SandRider (4 page)

A sudden flurry no more than a few feet away caught Kaznim's eye and her heart leaped—
something in the Pit was moving
. A waft of fine dust puffed up into the gentle morning breeze and landed softly. There was another, more purposeful movement and at last Kaznim saw what she had been waiting for. A scaly, flat brown head with a perfectly round, bright black eye poked up from the white sand.

“Ptolemy!” Kaznim called out with relief.

Slow and deliberate in the cool of the morning, the tortoise pushed his way up and sat blinking in the sunlight. Kaznim squatted down and held out a small sliver of coconut, which she knew Ptolemy could not resist. “Ptolemy,” she whispered encouragingly. “Ptolemy, come here. Come on, Ptolemy. Over here.”

The tortoise stuck his head out and regarded Kaznim with a quizzical air. Then, very deliberately, he turned and stomped away—farther into the circle.

Kaznim jumped up in frustration. “Ptolemy!” she called out. “This way.
Ptolemy
!” But the tortoise continued his onward trundle.

Carefully keeping firm sand below her feet, Kaznim circled the pit, heading for the other side, toward which Ptolemy was advancing at some speed. Tortoise and girl were converging when the singing began. A high-pitched keen drifted out of the pit:
“Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaeeeeeeee
. . .
”
And like dancers whose tune had at last begun, the grains of sand on the top began to swirl.

Kaznim stopped dead. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Late-night campfire stories of nightmare creatures emerging from the pit came back to her, and had it not been for Ptolemy, she would have turned and run. But the tortoise was still doggedly making its way to the edge of the pit. And so, going against all her instincts, Kaznim ran toward the Pit of the Singing Sands—away from her home, away from the place where she was safe, toward danger. She was not leaving without that stupid, pig-headed tortoise.

Dust rose in a fine mist, catching in her throat. Kaznim wound her long red cotton scarf around her mouth and nose, and crouching on the very edge of the firm sand, she willed Ptolemy to speed up and get near enough for her to reach.

The tortoise was almost there when he suddenly dropped, as if into a hole. It was no more than a few inches down, but
it spooked him. He pulled in his head and feet and sat like a stubborn rock. Desperately, Kaznim threw the piece of coconut at him. Its only effect was to make the tortoise gather himself more tightly into his shell. A soft
sussssisssisssssisssussssisss
of sand began and to her horror Kaznim saw the sand within the pit begin to slowly swirl, like water going down a drain. Ptolemy began to sink.

Kaznim could bear it no longer. She threw herself forward as though she were diving for a ball. She sank deep into the soft sand but her outstretched hands caught hold of Ptolemy's cool, hard shell and did not let go. Snakelike, Kaznim began to shuffle backward toward the safety of the edge of the pit, but as her feet touched the rim, the sand shifted beneath her and became as thin as water. Kaznim tumbled down, down, down through the sand, into the depths of the Pit of the Singing Sands.

The Apothecary was woken by the
Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaeeeeeeee
. . . of the singing sands. She sat up fast, convinced that a
mischievous Sand Spirit had slipped into the tent. But as the traces of sleep left her, Karamander Draa realized that this was no Spirit. She had heard the sands once before and knew what she must do—keep still and silent so that whatever emerged from the pit heard no sign of human life.

“Kaznim,” she whispered across to the mound of blankets piled onto her daughter's bed. “Do not be afraid. Keep very quiet. Lie still. It will soon pass.” The blankets stayed obediently quiet and still. A soft smile touched the Apothecary's face. Kaznim was so brave, so calm in the face of danger—no one would know she was there.

Some ten minutes later the wailing of the sands at last subsided. “Kaznim,” Karamander whispered in a low voice. “All is well. You can come out of your burrow now.”

But Kaznim's burrow was unresponsive. A worm of worry twisted in Karamander's stomach—the bedclothes looked wrong somehow. She got up and began to walk over to her daughter's bed. By the time she was halfway across the rug-strewn floor, Karamander was running. She already knew the truth—
Kaznim was not there
.

“Kaznim! Kaznim!” Karamander pulled the blankets from the bed, threw them to the floor and raced to the door. With
trembling hands she unlaced the door flap and stumbled outside into the early-morning sun. Karamander ran from tent to tent, throwing open the door flaps, shouting for her daughter. She left the Egg tent until last.

