Beasts of the Seventh Crusade (The Crusades Book 4) (20 page)

"You must wake. I have a terrible feeling."

It was Artois' voice this time. Francois recognized the deep rumble of words, the simple declaration of simple thoughts. But what was Artois doing in his tent? He was supposed to be with the bodyguards, far on the other side of Damietta. Francois exhaled and his breath became a frozen cloud that hung in front of his face, and Francois let his arm free of the blanket to touch the cloud. It disappeared before he could make contact.

"Wake up."

That was Francois' own voice, the deep part of his mind that told the rest of him what to do. Francois rolled and shook his head. He kicked his legs and squinted his eyes. He tried to breathe, but couldn't. After a minute of struggle, Francois' eyes snapped open. He was awake.

The tent was empty. Olivia was not sleeping with him tonight; she was spending the night with one of the women who was sick. Raul and Artois were not in his tent. He kicked off his blankets. He had to pee.

Francois relieved himself outside. The stars were bright and burning over the dark desert. Francois could see small orange circles, brighter white ones—arrangements of stars of different sizes. He saw a streak of light cross the great darkness, and then it was gone, leaving a trail of brown debris in its wake. Francois was done urinating, but his penis was still hanging out while he stared into the sky, mesmerized. He felt as if there was a voice up there, something telling him that there was work to be done, work that was not for King Louis.

Cold and achy, Francois went back to his tent and put on his boots. He dressed in two tunics and placed a warm cap on his head, and then grabbed his marching pack. He had water, food, his bow and arrow, and basic medical supplies: clean bandages, a saw for amputations, and three tourniquets. With his things gathered, Francois set off across the camp, not completely sure of where he was going.

"Francois."

The voice was real this time, and it belonged to Artois. Francois spun and saw his older brother there, dressed for a night of adventuring. A wicked, plus-size battle axe was strapped to his back. They made eye contact, unsure of why the other was there, but at the same time, no explanation was needed.

"Boys," Raul said, emerging from the darkness. He was dressed for light traveling, with a black cloak and bow and arrow on his back. A rucksack hung off his belt, as well as a sword, and his eyes were bright. "The night is dark, but the stars are bright," Raul said.

"I heard a voice in my dreams," Francois said.

"I heard yours," Artois answered.

"I heard the voice of the desert," Raul said. "It sounds like the voice of the dragon of the French woods. I do not know, but it calls to me, it beckons."

"Let's be off then. We should go southeast, into the deep desert. There will be no crusaders, no Ayyubids; no one with good reason is out there."

Leaving Damietta was disturbingly easy. The trio walked out the front gate, and the sentries on duty let them go, either not noticing or not caring about three random, desert wanderers. They walked past the outer villages, where streams cut through sparsely cultivated fields of wheat and barley. The cottages were all dark and quiet, with only their cows and horses stirring in the twilight. A stray dog worried at a corpse in a ditch, and Francois pinched his nose as they passed the ugly scene. In France, dead people were buried or burned within a day, not left to rot where mangy dogs could gnaw on the bodies.

The boundary between desert and civilization was not a marked line, where men with faint hearts could check their fears. One moment there was a clear dirt road, with ditches and irrigation fields on either side; the next moment, they were in the wastelands. The wind blew mightily for just a moment, obscuring everything from sight and sound. The trio pinched their noses and closed their eyes, waiting for the windstorm to pass. The whining died down as quickly as it had begun, and they resumed their trek.

Cactuses, bones, hyenas, vultures . . . the desert was not empty. The sand was softer away from the constant stomp of men's boots and the muddiness of the rivers, and Francois' feet kept plunging calf-deep into the brown-yellow powder.

"We need to find shade before the sun comes up," Raul said, peering toward the horizon. Blue and purple clouds were appearing in the distance, their presence marking false dawn. But false dawn is only a warning that dawn is coming, and the sun rises early, burning the land with the vengeance of an evil warlord.

"There is no shade out here, unless we crouch beneath thin cacti," Francois said.

