Chapter III

I thought I understood Hym’s emotions at this point. I thought that I understood what he felt when he saw Simun and his actions. Hym had been born a Duster, which had sentenced him to a life of loneliness and hiding. To see another was to be given a reprieve that none thought existed. To see that other enslaved was much too much for Hym to bear.

You know the stories. The Jitdons and the Dusters controlled the Bandjyt Desert with an iron fist as the Four Thrones bickered and fought. It was natural, really, when each of the Four was enemies with his neighbors. An unlucky coincidence, some said. Sanklat was situated next to Halivar and Venxor, but its only ally was Danshyv. The fastest way for it to get goods across was to send them through the Desert, under the care of the Dusters. And nobody liked that. Dusters violated all of God’s laws, they said. And so the Four reluctantly became allies and killed them all.

Idiocy. The Dusters could have been our greatest asset in a time of war. They could have been the arbiters for our petty differences, could have restrained us like the unruly children that we were. Instead we allied ourselves to kill them all. Or so I used to think.

It’s impossible for me to continue with the belief that they’re all dead- that much is obvious. Hym’s existence alone disproved that. Simun’s existence, however, sparked questions I had never thought I needed to ask. I could accept Hym as a single anomaly, a descendant of a dead culture. There had to have been half-breeds running around the Four all those years ago, begetting children with powers they didn’t understand. Some of them were bound to survive.

But how could Simun, a slave, exhibit the same anomalous abilities? The slaves in the Ring had existed long before the Crusades, those wars waged to exterminate the Jitdons. They had grown because of them, even. The slave masters, those sadistic vultures, would go out after battles and kidnap stragglers and the wounded for stock. 

How else could Duster blood have been introduced into the slave population?

He pauses at this point. I look up at him.

“Is this when you figured it out?” I ask. He nods.

“That was when the seed of understanding was planted.” He waves his hand and takes another gulp of ale. “But I still was too dense, too narrow minded to figure it out then. That came later. Much later.”

“You aren’t alright,” I said to Hym as we arrived at the tent. “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well.”

“A consequence of friendship, I suppose.” Hym sighed as he lay down on his cot. “I don’t know, Pytyr. There are too many thoughts running around in my head for me to truly explain.”

“You can still try.”

Hym took a deep breath. “Why now? I’ve always thought that I was the last of the Dusters. My mother told me I was, that I was a remnant of a lost race. My father’s father’s father was a distant descendant of the Jitdons, but somehow fate designated me to carry on the legacy.” He looked at me, eyes glistening with tears. “So why is there another?”

“I don’t know.” I exhaled and sat on my cot, running my fingers through my sweaty hair. “Maybe his parents were the same way, a thin bloodline of Jitdons.”

“He said he was a Pontyff, though,” Hym insisted, his voice growing eager. “A Pontyff, Pytyr. Do you understand what that is?”

I shook my head. “Can’t say I do.”

“The Jitdons were a theocracy, Pytyr, and the Pontyffs were the head.” Hym jumped up off his cot. I had never seen him so enthusiastic, so childlike. “And every single one of them was a Duster.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Pytyr,” Hym’s voice was rising at an alarming rate. “That it isn’t every day that we find a Pontyff of the Jitdons in our camp. And it isn’t every day that I discover that I might not be alone. If a Jitdon leader survived, then the whole people could have as well.” He nearly shouted those last words.

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed, standing and shoving him back into his cot. “I gather that you’re scintillated with this, Hym, but you have to keep your wits about you. You’ve been hiding for years, and just because you find one other Duster doesn’t mean you can reveal yourself. In case you don’t remember, that other Duster is currently in chains, about to be shipped back to the life of a slave.”

Hym looked down at his feet and sighed again. “I know, Pytyr, and I’m sorry. It’s just… You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it’s like to expect an execution if you aren’t careful enough.”

“I know I don’t. But you do, and you have to remember that feeling. Because that feeling is going to keep you alive.” I snapped my fingers, a memory coming to the front of my mind. “Which reminds me. You and I are going to have to have a frank discussion with Maryk.”

Hym looked confused. “Why?”

