By

Howell Roland, Jr.

“He who hunts the valcan without the

deadly tone which the swirling death cords sings,

walks on the sands of death”

Thirst! Jarlath’s throat felt swollen and dry. He looked over at the short knarf which trotted across the hot orange sand only a step from his side.

The return gaze from Darth’s hazel eyes sought moisture!

“We take moisture only from the valcan!” Jarlath answered his four legged companion’s silent question in the whistling language that men of his tribe had developed between themselves and the knarf.

Jarlath gave the signal for alertness with his hand.

The knarf, uncurling its upper lip to reveal long fangs, went back to sniffing the hot air for the scent of their quarry-a task it had pursued since the rising of the giant red sun.

Jarlath also cast the thought of moisture from his mind. If he could not locate the huge creature he sought, he would welcome death to returning empty-handed to the crater. Bringing all his thoughts to bear upon searching for their quarry, Jarlath keep his head constantly turning. Unlike the knarf, Jarlath depended upon his sight. With quick right to left movements of his head, he searched the sand dunes for a patch of darker orange. His life and that of Darth, his knarf companion, depended upon their sighting the valcan before its black eyes registered their presence.

All day they had combed the burning sands of the hard desert in pursuit of its most deadly inhabitant inhabitant—the valcan. Jarlath glanced toward the bright giant red sun hanging low in the horizon. If they didn’t soon come upon the creature, night would fall! With the coming of darkness would go any chance of becoming the new shaman. Instead the job would fall to Vark, his uncle.

Jarlath smiled, but the curve of his lips was not the position they took whenever he was pleased. His failure wold please many of the tribe. The living stone would surely be pleased to have someone other than him as the shaman For he had received no communication from the divine living stone. But, he reflected hopefully as he scanned the desert for a tell tale sign of the valcan, it might only be waiting until he became the new shaman before speaking in his mind. Should Vark and his backers have their way he would never become the weaver of spells.

To most people of the tribe Jarlath was looked upon as less than human. His hand automatically touched his hair, the visible cause of all his problems. It only it were dark like everyone else’s and not the color of the scorching sun. Jarlath gritted his teeth. Even thought he might complete the test and kill a valcan before the setting of the red sun, they would still look upon him with suspicion. And continue to name him “Sun Child” behind his back. Of course, to his face they would call him shaman, provided he could walk the pattern of spells.

So carried away had Jarlath become with his thoughts that he failed to spot the mass of dark orange towering above the nearby sand dune. Only when the torrid breeze changed direction and Darth’s warning whistle filled the air did he see the huge scaly creature already preparing to charge.

Although of death rushed through Jarlath’s mind, he didn’t panic. Instead he allowed his reflexes to take control. The long day spent with the sling had made using it just that– a reflex!

As his fingers located the one stone he carried in his pouch – a small white stone, his inheritance – the words of Slip, an old outcast of the tribe, came to mind: “Always seek to cast the shaman stone into the valcan’s eyes. For it is said that the creature will die the moment the stone of the before ones pierces its black eyes”. Because Slip had once been keeper of room of records, Jarlath had listened intensely when every the old man spoke.

With the old man’s words seemly fresh in his mind, Jarlath released the shaman stone sending it hurling through the air to meet the charging valcan. All the grueling practice sessions paid off. The missile struck true! It hit the valcan in the right eye. To Jarlath, it seemed as though the creature ran into a invisible wall. The moment the stone struck, the valcan stopped in its tracks, stood tall upon powerful hind legs with it weaker front limbs pawing at it hideous scaly face.

Suddenly without making a sound, the huge creature toppled to the sand. Jarlath was stunned. I did it! He thought. He was surprised as he had expected the great creature to let out a scream of pain as it died. Yet like a true king of the desert, the valcan had died silently.

Jarlath took his eyes off the fallen valcan and quickly scanned the desert. One must constantly be alert when in the hard desert. The only living being in sight was Darth, who stood facing the fallen valcan with the fur on his back standing straight up as he bared fangs and growled from deep in his throat. Jarlath smiled. Without the knarf’s keen sense of smell and companionship, he would have found it difficult to survive the dangers of the hard desert.

Knowing he must move quickly to take the creature’s moisture before the setting of the red sun, Jarlath drew a special hollow metal tub from his belt and drove it into the neck of the valcan. Then putting his lips to the end which protruded from the creature’s thick neck, Jarlath sucked on it until the valcan moisture came forth.

After taking as much of the valcan moisture as he could consume, Jarlath let Darth get his fill while he busied himself with the unpleasant task of digging the shaman stone from the creature’s tiny brain. Jarlath would sooner die than lose the stone of the before ones.

Having retrieved it, he turned the shaman stone over several time in his hand hardly believing his eyes. Always before the shaman stone had been pure white. But not it had streaks of red. Fear gripped Jarlath. What ws the meaning of the color change? True the shaman stone he held had never been used to kill a valcan but was that what changed it color? Or was it some kind of warning that had nothing to do with killing the valcan?

Reluctantly, Jarlath replace the shaman stone in to his belt pouch. There were other things of importance that must be done before the red sun ended it journey across the sky. Later, would he dwell upon the change in the shaman stone’s color seeking an answer.

“Are you moisture full!” Jarlath asked Darth. He gave the knarf a couple of strokes behind his ears. “Now stand guard” He commanded in the limited whistling language he shared with his four legged companion.

The short but powerful knarf trotted over to a nearby sand dune. Making one of his incredible leaps, Darth reached the summit of the sand dune with ease. Turning so that he faced the opposite direction from which the hot desert breeze blew, the fateful knarf sniffed the air often while he also visually searched the surface of the desert for signs of life.

Jarlath whistled his approval. In Darth’s present position any creature would be hard pressed to surprise them. Feeling as completely secure as one could upon the hard desert, Jarlath set about the messy job of skinning the orange valcan. He worked swiftly, glancing several times toward the red sun to judge the amount of time remaining before darkness settled upon the desert.

When he cut the last section of the orange hide free from the carcass, Jarlath set to work fashioning it into a shaman’s robe. The task was extremely difficult and delicate but he used a special glue to seal the seams and to attach the sleeves to the main body of the hide robe. The sun had sunk dangerously low in the west by the time he completed his task of turning the orange scaly hide of the valcan into a crude robe, but one that was beautiful in his eyes.

Quickly fastening on the robe, Jarlath gave a short whistle. Darth vacated his post and came running over showing that he too knew that it was getting late. Wearing the orange robe made from the hide of the valcan – the sign of a shaman, Jarlath led the way back in the direction of the crater. Darth as always scouted ahead.

Jarlath felt completely comfortable in the robe. He had always missed its weight without actually realizing it. No longer did he feel the heat of the desert. Instead he felt as cool as he did inside the crater but without having to suffer the mental depression which gripped him when he was near of the living stone.

He let a little relief creep into his thoughts, along with it came resentment. He should never have had to seek out the valcan for his shaman robe. By birth right his father robe should have gone to him instead of to Vark. But no! The council had used the fact that the living stone had never spoken directly to Jarlath’s mind’s, as it had to other spell weavers abbots since the first shaman, to try to name Vark the new shaman. To Vark had been given his father’s valcan robe and there by making it impossible for Jarlath to walk the pattern of spells. For only wearing a robe fashioned from the hide of a valcan could one hope to survive the forces of energy which assaulted the walker of the pattern of spells.

What worried Jarlath most was a deep-seated feeling that the living stone was indeed behind the council’s actions. How would they dare do anything so radical as refuse a rightful heir his chance to walk the pater of spells if they did not believe it ws the will of the living stone. Blast the living stone! He would work for the people of the tribe not their holy rock!

Touching the rough robe with his hand, Jarlath smiled. None had become a shaman through the testing way for a hundred years! His father would have been proud of him.

Darth’s whistle attracted Jarlath’s full attention! The knarf emerged from behind a dune to Jarlath’s right and lifted his head and gave a second shorter sharp whistle. Only someone familiar with the whistling language could have recognized it’s meaning.

“Ok, lead the way,” Jarlath answered in the old language of the tribe. Although he had not spoke in the whistling language he usually used to communicate with the knarf, Darth understood. He turned and headed back in the direction he had appeared.

Jarlath followed.

Around the dune Darth turned a bit to the north. Jarlath had to run to keep pace. He could see nothing of the terrain because of the numerous sand dunes in the area. Darth led him up one of the dunes. Upon reaching the top, Jarlath spotted what Darth had located – a cluster of several big rocks.

“Good work,” Jarlath said. He added a whistle of approval.

He and Darth had barely settled down upon the middle rock when the sudden darkness particular to Hades descended. Almost immediately the hard desert changed from the quite abandoned appearance it maintained during the period when the read sun ruled the sky to a place alive with noises of life.

The whisper of shifting sand reached them. Darth growled so low that Jarlath was only aware of it by the vibration of the knarf’s body. Jarlath gave his companion a pat and made himself as comfortable as possible. Always the slight whisper of shifting sand could be heard, but Jarlath knew that he and Darth were safe from the makers of the sound as long as they remained on the rock. Only should they be foolish enough to leave the rock’s protection and set foot upon the open sand of the desert would the sinister lants, whose quick growth from bulbs buried deep in the desert floor which accounted for the whisper of shifting sand, pose a threat.

What made the plants so dangerous was the fact that they were almost impossible to detect. Their runners stopped the ascent a hair’s breath below the surface of the desert where it’s runners formed a net-like pattern. Any creature unlucky enough to step on the buried menace would activate the runners causing them to spring up and twist themselves around their unsuspecting victim. One prick of a runner’s thorny spine was enough to paralyze even a valcan.

The plants made night travel very dangerous. Hoppers, night crawlers, bat birds and most of the other night creatures of the hard desert could be seen with the light cast by a green glow stone and fought, but the carnivorous lant plants made night travel almost impossible. Even Darth, with his excellent nose would have problems sniffing out the locations of the vile plants.

The lant plant was not the only carnivorous form of vegetation active during the night. The trap plant also took its toll on the animal life that prowled with the sinking of the giant red sun. Like the lants, the trap plant sent runners straight up from it large center, which was really no more than a gigantic mouth, to just below the surface of the desert. Hidden by a layer of sand, the trap plants interlocking runners spread out in a large flattened circle forming a net made of roots. Then the trap plants root like net secreted a powerful an orderless acid onto the sand below it. The strong acid dissolved the sand forming a pit below the runners to the mouth like maul of the plant. The edges of the of the runners released a chemical that caused the sand to harden so that the side of the pit didn’t cave in. And the thin layer of sand on top of the runners hid the pitfall completely. Hades was a dangerous planet during the day but at night it was doubly so.

Jarlath moved restlessly unable to sleep. I wasn’t the hardness of the rock nor the sounds of the desert that kept him awake but the excitement of the day’s events. Thus wasn’t the case with Darth. From the easy breathing of his four legged companion, Jarlath knew that even taking moisture of a valcan could not rob his friend of a good night’s sleep. Yet, though Darth seemed deep in sleep any unusual sound or smell would bring him fully alert and ready for instant action. Therefore, Jarlath did not worry too much about being surprised by some desert night creature.

Many thoughts passed through Jarlath’s mind as he waited for sleep. Now that he had the shaman robe the way lay open for him to walk the pattern of spells, which when completed would give him the knowledge to use all the spells he had spent most of his adolescent life learning. Mastering the written language of the before ones who had created the spells had been extremely difficult and trying.

The idea of entering the place of power sent a chill down Jarlath’s spine. Jarlath tried to shake the sensation. He should not feel frightened. He should only feel happiness at the thought of walking the pattern of spells. He should not have a nagging fear that the living stone stone would intervene against him. Never before had the rightful heir in his family been rejected by either the council or the living stone except for first leader, a man called Captain, whom the remembers said had not only been rejected but destroyed by the living stone. Yet the council had rejected Jarlath already and hinted that the living stone would do likewise.

Jarlath touched his hair, the reminder of his unusual birth and the visual cause of his present problems. His mother had developed a strange affliction while carrying him in her womb. His father had told him that her skin had turned as orange as the desert sand. She was affected by the disease in other ways also. The radiation from the living stone which kept crater cool had turned against her and made her so weak that his father had been compelled to take her near the rim of the crater where the rays of the red sun and the radiation from the living stone battled one another to a standstill.

It had been there, near the rim, that Jarlath came forth into the world. His mother could not withstand the strain. She had died before he left her womb. The only means by which his father could save him was through weaving the spell of creation – the spell which according to the writing of the before ones must never be used. His father had not hesitated to disobey the holly script and the living stone. He wove the spell. The weaving of such a powerful forbidden spell had taken such a great toll of his father’s strength that thought it worked and Jarlath was born of spell, his father never fully recovered.

Again Jarlath ran his hand through his hair – which some said was the sign of the desert but which others said he inherited from his many times removed grandfather called Captain which the living stone had destroyed and whose genes had caused his mother to come down with the strange disease.

Though his father had lived for fifteen years after Jarlath’s birth, he ws only a husk of his former self. He had often told Jarlath that the living stone was angry with him because he had dared to use the forbidden spell and kept sucking his life force. But his father was a great fighter. Death had taken him only two months ago. Jarlath had watched helplessly as he father had fallen upon his face in the middle of a simple healing spell. It had been as thought the last of his energy had suddenly been sucked from his body.

Following the death of his father, the council had quickly proclaimed Vark the new shaman in hopes that Jarlath would not object. He had. The council had struck to their decision. Jarlath had taken the only path open to the son of a shaman who had been refused the valcan hide robe.

Suddenly Jarlath noticed the silence of the desert. Darth rose quickly to his feet further reinforcing Jarlath’s sense that all was not well. With blinding speed, Jarlath’s hand brought a throwing star from its place in his belt. With it nestled in his hand ready for instant use, he tried to locate the cause of the suddenly stillness of the desert. Even the night crawlers, which raised their hissing voices as they wormed their way across the sand with stinger tipped tail held high, were silent.

A moment later, he caught the low buffing sound. The desert air carried sound waves well but still he could not identify the exact direction from which the noise came. Reaching down, Jarlath touched Darth with his hand to see in which direction the knarf faced. Darth’s head pointed directly West. Jarlath quickly turned to face that direction. As he did so, the identity of the maker of the sound came to mind – a bat bird. Jarlath could vividly picture in his mind the sharp jagged teeth and the incredible long neck of the aerial creature. He steeled himself knowing he would only have a moment to throw between the time he sighted the creature’s blowing read eyes and it attack. Jarlath waited motionless.

Unlike them, the bat bird did not have to fear the carnivorous plants for it did not walk upon the desert, but flew just above the sand. The buffing sound came from the force of the wind caused by the down beat of its wings hitting the desert floor.

For a creature so large, the bat bird flew with great speed. Because of the dangers posed by the carnivorous night plants, Jarlath and Darth were at a disadvantage. They cold only wait for the creature to attack. The only thing which gave them a chance against the bat bird was the fact that like most creatures of the night it eyes glowed, thus making it possible for Jarlath to see its approach in the blackness of the moonless desert night.

