The Oasis

By Mark van Dyk

      Maruuk al-Baghda sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his feet.  His feet were hard and brown against the sandy stone of the floor.  He wriggled his toes, then reached for an old pair of sandals that lay, deflated, beneath the bed.  He strapped on the sandals with a certain ritualistic air, lacing them around his calves, tying them off, sighing as he set his feet upon the floor.  It was always like this before a journey.  A certain lethargy would overcome him, as if he were older than he really was, as if moving were a trial.  It was always more difficult to get a stone rolling than to keep it in motion.
      He rubbed the top of his bald head, scratched his chin, then rose.  He moved toward the eastern window, then knelt down upon the carpet and touched his head to the floor.
      "All glory to Saud," he whispered.  "I am but a humble servant of Fate.  Without Her, there is no light, no life, and no self."  He brought his head up from the floor and gazed from his window.  "And no love..." he added.
      Maruuk rose from the floor and went to the chest at the end of the bed.  He opened the chest and drew out his belt and scabbard.  He buckled the belt around his waist, drew his sword, examined it, then returned it to its sheath.  He brought a prayer scroll out from the chest and affixed it to his belt.  He then took a white headband and tied it around his brow.  The holy emblem of Saud was embroidered upon it; a sword in the middle of a blood red sun.  He touched the symbol with two fingers, kissed his fingers, then touched his heart.
      With a deep breath, he straightened himself and steeled his resolve to move, to go forth and do what Fate had decreed for him, though the effort tired him.  He had grown very tired of late.  He had found it increasingly difficult to leave his room even to go downstairs and eat.  He had grown accustomed to his rented space.  He found a certain comfort in his four walls.  He had no visitors; wanted none.  The chair he had set next to the window had become an old friend.  He had spent many hours sitting there, watching the hot and hazy world below his window; camels and mules, merchants, peasants, nobles, outsiders, sandmen.  All had passed beneath his window, echoing his loneliness like wind through a canyon.  He had grown despondent of late and unsociable.  Even while taking his meals in the common room below, he did not converse, did not laugh, did not drink or take pleasure in things of the flesh.  He would eat without tasting his food, then return to his room and sit next to the window, sometimes for hours at a time, waiting.
      But, he had been hired.  His wealth was not such that he could turn down offers to work.  He had to pay for his one room sanctuary and money had begun to run thin.  It was a long job.  He would be away from his home for nearly a month, but the pay was good.  Men of his sort and reputation were always in demand.  He was good with a sword and not afraid to use it, not afraid to hire out to any noble or merchant who needed an extra body of protection.  And so he found himself moving toward his door, readying himself for the road ahead. 
      He took hold of the handle, studied his room for a moment, as if to memorize it, then opened his door and went into the hallway.  He closed his door, locked it, then went downstairs.  He went to the desk and paid his rent for the next two months, told the innkeeper that he would return and not to disturb his things, though they were few.  The innkeeper nodded and bid him farewell.
      Maruuk then left the inn and stepped into the streets of Safana.  He moved through the dusty byways and tall, white buildings, which glared brightly in the early morning sun.  The city was noisy and active.  White turbaned men whisked by in white robes, seeming to move without feet.  Camels grunted and oxen groaned before heavy loads.
      He went to the merchants' quarters and found the caravan he had been paid five gold coins to guard.  There were a dozen or so other mercenaries in the company, and several muleteers and goatherds responsible for tending the animals and providing milk for the others.  
      The caravan was different than most.  There was only one wagon to be guarded, and it was a monstrosity requiring eighteen mules just to move it.  The wagon possessed sixteen wheels, eight on a side, and carried a great stone monolith as long as three men laid on their backs.  The monolith was carved with strange symbols that hurt Maruuk's eyes as he looked at them.  They appeared Khemian in origin, but he had never seen anything quite like them before.  He went up to the great stone, to inspect it closer, but several men stepped between the monolith and him.  Their hands went to their swords and they pushed forward menacingly.
      "Who are you?" asked one.
      "I am Maruuk al-Baghda.  I was hired to protect the caravan of one Karshmin bin Alaam.  You may ask him yourselves, for he hired me personally."
      There was laughter behind him.  He turned to see a wealthy merchant dressed in gold and indigo finery.  "It is well to see you, Maruuk al-Baghda!" said Karshmin.  "It's all right, gentlemen.  He is one of us!"
