Page 5 of The Eyes of Tamburah
Shyla waggled a booted foot at him. “The monks and acolytes walk the sands every sun jump.”
“Oh, right. Good.” Banqui shouldered a pack and then peered at the clock. “Almost angle one-fifty. If we hurry we can return before full dark.”
She followed him through the tunnels. The air warmed as they ascended. The hot gingery anise scent of the desert dominated as the corridors brightened with sunlight. Since Shyla lived close to the surface and Banqui worked in the desert, neither of them had any trouble adjusting to the brilliance. Their skin color was also similar. It naturally darkened when exposed to the sunlight—the longer the exposure, the darker the skin. A survival mechanism that had evolved as their sun grew hotter and hotter.
The skin tones of the citizens of Zirdai ranged from the darkest brown all the way to a tawny color. Many of those so-called “ghosts” who lived in Zirdai had never exposed their skin to the sun and had no desire to either. It was a hard concept for Shyla to fathom.
Living with the monks, she was considered an acolyte and had been required to be topside at least a few angles of every sun jump. Plus the fact that there were historical ruins, cities, and other amazing discoveries buried by the sands and just waiting for them to discover sent shivers along her skin. Not only ancient temples, but tombs, forests, oceans, and long extinct animal bones had all been slowly buried by the sand the last hundred thousand circuits, forcing the people to dig underground to survive as their world’s water level dipped deeper and deeper. And, after learning about all the wonders in the cities of Koraha, she longed to visit them all.
Banqui motioned for her to stop and wait when they neared one of Zirdai’s many exits. He peeked around the corner and cursed, withdrawing. “Cleaning crew. All right, pull your hood down low, stick close to me and follow my lead.”
Unease bubbled, but she tugged the material over her head and down to her nose, keeping her gaze on his boots. The crew, while not trained soldiers, were part of the Water Prince’s guard.
Striding out as if on a mission, Banqui called a greeting to the men and women shoveling and sweeping the vermillion-colored sand from the entrance. Another vital service. If left to its own devices, the tiny grains would eventually bury the entire city, blocking all the entrances and air shafts.
They reached topside. The heat pressed against Shyla’s sun cloak. Drawing the hot air into her lungs required effort. She squinted in the harsh light. The distant stubby vegetation and dunes appeared as if undulating in a breeze—an optical illusion caused by the waves of heat rising from the surface of Koraha. The light pink sky a pale reflection of the reddish-orange sand.
Banqui kept walking, taking one of the popular paths that snaked away from the city and was easy to travel on since the sand had been compressed down by many pairs of boots. Shyla peered over her shoulder, but no one followed them. The only things behind them were the groups of one-story structures made of brightly colored sand and stained glass—Zirdai’s top level. The colors were a defiant gesture against the desert’s unchanging landscape. Each cluster marked an entrance into the city below. They also served as a brilliant landmark for travelers.
An image of a desiccated corpse half-buried in the sand rose unbidden in her mind. When she was a little over five circuits old, the monks had shown Shyla what happened when a person was topside during the sun’s killing angles. Was that her fate if they didn’t find The Eyes? Would she feel her blood boiling in her veins, or would she be unconscious by then? Shyla concentrated on remembering the series of paths Banqui traveled in order to banish the fear simmering in her chest.
Banqui turned off the road and shuffled through the soft sand. He counted under his breath. Stopping when he reached twenty, he crouched down and swept the grains away from a round flat stone. An iron ring rested on top. Banqui yanked on the ring, sliding the slab to the side and exposing a dark hole.
Shyla glanced around, but no other structures marred the desert landscape. “The temple?”
He waved a hand, indicating a big mound in the distance. “We uncovered the top story a kilometer from here, but I always have my diggers make an escape tunnel just in case of a collapse.”
Oh. “Then this must be how your thief was able to enter undetected.”
He frowned at her. “It was the first place I checked. It was undisturbed. And unless the thief can float above the sands like a velbloud, he or she would have left tracks.”
And Banqui was well qualified to determine if the sand had been disturbed. The man was rumored to see buried buildings when others saw nothing but dunes.
He sat on the edge, then lowered his body into the darkness. “Watch. There’s a bit of a drop.”
Shyla’s chest squeezed and her hands itched to hold a map. Too bad a map that predicted the future and showed her what she might encounter below had not been invented. Dropping down into the unknown wasn’t high on her “to-be-accomplished” list. However the sun neared the end of its jump so she smoothed her cloak and gathered her courage.
Grabbing the edge of the hole, she hung from her hands, but her feet didn’t touch the ground. She let go. After a second of weightlessness, she hit the floor. Hard. The impact sent a pulse of pain up her calves and into her knees.
“That was more than a bit of a drop,” she said, wiping her hands.
“Not for me.” Banqui hunched over in the narrow tunnel. He held a druk lantern. It glowed white, illuminating the vermillion sand arcing over them.
She gestured to the rounded walls that appeared a bit…soft. “How do you know it won’t collapse?”
He smiled. “Because my crew dug it and they are very serious about their safety.”
Good to know. Shyla stayed close as Banqui navigated the tight corridor. It didn’t take long until the sand walls were replaced with smooth stone.
“This is the third level of Tamburah’s temple,” Banqui said. His voice bounced off the hard surfaces. When he turned down another hallway, small clouds of dust succeeded each of his steps.
As her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, shapes appeared. Faces had been carved into the walls. Gruesome expressions of pain, terror, and desperation contorted the visages of the men and women. Looking closer, she pulled away in revulsion. They were all eyeless. Some faces had gaping holes, others had tattered skin and mutilated sockets. A shiver crawled up her spine and she attempted to shake off the unease that, even without their eyes, they stared at her with accusation.
Sensing her interest, Banqui stopped and illuminated the carvings. The faces woke with the light’s touch, mouthing their suffering in a silent wail of anguish.
“Horrible yet so finely wrought,” Banqui said. “Tamburah’s temple has many hallways of the dead.” He moved ahead and led her down three more levels into a spacious room.
The round chamber had six entrances that disappeared into shadows. Rows of benches made a semi-circle pattern, facing an altar. Another face had been carved into the wall behind the altar. But this one was different. It filled the entire wall, and when Banqui drew closer, the light revealed a detailed pattern of blue and purple sand coloring the face.
