The five of them decided to depart the next day, despite the celebration a few of the more grateful nobles insisted on throwing them.

In a strange turn, once they found out Zanzabarra had abandoned them, the remaining Rentrala’far swore loyalty to the noble houses and the six Rentrala’far who aided the strangers.

As a show of thanks, the same nobles rewarded the brave five with another pack snake, this one specifically to aide Cirin travel as he recovered.

A little ways to the northern gate, Azhar split from the group and swore he’d be right back.

“It’s been an hour.” Complained Cirin.

“He knows what he be doing.” Hushed Toftof.

“But-”

“If ya be so impatient, why not go fa ya self?” Cut in Toftof.

Cirin peered the way of Manama who shrugged and said, “go, he’s not dat far. Down da street and to ya left. Look for an open front tavern named da ‘Dune’s Rest’.”

Toftof sighed and stepped in, “I’ll go wit ya.” He added

By the time the two reached the ‘Dune’s Nest’, Toftof became alert and signaled Cirin to hide to the side of the tavern by the open bar.

“Dey be close by.” He warned.

“Why hide?” whispered Cirin, mimicking Toftof’s cautious tone.

“Ta tink dat man would be here.”

“Dat man?” Cirin felt estranged to it all, despite having known Azhar for nearly half is life.

Toftof lifted a finger to his mouth, “Shhh.” He hushed, “Dey seemed to making deir goodbyes.”

Cirin listened in.

“So it was da emperor, huh?” that voice was Azhar’s.

“You dun seemed surprised?” spoke a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“I’ve been doing dis fa too long, I can’t afford ta be. So, what does da Love fool of a king want wit a couple of free-cities?”

“What else?”

There was a silence.

“Its’ destruction?” coughed Azhar.

“I’m afraid so.” Confirmed deep voice. “You know da emperor be no friend of mine. If dis plot doesn’t prove how flawed da system be I dun know what will. Da imperial army be too strong as it is now. I need ta prepare. I need good people on my side. I said it before Azhar, I’ll offer again, join me.”

“Da answer be da same as it was ten years ago when ya first asked me.”

“Stubborn as always.” puffed the man.

“So how will dey do it?”

The voices hushed down so much so that Cirin could only make out the word ‘tower’ and ‘neck’.

“So dat mouse wasn’t lying…” sighed Azhar.

“Jafna’s kid?”

A sordid chuckle was his response. Cirin lowered his brows, Azhar’s laughter was the same everywhere. “You won’t get him. Dis I swear.”

“Humpf, it’s you I want not da second generation.”

“A shame den, da second generation will be a lot stronger.”

“Is dat so? Den maybe I’ll reconsider it.”

“Ova my dead body.” Laughed Azhar.

“They’re getting up.” Shot Toftof. Cirin nodded. That was the que to leave.

When Azhar returned to the group he found a curious pair of imps breathing hard as if they had just run a race.

“Training.” Said Cirin, “Just running though.”

Azhar shook his head and balanced it on one hand, “Let’s go.” He said.

By noon that day, they left Ezmir.

Cirin leaned back on the pack serpent carriage. If breaking his arm had one benefit, it was the free seat it gave him.

“Nice up dere, eh?” began a weary Toftof.

“Break ya arm and ya can join to.” Poked Azhar.

Toftof gave the taller man a vicious look, “I was talking to da boy.”

Cirin glanced at his own bandaged arm that was now supported by his neck in a makeshift sling, “Dis is nothing.” He bluffed, “I could walk if da old mon would let me.”

“Hey hey, I’m supposed ta be da liar here.” Chuckled Toftof.

Cirin sighed and fell back until he had his head held back and his eyes behind him. The world had become an upside desert. As if the sky had turned to sand, and the sank a pillow white. That seemed far more comforting than the blistering wasteland they were trekking through.

It had been hours since they left Ezmir, and by then the only scenery too be seen were nothing but dunes upon dunes, with odd rock face jutting out of the desert.

“Mouse.”

Cirin tilted his head to Azhar, who led the pack. The man had a letter held out.

“Take it. It’s from that friend of yours.”

He reached for it with his left. It was a simple thing. Not that Cirin had seen much letters in his lifetime. All letters from Illivanmar were folded into triangles and sealed with Concava gum in its midst, a syrup from the concave trees that grew plentiful in the southern reaches.

Cirin ripped open the seal with his teeth and carefully unfolded it. He squinted at the tiny letters. Catherine’s writing was unmistakeable.

