Side by side, we ride

A fresh breeze carried sand in well-defined streams over the dunes and into the valleys in between them. I could still smell the rain in the air, although I had the feeling that out here in the desert, with the heat about to intensify during the day, it might be the last day that the moisture would remain. The flanks of the dunes had dried out, and we only encountered some occasional patches of wet and compacted sand.

Perhaps part of the reason we didn’t see any dunes being fully destroyed, or none of those buried houses getting flooded, was because Alvos was taking us down a specific route.

Amandine handed me some fruit, with the loosely interpreted instructions to share them with Alvos, and I joined the man at the front of the cart. I carefully walked through the strapped-down boxes and rolls of fine fabric and stepped over Danyar’s tail, who hadn’t moved from the spot by the front where he’d fallen asleep yesterday. He woke up from the movement, offered an apology, and tried to move out of the way as much as the limited space would allow.

When I pushed open the curtains separating us from the bright light outside, I gasped.

It suddenly made sense why Alvos had been referring to this caravan as 'The Caravan', with the capital letters almost audible in his tone. It stretched from horizon to horizon, cutting the landscape in half. Carts of dozens of different makes and pulled by a variety of animals moved at a rhythmical pace. A mixture of scents from food, incense, spices, and tanned materials emanated from it, although the smell of food was currently overpowering the rest, perhaps due to the early hour.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admitted. “How is it organised? So many people in one place, and there seems to be no police officers… The logistics of something like this must be phenomenal!”

Alvos chuckled and nodded before grabbing one of the fruits I’d brought over to him. He rubbed it on his trousers and bit into it, leaving me a few more moments to admire the procession.

“The Bastt Caravan runs twice a season,” he explained. “Once from Nachalow to Port Stravol, and then from Port Nawaan back up to Nachalow. It runs loosely on the big trade roads, the King’s Highway and Blue Faith’s Path, but between the Demon King’s hordes and the appearance of his desert, those are quite vague suggestions.”

He glanced back into his cart, checking up on Amandine.

“She will never see those red mile markers, or the rest plates of Faith’s Path. Even I, myself, barely remember them.”

He forced a chuckle, a sad smile spreading to the corner of his eyes.

“It’s said that we traders will always have the road. That the monarchs and the cardinals change, that magic spins the world, reshaping it every season. But the road remains. Except this,” he chucked again, and I realised he was trying to hold back tears, “It changes faster than the seasons, and who knows how many years we’ll still have the Bastt Caravan for.”

He sighed before wiping his eyes and looking up at me.

“Excuse the ramblings of a melancholic merchant. There are lands to the west of the Frji Empire, and that is where we will head in a few years.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” I reassured him. “It’s hard to explain, but right now this desert is all that I have as well. The desert, people looking at me with suspicion, the monsters, more desert …”

I’d crossed my arms to wrap them around my knees. Suddenly, it seems my appetite for the fruit lying on the wooden seat between Alvos and me had vanished.

“You’re young, you’ll find your place in the world,” Alvos patted me on the head. Then, he stared at me thoughtfully before asking, “Do you know why my cousin was suspicious of you?”

I shook my head.

“Because I’m a foreigner?”

Alvos slowly shook his head in that ‘yes and no’ manner.

“That contraption you summoned yesterday night, that train, it’s rather impressive. Most people who travel through Dunija, or anywhere much outside of the big cities, really, have at least a few levels in a combat-focused class. I myself dabble in both magic and short swords. But your train, it’s unlike anything anyone has seen before.”

“So, they’re scared of something they don’t know?”

That doesn't make sense. The people in that first village hadn’t seen the train and still treated me unkindly.

“Not of you or the train per se,” Alvos glanced back, inside the carriage, in the vague direction of where Danyar had been sleeping. “Of where you got your class from.”

Now it made a little more sense.

“I heard something, rumours, I guess, about the Demon Lord giving power in exchange for people's souls. That’s not what happened to me!”

Although could that god have been their Demon Lord? That’s … unlikely? He just didn’t give off that impression…

“And I’m not saying it was, sister,” Alvos raised one hand, trying to calm me down. His other hand remained on the horse’s reins. “But people here have been through a lot. Blights, cataclysms, demon kin, mercenary bands. I’m not excusing their behaviour, and I hope my cousin didn’t say anything impolite, in which case I deeply apologise on his behalf!”

“No, no,” I quickly reassured him. “I guess… It’s just unfair. I don’t want to sound selfish, but I’m just passing through. And I’m sure I’m not the only one to whom this cold treatment has happened.”

