Olga McArrow - Cold obsidian

“Guns, Kan,” repeated Vlada in a cold, slightly impatient voice.

“We don’t have any,” Kan confessed after an awkward pause. “We used to have a lot while the gold rush was still a thing, but now people don’t travel through the Burnt Region anymore, so we don’t make guns and haven’t ordered gunpowder in years. You can go to Torgor and…”

“Too bad!” said Vlada, adding the disappointed “tsk!” sound, just like her grandfather used to do when he was displeased. “I’m in a hurry, Kan. I can’t afford going back to Torgor. I guess I’ll go to the Burnt Region as is: with a sword. How much do you want for this katana?”

Kangassk gasped. During the next minute he made several attempts to say something, yet no sound came from his mouth. He looked like some unfortunate fountain fish suffocating on the sand. Finally, he gave up.

“Fifty coins,” he uttered painfully and then almost exploded with emotions: “Vlada, please, no! Even with a gun, it’s dangerous to go there!”

“Calm down, Kangassk. It’s not my first trip there.” Vlaga gave him a condescending smile and put the coins into his hand.

“Would you… maybe… like going somewhere tonight?” Kan asked hopefully. “We have a theater and…”

“No, thanks. I’d rather take a nap and be on my way in the morning.”

Kangassk followed the girl everywhere like a homeless puppy looking just as sad and miserable. He carried her backpack; he made awkward attempts at small talk – for he still wanted to talk her out of going to a certain death. She wouldn’t listen. Finally, clearly tired of Kan’s attention, Vlada gently took him by the elbow and walked him out the dlar door. The conversation was over.

Back in his store, Kangassk still couldn’t calm down. He either paced the room like a caged lion or sat at the table drumming his fingers on the laquered wood. Either way, his own thoughts were driving him up the wall. The utter silence of the typical Kuldagan midday made everything even worse. In a final attempt to distract himself, he grabbed the book he knew was an emotion killer: a thick and heavy Encyclopedia of No Man’s Land. It was far too advanced a read for someone like Kangassk, so he never tried to storm the paragraphs, he went straight to the summaries instead. Those were nice and clear as if some kind soul, definitely not the author, took pity on the students the monstrous book had been written for.

“No Man’s Land is a region of unstable, wild magic. Even the weakest spells become unpredictable and explosive there.

Rule one: never use magic in No Man’s Land and do not carry magical objects with you while travelling there.

Gunpowder’s explosive power varies from one region to another. In several regions (like Dead Region and Moon Region) gunpowder does not explode at all. Presumably, some gunpowder components may have a weak, residual magical powers, which the unstable magic of No Man’s Land affects.

In the North and South areas where magic is stable gunpowder explodes only when used in large quantities. That limits its use to city cannons and mines. Same stays true for the most regions of No Man’s Land, with small variations. Burnt Region stands out against the rest because of how little gunpowder you need there to produce an explosion. It makes the use of small guns possible.

Rule two: when travelling the No Man’s Land choose the weapons appropriate to the regions you are planning to pass through. Keep a sword or a dagger with you always and use a gun when appropriate.

The borders between different regions are blurry, so the regions are marked as intersecting circles on the map. Be extra careful in the interstitial areas…”

Kangassk closed the book with a slam. A tiny cloud of dust that had risen above it made him sneeze and obviously also brought these unseemly tears to his eyes. He felt sick.

Whenever he tried to cover his face with his hands in a pathetic gesture or to blink he saw Vlada’s face in front of him. That beautiful, smiling face under a messy heap of curls, bleached and gilded by the sun; her eyes, as deep brown as strong tea; her freckles… She looked absolutely alien among the perfect copies of Del he got used to see around him every day. She was brave. She was beautiful. She talked to him nicely unlike the locals…

Also, she was going to die. Alone. In the Burnt Region. Without even a gun to protect herself. And he, Kangassk, was going to let it happen. Or was he?

He looked around the store, taking it all in – the dull glint of unsold weapons, the dust slowly dancing in the the air – and thought about the life he had there, in that city. Pleasant memories were rare. For the perfect citizens praising the purity of ancestors he was a freak, an abomination…

“She called me a handsome young man…” Kangassk thought bitterly.

“To hell with all this!!!” he shouted. The next moment he jumped out of his armchair and started packing without saying so much as “May the master forgive me.” Having grabbed all he thought he would need, Kan went straight to the dlar where Vlada had rented a room and sat in front of her door, determined to meet her in the morning.

The curtains in the dlar room were so thick they let no light in when drawn, but the silence that came after a noisy desert night said it all: it was morning and the city was falling asleep. Vlada sat at the table, poring over a map of No Man’s Land where the circular borders of unstable regions were marked with red ink. She had a lot of plans already, starting with getting herself a fast charga in Border.

She had at least two weeks before the unpleasant conversation she dreaded, but they didn’t seem enough.

Vlada rolled up the map, grabbed her backpack, and pushed the door. The door didn’t even budge.