Suddenly large red orbs loomed directly ahead. Burning red eyes rushed forward. Taking only a blink of an eye to gage the location and speed of the attacking bat bird, Jarlath hurled his throwing star. It whistled a deadly tune, that ended in the thumbing sound of contact.

Quick, Jarlath snatched another throwing star form his belt, but the loud flopping noise and the sudden absence of those burning orbs told him his throw had struck home – the creature’s neck. Letting out a sign of relief, Jarlath reached down and patted Darth.

“I think we will forgo the pleasure of taking its moisture, old boy.”

Almost before Jarlath settled back down to the squatting position he used when sleeping in the open desert, the sounds of the night returned. Added to the usual sounds were those of scavengers converging on the bat bird’s corpse to tear away the flesh. The sounds of the feast grew frenzied. It was during the sounds of bones being crushed and snarling fight over scraps of flesh that drifted off into a shallow sleep.

Chapter Two

“His ancestors came from a world beyond,

Where is was said they did not belong,

Long did they serve an ancient one,

known as a great evil to writers of song,

Then like the unspeakable one Jarlath was spell born,

Which sent fear into the foul heart of the fell one . . .

From the song of Jarlath by Arkark,

last of the sand singers.

Under the valcan robe, Jarlath felt comfortable as he trotted across the scorching sand. He caught an occasional glimpse of Darth’s brown fur against the orange sand as the knarf darted in and out of the sand dunes in an effort to seek out danger. Jarlath frequently scanned the horizons in search of they many hostile life forms whose presence made death always always near. Here upon the hard desert, all forms of life were capable of taking the moisture of a careless man.

Only the shadows of the few scattered boulders gave any creature a hiding place from the huge red sun in the endless land of the orange sand. No blade of grass or leaf protruded above the plane of orange sand. No normal plant life could exits in the deserts of Hades, only the carnivorous night plants could survive in such a waterless land where moisture must be obtained form another living creature.

Spotting Darth briefly to his right, Jarlath turned his attention to the East. Though hiding places were limited, the creatures of the hard desert were more than apt at the art of blending with their surrounds.

As usual the attack came from an unsuspected direction. Only the faintest of sounds, more of a suggestion of motion than an actual sound, warned Jarlath. Because of his alertness, that slight warning proved enough. For reasons known only to the depth of his mind, Jarlath threw himself flat upon the sand without as much as a glance skyward.

His stomach had barely touched the sand when the shadow passed over close enough that he felt it wind. Quickly rolling over onto his side, Jarlath spotted a creature no larger than his head. Size and little do do with the deadliness of the life forms in the hard desert. The attacker, a leather wing, thought only a hundredth the size of a valcan, equaled the king of the desert as a danger to man.

The should that had saved Jarlath’s life came form the speed with which the creature sliced through the air in its dive from high overhead. Jarlath cursed himself. He should have seen the leather wing circling in the sky. Jarlath knew himself to be extremely lucky. If he had been a moment slower in dropping to the ground, the leather wing would have driven its knife long beak into him. Only man of the tribe had ever survived such a wound. The leather wing’s beak had pierced the man’s shoulder, and although he had killed the creature – one of the few life forms which attacked people in crater – immediately, it had already released its digestive juices into the wound.

The man’s arm and most of his should had rotted off before Jarlath’s father’s frantic efforts proved successful in retarding any further tissue break down. To this day, the man smelled of rotting flesh.

So it was with determination, born of knowledge of his opponent’s deadliness, to kill the leather wing before it drove its wicked beak into his body that Jarlath swiftly gained his feet and snatched a small net form his belt. All the while he never lost sight of the airborne creature as he readied himself for it next dive. He watched it gain altitude until a mere speck in the sky before starting its second plunge earthward.

The sound of its dive was such a slight one that Jarlath wondered how he had even heard it. Holding one of the small stones which served as weights for the net, Jarlath swung the net in a circle over his head. The fast moving leather wing dropped lower. Jarlath increased the speed with which he swung the net. He waited. The net must be cast at just the exact moment. Too soon and the leather wing would dodge it and if he let go too late, the creature’s momentum would be sufficient to allow the long beak to strike him before he would have time to move clear.

Suddenly events moved too fast for comfort. Jarlath released the stone weight sending the net spinning skyward at the last possible moment. Then in desperation Jarlath dove for the round.

Lucky again! The net hit the leather wing full center entangling the deadly creature in its mash. Even so, the net didn’t alter the leather wings’ course much. Had Jarlath remained standing he would have been gored by the creature’s long knife like beak.

Before the leather wing had a chance to free itself, Jarlath rushed forward with the quickness of a death runner. He drew his knife as he moved. With purpose he inserted the blade between the strands of the net. Then using all his weight he bore down on the handle of the knife sinking the thin blade deep into the creature’s body. After a few flapping movements the leather wind moved no more.

As Jarlath reached down to retrieve his net something brushed against the back of his leg. He whipped around to find Darth leaning lightly against his leg. Jarlath smile and relaxed. He scratched his four legged friend behind behind the ear.

“It’s alright,” he cooed seeing concern of the knarf’s face. “I killed it.”

Jarlath straightened up and replaced the net in his belt.

“Let’s get on the move, old friend, We still have a long way to go,” He called and then gave a whistling signal for Darth to resume scouting.

The fight with the leather wing left him tense. He used the excess energy to move across the desert at a very rapid pace. The exertion from the quick trot helped to relax him. He and Darth made good time. By midday Jarlath could see the rocky rise of the crater. And despite his smothering dislike for the living stone, it felt good to be back home.

Suddenly Darth let out a growl that turned into a blood curdling howl!

Jarlath glanced around for a sign of danger. Nothing!

“What is the matter?” He questioned.

“Danger!” Darth’s answering whistle stated.

Again, Jarlath surveyed the surrounding desert. But he could sighted no life forms. Jarlath glanced down at Darth to see the bristles on the knarf’s back standing upright. The crater seemed to hold Darth’s attention.

Jarlath studied the rim of the crater carefully. His heat skipped a beat! Something large and silvery streaked across the sky and dipped below the rim of the crater.

A thick plume of greasy looking black smoke rose slowly from over the rocky rim of the crater. As Jarlath followed the rising smoke with his he spotted several other silvery shapes hovering above the crater. At first he thought they were huge silver birds. Then in a flash he remembered.

Air ships!

From his memory came the image of more than a year ago when the offworlders, who dug in the ground for special rocks in the north beyond the beginning of the lesser desert had discovered the crater during one of their surveys. They had landed in air ships just outside the crater – air ships like those that now darted in and out of the crater. Vividly Jarlath recalled how excited the offworlders had been at discovering the existence of his tribe.

He also remembered ho upset the council had been upon learning that people other than themselves had crossed the stars and to Hades. From tales which the Remembers told, Jarlath knew the source of their fear. According to the Remembers, Jarlath’s ancestors had been exiled from a far distance work and told that should they ever be discovered they would be killed instantly. But many of the tribe refused to name such silly stories of the Remembers as truth. Those believed that the living stone held the power to protect them from the offworlders. And so it had seemed, because the strangers had refused to approach any nearer to the village than the rim of the carter. They had claimed the inside of the carter was radioactive and deadly to humans. Jarlath found it strange that the emissions from the living stone could give coolness and life to the village yet be deadly to the offworlders. For except for him, none oft the tribe could be away from the cooling radiation of the living stone for more more than two days before their bodies would wrinkle up and they die a horrible death. His father had always told him that it was his being spell born that allowed him to survive away from the living stone.

During the offworlders visit the council had been careful not to mention their shaman could cast energy spells, because the Remembers had told them many time that upon the world they had come from called earth, their ancestral home, it had been their ability to work magic that had branded them as evil. That before the tribe’s ancestors had been allowed to flee, laws had been past outlawing magic and any found practicing it were killed, burned alive in huge bond fires. The Remembers had told of a great battle where his ancestors had won the right to leave Earth on a starship in search of a new home. And as the tale was told they found Hades

The offworlders had left in their airship and not returned and the council had felt that their origin and spell casting abilities had been kept secret and that they were safe. Jarlath had occasionally heard the distant hum of their air ships during his long hunts in the hard desert, but he hadn’t seen them.

Now they had returned! And was at this very moment attacking his village and killing his people with weapons that they had no defense against. As Jarlath watched the attack it suddenly occurred to him that the ships that had landed near the crater had not been silver, they had been a dull green.

Jarlath suddenly felt sick as the full impact of what was happening hit him. Here he was the shaman-to-be and he could not help his people against the offworlder’s attack. Had he already walked the patter of spells he would have used spells to try to the attacking air ships, but without the ability to weave spells he was helpless and so were his people.

Resolve to try to help as best he could, Jarlath whistled for Darth to follow. Putting ut of his mind any thought of the dangers of the desert, he ran toward the crater. Only when he reached the ridge of rocks surrounding the rim did he slow his pace. Jarlath did not have any trouble finding the only trail which lead from the desert to the village. He tried to run along the path but the turn and twist of the trail slowed him to an almost walk. As he worked his way near the half-way point, he could see people running for shelter in the stone tower in the center of the village.

But they found no safety even inside the stone tower. From out of the sky air ships dove at the tower. Flashes of blue light shot from the air ships to briefly play along the stones of the tower leaving smothering ruins. The air ship fired on every building with their probing blue lights leaving darkened embers where once study huts had only moments before stood.

Jarlath’s nose wrinkled at the stench of burning flesh. Darth growled and bared his fangs. Yet they were both helpless to aid those dying below. They were two thirds of the way down the side of the crater when Jarlath saw a woman run from one of the small huts near the edge of the village. She was running toward the trail which Jarlath and Darth were descending. Jarlath stopped and waved his arms at her as he jumped up and down encouraging her. But a air ship streaked down form above and it probing deadly blue light played along the ground until it touched the running woman. She vanished. Only a blacken spot of dirt marked her grave.

The savage killing field below caused reason to flood back into Jarlath’s mind. He threw himself behind a rock in the trail and gave Darth a whistling command to take cover too. The knarf quickly obeyed even thought Jarlath could hear growls coming form the rock where Darth had taken refuge.

“We can not help them. Today is not a good day to die.” Jarlath whistled the words even thought a part of him wanted to rush down the path and die with is people. He kept the hope that some would survive the attack. And those he would be able to help, but only if he remained alive himself.

Time dragged slowly by. Every moment Jarlath expected one of the blue light from the air ships to strike his hiding place but as time slowly ticked by he and Darth remained undiscovered.

The first sign that the air ships had left was when Darth stopped growling. Still Jarlath waited. The sun had sank low in the west before he moved his cramped boy out of his hiding place and whistled for the knarf to join him

Silently he looked down upon the smoking remains of the village. Nothing moved except the many raising columns of black smoke. Jarlath let out his breath heavily when he looked at the stone ringed courtyard where the pattern of spells were carved into its polished stone floor. The stones were gone. Now only dark and smoking sand mark their former location.

Fearing what he would find, Jarlath hurried to the courtyard. Relief poured over him. By some miracle the destructive blue light form the airships had not even scratched the polished stone floor of the courtyard upon which the pattern were carved.

Why is it that I look to the patters first instead of trying to find out if any of my people still live? Jarlath thought.

Jarlath was in a bad mood as he turned from the pattern carved in the courtyard and walked through the destruction of his village. Although there were no bodies, he knew that each darken smudge in the sand was the dying place of someone. He hesitated. Walking through the former village was like walking upon death people. He sensed their spirits. Only the need to know if slaughter had been totally forced him to search through the rubble.

It took only a short survey for him to realize that the air ships had left no one alive. The air ships must have been able to locate every living thing in the village from above. They must have had some way of seeing through rock and stones. Jarlath shook his head. It was hard to conceive of just technology. But once his people must have had such things if one believed the Remembers.

In spite of his pain Jarlath smiled. The pattern of spells had been immunes to the power of the blue light. In that he felt hope. For the need for revenge was heavy in his heart.

The living stone! Jarlath found it amusing that his thought turned last to the holy stone of his people. He glanced at where the tower of power had once stood and found only a darkened hole. Even so he ran over to look for himself.

Nothing!

Nowhere did he find even a fragment of the living stone. How was it that the blue light was capable of destroying the living stone and not the pattern of spells. This didn’t seem right to Jarlath. He studied the ground around the blacken hole where the tower had stood. Scraps on the rocky ground and indention in the dirty! At least one of the air ship had landed.

Stolen! The thought ran a burning course through him mind. The offworlders had destroyed the village and slaughtered it people in order to steal the living stone. Anger, the likes of which he had never known filled Jarlath. By taking the living stone the offworlders had doomed any villagers who might have survived the attack. None but he could live more than two days away from the radiation of the living stone.

But if the living stone was to powerful, how had they stolen it? And didn’t one of the humans from the offworlders say that the living stone was deadly to them. Jarlath shook his head in puzzlement. All might not be as it seemed!

Suddenly as he took in the awesome destruction around him, madness griped him. He dropped to the ground and began to pound his fist into the blacken sand. Only when exhaustion overcame him did he stop.

Jarlath lifted his head and stared into the giant red sun.

“By the blood of my father and mother and those who died here today, I will seek out the offworlders responsible for the deaths here. I will destroy them! Though it take me until the end of my days, I shall not rest until I have paid this debt back in offworlder blood. This I, Jarlath, wearer of the orange robe do pledge!”

“Come,” Jarlath whistled to Darth. “Get their scent.”

Darth sniffed the ground around the spot where the air ship had landed. No creature had a better nose than a knarf. Once Darth got the scent of something, he never forgot it. When the knarf finished sniffing the landing area, Jarlath made the sign of the blood oath.

Darth growled to show he understood.

Now Jarlath realized that he was like Darth – the last of his kind for even if someone was lucky enough to have survived the offworlders’ raid they would soon die without the living stone. The Remembers told that the knarfs had been brought to Hades by his ancestors. And at first the knarfs had reproduced freely, but as time passed their number had dwindled until only one pup was left. For Darth’s mother, the surviving mature knarf, had died at birth just like him. Jarlath’s father had raised them both. They were like brothers.

Suddenly to his right something caught Darth’s attention. The loud howl had hardly escaped the knarf’s throat before Jarlath was at his side.

The body was that of an offworlder. He wore the strange clothing of those that had visited the carter. Yet there was a difference. The uniform of the dead man looked scuffed and soiled, not from recent contact with the ground or from the battle but from neglect.

A brief smile crossed Jarlath’s faces when he turned the corpse over and noticed the sharpened prong of a throwing star protruding from the offworlder’s chest. At least one of his people had not died without a fight.

“Al least, Darth, they die as easily as we do,” Jarlath said before leaving the body to walk over to the courtyard were the pattern of spell was etched in the polished stone floor.

Standing amidst the ruined circle of stones, despair overwhelmed him as he stared down at the pattern of spells. How could he ever hope to avenge his people if he didn’t have the living stone to supply the energy to give life to his spells once he walked he pattern of spells?

