THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Marius gave his decision. ‘We head south.’

They moved off quietly and soon came to the first dune. They began climbing at a shallow angle, their feet sinking into the soft sand at every step.

Marius positioned the women to the left and right of Meng Hsiang, Nicander and Arif either side of Ordut. The camels hardly noticed the soft going and were able to help pull them along bodily. He remained in front, stolidly pacing ahead.

They eventually reached the top – an infinity of dunes stretched in every direction. No mountain ranges, telltale oases, winding rivers or flat plains.

The hot wind was brisk on the crest, driving sand in curling spindrifts to the lee of each. But at least they would be spared the agony of constantly toiling uphill – the giant crescents were oriented in their favour, to the north and south.

‘Ma sheng,’ Arif said diffidently.

‘Yes?’

‘The sand harder where the wind blow.’

Nicander was grateful: a little below the crest on the side from where the wind blew it was firmer going with the more compacted grains.

Unspoken was the realisation that their desolation was complete. Not a single living thing other than themselves and the camels, nothing but dunes and the cruel unblinking sun.

With every step he could feel the sloshing about in his precious gourd of water. How curious to realise that there was a simple equation that ruled everything: water in the gourd equalled life, none equalled death.

The odds were now very much against them pulling through.

He found himself thinking: what would Dao Pa have said? There was no way of knowing but he vowed to meditate that night and prepare his soul.

The resolution cheered him a little.

In a way the dull repetition of their slogging progress insulated him from despair. Each dune was different, all the dunes were the same. Sometimes it blew harder than other times, one time Ying Mei would be to the left of Ordut, then it would be the right.

She was muffled in flapping clothing but he knew and cherished the image of her valiant trudge.

At the end of the day the tents could not be put up as there was nothing firm to take the pegs so as darkness closed in they were reduced to curling up in the lee of the camels below the crest with every piece of clothing they could find against the bitter cold.

Nicander’s dreams were always the same: sparkling, refreshing water. But as he raised it to his lips he would jerk awake, parched.

Each morning they would take a gulp of water and refill the gourds at the water skins, trying to ignore the sight of their increasingly flaccid appearance.

Marius would then yet again go to the highest point and meticulously scan every quadrant. He would give a quick shake of the head and growl, ‘Move!’ and they would lurch into motion.

Finding the general direction of south was easy enough: at night the dazzling display of stars revealed it while in the day the centre of the arc of the sun was always south. But when would their agony end?

Thirst became a torment. The single-gulp discipline took inhuman control but under the eyes of all it was impossible to cheat. For a brief few minutes the mouth would be moist, the tongue free – then in the pitiless heat it would thicken and loll, the taste of dust always there.

Another day and night passed.

And in front, always, Marius striding on.

He would grimly administer the water ceremony at the stops, his voice hoarse but still hard, his skin wrinkled, his eyes sunken and feverish.

They were all suffering but none complained or criticised. Ying Mei was a slight, stooped figure with flushed face and hands that trembled as she took her water. A sun-ravaged Tai Yi kept close by all the time. Arif had taken to dropping his head in silent misery as he went about his duties.

Now the last water skin was empty – what they had in their gourds was all that remained.

Still there was no sign of deliverance. The nature of the dunes was becoming complex, the edge of the crests splitting and joining and making a straight course impossible even if they seemed to be becoming less massive.

They plodded on through another day, the hot wind got up again and scoured their exposed skin but they dared not stop.

That night Nicander suffered from painful cramps and headache, finally slipping into a fitful sleep in the biting cold.

In the morning and with their gourds barely half-full they got under way.

When the sun rose high, Nicander’s cramps returned. In pain, he reeled about. On the other side of Ordut, Arif, head bowed in endurance, didn’t see him and the little caravan carried on without him.

He dropped to his knees, his hands tight on his stomach as the spasms racked him. He closed his eyes in pain.

There were faint shouts and he opened his eyes to see Marius trudging back towards him.

Nicander struggled to his feet but without a pause Marius knocked him down.

‘I said no one falls out of the line o’ march!’ he rasped. ‘Get back in the ranks!’

Nicander caught up, ashamed that he had let Marius down.

‘I can’t trust you lot out o’ my sight!’ the legionary croaked. ‘I’m following behind, and God help any as drops out!’

They pressed on, ever to the south, this time without the comforting sight of Marius in front.

With a tongue swollen to twice its size and cruel aches in every joint it took Nicander heroic resolve to keep moving. He knew it was the same for the others.

Every step was an effort. His head hung and he saw one foot go out then the other in hypnotic succession.

A strange whimper made him look up. Ying Mei was gesturing behind them.

A dark huddle lay still on the sand thirty yards away. Marius.

It couldn’t be! Of all of them…

Nicander somehow summoned strength to hurry to his friend who lay face down in the baking dunes. The others followed.

‘Marius!’ he whispered hoarsely, turning over his body. He was breathing but unconscious.

‘Get his gourd and give him water!’ Ying Mei pleaded.

Nicander lifted it up and found it empty of even a drop. It didn’t make sense… then it hit him like a blow. Marius had made great play at the water skin but had not filled his own gourd, letting others have his share.

His eyes stung – Marius had not had anything to drink the night before.

Logic demanded that they leave him and go on, playing out the drama until its end.

‘Ah Yung. You are the leader now,’ Ying Mei said unsteadily. ‘What do we do?’

‘We stop here for the night,’ he croaked. It would buy time to think.

‘Try to get him to take some water,’ he muttered, handing over his own gourd.

As he had seen Marius do so many times, he went to the highest point and looked out over the endless dunes, now shadowing as the sun fell. Ahead – south – the curving crest they had been following was splitting into two going in alternate directions. It meant that there were three valleys now – one ahead and one on either side.

Marius did not regain consciousness, lying still, barely breathing. Ying Mei fanned him but there was nothing to be done.

Nicander sat upright against Meng Hsiang’s hairy bulk staring into the night. This was the end, there would be no more hopeless striving. One by one they would drop in their tracks. Then their bones would be left until they too would be covered by the restless sand.

He felt a great sadness that it all had to end like this.

His head drooped as weariness claimed him but something made him look up – and as if in a dream he saw a figure, a robe covering its face.

Shaking his head to try to clear it he saw the vision remained. The robe was thrown back and Dao Pa stood before him!

Nicander hadn’t the strength to do more than wonder what he wanted but the image grew stronger and more real.

‘Why are you here?’ he managed to say.

Dao Pa made a solemn sign of blessing.

‘We’re in our last travails, Master. What can we do?’

The sage mouthed something.

‘I can’t hear you.’ Nicander said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it hurt to speak louder.

Dao Pa shook his head sorrowfully and spread his hands.

In a sudden spasm of hope Nicander pleaded, ‘Where must we go – ahead, to the left or right…? As a last chance!’

The figure extended a hand – and pointed firmly to the right. Then he made the gesture of drinking.

The river!

‘Thank you, thank you, Master! For the others, I thank you!’

With a last farewell, Dao Pa turned and vanished into the blackness.