Scrivener Contest 08 - FATHERS OF THE DESERT

[Musashi]

I cursed my fate, as the swirling clouds of dust solidified into abrasive waves of sand, physically buffeting my body and that of Fatima, my mount. She whinnied in misery, as the sand attempted to penetrate every orifice that it could reach.

Ruefully I recalled the path that brought me to this forsaken place, a place no tribe would voluntarily enter, even in the most dire circumstances. The Ocean of Dunes seemed enchanted, that not even the most gifted of navigators easily lost their way, should they have the good fortune to be stumbled upon by wandering parties, carefully skirting the drifting dunes.

I tightened the veil draped across my face, leaving but a slit to peer out. My eyes were unable to see beyond the reach of my arm, yet I perceived my companion, just a few steps further, struggling against the force of the living wind, trapped between it and his unhappy steed.

He was not of my tribe, nor was he of this land, and I felt little sympathy for his obvious misery, unused as he was to these conditions, for he was the architect of my plight.

It was a cold winter night, not as you northerners reckon winter, for though the cold North Wind descended upon our land, it carried with it none of the soft delicate crystals that your kind calls snow. Though ice coated the tops of the tallest mountains, their replenishment seemed a mystery, for during summer life-giving waters flowed down their slopes, may the Creator be praised, and permitted men to survive, if not thrive, in this otherwise dry continent.

But his life was in my hand, and we, sons of an unforgiving desert, do not take such charges lightly, and I would have preferred to avoid it altogether.

"We must shelter from this storm!" I shouted, unsure if he could hear me over the howling of the storm, like that of a bloodthirsting demon, it seemed to me, seeing his prey. By his turning to face me, I perceived that he had heard me, and by his indicating a newly exposed rocky outcrop, understood our situation.

Yes, it had been a cold night, and we huddled around our fires, while celebratory noises issued from the women's tents, Akbar smiled, his bearded face lighting up as he identified his wife's distinct yell of joy. I had not yet married, though maidens glanced slyly in my direction, and I knew I could have had the pick of them, and did. My mother despaired of the lack of grandchildren, but my father understood the game of milking the she-goat, without buying it.

Stars sparkled like the hard cold crystals that came from the south, moving across the heavens in a slow dance. I had glanced in the heavens and suddenly noticed what seemed like a star, or possibly one that having glowed all it's life, burns out and falls to earth, as it was unfamiliar and traversing the dark sky faster than the wind.

I calculated the angle of its descent, and ran to the tent that sheltered my mare. The other men noted my hurried departure but returned their attention to the merry noise that issued from the women's celebrations.

Fatima brought me swiftly to the site, for I wished to salvage the star-iron that would lay there. I knew that the canny blade-smiths and armourers of Shadizar would pay dearly for ore that would transformed into the subtlest and strongest of arms and armaments.

Fatima was barely winded as I leaped from my saddle and hurried over the stony crag that hid my view of the site. And yet what awaited me was unexpected.

What appeared to be the remnants of a large wicker basket lay strewn across the plain, and a large flimsy tent cloth that would do honour to the household of a sultan.

As I approached the scene of the disaster, I saw ruptured containers of coal, and a little further a coal furnace, luxuries indeed in this bleak land, and perhaps not a total waste of my time.

I heard moaning from the other side of the flapping tent cloth, which I discovered was silk. I approached with caution a dark shadowed block that lay crumpled on the desert floor. It moaned once again and with the tip of my boot I turned it over.

It was a man, and by the light of the sacred moon I could recognize the features of a northern infidel. I pondered over my dilemna, should I kill him now?

Fate took that decision out of my hands, as he moaned again and sat up, blinking in my direction.

"That was quite a fall," he said in the trading language that predominated among the large ports in the Sunlit Sea.

I assessed him. The infidel carried no blade, it seemed.

He smiled. "I am Antonio, son of Nils, an Aeronaut."

"I am Hassan, son of Hakim, and stranger, you intrude upon the land of Kazams. What is your business here?"

"I seek the Fathers of the Desert."

[Elias Kalderon]

And then...?

IMO the aeronaut is a good element. Further you go way over the top with your use of language. Long stentences, metaphor after metaphor, analysis after analysis. It makes it difficult to read.

[Musashi]

Well, thank you for reading my poor effort.

I have a ready cinematic view which I'm struggling to express on paper; plus I'm trying to include elements of the answer in the narrative. Unlike the characters, I happen to know who the Fathers of the Desert are, and how they affected the past and influence the present.

Also, as inside joke, there are references to a 60s TV show I wanted to include.

It's unpolished, and suffers from the amount of information I'm trying to squeeze in.