Greetings Cirin and Sol,

I’d imagine you two are quite surprised to receive my letter so early. I’ll send plenty more, so do be expecting them. How have you two been? I worry since I’ve heard from Grod that you were traveling with that unscrupulous fellow. You know the one, short with a pair of dice and a bad temper. To the point. I’ve researched some more on Black Necks, gods forbid you may run into them, and have come to conclusion that they are a relatively new gang made from the remnants of a much more prominent gang, the Black Daggers.

Now, the Black Daggers hail from an offshoot of the fabled Black Flight. See a pattern? A part from the ‘Black’ in all three, each one is just a splinter from a larger branch. Yet what they all have in common is the root of the tree. The annals say the Black Flight has defended the Emperor’s rule for generations, while it is common knowledge that the Black Daggers served as unofficial henchman to some of the emperor’s more un-lawful of compatriots. So, I have no doubt that the Black Necks are in some way connected to the emperor.

Which brings me to my last point. Be careful. I trust Azhar has already read this, and if he hasn’t by some off chance, show this to him. If I am correct, and I always am, dealing with the Black Necks means dealing with the Emperor himself. You don’t need a scholar from Galokin to remind you how bad that is. The Emperor is second only to the king of Galokin, and even that is debatable.

There was some space before the last bit.

…If you do run into them though, run the other way. And if you can’t run, say these words:

By Kisdaman’s mercy spare me, my sister, my king.

Bare me no hatred, no blade, nor sin.

I have died already.

It may sound odd, but I’ve done quite a lot of reading on it, and I’ve asked my own fair share of questions. I’ll explain later. Just remember those words.

Kind Regards,

Catherine

Cirin folded the letter and looked to Azhar. If Catherine only knew what he had seen. For one thing, Azhar already knew. Perhaps he knew even more. He glanced quickly at Sol who had been happily chatting to Mother Manama by the other pack snake, a few paces behind the first. He used his left hand for support as he started to get up. Yet as he did, his eyes caught the shape of something peculiar shifting out of the sands.

He tensed.

“Azhar, I see dose creatures again.”

Cirin turned to Azhar to have him staring back. His master’s mouth had formed a frown and his hand had already steadied the pack snake.

Within moments the snake slowed to a halt and the one behind them seized its slithering.

“What be happenin’?” asked a startled Manama.

Azhar’s voice was terse and commanding, “Get on ya snake.”

That command was followed briskly. Whatever the reason, the adults knew it well enough not to complain.

“Why we doing dis?” prodded Cirin.

Azhar leapt on the pack snake while he answered, “Keep ya eyes peeled even if da sand get in.”

“Aye, ya dun won’t miss dis.” Confirmed Toftof as Azhar helped him up.

The moment all three were on board, Azhar closed the back hatch of the pack snake, and shuffled to Cirin side.

“Look dere.” He pointed down past the other snake.

As Cirin did so, there own snake started to slither again, prompted by Toftof’s whipping.

“I still see da creatures, but I dun see anyting besides dat.”

“Look at da sand, mouse.”

Cirin squinted and held his breath a moment later.

“It’s moving.” He said breathlessly.

Just as the second pack snake reassumed movement, the sands in the distance churned. It was minute at first, barely noticeable under the desert sun, yet only moments later the moving sand erupted into a violent swirl. What was once a twitch in the sand became a monstrous thing, as big as a city. No bigger. The silent sands had become a roaring ocean. And in this ocean, the place where the ands started shifting had become a grainy maelstrom, the eye of the storm, a blackened abyss.

By then the sound of it began enticingly apparent. It reminded Cirin of the crashing waves by the city shore. Only this was louder. It proved deafening at first, but slowly quieter as their snakes slithered away.

His eyes trailed down to the sand below their serpent. The sand was moving there as well.

“What ya see is da start of a sand flow, mouse. Dese snakes and da creatures ya saw, be da only tings dat can swim in sand flows.”

“What about dat center?” Cirin said pointing at the swirling eye.

Azhar pressed his brows and looked well into the distance, “A sand flow can form anywhere in da desert. Dese sands be alive, mouse. But dat also means if a flow formed beneath us, so to, would da eye.”

“And if dat happened?” asked Cirin.

Azhar gave him a weary look, “We’d die.”

Toftof slapped the boy the shoulder and made him wince.

“Uh, Sorry.” Laughed Toftof, “I meant ta say, cheer up. Da fact dat we made it out of dat damned city means we be alive now. Dere be no betta feeling dan dat, eh?”

Cirin nodded slowly at Toftof, “Catherine’s letter said to be weary of you.”

“Catherine? Who dat be?”