      The other mercenaries lowered their swords and shrugged.  Maruuk studied them, but despite Karshmin's assurance that he belonged, he did not feel like one of them.  All the men had an aspect about them that he found unpleasant, as if they shared a private joke that was more cruel than humorous.
      "We will be leaving within the half hour," Karshmin continued.  "See that you're ready.  We take this to the border of Khemt at the behest of the priests of Sutekh, who will also be accompanying us."  He then looked directly at Maruuk and waggled a finger.  "Yours is to guard, not to touch.  Remember that."
      Maruuk bowed, waiting for Karshmin to turn and leave.  As the merchant walked away he rose, his eyes returning to the strange obelisk, and shuddered.  The other mercenaries noticed his uneasiness and smiled.
      "You'll get used to it," said one.  "We've hauled this cursed thing for two hundred miles already.  It grows on you."
      "So, why have I been hired on?" asked Maruuk.  "You men seem able enough."
      They glanced to one another nervously and lowered their heads.  The man who had been speaking at last looked up and met Maruuk's eyes.  "The number is the thing," he whispered.  "There must be thirteen of us.  The man you replaced..."
      "Yes?"
      "Let's just say that he became a little too fond of the stone."  He motioned to the monolith on the wagon.
      Maruuk studied the thing, then turned, desiring some explanation for the man's cryptic words, but as soon as he turned back, the other mercenaries dispersed as though no conversation had taken place.  They did not look at him as they returned to their posts, nor did they speak to him until they were well away from the city and the shadow of night had come upon them.



      The first night away from civilization was anything but typical.  The first thing Maruuk noticed was that the muleteers and goatherds all slept with the animals well away from the others.  They seemed to want nothing to do with the stone or the men who guarded it.  They turned their backs to the obelisk, made their own campfire and ate in silence.  To Maruuk's surprise, the goatherds set guards, but the guards only faced in the direction of the stone and the mercenaries and nowhere else, as if they feared nothing but the giant, sleeping rock.  Maruuk also noticed that Karshmin and the mercenaries gave no offerings, performed no rites, and completely skipped their evening prayers.  Feeling awkward by this blasphemous behaviour, he was forced to pay homage to the gods behind a distant sand dune.  Upon his return, he found Karshmin pouring out forbidden wines to go with the men's meat and goat cheese.  They all became a bit drunk around the main campfire, though Maruuk himself abstained, and the air of their drunkenness grew less cordial with every sip they drew.  Karshmin became like a man possessed, the wine lending him a supernatural sort of ego.  After the second glass he began to regard himself as a far greater authority than he was, ordering his men to perform strange stunts and disgusting displays which they all performed all too obligingly.  Karshmin began uttering all manner of obscenities and blasphemies, capering about the fire like a demon, much to the delight of his mercenary friends who aped him, exposing their genitals, slashing their chests with knives, then washing the wounds with wine.
      Maruuk sat stiffly throughout, wondering if he had not been delivered into the hands of demons.  He made himself intentionally scarce, moving some distance from the others, but his diffidence eventually caught the attention of Karshmin, who seemed to delight in making others feel uncomfortable.  The merchant drew near, clearly intent upon goading him into some ludicrous behaviour.
      "Maruuk!" he roared, his thick black beard wet with wine.  "Does our revelry not commend itself to you?"
      Maruuk lowered his head, not wishing to offend.  "I am glad to see you enjoying yourself, sir.  Men should be happy."
      "Indeed!  So, why do you not drink?" he asked.  "Saudian law does not hold us here in the desert!  We're free to do what we like." 
      The other men gathered around him, their faces twisted with their reckless abandonment, their eyes hungry with some lust not natural to warm-blooded men.  One raised up a wine skin and spoke.  "There is only the law of blood here," he grinned. 
      "And the law of the Stone!" cried another.
      Maruuk looked up suspiciously.  "The stone?"
      No one replied.  Karshmin went on, ignoring his question:  "You are a holy man, then?  Devout?"
      "I am no priest, if that's what you mean, though I follow the one true way of Fate."
      "One true way?"
      "Aye."
      "You limit yourself, sir!  Surely there are many ways!  Fate holds no sway over us because we do not believe any longer in her power!  You have only to change your mind!  Look to the Stone, yonder!  Does it answer to Fate?"