“What the…” Vlada cursed and kicked the stubborn thing with all her strength making the soft heavy object blocking it, a person, as it turned out, roll heels over head into the opposite wall. She recognized the young smith from the weapon store. He looked drowsy.

“What are you doing here?” asked Vlada.

“I… I’ve been waiting here all night, felt sleepy by the morning, and thought that if I took a nap with my back to the door you would wake me up. So you did!” He beamed, looking victorious.

Vlada raised her brows in a silent question.

“I’m coming with you!”

Silence.

“I mean it!” Kangassk insisted, his hands crossed on his chest. “I will follow you anyway. I can’t let you go into the Burnt Region alone!”

“Why not?” thought Vlada. “It’s not like a healthy young man will be a burden on the journey, and what a life can he, a “freak”, have here anyway? Getting away from that city might be a life-changer for him.”

“Are you good with weapons?” she asked quietly.

“Yes!” shouted Kan, unwillingly letting all the energy he prepared for persuading the Wanderer go into this word alone. It made Vlada chuckle.

“Which ones?” She smiled.

“Short bow! I’m the best archer in all Kuldagan!” That could’ve been true considering how rare archers are in a desert with too many rocks and too few trees. “Also swords, daggers, clubs, you name it. I’m a smith’s apprentice, so I’ve had some practice with every type of weapon I ever made”.

“Okay, I got it. Let’s go…” Vlada shrugged and signed Kan to follow her.

They left the city through the gates, still unattended and wide open.

Close to the mountain pass between Kuldagan and No Man’s Land the desert suddenly decides not to give up without a fight. Every dune becomes a tall rampart you have to storm if you want to keep going, every step takes you twice the effort.

Kangassk and Vlada travelled on foot, the Wanderers’ way. At first, the young man walked with a spring in his step, feeling all brave and inspired. He even tried to take the backpack from Vlada again to carry it along with his own. Two hours later he was secretly glad she hadn’t allowed him to do this. After two more hours, the journey, however short it seemed, had tired him out completely. He could barely walk, too exhausted even to be ashamed of himself for dragging his feet on the sand like an old man. Meanwhile, the girl kept walking at a steady pace like a true Wanderer raised among the dunes would.

“Wouldn’t it be better to travel in the night when it’s cool?” Kan asked her.

“No, it wouldn’t,” she answered in a peremptory tone and kept walking.

Kangassk was too tired to demand an explanation. Instead, he focused on trying his best to keep up with Vlada. Staying awake in daytime was another struggle that kept him busy. Nocturnal habits die hard.

He woke up from his monotonous half-slumber when a hard stone had suddenly replaced the dragging, soft sand under his feet. Kan found himself standing on the ancient road made of grey, time worn cobblestones obviously enchanted to keep the sand away. The edge of the Mountain Ring separating Kuldagan desert from the outer world seemed so close now! The monstrous dunes, Kuldagan’s last ramparts, ended there, fading into a flat rocky surface beside the mountains. Not that it changed much for Kan and his guide, of course, they still had a long way to go, but the view was uplifting.

A shady spot under the lofty black obelisk at the end of the road looked like a good place to rest after all the hours of walking under the merciless sun, so rest they did.

What is the easiest way to make people happy? Just take their basic comforts away for a while, then give them back.

Oh, how pleasant it felt to enter a shade again, to lie down on the ground, to stretch their tired legs, and quench their thirst! Especially the thirst! The best thing? There was no need to ration water: they were just a few days of journey away from Border, so they could drink all they wanted!

Exhausted, but genuinely happy, Kangassk fell asleep in the obelisk’s shade. He dreamed the airy, breezy dreams full of pure emotions, sparkling and gentle like a spray of fountain water back at home.

It was already evening, burning red and orange at the horizon, when Vlada woke him up. They were no longer alone. A caravan was approaching them by the ancient road, breaking the desert silence with lively human chatter.

“I travelled with them all the way from Torgor,” Vlada explained, “until we parted on the crossroads. They went to Aldaren-turin to trade there. Meanwhile, I made a detour to buy a gun in Aren-castell. I’m glad we’ve caught up with them. They will give us a ride.”

Kangassk nodded. Soon, after Vlada’s brief conversation with the merchant, he found himself travelling in the greatest comfort possible: on the back of a dunewalker. These huge beasts of burden, both obedient and quiet, have been traversing deserts since the beginning of days, heat and dust storms notwithstanding. Riding one felt like being gently rocked in a giant cradle. Kangassk found it quite pleasant, especially considering the fact that he shared a saddle with a beautiful girl. He even took the liberty of holding onto her waist pretending he’d fall otherwise.

“If it weren’t for the caravan, we’d be in for a rough journey,” explained Vlada. “The road is not safe. There can be bandits.”

Kangassk nodded knowingly. He had heard his share of merchants’ tales, most of which involved raids and bloodshed.

“You may stop clutching on to me, by the way,” Vlada mentioned casually. “Dunewalkers are not wild bulls, you won’t fall.”

“What if I get drowsy and fall asleep?” asked Kan. He didn’t like the idea of keeping his hands off the girl.