Azhar rose a brow at Toftof, and Toftof leaned back, crossed his arms, and sighed, “Well, I did try ta kill ya, eh?”

“Not a good first impression.” Noted Azhar.

“Let me start ova.” Declared Toftof. He uncrossed his arms and held one hairy hand out to Cirin, “My name is Toftof, your- uh- ex-assassin, a pleasure ta make ya acquaintance.”

Cirin tossed Azhar a glance, only to find Azhar smiling nudging his head at Toftof.

Cirin shut his eyes and tossed his head aside. If Azhar wasn’t there that day, Toftof would have killed Sol.

“I’m not shaking ya hand.” Spat Cirin, “If ya want ta start ova, do so wit Sol.”

Toftof lowered his hand and leaned back, “Tough kid, eh?”

“Da Toughest.” Said Azhar. Cirin tilted his head slightly towards Azhar. For a moment he sensed a hint of pride from that. Cirin shook his head. As if Azhar would ever acknowledge him.

Off in the distance the sand flow had reached its zenith. The turbulent sand eddies had run so fast that now they looked almost still in their constant movements. Even the messiest of things found a way to be clean.

The thrashing screams of sand and stone had become mere whispers of pebbles. Cirin’s eyes trailed from it to the snake behind them.

Mother Manama seemed to have enthralled Sol in some form of story. She had her arms splayed in several movements as she told whatever fantastical spell she had on the prince.

“Wonderin’ what Mana be saying?” said Azhar.

Cirin balanced his head on the rim of the cart.

“Not really.” He lied.

“Mana was always obsessed wit da tales of dis land. She must be telling da Prince about da giant serpent unda da sands.”

“G-g-giant serpent?” croaked Cirin.

“Aye” laughed Azhar, “A big one. Only a tale though. Da old ones tell of a giant serpent who upsets da sands wherever it stirs. Her name be Ipin, mudda of all sand snakes. Dey say she spans all ova desert, a snake so big she could choke da world. But she have one weakness.”

Cirin narrowed his eyes. He could only think of one thing more foreboding than the thought of a giant snake.

“Da black towers.” Hushed Cirin.

“Ah so ya know dat much.”

“Just a tale though.” Snapped Cirin.

“Aye” humored Azhar after some time, “Just a tale.”

The sands calmed by night time, but just as before they kept on their travels. This time, they tied the snakes together at night, so two of the adults could rest at any given time.

By the time Cirin caught his first yawn of the day he noticed the land had already begun to change. Gone was the endless scenery of sand and sand dunes.

“Green…” He managed in a groggy tone, “Are dose trees?”

“You’re up, mouse?” Azhar was the first to greet him.

Cirin rubbed his eyes and stared at the miraculous color. It was well in the distance, but there were many of them dotted about in little islands amongst a sea of sand.

Like mesas in the Cliffside of Lamonori, grew patches of stone bedding that stuck out of the sands and carried a variety of green shrubbery and trees along with it.

There were palms, willows, and even an odd baobab towering here and there.

“We’re in da stone forest, mouse.” Continued Azhar, “As soon as we pass dis we should be near da salt plains an den da metropolis of Gara.”

Azhar was walking by the pack snake. Beside him, a yawning Manama followed by, and a bright-eyed Sol lingered behind.

Manama tossed her head from side to side, making her many beads rustle in the wind, “Mother Manama say dis be holy place, so dun tink we’d be stopping here.”

Cirin stared behind their pack snake and found Toftof unhappily trudging with the second pack snake by himself.

“And how long should dis take? Ta pass dis forest I mean?” poised Cirin.

Azhar stared at him from the corner of his eye, “To pass dis and da plains? Two weeks.”

Cirin fell back, instantly nauseated by even the mention of a week.

And so two weeks passed by. By then, the strange stone forest that had so captivated him, had become a part of the mundane. Somehow, it had made him long for the desert. The salt plains proved no more different than the stone forest as the same grey mesas repeated there as well.

Between All the while between Manama and Toftof, Sol and Cirin found no shortage of tales regarding the wonderful city of Gara. They spoke much of the vast apple orchards that grew around the city, so much so that in spring time, that part of the desert appeared to be more of a forest rather than a city.

Meanwhile, Cirin found himself more and more able. Azhar even let him walk for once as they crossed the salt plains.

“We should be reaching Gara within the day.” Declared Azhar by the end of the two weeks.

“Mother Manama tink it be time ta tell ya two about why dey call it Gara.”

Sol jumped at the prospect of hearing another of her stories. Cirin sighed, always one to keep an eye on the prince, the fortune teller had done better to capture Sol than any had done before. And she needed only her wit and her words.