      Maruuk did not answer immediately, sensing the other's anxiety as they leaned in toward him.  There was hunger in their features.  "All things answer to Fate," he said slowly.  "Saud, the sands, and even your stone, there.  City walls do not demark Her territory, nor the sky or mountains."
      The company of men sighed as though disappointed.  They turned away from Maruuk and dispersed.  Only Karshmin remained, his eyes glittering in the firelight.  "You will learn," he said.  "Men make their own fate.  This is what the Stone has taught us."  He then turned and walked away, giving a small bow to the stone as he passed by it.
      Maruuk stood and watched the merchant disappear behind the wagon.  He then walked some distance away from the others and threw out his bed roll.  Before he knelt down, however, he glanced back to the strange stone.  The graven images seemed to lift themselves off the stone.  They appeared to float in the air, writhing like worms that might bore into his skull.  Maruuk shuddered and clamped his eyes shut against them, but even as he closed them he could see their outlines upon the inside of his eyelids.  He turned back to the east and threw himself down upon his blanket, jamming his fists into his eyes to rid himself of the sight.  "I am a servant of Fate," he whispered, looking out to the distant stars.  "Surely she is here with me, even in this accursed place."
      He shivered despite his prayer.  Never in his life had he felt so alone, not even locked within his room without visitors or companions, without the touch of a woman.  Would he ever feel such a touch again?  Or would he meet the fate of his predecessor and fall victim to some black deviltry?  What had happened to the man, he wondered?  He had thought little of it at the outset of their journey.  Now, the man's fate was a riddle that seemed to indicate some madness had taken him, much like it had the others.
      Maruuk trembled, feeling cold.  He huddled upon the ground for some time with his arms wrapped about his legs, fearing to go to sleep.  Finally, he bent down and touched his head to the ground.
      "I am but a humble servant of Fate," he prayed.  "Without Her, there is no light, no life, and no self."  He brought his head up from the ground and looked up to Her constellation.  "And no love..." he added.
      Having given his prayer solemnly, the dark thoughts in his mind retreated, yet sleep was still a long time coming.


      The next morning, the men of Karshmin's company rose and set about their duties as though nothing peculiar had occurred the night before.  Maruuk watched them suspiciously, but they displayed no outward sign that they had acted so strangely.  He looked for some sign of injury or blood upon the shirts of the men who had cut themselves, but he saw nothing.  Finding this odd, he walked over to the muleteers and goatherds.  He went to one and implored him to speak.  "Good sir," he said.  "Tell me what you know of last night.  Were you not surprised by the men's strange behaviour?
      The shaggy bearded man shook his head.  "No, sir.  Not surprised."
      "What is it that makes them act in this way?  Have they forsaken God?"
      The short goatherd leaned in closer and whispered:  "You are in danger, sahib, but you are a good man and fear God.  Not like--- the other, your predecessor."
      "Yes!  Tell me what happened to him."
      The goatherd shook his head.  "I won't speak of that.  But, please, take this."  He held out a necklace with a charm on it.  The charm was of the all-seeing eye of Fate."
      "Thank you," said Maruuk.  "It is good to see that I am not wholly alone here."
      "No, not alone.  But be wary of the stone.  It will twist your thoughts as it did theirs.  Good will seem bad and bad good.  Do not go near it, if you can avoid it."  With this, the goatherd turned and spoke no more.
      Maruuk watched the man depart, then turned back to the others.  They motioned him to join them, which he did reluctantly, then started out quickly.
      The soldiers of his company spoke little to one another and none at all to Maruuk.  Even Karshmin, who had insisted upon drawing him into conversation the night before, now seemed sullen and only glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.
      The entire day passed in this way.  It was as though they were a funeral train.  Maruuk attempted to stay away from the others, especially those closest to the stone obelisk, but every time he strayed, Karshmin would slap the wagon with a leather cord and motion him back into position.
      Maruuk trudged on, his heart full of fear and doubt.  He could not keep from staring or glancing at the stone.  He knew that it housed some great secret, though he had no way of knowing what it was.  If he could only get near it and touch it.  Perhaps he could dispel whatever madness had overtaken the others.  But he never got that chance.  The wagon was always too well guarded and he dared not make the attempt. 