The shaman stone!

The thought gave Jarlath instant hope. He reached into his belt pouch and brought forth the small stone which each shaman had possessed since his people’s enlightenment by the living stone. It had been handed down from shaman to shaman since it has been found by the first walker of the pattern of spells. So the Remembers had cited.

The red streaks glittered in the sunlight as Jarlath held the stone in his hand. As he turned the stone slowly over in his hand, he wondered if the sudden appearance of the red streaks in the stone had been a warning of the coming attach on the village instead of being caused by its contact with the valcan. If he had only paid more attention to all the stories which the Remembers told of the shaman stone’s power. He had once heard that it had been the source of power for the before ones. Maybe it was not connected to the living stone but carried it own power.

Even with out the living stone I must try to walk the pattern of spells, Jarlath thought as he neared the strange language drawings carved on the polished floor of the courtyard. The pattern was composed of designs of whorls and circles of various sizes and formed a series of steps. Each step was said to bring one in contact with the power of the before ones.

“I must try to walk the pattern of spells,” Jarlath signed to Darth who sat up on his hind legs watching Jarlath approaching the starting point of the pattern of spells.

A confidence he should not have felt gave him the courage to step upon the first design. The heat of the crater, caused by the absence of the living stone, vanished. Jarlath shrank from the coldness which suddenly assaulted him from all sides. But he did not retreat. He coughed, his throat suddenly dry. In spite of an inner sense of warning, Jarlath stepped on the next design. The pattern of spells changed. The chiseled designs on the polish stone floor came alive. They began to wiggle and squirm.

Jarlath faltered.

Coarse fur rubbed against his leg. Darth! Reassurance swept back into him. The knarf seemed unaffected by the pattern. With Darth by his side, Jarlath concentrated on the withering designs until they stopped their motion. Darth’s presence was his anchor. The touch of his companion against his leg gave him the courage to fight the fear – overwhelming terror which threatened to force him to turn back – that the pattern awakened deep in his mind. Jarlath didn’t feel shame at his fear nor at the comfort which the knarf’s presence gave him.

The knowledge that only by completing the pattern of spells would he be able to avenge his people gave Jarlath the added strength he needed to take another step.

A force slammed into his mind! His thoughts became a nightmare of weird fragments. He swayed. Pressure of Darth’s body against his legs kept Jarlath from losing his balance. To fall meant instant death. Once started the walking of the pattern of spells must be completed. To step off the symbols meant death. Jarlath concentrated. He fought the feeling of numbness which suddenly weakened his legs. He won the battle.

Blue fire streaked over his body as his foot make contact with the next design of the pattern. But the fire did not come from the pattern of spells. It came from above! Yet the blue flames did not destroy him. They only singed his orange valcan hide robe. The pattern of spells protected him. But it also threatened him. For up from the design whorls rose a twisted and ghoulish creature. At first Jarlath thought it was real but when Darth did not growl he realized it was a mind trick being used against him.

Jarlath steeled his mind against such illusions conjured up by the pattern of spells and the threat from the air ship and took another step forward on the pattern of spells. Although he was aware of the air ship circling above, he had to put it out of his mind. While he was walking the pattern of spells the weapons of the air ship seemed unable to harm him. But if he failed to complete the walking of the pattern spell its ancient power would consume him.

Ancient unseen power flowed into him from the pattern. Jarlath lost track of the number of steps he took and he moved from design to design. Then he realized that the final final designs of the pattern were before him. His head was light from the flow of power into his body. He tried to move his feet to step upon the final design of the pattern. But he feet seemed glued to the polished stone. With all the power he had drawn from the design he had walked he could call forth none of it to move his legs.

“Darth!” Jarlath called out in desperation as he bend down and fastened the fingers of his left hand into the fur of the knarf.

Seeming to know exactly what ws expected of him, Darth advanced. The strength of the forward pull of his friend allow Jarlath to take the last step. His foot landed in the center of the final design.

A flash of blinding light rose from the design and enclosed Jarlath. He suddenly felt in touch with then entire world. He was out side of his body like a god surveying his kingdom. And in that state he felt an irritant buzzing over the crater. The offworlder’s air ship. And like a god he smited it with lightening from his raised hand.

Then he was back in his body and falling. Darkness enveloped him.

“He did more than any shaman and with much less,

The pattern of spells he walked the best

And though he wove spells they were not his test

For upon young Jarlath’s shoulders Hades future did rest”

From the song of Jarlath.

Chapter Three

Jarlath woke several times during the night in a heavy sweat but always the unnatural sleep reclaimed him. With its darkness came haunting visions which were lost upon awakening. During the brief periods of awareness, he heard deep growls coming from Darth and knew that his companion’s sleep was as troubled as his own unnatural rest.

Sometime during the night the influence of walking the pattern of spells ended and Jarlath fell into a natural, restful sleep. When the first light of the giant red sun touched the bottom of the crater, it found Jarlath ready to leave. There was nothing to keep him in the crater and many reasons for seeking out the offworlders responsible for the destruction of his people.

As he climbed the trail leading to the hard desert, Jarlath felt changed. No longer was he a mere boy struggling to fit into his father’s footsteps. He was now a shaman, true he was a shaman with out a people or the living stone, but he was still a shaman.

Jarlath took nothing form the ruined village. He left with what he had entered. He didn’t want to disturb the spirits of the place by taking that which was not his. Let the works of his people remain with the dead never to be disturbed again. To ensure this Jarlath stopped at the rim of the crater. He looked down into crater blacken from the attack, where the living stone had kept his people confined but safe from the scorching heat of the desert and its dangerous lifeforms for such a long time that only the Remembers could recall the details of their coming. Then after taking one last look, he began to weave his very first spell, the death spell.

Never before had a shaman woven a spell without the power of the living stone to supply the necessary energy. Jarlath knew that without the living stone the spell might draw from him too much energy as the spell that his father had woven to bring him life had taken so much of his life energy that he had never recovered.

Although Jarlath feared what had happened to his father might happen to him he did not hesitate. His people deserved to rest in peace! He tightened his left hand around the shaman stone hoping that it would aid him and began to chant the words of the spell as he began to weave the designs of the spell’s pattern in the air with his right hand.

Standing among the gray rocks on the rim of the crater clothed in the orange valcan robe, Jarlath resembled a creature out of a nightmare. And in spite of his fear, a thrill went through him as he traced the first patter of the spell. He felt power in the movement of his hand. Often as a boy he had practiced the weaving of spells, but it had been no different than waving his arms in the air. Now, since walking the pattern of spells, he felt as thought he was creating something powerful. So powerful that if he didn’t handle the power correctly his first spell might well be his last.

Jarlath made the final stroke in the air before and spoke the ancient words of power. Suddenly the designs he had so carefully drawn in the air burst into flames – fire as read as the red sun.

As the designs burned the flames pulled energy from Jarlath to feed it hunger. Feeling his strength draining fast, he raised his hand containing the shaman stone until I was between him and the burning spell pattern. He opened his hand.

“Be three power locked within, oh stone of the before ones: then release it to quench the flame’s desire.”

As though in answer to his plead, an invisible surge of energy shot form the stone to the burning spell. The demand of energy from Jarlath stopped abruptly. The force from the shaman stone did not cause the spell to burn brighter. Instead, the flames dissolved into a yellow cloud of smoke. Jarlath stared on in wonderment at his creation as the cloud drifted over the rim and descended toward the bottom of the crater. The lower into the crater the cloud dropped the larger it grew. Upon finally settling over the sight of the destroyed village, the smoke cloud had grown until it completely veiled the ruins in a yellow mist.

Jarlath was filled with excitement. He had seen his father weave many spells, but he had never really understood the feeling which accompanied completion of a spell. He looked down at the deadly yellow haze and realized the it was part of him. Some of his life force had gone into its creation. He could now understand what his father had meant when he had once said that although the pattern for a particular spell be woven the same each time, the spell would always differ because every one changes each day of their lives. Should Jarlath weave the same spell as early as tomorrow it would be different because one of its ingredients – his life force – would have changed slightly.

“Let the offworlders return! They will find only their own deaths here,” Jarlath said softly to Darth before turning resuming his track off the rim and into the hard desert, a land of orange sand dotted with rocks under the glare of a fierce giant red sun. For as far as the eye could see lay the orange wasteland. When he reached the desert floor, Jarlath headed north. The party of offworlders which had come before the raid told his father that they lived in that direction where they dug into the ground for rocks. This Jarlath could not understand. Why would the dig in the ground for rocks when so many were in plain sight. He had asked the Remembers that question. They had told him that upon earth men had done such because they didn’t have a living stone for their energy. That sometimes they found rock below the surface which gave them energy when burned. Jarlath had wondered at the time how one burned rocks but hadn’t asked.

Thinking of the offworlders brought back the recent destruction of the village to the surface of his mind. He felt the icy fingers of raw hate grip him. He lengthened his strides in haste to seek out those who ha destroyed his village and slaughtered his brethren.

While deep in thought Jarlath did not neglect the dangers which the hard desert presented. His head forever turning from side to side, Jarlath scanned the bleak but beautiful landscape for movements. He spotted Darth as his scout emerged from behind a large sand dune. He smiled. Good old Darth, he though as he recognized what hung from the knarf’s mouth – a young scamp. Nothing was more delicious that the moisture of a young scamp.

From it size, Darth must have found a nest of recently hatched scamps. Only then were they harmless having not developed a stinger. In less than a week of hatching the small creature would grow a stinger on the tip of their tails. Armed with a poison tiped stinger of instant death even a valcan avoided the foot long scampering creatures.

Darth must have taken moister from other hatchlings in the nest because he offered up the fat little scamp to Jarlath. The moisture of the scamp was sweet and refreshing. Feeling energized after his meal, Jarlath followed the path which Darth picked among the sand dunes, avoiding the hidden dangers lurking below the orange sand, which though unseen were still present.

As he followed the knarf’s lead, Jarlath realized that he knew very little of Hades beyond a couple days journey from the carter. Because of their dependency on the radiation from the living stone, non of the villagers except Jarlath would venture out of sight of the crater. They feared they would become lost and die before they could find their way back to the crater. And their death would not come for the desert of the creatures that roamed it orange sand, it would come from their separation from the living stone. The his brethren the living stone was life!

Jarlath considered their confinement a high price to pay, but the people of the his village did not. What could there be of interest in a desert where there was no free flowing water and the only moisture existed in the living tissue of its plants and animals. The Remembers had told of how the living stone had spoken to Jarlath’s ancestors during their long voyage from earth and directed them to land in the carter on Hades. His brethren did not feel trapped in the crater. The worshiped the living stone and thank it for keeping them cool and protecting them for the creatures of the hard desert, for none that strived from the heat of the red sun could survive in the crater.

I was never really one of my people. I was always an outsider. Jarlath thought and felt the truth in his thoughts.

Now upon looking across the orange sand shimmering in the noonday heat, Jarlath acknowledged to himself that he had often longed to explore the far reaches of the planet and not just the desert. He had been careful never to tell anybody, even his father, those thoughts. Such thinking would have been seen as blasphemy by the council.

Jarlath hung his head.

He had never wanted to be free to explores Hades at the expense of the village and his people. Knowing that the village was gone and his brethren dead took away a lot of the pleasure he felt on finally being able to explore his world. For though he had not been affected by the radiation of the living stone, because of his being spell born, he still had not journeyed more than a day and a half from the carter. To have done so would have drawn more attention to his strange brith. Therefore; Jarlath knew little about the land to the north where he was not headed.

Suddenly a shadow passed over Jarlath! He dropped to the ground expecting an attack. None came!

As he rolled over on his back and searched the sky for the maker of the shadow, he could hardly believe his eyes. An air ship! But something was wrong! At first he couldn’t figure out what. Then it came to him. Sound . . . he couldn’t hear it. Both times he had seen air ships before they had made humming noises. This one was as silent as it shadow.

Not fearing the machine, Jarlath stood up and shaded his eyes to get a better view of the craft. As he watched it steadily dropped lower and lower as it streaked north. He also noticed that it did not move with the smoothness of the air ships he had watched attacking the crater. This one buckled and twisted from side to side.

Jarlath grinned. The craft was hurt! As though in answer to his thoughts the air ship suddenly plunged abruptly downward. It seemed to Jarlath the whoever mastered the air ship attempted to rise it. Several time its plunge downward stopped briefly only to resume its rapid decent almost instantly. The air ship dropped lower and then disappeared behind a large sand dune of the horizon.

A loud crash ran out across the silent desert followed and then again the desert was quiet again. Then suddenly it appeared as though a second sun had flowered on the desert. Red flames shot over the top of the sand dune blocking Jarlath’s view of the crash. Next a booming sound way struck hurting his ears with it loudness.

“Beware!” Jarlath whistled as he ran for the down air ship.

Darth did not follow directly. Instead the knarf circled around to come from the other side of the sand dune. Jarlath took note of Darth’s action as he sprinted across the hot orange sand. The moment he sighted the burning air ship he stopped and scanned the immediate area near the wreck. Except far some wind blown sand from the top of the big sand dune, nothing moved. Even so Jarlath took elaborate steps to conceal his presence. He used every opportunity the limited amount of cover provided. It was an art he had learned from watching the creatures of the desert.

Looking at the burning mass of twisted metal, Jarlath did not think anyone could have survived such a crash. The force of the landing had split the air ship into half. Jarlath spied on the disabled, burning machine form behind a nearby rock. Even for his position he could feel the heat from the burning air ship.

Jarlath made himself comfortable and waited. He did not want to take a change that someone had survived the wreck and lay in wait. The red sun moved slowly across the sky as Jarlath watched the downed air ship. Only when the flames died did he venture forth from his hiding place confident that if someone had survived the crash landing, they would have shown themselves by now.

Jarlath whistled for Darth. Like magic the knarf appeared from behind a small sand dune. By seeing that no bristles stood on the knarf’s back, Jarlath knew that knew that his friend sensed no offworlder lurking nearby, at least not a living one. Still Jarlath approached the wreckage carefully. He circled it twice before entering the broken air ship through a huge crack in it midsection.

Entering the broken and burned craft, Jarlath experienced a feeling of power. Only near the living stone had he felt such pulsing power. But even as he made his way into the interior of the ship the energy faded replaced by the smell of burnt metal and flesh. Jarlath spotted what looked like the remains of three offworlders. The sight of the chard body parks made him feel good. At least some of those that attacked his people had found death. Jarlath felt a strange kinship with the machine feeling that it had added him in his quest for revenge. He left the craft reluctantly. Had the red sun not been so low in the horizon, he would have lingered.

“We leave,” Darth whistled.

The knarf did not share Jarlath’s feeling for the offworlder machine as he quickly trotted away in a happy stride.

“Yes, I know,” Jarlath answered with a smile. He glanced at the sun. It hung barely two fingers above the western horizon. Still he knew that they had plenty of time to find a rocky place before night set in.

