayed hypnotically to the pipe she played; and still further, a troupe of juggling acrobats who rolled and capered as if they were connected at the hip. We saw tiny aesthetics, old men with gray beards and skin the color and consistency of cracked leather, who live only on water and air. We witnessed a slave wagon pass by, the sad and ashen faces of those within peering out at us. There were the bhuka, a small people adorned with feathers, beads and face paint, who moved through the market with rigid purpose. In the air, I sometimes caught a glimpse of men seated upon flying carpets, sailing across the sky with the speed and ease of a sparrow.

All this and so much more, yet my beloved seemed to be watching the sea of activity with intent, trying to pick out something I could not see. We reached the end of the market, and bid our traveling companions farewell. Just as I was going to suggest we find a place to stay for the night, my beloved leaped from the wagon and walked purposefully into the crowd. Confused, I followed her, keeping an eye on the wagon at all times.

She had not gone far, just to a small out-of-the-way corner, where a crude awning kept the sun at bay. A small boy, no older than ten, was seated amid a multitude of clay jars. To my surprise, I saw him delicately manipulating tendrils of sand that rose from the jars, shaping them into snakes. He looked up with dark, intelligent eyes as my beloved and I approached.

"Spare a coin?" he asked.

My beloved sat down in the street beside him and handed him a silver coin. Then she too began to shape the sand. She made the tendrils swirl together, twirling like a dust devil. Then the shapes changed: she made an image of the city, its marketplace full of tiny sand people. The boy's eyes were wide, but then he smiled and added birds and flying carpets swooping over the tiny city. My heart filled with a sort of quiet joy, watching the two artisans create.

The beautiful scene ended, and the sands obediently returned to their jars. The boy exchanged hushed words with my beloved, and then he nodded.

"Come," he said. "I will take you to Sandveil Hall."

---

Fountain City is rich in marvels for the eye, without question. But the sights I had seen scarcely prepared for Sandveil Hall. All the stories my beloved had told me of the glory days of the sand artisan seemed to be incarnate within the structure. It was a small palace of sandstone, and pouring from its rooftop in concentrated patterns were thick curtains of fine-grained sand. It flowed in delicate arches, mirroring the fountains and waterfalls of the city, and ran in rivulets down to a moat of powder at its foot. It was a hypnotic display.

I cannot say what went through the mind of my beloved, but it moved her on a deeper level than I. Her eyes glistened with tears as she beheld the hall, but her smile was real. She turned to me and took my calloused hands in hers, and my words cannot convey the happiness, the completeness of that moment.

The boy escorted her in, and a curtain of cascading sand parted for them as they entered. I was instructed to wait outside, and wait I did. I was there a long time, the sun's glare subdued by the perpetual mist of the fountains, watching the people of this alabaster haven go by. I felt an eternity passed in what was likely a short span of time, and doubt began to grow in my mind: what was keeping her? Was she forced to pass some rigorous test? Was this truly the new guild of sand artisans, or was it a clever ruse to lure unwary artists to some slave-pit?

Thankfully these dark thoughts were dispelled by a gentle hand on my shoulder. My beloved was there, a wide smile on her face. With her was a sharp-faced man dressed in fanciful robes and with a silk turban on his head.

"I have found a teacher," my love said. She introduced me to the man, who bowed and smiled in turn. "He will help me improve my craft, and has offered me a place in the guild here."

I could not believe our luck: the gods has smiled upon us to allow such an event to transpire the day we arrived. Yet my anxious thoughts from earlier had not entirely subsided. Something unspoken gnawed at me as I looked at this man. His eyes were dark and intelligent, and there was sly edge to the corners of his mouth, like a scimitar's blade.

Hesitantly, I offered him my thanks.

"It is an honor," he replied. "You have a gifted woman for a companion, and should consider yourself very lucky. I will do my best to see her powers enhanced."

---

We lived in comfort in those days. Our home was a modest, small affair, but it was beyond anything I had dreamed of back in Sida. We always kept the windows open, for during the day a cool breeze carried pleasant scents from the market, and at night the sounds of flowing water rode up from the streets. From our balcony, one could see the gleaming canals and fountains that were abundant wherever you turned. We lived in a land of plenty.