Two figures, bleary in the stuffy atmosphere, sat up. “Wharr?” asked Mysor, his husky voice breaking as he spoke. The smaller figure jumped up guiltily. Mistakenly thinking he had overslept and was late for the first turn of the day, Subhan-Subhan leaned against the Egg and expertly twisted it through a quarter-turn.

“Mysor!” Karamander barked. “Out! Now!”

In seconds the disheveled Apothecary Apprentice was blinking in the sunlight. Mysor was thin and tall with short, dark curly hair, clear blue eyes and a dislike for waking up.

“Kaznim's gone,” Karamander said. “I need help.”

Mysor was suddenly wide-awake. “Gone?” he asked. “Where?”

“I don't
know
where she's gone,” Karamander said desperately. “But the pit was singing.”

“Oh.” Now Mysor was as worried as his Master.

Karamander began to run. Her long red nightgown flowed out as her bare feet sped across the sand, heading toward the
distant dust cloud that hung over the Pit of the Singing Sands. Mysor's long stride caught up with her easily. “Stop!” he said, in a commanding voice that surprised himself as much as Karamander. “I ask pardon, Apothecary. But we must be mindful. The desert gives signs to those who look. But they do not last long. Let us pause a moment and observe.”

Karamander regarded her Apprentice with something near respect. “Yes. Yes, of course. You are right. Tracks. There will be tracks.”

Mysor half closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side, scanning the sand. It was an old desert trick, designed to blur out the detail and show the structure below. Beneath the freshly blown sand he saw the ghost of a long, straight trail of footprints heading for the pit. He looked at the Apothecary. She had seen them too.

“So. She went to the pit,” Karamander said flatly. She shaded her eyes against the glare. Beyond the dust cloud she saw nothing but empty sands. Her daughter had vanished. “But why? Why would she go there, of all places?”

“I . . . I don't know.” Mysor was not one to tell tales, but he knew that yesterday, Subhan-Subhan had walked to the
pit. He had been up to something, Mysor was sure of that. Karamander followed his glance back to the Egg tent.

“If that brat has done anything to my daughter, I will . . .” She trailed off, knowing she was powerless. The safety of her other daughter depended on the Egg Boy doing his job properly, and Karamander dared do nothing to jeopardize the hatching of the tyrannical Egg. With heavy hearts, Karamander and Mysor followed Kaznim's footprints as they headed toward the Pit of the Singing Sands. They both knew they were walking into emptiness.

Far behind them, a pale moon-face peered out from the Egg tent. The Egg Boy smiled. Stupid tortoise, he thought—so easy to take to the pit and toss in. And stupid girl, too—so easy to fool. The Egg Boy slipped back into the stifling heat of the tent and went over to the beautiful lapis-blue egg that only he, Subhan-Subhan, long-lost son of a tribe of Orm keepers, had the skills to incubate. At least, that was what the sorcerer had told him, and he believed it, even if no one else did. Subhan ran his hand over the Egg's smooth, warm surface. He was glad that the annoying girl would never see it hatch.
She did not deserve to be in the presence of a Great Orm. He wondered how the little Orm inside would be changing today and reached beneath the rug to find his precious box.

It was not there
.

Five minutes later all the rugs were heaped outside the Egg tent and Subhan was scrabbling frantically in the sandy floor.
Where was the Egg Box?

On the edge of the Pit of the Singing Sands, Karamander Draa stared at the abrupt end of her daughter's faint, windblown tracks. She gazed at the mass of soft sand and the dust cloud hanging over it that they led into. There were no tracks leading away from the Pit, and the desert beyond was empty. There was no doubt about it. The Pit had taken her daughter.

Mysor waited silently while Karamander turned and gazed back at Kaznim's footprints, which walked toward her from the tent. He saw her watching them grow ever fainter as the early-morning breeze blew away the last precious echoes of her child. When the footprints were gone, Karamander slumped to the ground and broke into cries so loud that even in the midst of his panic, Subhan-Subhan had to stuff his fingers into his ears.