“Since when were your afraid of the dark?” He teased. Suddenly he laughed. As as he did, it dawned on him that he had not laughed since the death of his father. Maybe it was the effect of seeing the offworlder sir ship destroyed that put him in such a good mood. He felt better than he had in years. At the moment he felt like there wasn’t anything that he couldn’t do.

Darth, ignoring Jarlath, trotted on ahead.

Jarlath smiled as he watched the knarf disappear behind a group of small rocks. He felt lucky indeed to have a companion as intelligent and loyal as Darth. He knew he would surely feel lost without such a friend.

Before following Darth behind the rocks, Jarlath turned to have one last look a the dead air ship. Looking upon its darken carcass, it seemed as though he had in some way been responsible for the crash. He knew that he hadn’t but still he felt good.

A sharp whistle from Darth brought an abrupt end to Jarlath’s leisure mood. He broke into a run but didn’t bother to bring a throwing star to from his belt. The knarf’s whistle had been one of surprise and not danger.

Jarlath did not get a hint of what had caused Darth’s excitement until he rounded the pile of rocks. What he saw caused him to stop in his tracks. Laying unmoving in the sand as an offworlder. Darth stood guard ready to attack should the prone figure as much as move a muscle.

Memories of the fleet of air ships attacking the crater surfaced. Jarlath drew his long thin bladed knife as he approached the offworlder. He bent over the motionless figure which lay face down in the sand and as he did so he noticed the hair of the offworlder for the first time. Golden hair! Except for him all his brethren of the village had black hair. Jarlath had never seen such long and beautiful hair. He reached down without thinking and touched the golden strands. They felt soft.

Jarlath gritted his teeth. This was probably one of the offworlders who were responsible for the destruction of the village he reminded himself as he placed the point of the blade against the back of the offworlder and slowly pressed down on the point.

The offworlder cried out in pain while turning over causing Jarlath’s blade to cut a gash in the offworlder slivery uniform instead of sinking deep into its flesh. Jarlath quicky raised his blade to strike but never delivered the death stroke. The face which stared up at him was that of a female. Jarlath paused in shock. But Darth, unaffected by the radiant beauty of the offworlder rushed forward to attack.

“No!” Whistled Jarlath.

Darth powerful jaws snapped shut only a hair’s breath from the creamy smooth face of the offworlder.

The eyes of the offworlder female opened.

“Move and you will surely did,” Jarlath spoke quickly in a commanding voice.

The female eyes rolled in Darth and then Jarlath’s direction.

Jarlath still held his knife ready to strike.

“Good. I see you understand my speech,” He said as he whistled for Darth to back away from her but stay alert.

Jarlath stood up. “Don’t make any sudden moves or Darth will attack.” He warned.

The girl’s eyes studied Jarlath a moment and then she nodded her head.

“Are you hurt?” Jarlath asked.

“No,” Her voice was high pitch and clear like that of the village singer. Her heavy accented word was spoken so different that how Jarlath was used to hearing it spoken that he had difficulty understand her.

“Why did you attack my people?” Jarlath asked with ice in his voice.

The girl tilted her had to the side as though to hear him better. Then she nodded her head and spoke. “Your people?” She said with a questing look.

“Air ship like yours attacked the crater when my people lived yesterday. My village was destroyed and everyone was killed,” Jarlath stated. And eyed her closely for her reaction.”

“We did not attack you. Jacks did,” girl finally answered after a pause as though digesting his words.

“What are Jacks?” Jarlath asked. Some how he believe her denial.

“Outlaws, killers and thieves. They attacked the mining site early this morning too. They must have a class A star ship orbiting the planet to launch so many attack darts,” The girl paused and motioned back in the direction of the wrecked air ship. “We escaped but not before our shuttle sustained heavy damage.” She sat up suddenly.

“Was there anyone else alive. I remember climbing out the breach in hull of the shuttle then there was an explosion.” she looked around. “I don’t recall how I got here?”

Jarlath shook his head, “there of your offworlders perished in the crash,” he hung his head. “I felt joy at seeing them dead. I thought they were the once that attack the crater.”

“It was no one from Becker Mining Company that attacked your village.” The girl told him.

“The ones that attacked my people attacked your air ship?” Jarlath asked.

“Yes!” The girl answered. “Why would we attack your people. We are here only to mine plasma crystals,” She added.

“Why did these . . . Jacks . . .” Jarlath struggled with the word. “Attack my people?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it has to do with the plasma crystals. This planet has huge deposits of plasma crystals.. It was going to make our little mining company fabulously wealthy,” the girl droped her head into her hands. “Now everyone is dead. We didn’t even have time to file for a claim.”

Jarlath nodded his head. Even though there had never been any outlaws, what the girl was calling Jacks, in the carter, he had often listen to Remembers tell of such bad men that lived in deep space and preyed on merchant ships. They even told a tell of how the star ship that had brought his people to Hades had been chased by space outlaws. But those were stories told to children and not to be believed.

“But why would those that you name Jack attack my village. We have nothing to offer them,” Jarlath said.

“You have a power source in your village or at least you had one. Talbet said it as a rare power stone.” The girl answered. “They could use it to power their base camp.”

“But your people said it’s radiation was deadly to your people,” Jarlath said.

“Yes, but it can be shield so that it will not harm anyone and it’s tremendous power drawn forth,” she told him

Jarlath did not follow all she was saying. Yes he believe her when she said that her people did not attach the carter.

The girl was speaking again. “Usually the just attack cargo ships. I’ve never head of them attack a settlement or mining operation before. But then there has never been a discovery of so much plasma crystals on a planet before,” the girl paused. “Do you mine if I get up?” She asked.

“You may rise,” Jarlath replyed. He whistled orders for Darth not to attack but to remain alert.

“You can communicate with the beast,” the girl asked?

“Yes,” Jarlath confirmed. He did not elaborate.

“My name is Fern,” the girl said as he rose to her feet.

“I am Jarlath, Shaman of a village and people which are no more.”

Fern glanced around the desert. “It will be getting dark soon and I’ve heard the desert is a very dangerous place to be, especially at night.”

Jarlath put his knife back into his belt. “Yes, come we must seek a safe spot for the night.” Jarlath took a couple steps toward the north and then turn back to face Fern. “Do not do anything the will look like a threat to me or Darth will kill you. He is very protective of me.”

“Hey, desert boy, I have no intention of killing the only one who can possible help me stay alive on this god forsaken planet,” Fern answered with a wicked little half smile that said maybe she wasn’t as helpless as she looked. And Jarlath figured that some of the things hanging from a belt around the waist of her uniform might be weapons. “And you are lucky that I speak the Terra”

“Terra?” Jarlath said as he lead the way and signed for Darth to scout out a place for the night.

“The language you are speaking. Now days mostly only professors of ancient history speak Terra” Fern said as she followed him “It a dead language now. That is it was until we came across your village here on this god forsaken planet. How is it that you speak the common language of ancient earth?”

“You are the lucky one,” Jarlath said ignoring her question.

“What do you mean?” Fern asked having to almost break into a run to keep pace with Jarlath.

“Had I not been able to communicate with you I would have killed you. I would not have taken the time to weave the spell of speech,” he added.

“What this spell of speech. What are you some kind of witch doctor?”

Jarlath recalling that his people had been driven from earth for believing in the living stone and magic did not answer. Instead he increased his pace.

Fern suddenly struggling just to keep up fell silent.

“The dangers of the hard desert are

great enough to turn enemies into friends….”

From the teaching songs of the spellwalkers.

Chapter Four

Jarlath shaded his eyes with his hands. As far as he could see to the north lay a flat evil smelling land. Shimmers of heat waved from it cracked surface.

“I do not believe that even the creatures of the hard desert would not venture forth upon that.” Jarlath said. “Maybe we should go around it?” He glance Fern. She was wearing a hood over her head to protect her from the red sun. The silvery suit she wore had many hidden pockets. She had pulled the hood out of the lining behind her neck. A single lock of her golden hair was visible.

“It would take days. These salt flats cover a huge area. This stuff stretches an equal distance both east and west.

“How do you know,” Jarlath asked sharply. He found it difficult to accept the fact that this female offworlder know more about the surface of Hades than he.

“I crossed it in the air ship yesterday,” Fern replied.

“I have never been two days journey from the carter,” Jarlath found compelled to acknowledge feeling somewhat sorry for his sharp tone of voice. “All this is new to me.” He said pointing to the vast salt flat. He whistled to Darth. “What think you.”

“No moisture!” Came Darth’s answer.

“Darth does not find an traces of life out there. A knarf can pick up a scent in the sand that is weeks old,” Jarlath told Fern.

“Then we must find water before he cross,” Fern said.

“I said nothing about water,” Jarlath answered with a puzzled expression. “I have heard the Remembers tell of desert of what you call water, but I don’t really understand what they are.”

“Did you not mean water when you said there was no moister on the salt flats.” Fern asked.

“No.”

“Then what do you mean by moisture.” She demanded.

Jarlath gave her the look of one who is trying to be patient with a child. “The life fluids of the desert creature,” He explained.

An express of horror gripe Fern’s face. “Blood! You mean Blood?”

Although his people did not call it such, Jarlath recognized the word.

“Yes,” he said.

“Look! You might have reverted back to a primitive, but I will not lower myself to such a barbaric standard as drinking blood. Yuck! Just the thought makes me want to throw up.”

“Then you will die.” Jarlath said coldly. Then turned and whistled a command to Darth. The knarf let out a deep hunting howl and went racing toward an area fo sand dunes to the east.

“Where is your animal going?”

“He is my friend,” Jarlath corrected. “I sent him to search out a creature from which we can take enough moisture to cross the salt flats.”

“Ah . . . Do you really drink blood?” Fern queried disbelievingly.

“Have I not said so!”

“Do all your people drink blood or just you,” Fern asked.

“I have no people . . . anymore,” Jarlath responded.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“Only upon the desert must one take moisture from the desert creature. In the crater the . . . Jarlath hesitated and then continued. “The living stone provided moisture and everything else necessary for life. Even the trees of life is said to grow in the crater only because of the living stone.”

“Why do you not carry the moisture the . . .what did you call it?”

“The living stone,” Jarlath supplied the name.

“Your living stone give you,” Fern finished.

“Because it turns bad the moment one leaves the crater,” Jarlath explained.

“I’ve neve heard of something like your living stone.” Fern said. “The survey team only reported about the power crystal. I guess that the thing you are calling the living stone. But nothing is capable of doing all the things that you claim that your living stone does,” She added. “Sounds like magic out of an old fairy tale to me.”

“It is as I say. The living stone guided my ancestors to here when we were force to flee earth and it has given us life since we arrived here. And I do know that because of the living stone the crater is cool and pleasant and special trees grow there that give us all the food we need. I for one thought the carter as a prison but others believed otherwise. Not the village is destroyed and the living stone gone. For that crime someone will surely pay.”

Jarlath took a deep breath. It has been a long time since he had spoken so many words at once.

Then he continued, “I go to your people to see for myself that they did not do this thing. If they were not involved them I will ask for their help in hunting down those responsible. If they are responsible I will destroy them.”

“But they might be all dead,” Fern said. “The Jacks are ruthless.”

“Then that is a fact we will see with our own eyes,” Jarlath replied.

“I still find your story of what the living stone is capable of doing hard to believe.” Fern said ignoring Jarlath’s reference to the mining company’s possible involvement in the destruction of his village.

“Does not the rocks that you dig from the sand give off energy?” Jarlath asked.

“Yes the plasma crystals give off tremendous power,” Fern acknowledged.

Jarlath’s face lit up, “You use the crystal stones the way a shaman used the energy which the living stone give him or the same way my shaman stone does.”

“How is that?” Fern demanded.

“Well you divert the crystal rock energy into a usable form of energy like a shaman diverts the energy of the living stone into energy used to weave a spell,” Jarlath said.

“I am beginning to think you are serious about magic and spells . . . Look there is nothing magical about what we do to get energy from plasma crystals. We simply unlock the energy in the molecular structure of its atoms.,” She sighed “Here I’m stuck with a primitive that believes in magic and spells.”

“I believe only in what exists,” Jarlath snapped.

Fern started to speak but a sharp loud whistle echoed across the desert.

Jarlath rose to his feet from his squatting position.

“Come! Darth has found moisture which is almost too much for him to handle alone.”

“You call tell all that from on whistle,” Fern said but already Jarlath was trotting toward where the whistle had came. “Wait for me,” she added as she hurried after him. But try as she might she kept falling farther behind.

Jarlath ignored her request. Several time he changed his direction as Darth’s whistles directed him. And running across the desert in his orange valcan robe, Jarlath was a striking figure. Because the numerous sand dunes in the area cut down visibility, Jarlath came unexpected upon Darth and is quarry. Almost as soon as he spotted the creature the knarf held at bay, Jarlath released a throwing star. The five bladed star buried itself in the tough hide between the eyes of the huge sand lizard. But this seemed to only irritate the huge creature. The beast ignored Darth snapping at his tail and charged Jarlath.

A flash of blue light streak from behind Jarlath. It struck the sand lizard! A large section of the lizard neck vanished. Suddenly the smell of burned flash tainted the air as the huge lizard crumpled over and thrashed about in death.

Jarlath’s hand was pulled back to throw another throwing star. But when he saw the lizard drop to the ground, he replaced the throwing star in his belt and glanced be himself to were Fern stood holding a weapon in her hand. It was such a small weapon. He glanced back at the thrashing lizard, but a powerful one. The thought occurred to him that she could have probably killed both him and Darth if she had wanted to.

“Yes I am not defenceless,” Fern said as she holstered her weapon.

Without speaking, Jarlath gave the dying sand lizard his attention. Darth couldn’t kill the huge creature but he had held it at bay by dashing in and out of the creature’s reach to nibble at its tail. He now look proud as he bared his teeth at the dead lizard.

It was while he extracting the lizard moisture into a into the bladder of a hopper that Jarlath realized the Darth was staring at Fern and snarling. Jarlath smiled. The knarf realized that the offworlder female was dangerous having seen her weapon in action. Jarlath whistled a command for Darth to relax.

“Why was your . . . your animal staring at me an and showing his teeth,” Fern asked having noted Darth’s actions.

“He doesn’t like your weapon. He thinks you are a danger,” Jarlath answered honestly.

“Yea. Right. Man if you survival instructor could have seen how easily I killed that thing,” Fern said.

Jarlath cut a deep gash in the chest of the lizard and stuck the tip of the hopper into a big vein in the lizard chest and then cut a deep hole that exposed the lizard’s heart. He grabbed and began to squeeze it and then release pumping moisture into bag made of a hopper bladder.

“The sand lizard was dead before you fired your weapon. It just didn’t know it,” Jarlath said over his shoulder.

“What do you mean? I killed it,” Fern said loudly. “Look at the hole I burned into it.”

“It was dead before you fired your offworlder weapon,” Jarlath called as he worked on getting at much moisture out of the sand lizard as he could. “My star was imbedded in its brain.” He added. “Sand lizard are not smart. It takes a long time for them to know they are dead.

