Chapter Two—Valley of Knives

For its name, it seemed a good description, Shiro thought, as the rocks in this valley were strange jagged things, sharp—like knives.

Shiro’s camel groaned and he patted her on the neck.

Ali turned, regarded him.

“Nani?”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Talk in the words of your homeland.”

Shiro frowned. He didn’t really think about it very much.

“In any event,” Ali continued, “we should be turning up that mountain when a path presents itself.”

Shiro looked about as a gust of desert wind pushed some dust along the road. He lifted his face covering to keep the sand from going into his mouth. “What makes you think a path will ‘present itself’?”

Ali leaned a bit, then threw out his arms in a shrug and laughed. “I have no idea! But I am certain we will find this Akarilion dungeon. Have a little faith, my friend. Was it not I who had convinced you of that toothless old man’s veracity?”

“This veracity you speak of,” Shiro said, pausing for a moment. “It still remains to be proven.”

“Ha! And it shall be in due—“ Ali leaned forward, then glanced back at Shiro. “Look!”

There was a dead horse in the road, a woman sitting next to it. She got up, waved and screamed for help.

“What is this?” Shiro asked?

Why would she be out here?

“Hmm,” Ali said. “I don’t like this.”

“Why not?”

“Trap!” he said loudly. “It’s probably a trap, my infidel friend.”

“You asked me why I use the language of my homeland,” Shiro said. “Now I want to ask you a question.”

“What is it?”

They didn’t stop their camels.

“Why do you call me infidel?”

Ali laughed. “Because you don’t worship the true gods, my friend.”

“How do you know?”

“I haven’t seen you praying to them.”

“No,” Shiro said, correcting the other man. “How do you know my gods are not the true gods.”

“Because they aren’t!”

“Yes, but how do you know?”

Shiro was not one to argue theology. He was genuinely interested, and up to this point, had never asked this question of the local peoples of these lands. But since he and Ali were partners—and Ali not being the type to become offended—he had decided to ask.

“I have faith!”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. That was hardly an argument.

“Listen,” Ali said. “My gods provide my people with magic, with special gifts. If that’s not proof, what is?”

Shiro shrugged, his attention distracted by the screaming woman waving her arms.

“We have to pass through this valley,” Ali said loudly, gesturing impatiently. “Her fellows are behind the rocks. They will try to rob us. You will see.”

Ali said the words as if he were merely commenting on the quality of a good beverage. Shiro pulled out his scimitar, just in case. Ali saw him, said, “A wise, wise man you are, my friend. This is why I bring you along, eh?”

“You are not bringing me along,” Shiro insisted. “We are equal partners.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No it’s not.”

Ali didn’t answer him, instead he stopped his camel, slid off the seat. He did not wave his scimitar threateningly, he did so flippantly, gesturing at the woman. “Move along. We know your friends are behind the rocks.”

“What?” the woman said, evidentially confused. She wore body-covering garments and a shawl to protect herself from the sun. “I need help,” she said, gesturing to her dead mount. “My horse died. I am nearly out of water.”

“Ha!” Ali scoffed.

“Ali,” Shiro said. “Are you certain of this? She looks like she needs help.” Shiro got off his camel and walked forward.

Ali put out a warding hand. “Be careful, my friend. They’re just there.” He pointed.

How does he know?

Shiro saw nothing. “There is no one.”

“I tell you, they are there, aren’t they?” he asked the woman.

“What? No.”

“Aren’t they?”

“No!” she insisted. “There is no one. I am alone.”

“No, no, they’re there. Come out!”

The woman flung her arms frustrated. “Fine!”

Then three men came out from behind the rocks wearing lose black trousers and long sleeves and turbans that covered their faces completely. One held a scimitar loosely in one hand, another a spear and the third had a short bow with an arrow nocked.

“You see!” Ali exclaimed. “Did I not tell you, my friend?” He nodded vigorously, clearly frustrated, but to Shiro, despite the danger of this situation thought Ali was a funny man when frustrated, even difficult to take seriously at times.

“Turn away from this dishonorable path,” Shiro said.

“You should listen to my friend,” Ali added flippantly.

The woman laughed. “Turn around and walk away and we might let you live.”

Ali sighed. “Then come!” he nodded, “Come—come!” he insisted, spreading his legs in a fighting position, his voluminous white trousers fluttering in the breeze.