I found work as an assistant to an old sha'ir woman, who like a ghost or a shadow seemed to glide wherever she went. While my beloved daily went to the Hall to work on her craft, I sold unusual trinkets and exotic items to the curious in the marketplace. The sha'ir was very kind to me, and paid me more than I felt I deserved for such a small job.

It was night I looked forward to the most, for my nights were filled with my beloved. Like a man intoxicated, I found every tired moment of my day worthwhile when I came home to her beauty, her laughter, her smile. We talked, we laughed, we made love in the sanguine hours. And on those nights where the full moon made the alabaster city glow like silver, she would shape the sands for me. She would draw the desert's abundance from her tall jar, passed down to her by her aunt and to she by by a spirit, and display how her abilities had improved. And, indeed, they had - now her soft and supple movements were interspersed with hard, blunt shifts that created solid objects of the sand. She told me, above anyone else - even her teacher - she valued my opinion the most.

---

Then, one evening, I returned home to find my beloved without a smile. She was seated on the balcony, legs dangling over the causeway below. She looked up as I approached, but her face was hard, thoughtful, cast in doubt. Confused, I sat beside her. Her gaze was fixed on the streets.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she spoke first. "My teacher says I am doing very well," she said. "That I am the most talented artisan he has instructed. I have learned quickly."

"He is right," I said, trying to be encouraging. I realized this might not have been the right thing to say when she sighed deeply.

"Today," she went on, "he told me that he has been summoned to the Palace, to be a personal artisan for the King himself. He offered to bring me along."

Despite myself, I smiled. "Surely this is good news! You can demonstrate your powers for the King, and earn a place in his court!"

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. The sea in her eyes was tumultuous.

"It is everything I could ask for," she said, "but it would mean leaving you."

These words were like a hammerblow to my heart. I sat, dumbstruck, trying to make sense of what she said.

"I was told the King wants only true guild artisans in his court," she went on, her voice choked. "As a guild member and his apprentice, I would have a place secured if I went with my teacher, but I could not find a place for you. This is what he told me."

The sounds of the city nightlife faded away: the most deafening silence I had ever felt in the presence of noise. To picture my life without her, when she had brought me back from the brink of oblivion...It was unthinkable.

My beloved must have seen the sorrow on my face, for she placed a hand on mine. "I told him I did not know what to decide. He said I should consider it, and that his offer would stand for a short time."

I looked into her eyes. "There is no other way?"

She shook her head, no.

I thought of her teacher, the man with the dark eyes and scimitar smile. I wondered if there was some other reason he had singled her out. After all, he was very handsome, and she beautiful...The thought disgusted me. But what could I offer her now? What awaited her was riches, fame, a life of comfort beyond anything I could imagine. All I had was my love and my dedication, and that could only do so much.

"Then," I said slowly, trying in vain to be strong, "you should go. Do not let me hold you back."

Here eyes were suddenly fierce. "No. I cannot. Not without you."

Long ago, my father had told me that a man should be like a mountain fortress, impenetrable and guarded. Now the fortress walls were crumbling, and the battlements teetered on the brink of collapse. Yet I knew I must hold.

"But the greatest of opportunities is laid before you!" I said. "I could never give you as much."

"Do not try so hard!" She squeezed my hand hard, and I winced. "You have given me more than any man or king could ever offer: kindness, respect, love...I do not want everything if it means I cannot be with you."

At last we looked, really looked at each other. I saw in her a determination I had never seen before, and I knew she saw in me the wreckage of my inner fortress; she was the stonemason, the sand artisan, come to repair it.

"I will tell my teacher," she said at last, "that I must decline his offer. I have everything I ever need right here." She drew in close, and we embraced. In that moment, I relented; the tears of relief, of gratitude, flowed down my face unbidden.

"I won't let you fall apart," she whispered.

---

The next day, I went about my usual duties in the shop, feeling listless. Despite everything, I knew she was giving up something tremendous for my sake. My brain was on fire, trying to find a compromise. I had vowed to protect her, yet I did not want to keep her from the glory she deserved.

As I thought this, a voice whispered in my ear: "There is jackal waiting to pounce."