      And the sun rose and began to set again in the west.  He watched as it passed below the horizon and heralded the coming of darkness. 
      As night came upon the world, the mercenaries made camp.  As they set out their things and brought out their meals, Maruuk prepared to see the same events as he had witnessed the night before, yet the men were strangely quiet and reserved.  They seated themselves around the fire and did not speak.  Karshmin sat cross legged on the sand and ignored everyone.  His eyes were dark and brooding, and as he sipped the broth of his stew, it seemed that he took no pleasure in it, nor received any sustenance at all.
      Maruuk moved away from them.  As he walked, he passed by the obelisk.  Coming near to the thing, he paused and reached out his hand.
      Swords drew from scabbards behind him as men leapt from their seats to threaten him.  Behind them stood Karshmin, his eyes gleaming madly.
      Maruuk froze and turned to face them, his face pale with fear.
      "You want to touch it, don't you?" asked Karshmin.
      "I---"
      "I told you that you would learn, but it's not time for you, yet.  You have not been made worthy."
      "A thousand pardons!"
      "I commanded that you were not to touch the lovely Stone.  Did you forget?"
      "I did not forget, sir.  My curiosity--- I beg your forgiveness."
      Maruuk felt sick to his stomach as he realized that he had been about to touch the horrible thing.  Self loathing suddenly writhed within his mind like a pestilence of maggots.  He felt ashamed, as if he had somehow betrayed something, though he knew it was not Karshmin's command.  "Forgive me!" he cried, then ran from them.  He fled toward the goatherds and muleteers, but they turned their backs to him, shunning him.  He turned from them and ran toward the dunes.  When he had gotten some distance away from everyone and could see them no longer, he threw himself into the sand and cried out for the gods to save him. 
      "I am Maruuk al-Baghda, a servant of Fate," he sobbed.  "Without Her, there is no light, no life, and no self."  He paused, feeling as though he were being watched.  He glanced about him, but there was only sand and stars. 
      He was a long time finding sleep.  When he did, it was no comfort to him.  The stone haunted his dreams.
     




      In the morning he rose and joined the others.  They did not acknowledge him.  The muleteers and goatherds also ignored him.  He felt as though he were not a man at all, but a phantom that trailed the wagon and could not be seen.  He was between worlds, waiting, wondering where Fate would take him.  He saw the stone and quickly looked away.  He resolved at that moment to put himself wholly into Her hands.  She would guide him, Her lonely pilgrim, if he were true.
      The wagon lurched forward once more.  The camels grunted and the mules strained.  Maruuk took up his post and followed, resigning himself to the road ahead.
      The day passed much the way it had the day before.  As the evening sun sank in the west, however, another caravan appeared ahead of them on the road.  The caravan was large with casks and jars and chests filled with all manner of fineries and jewels and spices and silks.  As they drew near the caravanserai hailed them.  He was a swarthy man, large and bold.  He greeted them all with a grande smile.
      "Greetings!" he roared.  "I am Salim al-Baba!  May light shine upon you and guide you always to water!"
      Karshmin strode forward and raised his hand.  "Greetings also to you!  Will you share salt with us this night?"
      "I would love it!  We have dancing women and many strange delights from as far away as Amir!  We will share our stories and delights in exchange for your goodly hospitality."
      "Then join us!"
      Maruuk al-Baghda looked on as his comrades welcomed the men of the new caravan.  There were nearly fifty men in all.  They began pitching tents and starting fires.  Salim ordered small stools and many serving trays laden with fresh grapes and dates to be brought forth.
      When all was prepared, both companies sat together and ate.  Maruuk was constrained to join them, though he had long since lost his appetite.  Karshmin seemed delighted by his new guests and was quick to give them salt in the eternal gesture of friendship and trust.  Wine was brought out, much to Salim's surprise, and passed among them.  None of Salim's men dared to drink, but declined as politely as was possible. 
      Karshmin stiffened with offense at their refusals, but he said nothing.  All the while, his own men lingered near to their precious stone and grew drunker and drunker.  All, that is, except for Maruuk, who had taken a seat far away, fearing some deadly betrayal.
      The night wore on and the men of Karshmin's company grew increasingly rude and vicious.  Salim retained his dignity throughout, even as the mercenaries began to taunt his men, and in an attempt to calm them all, he called for his dancing girls.