I looked pointedly at him at raised an eyebrow. “Because, in your haste to impress the Pontyff, you failed to remember that he was with us when you were taking down that Stingclaw. We may have to persuade him-”

“Persuade who?” I groaned as Maryk pulled aside the tent flap and barged right in. “I don’t like the sound of that, mates, when I’m not included in the persuading.”

“Go annoy someone else, Maryk,” I growled, pointing a stern finger at the entrance. “Leave us alone.”

“Well, now.” He said with a huff, folding his arms. “I might just take your advice and go bother old Cyphus. He’s been looking for a companion for our recent… ah… acquisition, and I thought that old Hym here would love to rub shoulders with another Duster. It’d be joining him in chains, but hey, that’s the price.” He chuckled as we blanched. “Or is Hym content in his misery as the last of the Jitdons?”

“You wouldn’t…” I trailed off. In reality, I had no idea what Maryk would do.

“Wouldn’t I, mate?” He said softly, stepping forward. “You don’t know me. You have no idea what I might and might not do.” He laughed. “For all you know, I could be one of the Pontyff things too.” He raised his hands comically. “I command thee, dust, to become my blade!”

“And I could be a woman in disguise,” I growled. “Equally as ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but that’s my point, mate. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t go acting all high and mighty before you know what I’m here for.”

“What are you here for, Maryk?” Hym said softly. “If you wanted to turn me in, you would have done it in the square, where everyone could see.”

Maryk looked at me and grinned. “See, mate? That was the right thing to say.” He looked back at Hym. “Of course I don’t want to turn you in. I want to learn about you, really. Dusters haven’t been seen in centuries.”

“I feel that a man friendly to Jitdons hasn’t been seen in an equal amount of time.” Hym raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so amiable to my kind?”

“I’m Venxorian, mate. They were the last ones to join the war against the Jitdons, and only because it was the only thing the Four would ever unite over.” He smiled. “Very few of us actually thought they were heathens. Half the population married them, really. We still have half-blood descendants running around the country to this day.” He looked down. “No Dusters, though. The Venxor were progressive, yes, but not to the extreme of angering the rest of the Four.”

Hym nodded, and I found myself reluctantly agreeing. There had always been rumors of Jitdonian blood flowing through Venxor, but no one ever wanted to investigate it. Bringing the anger of the other Thrones could start the entire war over again. 

“What do you want to know, Maryk?” Hym asked, standing. 

“Everything.” Maryk breathed. “I want to be part of your company, learn your way of doing things. My mother always told me stories, old stories about the Dusters. I want to see how many of those are true.”

“Probably not very many of them.” Hym laughed. “Centuries of mystery have certainly diluted all of the stories to myths and legends.” He looked at the entrance to the tent. “Actually, I need to go speak to Simun. I need to know which of the myths and legends are true.”

“We’ll come with you.” I said. “It’s dangerous to go alone. One man visiting a heathen? More suspicious than a Sanklation barkeep. But if all three of us go it would look like an interrogation.” I shrugged. “Nothing suspicious about that. Not in a camp filled with burly mercenaries.”

Hym looked at me. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you’re forgetting?”

I stared back dumbly. “No. Why?”

“Think about it. Someone misses you.”

I blanched. I had completely forgotten what day it was. God to dust, I was even late. 

“I…” I stammered. “I have to go. I’ll meet you at the cells after I visit him.” 

Hym nodded. “Of course.”

I ran out the door.

* * *

Whisperings. The smell of urine. Mutterings. Disdain. Random gasps of air. Trembling hands. Sweat. 

I looked at Ayndre with a sinking heart. Today was one of his bad days. He shook on his bed with doctors all around, his eyes bone-white and wide. His lips moved rapidly as he muttered descriptions of things only he could see.

“No,” he said. “No. Don’t hurt… Don’t hurt them. They know not. They see not. Why can’t they see?” He screamed, thrashing in his bed. “Lire above, they can’t see! The dust covers them! They’re sinking in it, and their blood turns dangerous!” 

“Ayndre,” I said quietly, walking towards his cot. He gave no response, but he did quiet somewhat. That was heartening. It meant he was listening. “It’s me. Pytyr.”

“No. They can’t. They can’t do it. It’s against it. It’s against everything.”

“Ayndre, it’s me. Pytyr. I’m here.”

“No. They can’t. The death… It’s too much.”