"We can survive a day in the sun, but no more," Artois said. Of the three, he alone wanted to face the harsh desert conditions for at least one day, confident in his body's ability to withstand dehydration and exhaustion.

They did not find any shade. The sun came over the horizon slowly, letting its girth fill the blue sky. In the glaring sunlight, Francois could see farther than he ever imagined, and the rolling sand dunes filled him with despair. The ever-shifting mounds of sand were larger than most buildings, and they made the desert into an impossible labyrinth. One could walk for two miles and turn around and see terrain that was nothing like that which had been crossed; such was the power of the wind to manipulate the Earth.

"Find me some tracks, boys. Dog, rat, snake . . . anything that will lead us to water."

"Suppose we find tracks, but they take us back to Damietta?"

"Then that is the will of the gods," Raul responded.

Just as the wind moved the sand, it moved the footprints of all living creatures in the desert. There were no tracks, no indications of which way to walk. The men just stayed on a southeastern course, while the sun hung like a bauble over their heads, evaporating the sweat on their faces as soon as it appeared.

The sun left as abruptly as it appeared. It was with a strange sense of sadness that Francois saw the ending of another day and the beginning of another night. It had been a day of slogging through the desert, following a feverish voice that had come from far away. Francois knew that he must follow the voice, though, or it would never let him rest.

They camped around a cactus grove, hoping the harsh, thorny plants would deter any large animals from bothering them at night. They did not set a watch; each man was too exhausted. They did not say that they would look like deserters if they ever returned to serve under King Louis; they were men associated with a vile criminal and had decided to quit the Seventh Crusade.

The next morning was overcast. Dark, grey clouds obscured the blue sky, and a slight breeze chilled the men's bones as they woke up.

"I am so thirsty," Francois said, as soon as he rose. Raul nodded and stared at the cacti, wondering where their water came from. They grew, therefore they drank. With a flash of inspiration, Raul hacked a leaf from a large cactus and saw precious water pouring from the opening, dissipating when it hit the sand.

"Open the cacti. We need the water more than they," Raul said.

They cut the cacti open with their blades, and drank and licked the plants until they sucked out of every drop of moisture they could. Francois couldn't explain why, but he felt like they were angering the Earth, inviting the wrath of nature.

Southeast was the direction. They walked and talked, discussing everything that had happened since they left Troyes. The dragon, joining King Louis' forces, Christof, Cyprus—they were exhausted just thinking about it all. Each man was soon lost in his own memories, and they almost missed the oasis in the middle of the ocean of sand.

Francois saw it first. As big as a small village, towering green trees formed a perfect circle off to the men's left, a mile east. It was a gem in the wastelands; an emerald and jade sanctuary that promised clean water, shade, and possibly food. The trio didn't even need to say anything; they just went toward the oasis.

"How can this be?" Artois said, as they entered the shade of the oasis canopy.

"Water is underground; in some places it is closer to the surface than others. This is one of those places, and life has sprung up around it. We may be the only people to ever see this place, a place of the gods," Raul answered.

The oasis was a paradise. In the center of it was a deep, blue pool of clean water. Plants and flowers were everywhere, a healthy collage of pinks, reds, blues, and purples. The trees grew coconuts, and they dropped to the ground randomly, heavy enough to crack a man's skull but delicious otherwise. Fresh water, like the mist created by a river, was the only smell that Francois could identify. When he filled his canteen from the blue pool, the water tasted sweet, with a hint of lime.

"Are there any animals here?" Artois said, stripping down to his undergarments.

"What are you doing?" Raul asked.

"I'm going for a swim."

"Let's not rush into the water, Artois. There could be other people here. We should scout the area and wait a day, and if no one arrives, we'll relax."

"Very well," Artois grumbled. He briefly realized that he could follow his own father's orders better than any other man's orders. It was because Raul always explained his reasoning, he never insisted on obedience for the sake of authority.

"No tracks, no droppings. Perhaps no animals, except lizards and insects, have ever survived this deep into the desert? And why would they try? The only animals that could be here would have been brought here by men, and who would do that?" Francois asked.