      "Perhaps your men are ready for some entertainment?" he asked.
      Karshmin grinned wickedly, hungrily.  "Yes!  Let us have them!"
      Salim clapped his hands and musicians came forth to play stringed instruments, tambourines and drums.  Seven beautiful women then emerged from a nearby tent.  They wore wonderful transparent silks and enticing fabrics that lent mystery to their bodies.  They were lithe as they danced.  The men of Salim's company, made distrustful by the other's strange behaviour, relaxed and laughed as the dancing girls toyed with them and teased them.  Karshmin's men, however, did not regard the women's flirtatiousness with the same affection, but glared at them with eyes that belied an evil hunger within them.  Overcome by some need or lunacy, they began dancing with the girls, leering, groping, and gnashing their teeth as though they were a pack of jackals.  One man grabbed a girl, laughing maniacally, and practically threw her to the ground.  The motion frightened her and she screamed.
      "Quiet, whore!" he yelled.
      Salim leapt to his feet as the mercenary drew his sword and brought it to the maiden's throat.  "You dare to threaten a woman?" he roared.
      The musicians ceased their playing as the rest of the dancing girls fled back to their tents. 
      "I'm just having a little fun," grinned the mercenary.  "You're not the Lawgiver."
      Salim's men stood and drew themselves protectively in front of the retreated women as the swarthy merchant strode forth.  "Release her!" he demanded.  "Karshmin, reign in your man here before he offends the sacred bond of salt."
      Much to Salim's surprise, Karshmin only laughed at him.  "Bond of salt?  Do you hold by such rituals?  No rituals hold us here!  We are men of the stone!  We have foregone the rituals of men, their rites and deeds offend us!  We make our own laws and our own fate.  Leave your woman with us and we will forgive your insolence."
      Maruuk looked on in terror as Salim drew himself up and removed his outer jacket.  His face seemed to turn black with his anger.  "I will give you one chance to release her," he said slowly, his arms burgeoning with a strength that his jacket had hidden.
      Karshmin laughed through bared teeth.  "You shall not have her!"
      "Very well!" cried Salim.  "Then know my true nature and despair!"
      Suddenly, a great cloud of sulphurous smoke belched forth and where Salim had once stood, now a great Efreet floated in the air and towered above them.  His skin was black as ebony, his hair was like flame, his mouth was full of sharp fangs.  The men of his company vanished like smoke.  The women also disappeared as the caravan disintegrated like sand from an hourglass. 
      Maruuk cowered upon the ground.  He searched for the goatherds and muleteers, but found that they had fled.  He had been left alone with Karshmin and his horrible company to suffer whatever fate was about to befall them.
      The Efreet roared in a loud voice:  "A curse upon your company!  You have broken the bond of salt.  You offend the gods with your debauchery and slanders.  May your deaths be horrible, your graves unmarked and your lives in the afterworld be filled with despair!"  The ground shook as he spoke and smoke poured from his hot, burning body as though he were a living volcano.  Then, having spoken his dread curse, he vanished.
      A great clap of lightning shot forth from the cloudless sky and smote the stone atop its wagon.  The men of Karshmin's company quaked as they turned to their obelisk and found that it had cracked into two smoking hunks of rock.
      Wind began to whip through the camp.  Maruuk dove for cover beneath the stone's wagon, but the other men, driven mad by their own conduct and fate, spun about in a frenzy, desperate to escape their ruin.
      The wind increased, throwing sand in a torrent.  Men cried out as the sand ripped at their clothing and tore at their flesh.  Karshmin shrieked as the wind began spinning around him, tearing the skin from his muscle, then the muscle from his bones.       
      Maruuk al-Baghda could not watch, but hid his eyes.  All he could do was listen in terror as the other mercenaries screamed and wailed in their death agonies.  The wind howled in anger all through the night, swallowing the evil men in sand.  In the morning, Maruuk woke, amazed to find himself still alive.  He crawled from beneath the wagon, which was now half buried in sand, and emerged to find himself alone upon a newly formed sand dune.
      He had been spared. 
      Maruuk immediately fell to his knees and gave thanks.  "I am a humble servant of Fate.  Without Her there is no light, no life, no self, and no love."