“Listen closely, children.” She started with her usual swagger, “And let ya mouths water. Fa Gara be da center of all tings delicious. Many years ago, when da first cities were being founded, dere was a lone adventurer lost and starving. Dis traveler wondered da desert fa days witout food and one day he found a single desert flower growing in da middle of nowhere.

Now usually, a lost and starvin’ man would not stop for a flower no matta how strange it be, but dis flowa had a fruit growin’ upon its bud. When da adventurer reached for it, all ravenous and such, a spirit made entirely of wind appeared before him.

Dis spirit said to da man, with words as quiet as whispers, “Hail man of flesh and soul. Dis be my fruit, my gold if noting mo’

‘hail O’honourble spirit’ replied the man, fa he knew his manors if noting else, ‘What must I do eat ya gold.’

Da spirit ‘hm’ed’ and ‘huh’d’ until finally it snapped its spectral finga’s and proposed to da man, ‘Eat da apple, but keep da seeds on ya. Den only den, ya plant da seeds one thousand steps from here.’

‘But I be not very godo at counting’ confessed da man.

‘Den plant one fa every two hundred and fifty steps ya take.’

Ofcourse da man agreed. He devouvered da apple, and collected da seeds, for which dere were four. Da apple was the sweetest in the world.

He walked da first to hundred and fifty steps and did as da spirit commanded. Den he did so da second and finally arrived at da third. Though by den his stomach growled hungrily.

Ofcourse da man had been walking for some time so he thought, ‘well maybe da spirit be gone now’ afterall dat was seven hundred and fifty steps ago. So he happily swallowed both seeds in one go. Da seeds were as sweet as honey.

When da man reached a thousand steps, he noticed he had come to da exact base of one of da black towas. Though dis one had no city by it yet.

Den da spirit he had met before appeared out of da sand and asked of him expectanly, ‘now dat ya be here, plant da seed and complete our bargain.’

Da man struggled and ‘uh’d’ until finally he blustered and told da spirit da turh, ‘I ate da last two seeds.’

‘I see’ said da spirit ‘ya broke my promise.’

Know what happened den?” Manama lowered her eyes expectantly at the two listening.

Cirin shrugged and Sol clamoured for more, “What? What?!”

Manama lowered to Cirin’s height and held her arms well above them, “Da spirit turned da man into an apple tree!”

Sol eyes went wide and Cirin shook his head.

“Da man’s name was Gara, so da city built dere was named afta him.” Concluded Manama, “Ya neva break a promise to a spirit.”

“Yes if dey were real, you wouldn’t” entered Azhar.

“Dey are real.” Asserted Manama.

“Have you seen one?” questioned Azhar.

Manama’s mouth kept quivering, but no words left her lips. She had lost the ability to speak.

“Da city was named afta da first emperor’s envoy ta visit da towa. Not some cursed apple tree.” Scoffed Azhar. He lowered one hand to the pack snake and bid it to stop. “Though Gara be known fa her apples. Sweetest in all twelve of da stars.”

“I liked Mother Manama’s story more.” Asserted Sol.

“Den believe it instead.” Yawned Azhar, “Ah, we should be seeing da city soon.” Azhar pressed one hand over his brows as peered up ahead, “Dat’s strange. Mana, do ya see what I see?”

“Ya mean no spirits?” she snapped scornfully.

“No, look.”

Manama mimicked Azhar’s brow cupping and stared into the distance.

“Maybe we lost pace somewhere?”

“Impossible.” Shook Azhar. He pointed at an oddly shaped Messa closeby. It had a sharp jutting and two downset enclaves on its face almost like that of a human head, with a nose and two eyes.

“Dat’s a landmark I go by.” Said Azhar, “We should see da towa by now.”

By then Toftof had approached them from his snake.

“What happened? A Sand flow?”

“Worse.” Answered Azhar, “We seemed to have lost a towa.”

Despite it all, the company resolved to move closer. Azhar had been adamant about his direction, much to Manama and Toftof’s objections. Though Cirin understood why they objected. It was one thing to trust and follow a man who traveled the desert countless times, it was another to accept that one of the great towers could disappear.

As they got closer, the hopes of spotting the tower became as dim as the setting sky. Until, by the peak of sunset when the sands became a lustrous alloy of gold and fire, they saw it.

The mere sight gave pause to both the company and the snakes. Even the beasts knew something was awry. The tower had not sprouted legs and walked away. Nor had it vanished in some magical phenomena. It had crumbled.

Cirin could never forget what Azhar said once he saw it.

“Black Necks… They’ve doomed us all.”