Fern open her mouth to speak and closed it.

Jarlath stood up from the sand lizard and held up his treasure.

“What is that?” Fern asked.

“It is a dried hopper bladder full of moisture. Enough to see us across the sand flats,” Jarlath walked over to Fern. “Here take moisture.”

Fern took a backward step and gagged, “Get that nasty thing away from me! You are insane if you think I’m touching my lips to that.”

Jarlath turned away from the her in an attempt to hid his disappointment as hung the moisture bag on his belt. Although almost transparent the stretchable tissue of the bladder wouldn’t allow any of the red liquid to evaporate.

Fern pulled a slender cutting blade from on of the pockets of her silvery uniform and walked up to the carcass. She bend down and cut a big hunk of meat out of the creature’s tale.

“What are you doing?” Jarlath asked.

“I must have food,” Fern answered as holding up the piece of tale meat.

“You can not eat flesh,” Jarlath exclaimed excitedly.

“Look! You might eating meat repulsive but I do not,” Fern said and shook hear. “The nerve.”

“You will die,” Jarlath said in a sad voice.

“What?” Fern asked in disbelief. “You got to be joking.”

“The flesh of desert creatures are poison to any but the night creatures. Only things that do not live under the rays of the red sun can eat flesh it has poisoned.”

“We tested animals flesh and found not deadly compounds,” Fern said. “And how would a primitive people like you know such things?” She added.

“From seeing friends die from eating flesh,” Jarlath answered. “It is a slow death. You skin will turn red and then sores will develop. You screams will be very loud for an entire day before you die,” Jarlath said then added angrily “I do not know how to fly one of your air ship nor do I know the meaning of may words you speak, but the desert I know well.”

“Magic! Living stones. Poisonous flesh. A1738 is not a very safe planet!” Fern said in exasperation.

“What is a . . .A1738?” Jarlath asked.

“This is the number of this planet on the charts of this section of the galaxy,” Fern explained.

“I don’t understand all that you said. But this planet has a name.”

“What is the name?” Fern asked.

“Hades,” Jarlath said.

“The name fits!” Fern said. “It hot as Hell and just as deadly. Gee, what I would not give to be in my cool compartment drinking a glass of cold water,” Fern added.

“Are we going to stay the rest of the day here? Or are we going to cross the salt flats?” Jarlath said. He whistled a command to Darth. “Come,” He said to Fern as he walked away without giving her a chance to answer.

Jarlath didn’t look back but knew she was following by the sounds of her steps. And from how hard she was planting her feet on the sand with each step he knew she was angry.

Soon Jarlath forgot all about Fern’s mood as he concentrated on the dangers of the desert. Upon the slat flats there might not be any dangerous creatures but they were not on the salt flats. And even there they might find that dangerous life forms existed.

“When the red sun glows a halo,

A traveler on the hard desert but lay low,

For the sign predicts the coming of a blow.”

From the teaching book of a spell walker.

Chapter five

As the giant red sun traveled its customary path across the sky, Jarlath and Fern plodded doging through the desolate salt flats. Darth, more from habit than for any other reason, scouted ahead. The forbidding land was utterly void of any life forms.

“I have neve experienced such heat,” Jarlath proclaimed under the orange cape which he had pulled up over his head. “The heat seems to come from the sand more than from the sun.”

“Let me check something,” Fern said as she paused a moment and brought a small instrument from the hip pocket of her silvery uniform. With it in hand, Fern bend over and held the instrument near the hard cracked orange sand.

“The sand flats are emiting some form of energy!” She exclaimed.

“It is dangerous?” He asked already knowing what the answer would be.

“I’m not sure. The energy levels are high but I don’t know exactly what it radiating form the soil. But my guess is that it’s certainly not good for our health. The radiation being emitted could account for the total like of life on the flats.”

Jarlath shrugged, “Do not worry about the harmful effects of the energy of the salt flats. There are spells that can counter its harmful affects.”

“You and your magic and spells,” Fern said shaking her head “They are your answer to any problem. It would be nice if there were magic in the world. I sure would like to believe it.”

Jarlath ignored Fern’s remarks, “it will be dark shortly. We must prepare a campsite for the night.”

“But it’s not even twilight,” Fern protested.

“Night comes quickly upon Hades,” Jarlath responded. He whistled to Darth. “I see no rocks. We must sleep in the open.” Then to Fern he added. “I just hope the nights are as void of life as the days are on the salt flats. We will be without any rocks to camp upon.”

“We camp here?” Fern asked pointing to the ground.

“Yes, this is a good a place as any.”

Jarlath sat down and when Darth come to sit beside him he reached over and scratched his friend behind the ears. He realized that sleeping out in the open invited trouble but could think of not alternative. He glanced at Fern. She had dropped down on the ground in exhaustion.

Jarlath took off his robe and place it on the ground to serve as a blanket to sleep on. He made sure his throwing stars were loose in his belt for instant use should they be needed.

Darkness, as usual, came swiftly. One moment it was light and then next moment it was pitch dark.

“Be alert,” Jarlath whistled to Darth. Then he listened for night sounds indication life. Nothing. The desert was silent except the the sound of his companion’s breathing. Silence lay like a blanket over the salt flats. Finally after straining to detect any sounds where no existed, Jarlath relaxed and lay his head on the knarf, using his friend as a pillow. Sleep came almost a quickly as the darkness had settled over the salt flats. It was a deep exhaustive sleep. He didn’t as much as move during the night.

He only awaken when Darth, his pillow, moved causing his head to drop. Jarlath eyes snapped open immediately. He hand reached for a throwing star before the per-dawn light registered in his mind. Although his hand closed around the prong of a throwing star he didn’t pull it free from his belt. Instead he sat up and looked around. The giant red sun was just rising in the east. Jarlath looked at Darth. The knarf was stretching himself and show no sign of pending danger.

“Time to get moving,” He called out as he reached over and shook Fern’s shoulder.

“But it hardly light.” Fern said slowly sitting up.

“We must cross the salt flats before the moisture we carry runs out. There is no life here to replenish our supple. No live forms live in this hellish land.”

“God. I’m thirsty,” Fern exclaimed. “I can go on with out some water.”

Jarlath uncorked the nipple of the moisture bag and took a deep sip. And then held it out for Fern. “Here drink?” He ordered.

Fern reached for the then realization of what it contained came to her.

“It’s blood!” She accused as she stared at the red liquid in the opaque bag.

“Take moisture if you wish to survive today’s journey,” Jarlath said holding the bag in front of her. “If not stay here. This is as good a place to die as any.” Jarlath added.

Fern stared at the transparent pouch like container for a moment longer. Then she reached out her hand and touched cautiously as though it was something fragile. Then it seemed as thought she could get the nipple of the moisture bag to her lips quick enough. With eye shut tight, she sucked on the nipple and drank hungrily. A look of surprise flash across her face as the liquid squirted into her mouth.

“It taste good,” She confessed with a smile. “And I feel energy flowing through my body.” She took another sip. “This is like an energy elixir.” She added.

Jarlath smiled. He knew that she must have suffered greatly yesterday from thirst, but had refused to take moisture. He had timed his offering of moisture to her right after she awoke on purpose, knowing that she would be at the point of least resistance for the needs of her body – mainly thirst

“Thanks,” Fern said handing the pouch back to Jarlath.

Jarlath shrugged and whistled for Darth. He held the pouch down for his friend to drink and then he spilled a tiny amount on the ground.

“What did you do that for?” Fern asked.

Jarlath was standing staring out across the horizon. When he spoke he did so to the desert not to Fern.

“From the desert we three take life. To the desert we return life. In sharing the gift of life we are bound together. Brothers of the desert, He said the words as though he was reciting a chant.

“What was all that about?” Fern demanded.

“The oath of sharing,” Jarlath responded.

“Here you go with your mumbo jumbo,” Fern accused. “And I’m not your brother of the desert,” she added angrily. “I’m a civilized person. I don’t believe in your magic or chants.”

“To refuse the oath you must kill Darth and me,” he said the words slowly and as he did he rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

Beside him the knarf grow his fangs glittering in the morning light.

Fern glanced down at Darth. “Ok. I accept your silly oath,” she snapped She looked at the knarf again. “I think I underestimated his intelligence,” she added. “Now can we just get going?”

“Come,” Jarlath said and lead the way.

Fern hurried to catch up with him, “I didn’t think your people spend much time in the desert. So how did they come up with such custom as a sharing of moisture oath?” She asked.

“It is an oath of beings that live here when the before one were still here. Then it is said that all of Hades was not desert. The people of the desert were called sandsingers. The before one kept them to sing their beautiful song So say the Remembers,” Jarlath recited.

“Are they still living here?” Fern asked as she walked faster to keep pace with Jarlath’s long strides.

Jarlath shrugged. “The Remembers say that the before one did not take the sandsinger with them. I have not been very far from the crater. They could still live in the desert. But I’ve never see one. But I once heard something singing in the desert. It was a strange beautiful sound like none I had ever heard.” Jarlath got a far away look in his eyes. “I never told anyone about it in the village,” he added.

“What did it sound like . . .”

“Come,” Jarlath said. “If you have energy to talk you have energy to move faster.” With those words he started trotting.

As Fern fell silent and broke into a trot.

Jarlath lead them across the parched salt flats nonstop until past midday. Then he only stopped because Fern began to lag farther and farther behind. He paused and waited for her to catch up and handed her the moisture pouch. This time she did not hesitate to drink.

“We’ll rest a moment. You’ll fee stronger and refreshed from the moisture in a moment,” Jarlath said in encouragement.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever feel refreshed again,” Fern said. “God! It’s been three days since I have taken a bath. Oh, what I wold do for a nice hot bath,” She added.

“What is a bath?” Jarlath asked.

Fern explained.

“It seems a waste to use any form of moisture for cleaning one’s body.” He remarked.

“Look ,you live your primitive way but don’t expect me to do so,” she remarked.

“As long as your are upon the desert you will have to live my way,” Jarlath answered. “If you want to remain alive, that is.”

“I will not always be on upon this hot barren world. As soon as I ,an I’m getting off,” Fern paused as Jarlath had dropped the hand that he had shaded his eyes with. “What do you see?” She added.

“We will reach the end of the salt flats before night if we keep moving.” Jarlath said.

“Good! Never before in all my life have I been so bored with my surroundings.” Fern said.

“After a few encounters with some of the desert creatures you will wish for the boring landscape of the salt flats again.” Jarlath said.

“With your animal always scouting we should not be taken by surprise.” Fern said. “What do you call him?” She added.

Jarlath gave her a sharp look and said. “He is my friend. His name is Darth.”

“Well if I am bound to him by your oath of . . . well what every you called it, I guess I better start calling him by his name. Does he understand when you speak to him. Did he understand the oath?” Fern asked.

“Yes, he understand most thing said. But when I want to make sure I use the whistling language.” Jarlath answered.

“Just what kind of animal is he? He looks something like a cross between dog and a cat. And I’ve never seen something move so fast.” Fern said.

“His ancestors looked different so the Remembers say. But they changed when we came to Hades. Some say it was the living stone that changed their looks and also made them as smart as men. But like me Darth is the last of his race.”

Fern stepped closer to Jarlath. “I wonder how much the living stone changed your people.”

Jarlath shruged. “Except for my red hair, I look like my people. And I don’t look that different from you.”

“How is it that you don’t need the radiation from the living stone when you say all your people need it to live?” She asked.

Jarlath quickly told Fern the story of his birth.

“Sound to me like your people were slaves to the living stone,” Fern exclaimed.

Again Jarlath shruged, “What for some is slavery to other is a good way of life.”

Not to be dismissed to easily, Fern said, “to me your people were enslaved by the living stone.”

Jarlath did not rise to her bait. Instead he said. “Darth and I teamed up when I was twelve and he was a pup barely weaned. I do not own him for none can own a knarf. He picked me out of the young boys in the village. Should I die, Darth would take to the desert and run wild.

“You speak of him as though he was a person instead of an animal.”

“He is a companion not a pet,” Jarlath said forcefully. He glanced toward the distance sand dunes barely visible. “We can make it to the desert before night fall but I do not think I wise. Better if we stay upon the salt flats for the night.”

“Why?” Fern asked.

Jarlath did not hid is annoyance at her lack of desert lore. “Haven’t you learned that the night on the desert are full of dangers while there is no life on the salt flats! By the time we reach the end of the salt flats there will still be light but we will camp the night on the salt flats instead of pushing on into the desert. For I do not know the area and we might not be able to find a rocky perch to spend the night in safety.”

“Your the expert,” Fern said.

“We have enough moisture for tonight. Tomorrow in the desert Darth will locate another source.”

“Will the night creatures of the desert venture onto the edge of the salt flats?” Fern asked showing concern.

“Going by Darth’s reaction to this place, I would say no,” Jarlath said. “But if they smell easy prey.” He shrugged. “Who knows.”

Since sighting the distance sand dunes, Darth had become restless. Now he seemed to have reach a decision. The knarf ran a few paces toward the desert and looked back at Jarlath and whistled.

“Go,” Jarlath answered.

Darth gave a happy whistle and shot like an arrow toward the sand dune, his four feet seemingly to barely touch the ground.

“Where is he going?” Fern asked.

“He has had enough of the desolate place.”

“But there is danger in the sand dunes. You just got through tell me why we shouldn’t spend the night in the dunes,” She protested.

“Darth knows how to handle himself. His speed alone keep him safe from most of the desert creatures,” Jarlath said as he watched Darth, already a distance blur vanish over the horizon. “Also he will hunt smaller creatures to take moisture from so that we will not have to share what we have left of the sand lizard’s moisture,” He explained.

Suddenly Jarlath shaded his eyes with his hands and glared toward the sand dunes.

“What is the matter,” Fern asked seeing Jarlath suddenly grow tense.

“Look at the sand dunes.” He told her.

As she did one of the huge sand dunes exploded into a whirl of sand reaching high into the sky. The cloud of sand began moving in their direction.

“A blow!” Jarlath gave name to the cloud of sand.

“You mean a wind storm?” Fern asked. “But I don’t even feel a breeze.”

“The winds of a blow does not move in a straight line. They flow in a traveling circle,” Jarlath answered as he dropped to the ground. “We must dig a hole and lay in it so that the wind will not snatch us up into the air.” He began to hurriedly scoop out a hole in the crusty ground.

Fern watched for a moment then said. “Move back I have a quicker way.”

Jarlath seeing her take her weapon from it holster did as he asked.

“Back a little farther,” Fern ordered.

Jarlath move back several more steps.

Fern took aim at the ground where Jarlath had started digging the hole and fired.

Jarlath hadn’t realized the full power of the weapon until now. A blinding blue flash, like the one which had streakes across the sky during the air ship attack on the crater erupted from the small weapon. Even from where he was standing, Jarlath could feel the intensity of the heat. The weapon blue hot blast dug and long deep hole in the sand. Plenty big enough for their purpose.