Startled, I turned: the old sha'ir woman was behind me, her shawl casting her weathered face in shadow. Just above her shoulder, suspended in the air, was a tiny green flame.

I had never seen such a phenomena before. The sha'ir are a mystics, said to consort with spirits. Now, as I looked at the emerald orb of fire dancing in her presence, I knew this was more than just simple talk.

I did not know what to say. The sha'ir remained silent, staring through me like I was a cloud of smoke. Then she said, "I felt it wise to warn you. You are, at heart, a good man. And you have done good work for me."

"But what do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean what I say," she said simply, as the green flame flickered, folded in on itself and vanished. "There is a jackal waiting to pounce. Make of it what you will."

And, with that said, she glided off. I stared after her, and in that moment, an idea formed in my mind.

---

"Can you teach me how to shape the sand?"

My beloved seemed taken aback by this question. It was in the dark of night, just as we were preparing for sleep. She rolled over and looked at me, confused. "Why do you ask?"

I ventured my idea. "If I learned, I could join the guild, yes? You could show me how to do it, and I will work hard. I have no doubt you would be a very good instructor."

"It is impossible," she said shortly. "My love, you are too old now to start."

"Why?"

"Because it is something that takes years to gain even the slightest grasp of. And you must start as a child, when the gift of magic is still fresh in you."

"But if I were to learn, I could go with you to the Palace."

In the dark, she laughed. "Are you still troubled by this? I have made my decision, and I will not be swayed." There was a pause. "My teacher was not pleased when he heard. He told me not to drop the matter entirely, and that he would give me the chance if I changed my mind. A part of me is glad. There is a way he looks at me...I do not like it."

The dark man's image flickered briefly across my mind, along with a spark of anger.

"When he leaves," my beloved went on, "I will find a new teacher in the guild, and continue on my own accord."

For some reason, I could not let the notion go. "Is there truly no way I could learn?"

"No," was her reply. "You must begin early, and find a balance in the forces of sand. That or you..."

"Or what?"

But she turned away, and said no more.

---

The boy artisan, whom we had met our first day in the city, was more willing to share with me the knowledge of their craft.

"I am still learning," he told me, as he conjured a veil of sand above to shade us from the sun, "so I must rely on the sands here in my pots. When you begin training, you must start with sands that have been touched by the spirits. For instance, this sand was taken from the Pale Wastes to the south, where the voices of djinni can be heard on the wind. Once I have complete control over these sands, I can move on to any dust that surrounds us. It is more difficult, but to always work with the given sand is dangerous."

"Why is that?" I inquired.

"Because the spirits are still in the sand," he explained. "They have great power and influence, and you must measure it carefully."

"But - forgive me for saying so - you are still a child."

He laughed. "That is the ideal time to begin, when you are open to learning and the desert's gift is still new. The spirits are more considerate to children then they are to adults, and in time they grow attached to the artisan. To do otherwise means making dangerous bargains...Why do you ask, massire?"

I gave no answer, simply dropping a coin in his offering bowl before I walked away.

---

My task clear, I waited until my beloved had gone away for the day before I made my next move. The guilt ate away at me, but it was better than the guilt of keeping my beloved from what she deserved.

She never took her tall jar with her, the one that contained the sand I knew she had begun her enchanted art with. It sat against a wall in our home, tall and ancient. I had rarely paid heed to it before, respecting that it was it was precious to my beloved, but I had to try.

I carefully reached into the jar and withdrew a fistful of sand. I watched it run between my fingers - a fine, almost black powder with the occasional flash of bright grit. I let it fall, scooped up some more. The dust of it clung to the lines in my palm.

I concentrated, not knowing how to evoke the power I knew the sand held. An hour passed, then two, and still nothing. Frustrated, I dusted the sand from my hands and glared into the vessel itself.

The change came immediately. Who are you? a sibilant voice whispered, one that came from nowhere. I tried not to show my surprise.

"I seek the power of the sand artisan," I said, voice shaking.

You are not our master, hissed the voice. Where is the true artisan?

"She is away. I am the man who loves the woman you call master."

The sand moved slightly, so slightly. Why do you seek the power of our master?

"To aid her and protect her. She means everything to me."