“Ayndre. It’s me. Pytyr.” I hesitated. “Your brother.”

He froze completely. This always happened. His breaths rushed in and out of his still body, and his white eyes turned towards me. They stared at me with a depth of understanding that always surprised me. 

“Pytyr,” he said, tasting the word on his tongue. I braced myself. With a scream, he sat upright and grasped me by the shoulders. “You can’t let them! You can’t let them do it! Lire above, it’s wickedness far beyond anything the Dusters ever did. You can’t let them make it. It’s evil.” He shook me back and forth, back and forth. “Earthbound must never be.”

Earthbound. He always said that, and never explained further. Earthbound. I wondered what it was.

“I won't, Ayndre,” I said, pushing him gently back down onto his bed. “I’ll stop them. The Earthbound will be stopped.”

He shook his head, over and over again. “No. Not ‘the’ Earthbound. Earthbound.” He began to tremble, his head thrashing from side to side. “You don’t know. You don’t know.” He looked at me with an expression I can only describe as hatred. “Lire to dust, you don’t bloody understand!”

I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. The head physician looked at me sympathetically and ushered me to the tent flap. I walked out into the hot sun and dust.

It was only there that I realized my tears were nearly flooding sand beneath me.

Wiping them away quickly, I made my way to the cells. 

He lowers his glistening eyes. “I’m sorry for all this. By all means, you were expecting a tale of heroism, not blubbering.”

“Not at all,” I assure him. “I wanted a true account, and that is what I’m receiving.” I look at him with confusion. “But… There is one thing...”

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interjects. “How could Ayndre know of Earthbound? How could an insane man know of something like that? It hadn’t been discovered yet, though ‘invented’ is the right word, I suppose.” He shrugs. “Who knows the answer to that question? Maybe Hym did. But there isn’t any way for him to give it to us now.”

I found Hym and Maryk in the holding cells, in the far rear of the area.

“I never expected to find one here,” he was saying as I arrived. “Father always told me that we were the last of them, that we needed to carry on the legacy.” He shook his head slowly. “The slavers killed him one day when they found him trying to pick the lock to my cage.”

“I’m sorry,” Hym said, and he meant it. I could see it in his eyes. Hearing of Simun’s sufferings hurt him deeply. 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” Simun looked at Hym and raised an eyebrow. “Though I would still like to know how you are here.”

Hym shrugged. “It isn’t much of a story.  My father came from a Jitdonian line and had me. My mother kept me in hiding all my life, teaching me what father told her before he was executed. Eventually I made my way here.” He shrugged. “She said it was the safest place. That they’d never suspect to find a Duster where the last ones died.”

Simun nodded. “Makes sense. Like hiding from a murderer in a burning building. You’re already so close to death, they leave you alone.” 

“Something like that.” Hym folded his arms. “How did you escape? That’s a story worth telling.”

Simun barked a laugh. “That’s certainly true. I think I was the first Duster to do it, the first one to abandon his brethren for the sake of freedom.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose it starts the day I was made a Pontyff. A secret ceremony, to be sure- not even the slavers know the Dusters are alive and well. I was twenty-eight at the time, and the strongest Duster any of us had ever seen. I had taken to my father’s training like a fish to water, and had mastered every aspect of it by the time I was twenty-five. I was naturally the best choice for the next Pontyff.” He grinned. “Moments after they anointed me, I announced my plans to stage a daring escape. I thought that I would be able to save all of the Dusters, lead every single one of them to the safety of the desert. I thought I would be the hero of my people, the savior of the Jitdons. 

“I was a fool.  No slave can escape, at least not forever.” He looked at us pointedly. “Do you know why it’s so easy for an average slave to escape from the Ring?” We shook our heads. Simun took a deep breath. “It’s incredibly simple for a slave to escape from the Ring because they know that your kind exist to bring them back. Long ago, some slaver discovered that it keeps the slaves from rising up if they believe they can easily escape.”

“That’s ludicrous.” I shook my head. “Who lets their charge escape?”

“And what do you know about slavers?” Simun’s reply was in his same even voice, but I could sense an intense anger beneath his words. “You’ve never experienced it. You’ve never even been there, mercenary, so don’t try to tell me what is and isn’t ludicrous. I’ve been through and know of things you can’t even begin to imagine.”