      Maruuk stood up and began walking.  He had a long way to go if he was going to make it back to the city, and he had no water and no provisions. 
      The sun rose hot above him.  By mid-day, his skin began to blister.  There was no shade of umbrella or turban here, and without water he knew that he would die.  He walked on, however, determined that he had been saved for some greater purpose.  Fate was fickle, he knew, but She had brought him this far.  She would not abandon him.
      But even despite his great faith, he did not get far.  The sun of afternoon baked him thoroughly and robbed him of his strength.  He did not sweat, and every breath came as if he stood within a great furnace and inhaled stinging fumes.
      As the sun began to wane in the west, he collapsed.  "I can walk no further," he whispered.  "But, perhaps I can crawl."  He lifted his head and looked out.  There, not far away, was an oasis.  He had not seen it before, but it stood out clearly, now, against the featureless landscape; several large palm trees swaying in the wind above a clear blue pool, and beside the pool a tent of the finest silk.
      He laughed to himself, certain that his eyes were playing tricks, but he crawled forth nevertheless.  Within half an hour he had made it to the edge of the palm trees, but when he arrived he saw that there was no pool, only sand.  He laughed again and laid his head upon the ground.  "So it must be..." he sighed.
      Then, a miraculous thing happened.  A woman emerged from the tent.  She went over to Maruuk and lifted up his head.  He saw that she was beautiful and kind.  Her eyes were dark and sweet as dates.  Her skin was bronze, her hair ebony black.  A fine purple vest covered her chest and just managed to contain her ample bosom.  Her legs were covered only with a thin gauze of linen.  Her hips burgeoned beneath the cloth, soft and warm.  She lifted Maruuk's head with her hands beneath his chin and smiled.
      "Who is it that comes to my oasis?" she asked.
      "My name---"  he rasped, his throat dry as bone.  "My name is Maruuk.  Maruuk al-Baghda."
      "Do you wish to drink Maruuk al-Baghda?"
      "Yes!" he croaked in desperation.  "But do not tease me.  Clearly there is no water here!"
      She smiled gently.  "That is true," she said.  "But not all is as it seems."
      "What do you mean?  Do you have water here?  Where?"
      "Let me show you," she said.  Then, she pulled back her vest and exposed her breasts.  They were clearly heavy with milk, for the precious white stuff just glistened like droplets of dew at the tips of her nipples, but ripe as they were, they stood out from her chest as though she were very young.
      "What are you doing?" asked Maruuk.
      "You see, dear Maruuk," she said.  "I am the oasis, and you, beloved of Fate, shall have your fill."  She cupped her breast and lowered herself to him.  "Drink," she said.  "Drink deeply."
      Maruuk lunged for her breast and drank.  The milk ran down the back of his throat and flowed so richly that he could not take it all in.  Milk ran down his chin and spilled onto the sand, and still he drank, unable to quench his thirst.  She held him and caressed his head, and as she did so, his prick began to rise.  She seemed to sense it, for she began cooing softly to him, her hands stroking his flesh beneath his shirt.
      She took his head in her hands and pushed him away.  "Now, there is something you must do for me.  The magic of the oasis must be replenished."
      "Name it!" he gasped.
      She rolled him onto his back and unbuttoned his trousers.  She took his engorged cock and brought it to her lips.  "You must feed me," she whispered.  “Are you willing?”
      “I am!”
      With deft strokes, she licked the shaft of his penis, grabbing it at the base and squeezing it gently.  She was masterful.  Her lips took him in and she swayed and moaned as she seemed to beg for his cum to fill her.  Within moments she had summoned him, but stopped, denying his orgasm in order that she might tease him for a while more.  Then, when it seemed he could stand it no longer, she grabbed his cock and gave a hard stroke downward.  He came as though the orgasm had started from his feet and shot a great spray into her mouth.  His eyes fell shut and he lay there, exhausted.
      "There is just one more thing," she said.  “It’s a simple thing, really, but I must mention it.”
      "Yes?" he asked, his head fogged with the drug of sex.
      "You must stay with me forever.  We will nourish each other until death takes us both.  Is this acceptable?"
      "Yes," he moaned.  "Oh, yes..."

The Dragon's Bride, by Vincent Darlage | Stories by Vincent N. Darlage and Mark van Dyk | Nashville 2 Campaign