Ptolemy was not as stupid as Subhan-Subhan thought. From the moment the Egg Boy had snatched him from his favorite patch of milk thistle and thrown him up into the air like a ball, the tortoise had understood that the boy wished him ill. And when the boy had shoved him into his pocket—during which Ptolemy had had the satisfaction of biting his finger—the tortoise knew that something bad was going to happen. He heard Subhan-Subhan check that Kaznim was still busy at her lessons and then felt him hurrying away from the encampment. Tortoises have been around long enough to understand that not all human beings are well intentioned, and Ptolemy also knew that human beings find tortoises very good to eat, especially when cooked slowly in a deep sand oven. He knew that Subhan-Subhan was always hungry, and the tortoise gloomily expected this was going to be his fate. When at last Subhan-Subhan took him out of his sticky pocket, Ptolemy sighed and the air whistled into his nostrils like a tiny desert squall. So when he had found himself flying through the
air once more and heading downward toward the Pit of the Singing Sands, the tortoise felt a sense of relief. He landed hard and sank deep into the loose sand. By the time he had worked his way up to the surface, his tormentor was gone and the sun was sinking fast toward the horizon. Ptolemy decided to stay put for the night. He buried himself so that he was hidden from the night eagles (whose joy was to snatch up a tortoise, fly high into the air with it and drop it from a great height onto a rock) and settled down to sleep. He would set off back to the star tent as soon as the sun rose.

When Ptolemy awoke the next morning he saw Kaznim hovering beside the circle of treacherous sand. Ptolemy understood that the pit was dangerous for humans and he had tried to lead her away from the edge. He had very nearly succeeded, but humans do not have the patience of a tortoise. They are new and quick and the young ones in particular seem to act without any thought. And so, when the sands began to move and Kaznim jumped into them to rescue him, Ptolemy was not surprised. But he doubted it would do either of them any good.

Ptolemy felt Kaznim's hands close around his shell; he sensed their warmth and their strength—so different from
the Egg Boy's spiteful grasp—and he felt safe. But it was short-lived. As tortoise and girl tumbled down through the sand, grit and the dust filled their ears, eyes and noses, and they began to choke.

Kaznim was too pleased to have her tortoise in her arms to realize her danger, and by the time she did, they had crashed to the ground. Kaznim pulled the tortoise close and rolled with the fall, just as she practiced in her dune-diving lessons. But the sand that had spiraled up and opened to let them fall was now coming back to earth, and the cloud was getting so thick that Kaznim knew that soon she would no longer be able to breathe. She staggered to her feet, tucked the tortoise under her arm and pushed her way through the falling sand. She thought she could see the shape of an archway ahead. If only she could reach that, she would be out of this falling thickness; she would be able to breathe again.

But her breath was full of dust, her nose plugged with sand. Her head felt light and sparkles began to dance before her eyes. Kaznim knew she was about to pass out. And when she did, the sand would bury her and Ptolemy and they would be dead—and what would Ammaa do then? Kaznim took one last sand-filled breath and staggered toward the arch. Suddenly
she saw two shadows appear. Four arms reached out, took hold of her and swept Kaznim and her tortoise into the darkness.

Kaznim had the strangest sensation of traveling at breakneck speed. For a moment she thought that she and Ptolemy had fallen into another pit, and she braced herself for the landing. But the strong arms still held her tight and Kaznim realized that she was not falling, but moving rapidly forward. She began to slow down, and moments later, she was in a tunnel walking toward dappled green light framed by the shape of an archway. The arms still held her tightly and Kaznim risked a glance at her captors. She saw two young men towering over her: one with dark matted hair and a wild look in his eyes; one—whose grip, Kaznim noticed, was much weaker—had fair, tangled curls and a deathly pallor to his skin.

Kaznim had heard many stories of desert children being taken for slaves, and her fear of falling was quickly replaced by the fear that she had been kidnapped. She readied herself to make a break for it as soon as she could. As they emerged into
a circular garden with arches in its walls, the young men let go of her arms. Immediately Kaznim shot off, heading toward another arch.

“Hey!” yelled the young man with the matted hair. “Not that one! Jeez!” He raced after her and the next thing Kaznim knew, there was a hand snatching the back of her tunic and pulling her away. Kaznim kicked out. They weren't going to get her that easily.