“Gee. I’ve neve used one on full power.” Fern said looking down at the hole.

Quickly Jarlath knelt down beside the hole and start through dirt into.

“What are you doing,” Fern yelled.

“It is too hot. Got to insulate it for us,” he replied not stopping what he was dong. “Now,” he said pulling off his robe. “Get in,” he ordered. When they were both lying in the bottom of the hole, Jarlath placed the valcan over the top of them. “Hold to the side so it isn’t pulled away,” he shouted to be heard above the sudden howling of the wind.

The blow hit full force. It’s wind pulled and tuged at the valcan hide but they held on for their lives. Each pressed his body against the other in an effort to anchor themselves down. Time seem to stand still and the fought to keep from being sucked out of the hole. But in spite of all his efforts Jarlath began to lose the battle to keep the valcan robe down. It began to lift into the air. But he wouldn’t let go. It mean too much. The wind tugged harder pulling him and his side of the robe into the air. But just when he thought he was going to be suck into the whirling wind of blow, it released him. Jarlath fell on top of Fern. He had not realized that he had been lifted so high.

The lull lasted only a short time but it was enough time for Jarlath to hunker back down into the hole and brace himself against it side. For many long moments Jarlath feared for their lives as the wind howled and whirled and pulled at the them, but this time it did not succeed in getting it invisible hold on Jarlath.

When the blow finally passed and the wind died to a windy breeze, Jarlath and Fern found themselves too tired to climb from the hole. They stay at its bottom under the orange valcan. Lying thus that slept.

Beware unwritters and unsingers of song,

Raising your voice in song within hearing

of others beings in a great wrong.

Speak the harsh speech of the unsong

And your gifted voice will not

bring again the great wrong.

From the teaching songs of the sandsingers

Chapter Six

With the coming of morning all signs of the blow had vanished. Not even a random breeze stired on the desert. Only Jarlath’s and Fern’s memories recalled the whipping winds and it roar.

“Do you think Darth escaped?” Fern asked as Jarlath help her form the whole where they had taken refuge and spent the night.

“Yes. But he should have returned to us, but then he hates the salt flats. We will find him waiting in the desert for us or he will track us down,” Jarlath said and he looked to the north. “The dunes are no more,” he added.

“What happened to them?” Fern asked.

“The blow,” Jarlath answered.

“I should have learned more about this planet’s weather before signing on for this mining job.” Fern confessed. “If I had I would have never took the assignment. “God! I hate this awful planet.”

“Will your mining company send a search party for you,” Jarlath asked?

“I don’t think there is a mining company after the Jack’s attack. Our supply ship is due back any day now. But they will not know where to look for me even if someone is alive at the camp to report my attempt to escape during the attack.” Fern said.

“We will see with our own eyes who lives and who does not,” Jarlath glanced across the desert. “How long will it take us to reach mining camp?” Once again wishing that he knew more about what lay ahead.”

“I’m not really sure. But at the pace we are traveling maybe fifteen days or so,” Fern answered.

“Such a distance!” Jarlath said with a sign. “And before this I had never been more than a day’s journey from the crater.”

“Why are you going through so much trouble to take me back to the mining camp,” Fern asked.

“I told you before. I must know if your people were the one that attacked the crater,” Jarlath answered.

“But I told you they were no involved,” Fern insisted.

“Sometimes the left hand does not know what the right hand does. Anyway I was heading north to find your people’s camp before I met you,” Jarlath informed her.

“Thanks a lot. Here I thought you were attempting to help me,” Fern said with an edge in her voice.

“I help you I also help myself,” Jarlath said.

“If the Jacks have taken over the mining camp it will be suicide to barge in on them,” Fern argued. “And what can you do against Jacks armed with weapons like mine and with attack darts to back them up? You don’t really know what you are up against. The best thing to do is if there are any communication equipment surviving in the camp to get word to Terra Patrol. They can handle the Jacks.”

Jarlath looked at the offworlder and smiled. “Do you underestimate what I can do,” he said. And then added. “I also seek the living stone.”

“Why?” Fern asked.

“Come the day wastes away as we wag our tongues,” Jarlath said and he held the moisture pouch for her to drink from.

“There is only a little in the pouch,” Fern said.

“Take it,” Jarlath said. “You need it more than I. And your mouth must be dry for tongue all those words.”

Fern drank the last of the moisture and then handed the pouch back to Jarlath. “You said you are a shaman. What exactly is a shaman,” Fern asked?

“Come I want to be well upon the desert by midday,” Jarlath said as he started out.

“Don’t tell me that a man of your strength can not walk and talk at the same time,” Fern said.

Jarlath took a deep breath realizing that one did not stop the offworlder’s tongue from wagging so easily.

“A shaman is one who uses the power of the living stone to weave the spells which you don’t believe in,” he lengthened his stride hoping to discourage her from more talking.

“If you are a magician why don’t you use one of your spells to fill the pouch with moisture again,” Fern asked? “Or better yet transport us to the mining camp?”

Jarlath shook his ahead and held back the harsh words that he felt like saying. Instead he said. “There are rules to the use of spells. One only weaves a spell pattern when all else fails. One does not weave spells to make life comfortable. Anyway I have only woven one spell. I do not have the living stone to draw power from. I have only the shaman stone.”

“Then use it,” Fern called out. She was falling behind.

“I know not how powerful it is. To weave a spell without enough power is death.”

“I don’t believe in spells,” Fern stated.

“It does not matter. What I do I can do whether you believe or not,” Jarlath answered. He started trotting.

Fern understood and did not ask any more questions. And after a while Jarlath slowed his pace so she could catch up.

The desert was farther than Jarlath realized. It was well past midday before the salt flats’ hard packed ground gave way to the deep sand of the hard desert.

“Keep your weapon ready as all times,, Jarlath called our instructions to Fern.

“I am not likely to ever take my hand of the handle of my blaster after our tangle with that ugly lizard.” Fern answered.

“There are creatures in the hard desert which can easily take the moisture of a mere sand lizard,” Jarlath informed her.

“Do you think Darth is safe,” Fern asked with concern in her voice?

In answer Jarlath pointed to a dark streak rushing across the orange sand toward them, Darth stopped in front of Jarlath and sniffed his robe in greeting.

Jarlath whistled a command.

The knarf took a quick sniff of Fern’s leg and then raced off.

“He hunts.” Jarlath said. “But keep alert for out here were are also moisture”

“I am already beginning to long for the boring scenery of the salt flats.” Fern glanced around nervously. “If only there were some plant life as there is to the north.”

“There are plants here and they are deadly.” Jarlath answered.

“I believe it. It is hard to visualize something growing here that wasn’t capable of taking moisture from another creature.”

“How far is this lesser desert. The place were trees that don’t kill grow,” Jarlath asked?

“I think we will reach it in a couple of day,” Fern answered.

A cry such as Jarlath had not heard before sounded behind them. Reacting like one of the creatures of the desert, turn swirled his body around to face the sound. Evan as he made the turn, his hand loosened a throwing star. When he turned back to face the sound he was already armed and ready for action.

And Jarlath suddenly found himself face to face with the source of the hideous outcry, his met those of a creature unlike any he had ever seen on the hard desert. He didn’t cast the throwing star. Something in the eyes of the ugly form which stood manlike before him caused him to hesitate.

“Do not fire,” Jarlath ordered in a voice which caused Fern to lower her weapon she was in the act of aiming.

“What is it,” Fern asked?

Jarlath waved his hand for her to remain silent. He turned his full attention to the strange two legged creature. The very fact that the creature hadn’t attacked on first contact, puzzled Jarlath. All creatures native to the hard desert attacked on sight any other creature they came upon, be it a runner or a valcan. The law of the desert was kill or be killed. And processing a various array of poison claws, stingers and fangs, many of the lesser creatures were of taking the moisture of even the huge valcan, if it was careless. Yet this hideous man like creeatue had not attacked even when it had caught Jarlath by surprise.

Jarlath took closer note of the creature’s features. On first appearance it resembled a man, having two arms, two legs and a human shaped head. But from there on the resemblance ended. The creature was covered with brown scales. Its arms ended with elongated fingers which sported wicked looking claws. To top off its fierce looks were long fangs, much like Darth’s, protruding from the creature’s lower jaw. All this combined to give the creature an inhuman appearance.

“Yat trvz ezzzt verrrtzzz.”

It took Jarlath a moment to recognize the ear hurting sound as speech.

“What is it?” Fern found the courage to whisper.

“I am not sure. But whatever it is – it speaks.”

The manlike creature held one hand like limb into the air and called out “Yat trvz ezzzt verrrtzzz,” Again.

“I think it is a sandsinger,” Jarlath exclaimed excitedly. “I had thought that the Remembers tells of them were just to entertain children until I heard one singing during one of my journey into the hard desert.” Jarlath said as he held up his hand to mirror what the creature was doing.

“If only I was a X-Terra expert,” Fern said. “Then maybe I could communicate with it.”

“I know noting about your X-Terra. But there is a spell which would make me not only understand his language but the language of every creature which possesses speech. It is call the spell of speech.”

“Yes, well all I have been hearing about from you it that you are a shaman and can weave magical spell. So go ahead prove it. Weave your spell,”Fern said.

“To weave a spell take a lot of energy. I can not draw from the living stone. I have only the shaman stone,” but even as Jarlath spoke he dug the shaman stone from his belt pouch. “I guess I must learn the limits of the shaman stone.”

“Ah, what will happen if the shaman stone does not give you energy,” Fern asked suddenly frightened for Jarlath in spite of her doubts about his being able to weave magical spells.

Jarlath shrugged. “I will die.” He said.

The sandsinger took this moment to be come impatient. He growled his demands in his harsh voice and took a step in Jarlath ‘s direction.

“I think you better do something.” Fern said.

That was all Jarlath needed to go into action. He did not know what the being wanted but he had a strange feeling that it was important to their future to find out. Believing it was worth the risk of possible death, Jarlath held the shaman stone tightly in his left hand as he began to a pattern in the air using his right hand. He worked slowly as he focused on remembering the spell pattern for the spell of speech. The designs had to be drawn preciously. Therefore; he took great pains to trace the pattern exactly as he remembered them. The spell of speech proved to be far hard to weave than the spell of death he had woven over the crater.

In fact Jarlath was attempting to weave a spell that many shamans would never have been able to weave even with the aid of the living stone. Still Jarlath felt confident. When he finished weaving the pattern in the air in front of himself, he raised his left hand, the one containing the shaman stone, and touched each of the invisible points of the designs that he traced in the air. As he did so, he spoke the spell words for the pattern in such a low voice that Fern could not understand what he said.

“Look!” Fern cried out in disbelief. She pointed to the air in front of Jarlath. No longer was the pattern invisible. With the uttering of the spell words the designs had burst into flames – blue flames which looked cold against the orange sand and reddish light from the giant red sun.

The sandsinger mumbled something.

The shaman stone turned icy cold in Jarlath’s hand causing him to almost drop it. Neve before had he experienced such absence of heat. The stone seemed to draw the warmth from his hand like one draws moisture form a fallen opponent.

Jarlath braced himself against the strange feeling as his entire arm became numb with cold as energy was sucked from the limb. He sensed that should the coldness creep to his chest, he would die. As it slowly, but surely progressed even moved onto his shoulder, Jarlath started to sense death approaching.

This knowledge did not panic him. The rest of his people were dead. It seemed only fitting that their shaman too should join them. But then he remembered that he had to punish the ones responsible for the destruction of the crater.

No! He silently yelled. I will not die. I can not die until I have revenge! Jarlath began to fight. He sought means by which to stop the advancement of the cold! To stop the drain of energy. His efforts prove futile already the coldness covered most of his shoulder.

Then words that his father had once spoken came to him. “Jarlath you are not of the crater you are spell born and of the desert. Should the living stone forsaken you look to the red sun for aid.” The words were as fresh in his mind as the moment his father had spoken them. It was as though his father had again spoken them from across the barrier of death.

Heeding his father words, Jarlath lifted his eyes to star into the burning light of the red sun that scorched the desert with his intense heat. When he lowered his head the image of the giant red sun still burned before his eyes. Jarlath concentrated on the fiery image. He imagined the head of the red sun upon his shoulder. The heat felt real.

The coldness stopped its advance. Jarlath concentrated harder on the image of the red sun. the pictured the image floating down until it rested squarely on the shoulder which the cold attacked. Next he imagined it descending down the length of his arm. As he did, warmth flowed into his shoulder and then into his arm driving back the coldness and the numbness before it until he had forced it back into the shaman stone.

All the while he work to defeat the creeping coldness the pattern had been ablaze in blue flames. But now the cold blue flames flickered and faded away making the pattern once again became invisible. Jarlath watched the pattern fade in despair. The spell had failed! Did this mean that without the living stone he would a shaman only in name. Able only to weave weak spells or none at all. Maybe he was not good enough to be a shaman?

“I am a believer now,” Fern cried out in wonderment. “Wow, never have I heard of such a thing. It frightens me to think that I have been taught about the foolishness of magic is false,” she said and then added. “Jarlath, no longer will I sneer at your take about spells.”

Jarlath turned crestfallen to the sandsinger and said, “sorry the spell failed.” And then he looked at Fern. “Do not become a believer just yet,” he told her.

“But, Jarlath, it did work. You just spoke to the creature in his own language.

And as though to prove it so. The creature spoke. “Worker of magic. Protect Ark, the last of the sandsinger from the creatures which fly in the belly of the shiny metal birds.”

Jarlath understood his words! “I do not need the living stone to weave my spells,” He exclaimed! “I am a true shaman with out it aid.”

“The name of the Death Cord is music to my ears.

To my enemies it’s song the sound of doom they hear.

Nothing can withstand the song they most fear.”

From the song of the Dead Cord.

Chapter Seven

“What did the creature say?” Fern inquired.

“The Jacks attacked his village on the high plateau and killed everyone except him. Like me, he was away from the village during the attack. But later he was spotted by one of their air ship,” Jarlath translated what he had been told.

“How did he escape? The attack darts that he Jack use have sensor tracking devices,” Fern added.

“From what he said he fleed to the hard desert and somehow in the process he lost them,” Jarlath answered.

“I wonder how he managed to descend from the plateau of the lesser desert?” Fern said more to herself than to Jarlath.

Jarlath not knowing anything about the plateau, just shook his head.

“Maybe they let him escape in hopes that he would lead them to another village.” Fern continued. “I don’t understand the Jacks reason for attacking his people or for that matter your, Jarlath. It so unlike them. His people had nothing to offer them.

A sharp whistle sounded from the north.

“Darth has found moisture,” Jarlath called.

“What about the creat . . . sandsinger.” Fern asked as Jarlath started toward the knarf’s whistle.

Jarlath stopped and turned to face the big ugly humanoid.

“We go north. My knarf companion has bayed a creature for us to take moisture from. There is danger for him. Come we must go to him.”

“Where is the Zark?” The sandsinger demanded.

The question caught Jarlath by surpirse.