“He meant no harm, Simun,” Hym intervened. “To be honest, it does sound a little strange. The slavers let them escape?”

“Because it keeps them from trying to rise up.” Simun nodded. “Which would you choose? The way that leads to killing and bloodshed? Or the way where no one gets hurt?” He shrugged. “The truth is, there was no choice. Everyone tried to escape, and mutiny never crossed our minds.”

“But you’re Dusters,” I spluttered. “You could have taken on any number of guards”

“You think that there would be no consequences?” Simun rattled his chains angrily. “We weren’t the only slave pen, idiot. There are hundreds, thousands of them in the Ring. Women, children, elderly. If we managed to revolt against one, countless numbers of our people would be slaughtered. The blood would run all the way through this desert.” He shook his head. “If it were the only option, maybe… But escape was always the better choice.”

“How did you do it?”

Simun gaped at me, then shook his head and laughed. “I always forget how many people don’t know everything we can do.” He held up his hand, displaying the shackle around his wrist. “These petty things can’t hold me. Your kind haven’t seen a Duster in centuries.” A tendril of sand rose up from the floor and poked itself into a the lock on his shackles. After a few seconds of strange fiddling, the shackles dropped onto the floor. Simon rubbed his wrists, looking smug. “None of your cages and chains can keep me here, and neither could anything there.”

“So why are you here?” I asked the obvious question- we were all thinking it. 

“Because, as easy as it is to escape the slave pen, it’s bloody difficult to get out of the Bandjyt Desert.” He rolled his eyes. “I lived in a cave in a mountain for thirty years before I ever saw the sun. I had no idea where anything was. I didn’t know what was beyond the mountain ranges, and I had no idea how to cross them.” He chuckled bitterly. “If you think about it, it was a little like I was coming out of the womb again. I was so utterly lost, I chose a direction and began      walking in it, using the sand every so often to keep me cool. It was just my luck that I ran into a Stingclaw.”

“You realize that we saw you crossing the desert, right?” Hym asked softly. I looked sharply at him.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Why are you talking about that?” He paid me no mind.

Simun looked surprised. “How?”

“The Ring provides the best vantage point in the world, and the sand is like a blank canvas. Any guard with a spyglass could see you, and several did.”

Simun was silent for a second before he shook his head and chuckled a bit more. “I never really did imagine that I could get out of this desert. I always supposed that there would be some sort of watchman, but still, I hoped.” He kicked post he was chained against. “I don’t understand why you’re even sending me back to the pens, honestly. I’m just going to be killed as soon as I get there.”

“Why?” I asked. An inane question, to be sure, but I was still slightly off-balance from the Reclamation and my visit with Ayndre. 

Simun stared at me like I was an idiot, then looked over at Hym. “This one is thicker than my uncle’s callouses. What dirty barroom did you drag him out of?”

“He can be a little unobservant, yes,” Hym sighed. “But he is faithful.”

“Faith can often be compared with ignorance,” Simun harrumphed. “I’m a Duster, you idiot, as you’ve said so often. They’ve already been exterminated for witchcraft- how hard is it for the slavers to kill one more?”

“Is there anything we can do?” Hym asked. Simun shook his head.

“My fate is sealed.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would permit me to escape.”

“Me?” Hym looked caught off-guard. “Why would you look to me?”

For a moment, Simun was completely silent. Then, he began to try to speak, but he actually stuttered. “But… I thought… You… You knew…”

“Knew what?” Hym pressed desperately.

Simun just shook his head over and over again. “You should leave. People won’t believe you’re in here roughing me up much longer.” With that, he locked the shackles around his wrists and turned away from us. He began to hum a quiet, weary tune. 

I put my hand on Hym’s shoulder and led him away. 

“Well,” Maryk sighed as we left the cells. “That was the most unhelpful conversation with a Duster I’ve ever had.”

“And have you had many conversations with Dusters?” I laughed.

“You got me there, mate.” We both laughed together. For some reason, I didn’t find Maryk annoying any more. He was like a brother I never realized I had. Maybe he could be part of our little group.

“Come on.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “The sun’s nearly setting. Let’s go find ourselves at the bottom of a tankard.”

We walked along toward’s the company tavern, completely unaware that Hym had slipped away.