"Just spread out and keep your eyes and ears open. Keep a hand on your weapons, too. We'll each go to the edge of the trees and plant an arrow in the dirt. Turn left and walk until you've seen another arrow, and then come back to camp. We can have this entire place scouted within an hour."

Raul's orders were followed without hesitation. When he spoke, only fools ignored his advice. Christof could have benefitted from listening to his younger brother, but such is the way of siblings. Francois and Artois each took a direction and an arrow, and they set off through the vegetation.

Artois reached the edge of the oasis without incident, and he planted his arrow.

Raul, too, found the desert again and put his arrow into the ground. If all went well, Artois would find his arrow, and he would find Francois' arrow.

Francois never reached the edge of the oasis. He was plodding through the foliage when a deep, angry snarl drew his attention. In a thicket of bushes, two yellow eyes looked at him with feral hatred. Francois' bow was up in a moment and he drew a bead on the eyes. If they moved, he would shoot to kill.

Another growl came from behind Francois. Without taking his bow off the first beast, he looked over his shoulder and saw a huge coyote. Its eyes were yellow and its fur black. The coyote's teeth were stained red, as if it had recently feasted on flesh. Francois' heart sped up, and he turned back to the first beast. The eyes were gone, but the bush shook like a quarrel was happening in its depths. A moment later, a bird burst out of the bushes and perched on a branch. It stared at Francois with the same hatred as the coyote.

Francois spun on his heels, expecting the second beast to attack, but it was gone. In its place was an identical bird—black feathers, long beak, angry eyes. Francois swallowed and looked straight up. There were dozens of birds, all of them staring at him. He let the tension off his bow and sprinted toward the desert. He reached the edge of greenery and sand and felt better in the desert, as if an invisible cloud of magic had eased its grip on his mind.

He turned and ran right, forgetting to plant his arrow in the sand. Francois ran and ran, and he soon saw Artois' arrow, exactly as it should be. Realizing that he forgot to plant his own, Francois turned and ran back the way he came, his body beginning to fade. He had not eaten properly in two days, and he had only drunk enough water to reside in the desert, not to push the limits of his fitness. Within a few minutes, Francois slowed and he was no longer sweating. His mouth was dry and his skin burning. When he saw his father's form, looking worried, Francois fell to his knees.

"I saw . . . coyotes."

"What, where?"

"In there," Francois gestured weakly at the oasis. "There is evil here, I can sense it."

"You are delirious, my son. Come; let us find your brother and some food." Raul tried to pull Francois into the darkness of the trees, but Francois resisted.

"No! The coyotes changed . . . into birds. I saw it Father, I swear."

Raul's eyes grew wide, and he felt his own heart start pounding. In Damietta, Raul had spent a bit of time listening to local mystics, men who carried on the tales of the desert in an oral tradition. The words of one of them, the oldest one, came screaming back to Raul's mind.

Beware the shape-changers! They are demons who will lure you into the wastelands and feast on your blood! They become what they eat . . . they eat the dead.

"We must find Artois," Raul said simply.

They circled the oasis and found Artois' arrow, but no Artois. He had likely gone back to the blue pool and was waiting for them. They tried to yell, but the trees bounced the sound back, sending it uselessly into the desert. It was pointless to try anything except venturing in and finding Artois. They could not leave him.

Francois, with better vision than his father's, went first. How could they be so stupid? They had callously wandered into this false paradise, thinking that the gods were simply being generous. But no, just as a beautiful woman can lure a man to places of darkness, so can nature deceive a righteous path. The oasis was unnaturally quiet as they walked, and Francois stomped his foot on the ground, trying to make a little noise. Without the sound, he felt as if his senses would be dulled by the silence.

Artois was swimming in the blue pool. His clothes were hanging on a branch, and his weapons were piled at the water's edge. He was waist deep in the pool and his hair was slicked back, his hardened muscles glistening.

"Artois, get out of there!" Raul yelled.

"Hey, where have you two been? I got so worried that I decided to take a swim!"