“I know of no Zark,” he finally said.

“That which you call the living stone.” The sandsinger explained.

“The men in the air ship like the ones that attacked your village took it.” Jarlath explained.

“Then I will come with you, shaman.” Then before Jarlath turned away, he added, “Your knarf is the one at bay.”

“Then we must hurry,” Jarlath said as he broke into a full run in the direction that Darth’s whistle had came. “Bring up the rear and watch for danger,” He called over his shoulder.

“As you say, shaman,” Answered Ark in the growling language of the sandsingers.

“Is the creature coming.” Fern asked trying to match Jarlath stride for stride.

“Yes. His name is Ark,” Jarlath said as he put more distance between himself and Fern. “Can your weapon hurt an air ship?” He yelled as he raced away.

“If I get close enough to it,” Fern said but didn’t know if Jarlath heard as he was far way from her and the sandsinger.

The numerous sand dune cut down visibility. And although Darth whistled several time as they all rushed to his aid, they could not see him. Nor were they able to see what confronted the knarf.

Although not as quick as Jarlath, the sandsinger was fater then Fern. Ahead she saw Ark stop and sniff the air. “Garr,” The sandsinger called out, not is his growling voice but in a clear voice of a singer. “Very dangerous,” he added a clear voice that reached Jarlath.

What kind of creature is a Garr? Jarlath thought having never head the name before. Then Jarlath was over the last sand dune separating him for Darth. He stopped as he took in the sight below.

Ark had been right. The Garr looked extremely dangerous. The creature was almost as tall as a valcan but moved with blinding speed that Darth was hard pressed to match. And from the power hind legs of the creature, he knew what Darth had not tried to out run the creature. The Garr was build for speed. Jarlath had no doubt that on a straight run the Garr was faster then Darth. The only thing saving the knarf was his sheer quickly.

Should one of the creature’s wicked looking claws reach Darth his life would spill upon the desert. But each time the Garr charged, Darth was able to dodge the attack, barely. Only by constantly turning and twisting could the knarf keep out of reach of the lighten quick lunges of the Garr.

Both showed signs of the battle. Darth’s left ear hung on a thread of flesh. But the Garr had paid a price for Darth ear. As the knarf had managed to open a long gash in the soft belly of the creature. Yet it was Darth that was showing more signs of fatigue. Jarlath figured that he had arrive just in time to save his friend.

Jarlath hurled his throwing star at the quick moving Garr. Because it was moving so fast he didn’t aim at the head but instead at it soft belly. The creature let out a bellow of pain as the star struck home and turned to see from where it had came. Spotting Jarlath at the top of the sand dune, it broke off is attack on Darth and rushed for Jarlath.

But the knarf would not let it go so easily. Darth darted in and slash the back of the Garr’s right leg. The creature cried out and try to swat Darth with is vicious claws. It was then the Jarlath’s second star buried itself in the creature’s back.With a roar of frustration, the Garr turned back to face Jarlath.

It was at that moment that Fern reached the top of the sand dune. She took one look at the creature charging up the sand dune and fire. Marvelously, the creature dodge the flashing blue lightening that erupted form Fren’s weapon as it charged up the sand dune.

Then Ark stepped in front of Fern. From a recess in his in his scaly black hid, the sandsinger pulled two black stones connected by a thin strand of gray wire. Quickly, but using the upmost care not to touch the gray wire, Ark gripped one of the black stones and swung the other black around his head like Jarlath would do to throw his net.

Watching the sandsinger, Jarlath found it hard to take his eye of the black stone whirling around Ark’s head. It was as though he was looking at the absence of matter. As he watched the sandsinger let go of the black stone he was hold. Like the net that Jarlath used the two stone whirled around each other connected by the gray wire.

The black stones read the Garr’s neck, but instead of being wrapped round it neck by the gray wire connecting them, the gray wire sliced through the creature’s flesh as though it was water. Suddenly headless the Garr took a couple more stepts before fall and rolling back down the sand dune.

Jarlath, watching the events unfold in a blur of movement, could hardly believe his eyes. The wire ha decapitated the garr. Never had he seen even the sharpest of knives cut so effortless.

Ark walked pass the squirting flopping headless garr to pick up his black stone garrote. As he dropped the garrote into a recess in his scaly body, he was careful not to touch the gray wire.

What do you name your cleaver of heads,” Jarlath inquired?

“Death cord.”

“How can such a think wire cut the creature’s head off so easily,” Fern asked. Although not as knowledgeable of cutlery as Jarlath she nevertheless recognized the uniqueness of the act she had just witnessed.

“How does your weapon cut what the sharpness knife would have difficulty cutting?” Jarlath translated the question into the language of the sandsinger.

“The death cord cuts through all things except the black stone,” Was the only answer that Ark gave.

“Come we must take the garr’s moisture before all is lost,” Jarlath said as he squated down by the fallen creature’s body and began to work. When he drain enough of the garr’s moisture to fill the moisture pouch, Jarlath passed it first to Fern and when she finished to Ark. He took moisture last and then spoke the words of the moisture oath.

“You keep to the ways of the before ones,” Ark said and nodded his approval when Jarlath repeated the oath in his language.

“Do you accept the oath’s burden,” Jarlath asked Ark.

“Though none of your people have seen any of us since your forefathers landed in the crater, we sandsingers have watched you,” Ark said. “I know that you, Jarlath, are not like the others of the crater. You do not bow down to the Zark even though you are a shaman. I lied to you about fearing the offworlders catching me, for none know the desert better than sandsingers. I came to see if you were controlled by the Zark. If so, I would have killed . . .”

“Are you speaking of the living stone,” Jarlath interrupted to ask?

“Yes, what you call the living stone is an evil born of forbidden spell – the Zark,” Ark answered.

Jarlath shook his head.”

“The living stone never did anything against my people,” he half-heartedly tried to argue.

The Zark enslaved your people. It was cast out from Hades by the our masters the before one. It travel though the heavens for eons until it crashed on your home world. You ancestors found it and became it puppets . The Zark used your ancestors to return to Hades. But when your ancestors arrive the before one had long since ascended and the Zark was stranded here alone.” Ark explained.

Jarlath looked stunned.

“Enough take of the evil one,” Ark called out loudly. He lower his booming voice somewhat. “Yes, shaman, I will honor your moisture oath: but should I get the chance, I will destroy the evil one which you name the living stone.” With those words the ugly creature place clawed hand upon Jarlath’s and Fern’s shoulders.

“I am the last of the sandsingers. Until we part, you are my people for I sense need and purpose in you Jarlath which even you don’t know exist. For this I will answer to your calls.”

Jarlath translated quickly the sandsingers words to Fern.

“Why does he call your living stone Zark,” Fern asked?

“Let discuss this later, Jarlath said. “I have to sort out all the things he told me.”

Turning to face Ark, Jarlath said,w“We are journey to Fern’s people. They too were attacked by the air ships. If they still live maybe they will help us against they ones that attack us and stole the living stone.”

“The Zark can not be stolen,” Ark declared. Then added,t“There is no trail or path which is not either know by me or mentioned in the teaching songs,” Ark said proudly. “I have heard stories of those that dig into the ground on the high plateau. I can guide you there.”

“Then show us the way,” Jarlath challenged.

Without another word the sandsinger moved out.

Jarlath sighed deeply.

“What is the matter,” Fern asked?

“Our new friends hints that the Zark might be controling the Jacks,” Jarlath said

“Is that possible,” Fern asked?

Jarlath took a long time to answer. “Yes, if what the sandsinger says about the living stone . . . ah Zark is true. And I’m beginning to believe there is a possibility that he’s correc,.” Jarlath shrugged. But only when I am before the living stone and open my mind to it will I know if it is so,”

“When, urgent becomes his need,

Even the unsinger’s voice will meet his needs

And tell the desert of some great deed …”

From the first song.

Jarlath gazed across the desert. Someone not desert born would have not been able to distinguish this patch of land from any other parcel of terrain upon the hard desert. To Jarlath the difference was great.

Though the sand still glittered orange in the bright sunlight there were faint patches of yellow scattered here and there. Because the yellow sand still carried a faint orange tint, only one such as Jarlath could tell the difference. More noticeable were the rocks. The desert around them abound with rocks both grouped and single ones scattered across the desert floor. Jarlath let out a sigh of relief at the sight of so many rocks. The sun hung low in the sky. But because of the abundance of rocks, he did not worry about their safety with the coming of night. They could travel until almost darkness without fear of being far from shelter.

Jarlath did not call a halt until the sun was near to setting. And then only because he spotted a perfect groups of rocks to take refuge upon. The sight he chose for their camp consisted of a huge boulder with several smaller boulders and rocks to one side of it in such a formation as to form a kind of stairway up to to the largerest boulder. The hight of the huge boulder made access possible only by climbing the steps formed by the lesser boulders and rocks. Thus they would have only one side to guard. As he watched Darth and Ark climb up to the largerest boulder, Jarlath couldn’t help but notice that the knarf and the sandsinger had already become friends.

“Are we safe up here?” Fern asked as she proceeded Jarlath to the top of the boulder.

“As safe as anyone can be in the hard desert, “ Jarlath answered.

“Why have your people neve made contact with our village?” Jarlath asked changing into the growling language of the sandsinger.

“You people were slaves to the Zark,” Ark answered.

“I still find it difficult to believe all you say about the living stone. To my people is has been good,” Jarlath hesitated. “Although I will admit at a price.”

“It gave what was needed to keep your people alive. Yet it would not let them venture far from the crater,” Ark replied.

“What need does the powerful living stone have of my people?” Jarlath asked.

“It no longer needs your people. That is why they are all dead.” Ark stated. Then upon seeing that Jarlath was going to argue the point, he added. “When the time is right I will explain all I know about the evil your people name the living stone. Now, my words would fall on unhearing ears and be wasted,” Ark said.

“I seek the ones responsible for the destruction of my people. I have pledge not to stop hunting them until I have revenge or die in the attempt. Will you take blood oath with me against the ones I seek,” Jarlath asked?

“What if the guilty one is your precious living stone,” Ark asked?

“I will destroy it!” Jarlath swore.

“Ah, that it would be so easy,” Ark stated. “Yes, shaman, I will take blood oath with you,” Ark proclaimed as he quickly drew a simple pattern in the air separating the two.

“How is it that you know of the blood oath patter,” Jarlath demanded?

“I have watched your people since you were a lump in your mother’s belly. I know much about the power of a shaman and his spells,” Ark explained.

Jarlath pulled the shaman stone form his pouch and held it out for Ark to see.

“No the stone of the before ones is not evil. Only the hand which holds the can make its power evil,” he said. Still holding the shaman stone, Jarlath drew the same pattern in the air that Ark had drawn and spoke the words of power. He lower his voice that that even the sandsinger could not catch the words.

The design which Jarlath had drawn flared up in blue flames.

“Should one of us break the oath, he will die,” Jarlath stated.

“So be it,” Ark answered.

While they had been busy with the blood oath, darkness had settled puon the desert with it usual swiftness. Jarlath, realizing that he had not heard any queries form the usually inquisitive Fern, glanced around and could barely make out her form curled up fast asleep.

Ark, having better night vision, took first watch. When Jarlath move his side the sandsinger and said. “Had she not been with you, shaman, I would have used the death cord on her.”

“Why her? I am the one that follows the living stone as you have told me.”

“Are you,” Ark answered. “You call yourself shaman. But did your council or the Zark name you such.”

“I grow tired of your riddles. Sandsinger. Let us sleep.”

“As you wish.” The huge form of the sandsinger seemed to shake with laughter.

“If we are to keep up a good pace tomorrow we must get enough sleep.” Jarlath added in an effort to make up for his sharp words.”

“I will guard,” Ark said.

“No, Darth will take care of that,” Jarlath whistled a command to the knarf. “He can nap while he guard,” he added. “Nothing moves in the night that he does not hear or small,” Jarlath said in praise as he stroked Darth behind the ears.

The silence which fell upon their resting place on top of the boulder did not reach the desert floor. There the night sounds were in full cry. Even so the dark hours passed without incident.

But dawn did not come alone!

With the first rays of light, the winds started to rise. At first they blew so light that the sand barely moved. Still, Ark took notice. He faced the direction from which the wind came and pronounced, “Death wind.”

Jarlath had neve head of such. He looked to the west but could see nothing to indicate a blow was coming.

“What is a death wind,” he finally asked?

Ark shrugged his shoulders in a very human gesture and said, “you will soon know. We can not travel today.” Ark moved over to the edge of the boulder and looked down. “We can shelter behind here.” He pointed.

“But the wind is hardly blowing . . .,” Jarlath began but stopped. He remembered how quickly a blow could come up.

“The death wind is coming. We must seek shelter now,” Ark began to climb down the rocks as he spoke.

Jarlath shook Fern who still slept. The first thing she did was to snatch at her weapon but Jarlath grabbed hold of her wrist before she drew the blaster. Her eyes snapped open.

“Oh it’s you,” She said and sat up. “Sorry, I was dreaming something was threatening me.`Cant remember what.”

“You must have been half asleep and sensed danger from the tone of our voices. Ark says there is something called a death wind coming and that we must get behind the boulder.”

“What is a death wind?”

“I am not sure buy any wind is dangerous on the desert,” Jarlath answered.

“Come,” Demanded Ark!

“What did he say?” Fern asked.

“Seems that we had better get behind the boulder immediately. Come on.”

Ark, who had already reached the base of the boulder, sat with his back to the rock. His head was bend down between his legs.

“I don’t know wat is about to happen but get into the same position Ark is in. He has spent more time on the desert than I and knows what to expect.” Jarlath said.

Jalath waited until Fern was resting next to Ark before taking his own advice. He sat down on the opposite side of Ark from Fern and called Darth over to sit beside him.

He had barely tucked his head between his legs when the wind picked up in force. First it made a soft whine as it struck the rock, but within moments the whine turned to a roar. Then the death wind struck in full force. With in came a wall of super hot sand.

From under the protection of his robe, Jarlath realized that the wind ws not as violent nor as strong as the circular winds of a blow. The danger of the death wind lay in the amount of sand it carried. The sand was hotter than normal because of the friction of sand against sand.

Jarlath grow hot under his robe. Sweat ran down his forehead, but he didn’t move. Sand pilled up in front of his feet driving Darth closer in a effort to keep from being covered. Peeping out from between his knees, Jarlath cold see nothing but blowing sand. He felt totally isolated. He cold neither see Fern nor Ark. It were as though they were miles apart instead of inches. Should one of them become covered with sand, he would not know it until too late.

Sand filled the air making it more and more difficult for Jarlath to breathe even with the robe pulled over his head. Each time he inhaled his nostrils filled with sand dust. Fear began to gain a hold in his mind as the sand reached his waist. He felt closed in. He opened his mouth to breathe better and sucked in more dust than air.