And I heard a sound, in my mind: the sound of the wailing wind, blowing across the dunes; I heard the cry of rocs and vultures; I heard the rattle of stones and the hiss of sand. All this in an instant, it made my heart ache for the wild, endless desert.

Then you will learn from us, o man who loves our master. You will gain the power you seek in time.

---

Without my beloved's knowledge, I returned home early each day and practiced with the sand. At first, it was for naught; the sands remained unmoving. But as I tried to emulate the graceful movements of my beloved, slowly I began to wrest some control. Always the whispering voice would guide me, direct my movements to best manipulate the sand. I cannot describe the feeling of controlling the sand at my whim, but I understood things that common men could not begin to comprehend.

I was careful to finish before my love returned from her training. I explained to her my early returns were due to the kindness of the sha'ir, who felt I was working too hard. She accepted it without question, but the guilt was like a roaring beast in my guts. Each night she would tell me that, while her skills were getting better, her good nature for her teacher deteriorated.

"Every day he asks me to rethink my decision, to come away with him to the King's Palace," she told me irritably. "He will always get the same answer. Why should I go with him? I see him now for the dog he is, the way he looks at me...I'll be glad when he's gone." She shuddered, and I put a hand on her shoulder for comfort. My touch seemed to ease her, for she sighed and leaned into me.

My love for her overwhelmed everything else; the guilt, the rage, the whispering voices that had now become regular in my head. It was my love that made me keep going. I would master the sands, and I would join her in Sandveil Hall one day. Together, we would go to the Palace and take the place her lecherous teacher should have. My beloved would shine above the petty courtesans, and I would be her humble apprentice, there to ensure her happiness.

So was my rationale. And then, in one cruel twist, everything changed.

---

The day was hot and humid, where the perpetual mist only seemed only to make the heat more unbearable. Sweating like a pig, I made my way back home from the marketplace, the sha'ir's pay fresh in my pocket. As I left, I had felt her hawk-like eyes on me, and something in the back of my mind cringed with worry.

That worry nagged me as I walked up the street. There were not many people about, for it was still before sundown, and the real activity began as twilight settled over the city. I was thinking deeply, not paying much attention to what was around me, concerned with how to break the news to my beloved that I now had a basic understanding of sand-shaping. My conscience was weighed on too heavily now - I knew I had to tell her the truth.

Because of this, I did not notice anything was wrong until I turned onto the narrow street where our home was located and waded into sand up to my ankles. I had a moment to wonder at this - for the streets were kept meticulously clean - when I felt more sand spilling onto my head.

I looked up, and saw the balcony of our apartment. Sand was leaking over the edge, and a sudden explosion of dust burst from the open doorway. My heart rose into my throat as I ran to the stairs. There was a quiet impact from above.

There was sand on the steps and more sand in the hall, as if our domicile was slowly eroding away. Instinctively, my hand went to the small dagger I had kept, almost forgotten, on me. I had not had a chance to use it during the trip through the wastes, and hoped against hope I would not have to use it now.

The door was open, and where the doorway should have been there was a solid wall of sand. I pounded on it, tried to dig through it, but it simply shifted and reformed with each impact. Muffled, through the wall, I heard shouting: my beloved, and another voice. There came another impact, the sound of something shattering, then more shouting.

A great rage welled within me, and I started hacking away at the wall with my knife. Each blow stung my hand, but all I could think about was my beloved, and whatever was happening on the other side.

And then without warning, the wall melted, swirled away into the room. I nearly fell forward, but caught myself on the door frame. What I saw within was not the residence my beloved and I shared, but a ruin, barely recognizable as our home, sand everywhere.

And my heart skipped a beat: my beloved was there, back against the wall, covered in dust. Menacing her was her teacher, his turban undone and fine clothes in tatters. He was gesturing, the sands flying about him to hold my beloved. She was trying to fend him off with her own movements, but the man clearly was more experienced with using the sands as a weapon.

His back was to me, but my beloved saw me and her eyes went wide. The teacher saw this and turned to find me charging at him, my dagger ready to meet his throat. The next thing I knew, the sand under my feet had swept me into the air. I hit the ceiling, then the wall, my dagger lost from my grip. My vision was lost to exploding stars of pain, and I dimly felt myself slide down the wall to the floor. I could not breath, the wind knocked from my lungs.