Alvos nodded.

“No, and you’re lucky all you’ve got was cold treatment,” he glanced back into the cart once more, and I didn’t have to guess as to what he meant. “People fear you and your companion; you even more so, because your class implies anyone could be a servant of the Demon King. Their logic, which I do not support or condemn, is that if someone without horns, or pointy ears, or extra limbs can have that power, can seem corrupted in their eyes, then why can’t they? Or are they already corrupted and just haven’t seen it yet? Have they lost their souls and place in Estrael’s realm?”

That must be one of their gods. What was the name of the god that sent me here? Paul du … something.

Alvos continued after a short pause:

“Those are the ideas that come to their minds when they see you, and that’s what really scares them.”

“It’s a very simple way of seeing things, but I guess -”

The wet sand under the carriage shook, and the horse startled, collapsing to the ground. Alvos pushed me inside before jumping off to undo the harness on the horse, and prevent it from tipping over the cart with it.

I landed right onto Danyar’s chest, and both of us let out yelps, me from surprise, him from the pain of being hit by plate armour. We both ushered apologies and hastily got up, seemingly thinking the same thing.

Amandine had taken shelter behind one of the boxes and was covering her head with her arms. Her hands were shaking, and she jerked away when Danyar tapped her shoulder to check if she was okay.

Another few quakes forced the two of us to let her be and secure the boxes of merchandise. I pushed one of the crates in place with my back, using a barrel to anchor my feet, and yanked my arm to the side to prevent rolls of fabric from rolling out. Danyar was in a similar TV-game-show-worthy position.

“Are you kids alright?” Alvos burst through the back curtains, leaping into the cart. Amandine rushed on all fours at him, hastily signing something before burying herself in his arms.

“The merchandise is intact,” Danayar reported.

“But we could use a hand,” I added. The rolls of fabric weren’t particularly heavy, but there were a lot of them, and they were threatening to spill out any second.

Alvos took a few more moments to comfort Amandine before getting up and cautiously walking up to Danyar. He secured the box above his head, giving him enough leeway to put the rest of the things around him in place.

When Alvos came up to me and pushed into place the boxes that I’d been holding with my foot, I noticed that his hands were shaking.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

Did the horse injure him?

Instead of a reply, he muttered something about the cataclysms bringing the end nearer. The earthquake must have really startled him.

—

We joined the Caravan without further incident.

It seemed Alvos hadn’t been the only one shaken by that small earthquake. People were exchanging whispers and passing around supplies, as if they were scared of angering the earth gods somehow.

“Hey, where are you coming from, brother?” A woman in a dark blue robe appeared by the side of the carriage. She was riding that strange mix of a horse, a cow, and a camel that I’d seen on my first day in the desert.

A cap extended over her head, sheltering her partially covered face from the sun. An ornamental scarf ran up from her shoulders, over her nose, and into an intricate turban-like knot at the top of the cap. Or perhaps run down. It was hard to tell which way the scarf had been tied. What was easy to tell, though, was that she was a guard of some sort, even though she had no visible weapons on display.

“Schwanwal. It’s myself, my little niece, and two family friends,” Alvos replied, seemingly anticipating the next question. “We’ll be joining all the way to Port Stravol, where I will resupply and travel west. We have some food, but I am anticipating that I’ll be spending quite some time with the ale makers,” Alvos winked at the guard.

She took out a black stylus and wrote down the information in the air. Black letters vanished one by one.

“Alvos Meir, fabrics trader, with a subclass in healing magic?” The guard asked.

“The one and only,” Alvos tipped his hat with a proud grin.

“It’s a pleasure to have you with us this year as well,” the woman said. She had the nonchalant tone of a customer service worker, and even though the statement wasn’t directed at me, I found the politeness much appreciated.

“Well, you two should have a look around,” Alvos turned towards us. “I think it very unlikely that a second catastrophe will hit us within the same day.”

“And no blighted have been spotted in three days,” the guard added. “So far, the Bastt Caravan has been very -”

She never got to finish this sentence as a wave of screams came from the front of the caravan. It was immediately followed by a series of red flares fired into the air at irregular intervals.

The guard swore. She raised an arm, and a red light rose in a pillar from a ring on her hand.

“Stay put, don’t leave the carriage, don’t break formation,” she ordered, before galloping away on her mount.

“Let’s go,” I gestured at Danyar, who already had a spear in his hand and a backup ready on his back.

“I’m counting on you, sister,” Alvos said. He then turned towards Danayr and paused for a second. “Brother,” he nodded, before ducking into the cart.