Sand! Nothing but sand. It were as though the orange granules had become tired of being trodden upon and had found a way to strike back. Panic gripped him. H struggled to stand. The sand’s weight held him in down. With a mad effort born of blind panic, he managed to gain his feet. The wind whipped under his robe blasting his face with sand. He couldn’t see anything. The moment he opened his eyes the moment they were filled with sand.

Standing, exposed him to the full fury of the death wind. He seemed to attract blowing sand. Jarlath tried to take a step but found himself knee deep in sand. He could no longer return to his former position. The truth of his situation reached his panic crazed mind. He had to do something quickly or become covered with sand. It was too late to wish he had stayed in his protected spot near the boulder. Now was the time for action not regrets. Realizing this, Jarlath reached into his pouch and clinched the shaman stone. It he was going to die let it be trying to fight the death wind.

There was only one spell which could help him – the protection spell. Such a spell needed the full support of the living stone and even then it did not always work. Had he not already woven the spell of speech using only the shaman stone, Jarlath would not have given himself a chance of success. The knowledge that he had succeeded once in working a major spell, thought less than the protection spell, gave Jarlath the confidence he needed.

Without further to do, Jarlath started to weave the pattern of the protection spell. He could not see his hands but that didn’t trouble him. He had long since memorized all the spells of the great scroll. When he finally spoke the words of power, the sand had reached the hight of his chest. Had he began the spell a moment later his arms would have been restricted and he would not have been able to finish the spell.

Because the blowing sand forced Jarlath to keep his eyes shut,did not know whether the pattern glowed. Only when he began to feel the drain of life force did he know for certain that the spell was working. Too late did Jarlath realize that he couldn’t see the red sun.

Jarlath remained calm. He knew that should he let panic again take control of him all would be lost. Very deliberately, he formed a picture of the hot red sun in his mind. From his image, he imagined warmth flowing from it into his body to combat the coldness caused by the out flow of his life force.

It worked.

The warmth from the image of the red sun energy flowing into his arm pushing back the numbness. Jarlath smiled as he felt the power flow form him into the spell pattern. He had done something which no shaman had done with out the power of the living sone, and even then few had succeeded. Never again would he fear the weaving of a spell.

Suddenly realized that he sand no longer stung his face. He opened his eyes. The air for a good twenty paces around him was clear of blowing sand. He could see both Fern and Ark sitting with their back to the boulder and their heads between their knee. But their head were barely visible for the sand had cover most of their body.

Ark was the first tolife his heasd.

“You have worked magic, shaman,” He said rising until he towered over Jarlath.

“Is it really over”, Fern asked? She spit out a mouth of sand. “A little longer and I would have been covered in sand,” She added.

“No it isn’t over. I wove a protection spell around us. We are safe form the death wind,” Jarlath answered Triumphantly.

“How long will the storm last,” Fern asked.

Jarlath relayed the question to Ark.

“All day,, Ark informed him.

“Seems like we are stuck here until tomorrow.” Jarlath told Fern.

“Not another night of sleeping an a hard boulder,” Fern complained.

“As long as we are on the hard desert you will have to sleep uupon rocks. I do not know how far it is to the lesser desert. You might as well get used to hard rocks as you bed,” Jarlath said. But then if you would like to make a meal for trap plant or some other night creature, you may sleep where you wish,” he added.

“A hard bed is good for your back,” Fern said with a sigh.

“Where once water flowed there is now only sand

The towering temples dedicated to forgotten god no longer stand.

The before one mark is for ever harder to find.

Only the ancient roads’ winding paths still stand.

From the song of the before ones.

Chapter Nine

“Who will we ever climb such a height,” Fern asked looking straight over head where the top of the plateau became lost in the fiery sky.

Jarlath, who also surveyed the towering wall, shrugged. Until they had sighted the lofty cliffs of the plateau early this morning , he had never dreamed that anything could be so tall. It was one thing to listen to the Remembers talk of mountains and quite another to see something of such towering height.

“We should have been able to have seen the plateau days ago,” Jarlath remarked half to himself.

“It was the dust,” Fern answered.

“What?”

The dust is so thick in the atmosphere, from sand blowing off the top of the plateau, the visibility is cut down considerably from normal,” she explained. “I still don’t see how we are going to reach the lesser desert.”

“How do we reach the top,” Jarlath said turning to Ark.

“The ancient roads,” The sandsinger answered.

“Where are they,” Jarlath asked puzzled by the answered?” He had failed tosee any signs of a road at least nothing resembling the once which the Remembers had often described as existing upon earth with mechanical things speeding along their surface.

“I will show you,” ws the only answer which Ark gave.

Jarlath and Fern followed Ark along a narrow winding path near the base of the plateau. The ancient roads turned out to be tunnels. Their common entrance ws so well hidden that neither Jarlath nor Fern could have located it without Ark to guide them. As it was they did not discover the large opening in the cliff’s side until almost upon it.

“So this is how he lost the air ships,” Fern said. “If the entrance of the plateau is as well concealed, the Jack could spend a lifetime looking for it and never locate its entrance.

“Come, we enter,” Ark’s growling voice commanded.

Jarlath motioned Fern to followed the huge ugly sandsinger into the dark tunnel and whistled for Darth to join them. After instructing Darth to keep a watch at their rear, he entered the dark passage way himself. From tracks on the sandy floor, Jarlath knew that the sandsingers were not the only ones that used the tunnels.

The tunnel were not totally dark. But at first it seemed so as the desert was so much brighter than the interior of the tunnel. It took several moment for his eyes to adjust to the new lighting. The soft light came form the ceiling. Jarlath had heard of artificial light before but had never seen it. Although much dimmer than a sap burning lamps used in the village, the soft light of the tunnel gave of enough illumination to navigate the passageway.

Only a little ways in, They came to where the tunnel branched off into several different directions, but Ark did not hesitate to choose the way.

“You have traveled this tunnel often,” Jarlath said after Ark lea them through a series of complicated turns.

“Once,” Ark’s voice answered from ahead.

“How do you remember the way?”

“By the teaching songs,” Ark answered.

“Are these the only ancient roads of the before one,” Jarlath asked?

“There are many such,” Ark said.

“What are the two of you talking about,” Fern asked getting annoyed that she was not part of the conversation.

“Ark was saying that there are other ancient roads like this one,” Jarlath said.

“Does any of them lead to the mining camp?”

Jarlath asked Ark.

“He said that there is one, but it only begins three fourths of the way to the place of your people. We are not going to use it,” Jarlath translated.

“Why,” Fern demanded. She found the coolness of the tunnel much more comfortable than the desert heat.

“He said something about a dome forest and a guardian. What do you know about a place called the dome forest,” Jarlath asked Fern.”

“Where is it located?”

Jarlath gave her a hopeless look.

“How would I know! Between here and your people’s mining camp, I guess.”

“There is a strange forest to south of the mining camp where the vegetation grows so intertwined as to form a covering over a large area of the plateau. We have not penetrated its barrier. It seems so out of place on the plateau. A couple of men survey team exploring that area were killed by some unusual creature. The area was placed off limits. Maybe the thing which murdered the members of the survey team is this guardian of the dome forest which Ark is refering . . .”

Darth let out a threatening growl from behind them.

Jarlath turned to see what caused the alarm. In the dim light he had little difficulty spotting the cause of the knarf’s warning. The creature moving toward them cast a blinding bright light from a round hole in the center of it head.

“A death glow,” Ark shouted.

Jarlath had never seen the sandsinger so alarmed. Until now, the huge fellow had remained calm in the face of danger, but the sight trace of fear in Ark voice was unmistakable.

Something told Jarlath that his weapons were useless against the strange looking creature. Seeing Ark’s reaction he knew that he could not trust the sandsinger’s reactions. He whistled a command for Darth to retreat from the thing.

“Fern, use your weapon,” Jarlath ordered in a voice that left no room for hesitance.

Having sighted the creature, Fern already had her blaster in her hand. It took only a fraction of a second for her to aim and fire.

The beam streaked form the nozzle of her blaster. It touched the creature dead center of its upper torso. The resulting flash momentarily blinded everyone.

“It is still coming,” Jarlath shouted recovering his sight first. He cold hardly believe that anything could withstand a blast from Fern’s weapon, d device capable of blasting a deep hole in the ground. Such a weapon should be able to destroy any living creature on Hades.

Jarlath snatched a throwing star form his belt and sent the five pronged weapon spinning toward the steadily advancing creature. The star looked as thought it would strike the creature in the head when it suddenly flared brightly for a moment and fell to the ground.

“The thing is surrounded by a force field of some kind,” Fern said.

“Does that mean we can not harm it,” Jarlath asked.

The shiny, light bearing thing advanced on them.

“Arrrry!”

The tunnel’s walls echoed with Ark’s war cry.

The cry caused Fern to jump.

Jarlath, undecided on whether to run or fight stood and watch Ark charge the shiny thing. He noticed the swirling of the death cord around the sandsinger’s head. Should Ark’s weapon fail, Jarlath knew that their only hope lay in our running the thing.

With their fate hanging in the balance, both Jarlath and Fern remained anchored in position as they watched Ark release the death cord. The black stones were hard to see in the dim light as the death cord shot forward.

The flare up of bright light which had stopped the throwing star did not come. Nothing altered the death cord’s flight. It sliced the creature in half at its midsection. For a moment, bright flashes of fire erupted from both halves of the severed creature.

“It’s a robot,” Fern cried out. “I should have know. But I couldn’t see it clearly enough in the bad light,” she explained.

“A creature of metal,” Jarlath said in wonderment.

“Yes and from the looks of it,” Fern said hurrying over to examine the disabled machine. “It purpose was probably to maintain the tunnels.”

Jarlath slowly came forward to have a closer look at the robot.

Jarlath, do you realize what a space ship armed with missiles made of the black stones which Ark uses as weight for the death cord would do?”

Jarlath continued to study the dead machine.

“They would pass right through an enemy ship’s energy shield. That means that a small cruiser so armed could take on a patrol ship and win. This could mean the beginning of the end of the empire if we don’t stop the Jacks. Maybe it is the black stones like the one Ark has that they are seeking or have already found. Or they might have taken some of them from Ark’s village when they destroyed,” Fern said.

Jarlath stood up and faced Fern. “I don not care about the future of your empire. My ancestors fled from your empire . . .” Jarlath paused for a moment. “Another time I will speak of this,” he said.

His words caught Fern by surprise but she did not question him.

“We leave now,” Ark told Jarlath. “Move metal creature will come.” The huge sandsinger had not approached the robot any nearer than to retrieve his death cord.

Neither ha Darth ventured near the disabled macshine.

Jarlath felt good to leave the metal creature behind also. To him it signified the past. A time of glory of the before ones. He only wished that his people had came to Hades before the before ones had departed. And he couldn’t not help wondering his people had they remained on earth instead of fleeing into the unknown depth of space.

With a sigh, Jarlath turned his attention to the tunnel and walked in silence. Both Fern and Ark seemed equally engrossed in their own thoughts and did not break the silence.

The same smooth walls and dim light became boring. The only thing to come close to breaking the monotony was the occasional intersection of their passageway with other tunnels.

It seemed like days bfore Fern’s voice echoed in the tunnel.

“There is light ahead!”

Jarlath’s alertness returned. He looked ahead and saw a bright reddins light that could only come from the giant red sun.

“Fear not a land were all lifeforms are a threat.

Instead, a land where one can not distinguish

between the harmless lifeforms and the deadly ones.

An old saying of the sandsingers.

Chapter Ten

Although the sun shone down as fierce as ever, Jarlath felt a hint of coolness, carried by the light wind that seeped through his valcan robe as he stepped from from the mouth of the tunnel onto the lesser desert of the plateau. Not since the days when the living stone’s radiation enveloped the crater had Jarlath experienced such coolness.

“This is almost like the crater,” Jarlath put his thoughts into words. “Look,” he pointed toward real trees like those that had grown in the crater.

“I keep forgetting that the hard desert lacks any normal forms of surface vegetation,” Fern replied.

Jarlath started walking toward one of the trees.

“No! Do not go near,” Ark called out in a tone which caused Jarlath to stopp in his tracks.

“They are only trees. Like the ones in the crater near my village,” Jarlath called back.

“They are not the same,” Ark replied.

“Ark, I grew up playing among trees exactly like these. They are trees of life. It was said that the living stone gave them to my people but that must not be so because there are many of them here. I have picked and eaten fruit from the trees of live since I was very small,” Jarlath added.

“You will die before your hand touches their fruit,” Ark replied.

Jarlath studied the nearest tree. He squinted his eyes. “There is something different about the trees, but I cannot tell exactly what,” Jarlath spoke in Ark’s language.

“When a creature ventures near, the tree lashes out with their branches. The spines are coated with poison sap which kills instantly. Then the branches drag the their victim over to the trunk for the roots to feed,” Ark explained.

Jarlath eyed the curled vines like branches of the tree. That was the difference. The branches were more vine like that the trees in the crater.

“What are you two talking about. I wish I knew Ark’s language. I always feel left out,” she said.

“I was just learning a lessen on how dangerous the trees over there are,” Jarlath answered. “The look almost exactly like the trees of life in the crater but Ark says they are different and that they eat flesh. So say clear,” Jarlath warned.

“I should have already warned you about the vegetation on the plateau. Not all of the trees and shrubs are dangerous, but enough of them are to make venturing close to any of them risky unless you know the harmless one from the deadly ones,” Fern said. Then she added, “I have never taken the time to learn which is which. Now I wished I had.”

As they moved on, Jarlath gave the trees plenty of room. On passing them he wondered how two trees could look so much alike and yet one give death while the other gave life. H remembered once thinking how usually the thin branches of the trees in the carter were. Now he saw that he acted like living vines.

“Are those dangerous,” Jarlath asked on spotting another different looking tree.

“Not as much as the death trees, but I would not touch. They also have poisonous spines. They will not kill but they make you very sick,” Ark told him.

Jarlath shook his head.

“It is easier upon the hard desert to tell what is dangerous. Everything which lives is a threat,” Jarlath mumbled.

He glanced over at other shrubs.

“Fern, I think the lesser desert may prove to be more dangerous than the hard desert,” Jarlath stated.

“Why do you say that?”

“Upon the hard desert everything is dangerous; therefore, you are always alert and ready for danger. Here you are more inclined to relax and be caught of guard,” Jarlath said.

Fern nodded and said, “still I like it that not all life forms are dangerous here on the plateau.”

Ark who had forged ahead of them turn and gave them a hard look.

“Fern, I don’t think Ark likes our lagging behind.”

Fern picked up her pace to match Jarlath’s quickened one.

“Yes, I think he has a certain place he wants to reach before nightfall,” she said.

Upon seeing Fern and Jarlath drawing closer, Ark set an even faster pace.

As Jarlath moved across the strange terrain, he took in all the new sights which the lesser desert offered. He pestered Ark with question after question about this plan and that pant in a effort to familiarize himself with what was dangerous and what was not. Thus he carefully classified each plant they passed. For if he was going to survive with out Ark as a guide, he knew that he must learn the ways of the lesser desert as well as he knew that hard desert .