Through the haze of pain, I heard my beloved scream my name, and then the man curse. I could not see, I gasped for breath. I was dazed and disoriented, and my mouth was choked with sand.

"Do you see?" the man was shouting. "He is nothing! Only with me can you be great!"

I blinked, trying to will the pain away. Like a nightmare, I blearily saw this dark man, this lecherous bastard, stalking toward my beloved, pinned to the wall by his sand. His hands were outstretched hungrily, reaching for her--

Use us! The cry came from in my head, a whistling shriek that shocked me back to my senses. Protect our master!

Something bumped against my shoulder - the jar of sand, it dark contents spilling onto the ground. Instantly, my rage was made manifest as the sand writhed and swirled. With dexterity I did not know I possessed, I was on my feet again, and directing the swirling mass of black sand to envelope the teacher.

He cried once, only once, as he saw the whips of whirling darkness come toward him. Then he was buried, shaken, swung around the room like a child's toy. Fueled by my fury, I felt the sands like an extension of myself, and the power flooded my mind. I made the sand slam him into the floor. Again, and again, and again...

I heard my name yelled again, and the sands shifted as I did. My beloved stood, breathing hard, her face flush and eyes shimmering. She looked shocked, devastated, even frightened as she beheld the dark sand twisting and flowing around me.

Finish him! called the voice. End his life! He that would hurt our master must die!

The dagger. The dagger was in my hand again, I know not how. The man lay on the floor, bleeding and groaning. Without thought, without consideration, conscious only of my intense hatred I felt for this man, I approached him and raised my weapon. His eyes were pleading, but I felt no pity. My dagger found his heart.

The scream did not come from him as he died, but from my beloved. I stood slowly, and felt the power ebb and flow, the sand circling me. She looked at me as if I were a different person, hand to her breast. I am not sure what she saw, but her look of utter horror and revulsion gripped me. I realized then what I had just done.

I tried to speak to her, tried to think of something to comfort her, but she turned and fled. I stumbled, calling her name, and gave chase, heedless of the devastation behind me.

I practically tumbled down the stairs and out into the sun. I was blinded, still disoriented, but I could not let her get away. I needed to make it right. Frantically searching, I saw her near the street's end, running as fast as she could.

I called her name again, pleaded for her stop, to wait, and ran after. She did stop, and spun on the spot - such anguish in her face, fear in her eyes! I faltered, and without a word she did a complex gesture. In an instant she was lost from view by a barrier of sand that blocked the entire street.

This was too much! I pounded uselessly against the wall, trying to pull it down with my own sand, but it did nothing. I yelled for her, begged her to come back, though I knew it was useless. My yells turned into bitter sobs, and sank into the dusty street and wept.

By the time the wall vanished, she was long gone.

---

My old life was forsaken, abandoned when I became a killer. My new life had begun, and it is more empty and hollow than even my life before I crossed paths with the sand artisan, the beauty of the wastelands, my beloved; my salvation, and my despair.

I searched high and low for her, skulking in the city's shadows for fear of my crime. There was no trace of her, no inkling as to where she had gone. For weeks I was in a stupor, blindly following any lead I could. No doubt she has left the city, vanished into the wastes of Suhalla.

The black sands whisper to me from the jar that was given to my beloved by her aunt, and to she by a spirit. They haunt me day and night, longing for their master just as I. And they guide me and strengthen me. I trust the sand, and the power it has given me. It is my only possession, my only reminder of her.

I seek her yet. Some call it a fool's errand, but I will dedicate what is left of my life to finding her and making things right. She must understand that everything I did, I did for her. If I must, I will cross all of Suhalla, from blasted desert to volcanic field, if it means I can be with her again. And whenever the full moon glimmers in the velvet sky, I think of her.

When I find her, we will combine our powers and build a wall, a barrier keeping the rest of the cruel, heartless world out. The sands will remain strong against them, and within our haven we shall create a paradise. Until that day, I am a ghost, a phantom, a ragged mirage in the desert. We are both so fragile.

I won't let you fall apart...