Partly that was due to the detailed maps in his backpack; but also he was guided by one of his own inventions, an instrument that in slightly different form would one day be known as a compass. The scientist's strange instrument, fashioned of wood and glass, included a primitive dial, with a needle that pointed to magnetic north.
Right now, however, that needle wavered, strangely, pulled away, drawn to the east.
Under the purple sky and the ivory moon, the odd little figure halted. Philos turned toward the direction the needle of his invention indicated—something was happening out there, in the dark desert night, something big . . . something that wasn't science... .
At the small campsite, Arpid sat up, watching the sorceress do her mysterious work; suddenly the glowing aura disappeared, and the slender woman seemed almost to collapse, though really she only slumped, her shoulders slack, her head drooping, as she remained seated there on the sand. It was as if all of the energy in her, every ounce of air, had suddenly vanished, like the snuffing out of a candle's flame.
The little horse thief believed in magic, no question; but had never seen it so plainly at work, and he was wide-eyed with astonishment. He didn't speak for a while, afraid to, as she sat there, slouched, reeling from the intensity of her healing efforts.
Tentatively, Arpid spoke. "Is he ... cured?"
For long moments, the sorceress said nothing. She felt depleted, used up .. . and she had glimpsed into the assassin's soul, and memories and images from his violent past were spinning through her mind. Such a brutal being.. . and yet an innate goodness ... she had much to ponder.
Cassandra arose and went to her own bedroll, and lay down, preparing for sleep.
"Well?" Arpid asked. "Will he live?"
"It is in the hands of the gods," she said.
And she turned away from him.
But the little thief had seen whose touch had conveyed the magic to the feverish Akkadian, and it hadn't been the hands of gods ... had it?
Mathayus awoke at dawn.
It was a slow waking, blinking and bleary-eyed, and Arpid thought the Akkadian looked to be suffering the worst hangover since time began; but the man was, at least, alive.
When Mathayus's eyes came into focus, a scraggedy-bearded face was hovering over him, and gave him a start. "Ahhh!"
"She cured you," the owner of the face said. The horse thief. "I knew it! I could feel her magic ... I could see it!"
Slowly, falteringly, the Akkadian propped himself up on an elbow. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, fighting grogginess. "Cured me? She..."
"She's not just a pretty face, partner."
Mathayus looked across the now dwindled campfire at the still-slumbering Cassandra. She looked innocent, somehow, and if he had ever seen a lovelier creature, he couldn't recall it. Of course, he did have a blinding headache....
She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and came awake; her eyes went directly to his, and their gazes locked. Her relief at his survival was evident, as a tiny, tender smile flickered across her lips.
Feeling awkward, suddenly, the Akkadian said, "We should break camp."
And they did, without any talk of the remarkable events of the day previous. Perhaps an hour later— Mathayus astride Hanna, with Cassandra and Arpid riding horses bequeathed them by Thorak and his dead warriors—they were again under the desert sun, jogging along. Mathayus was still without focus—surprised to be alive, not yet forming his next move. For the first time in days, his mind was not filled with Memnon.
"I want to thank you," the Akkadian said to the sorceress.
She turned away, smiling to herself, happy for his gratitude, but not willing to let him know it. Then she looked at him, her face a beautiful blank mask, and said, "No thanks needed... It was self-preservation. If you had died, where would—"
But an explosion interrupted her—a loud roar that seemed to rock the desert floor.
The thief looked up at the clear sky, confused. "Thunder? Without clouds?"
Mathayus was noting a billowing of black smoke over a nearby dune. He sniffed the air and a familiar chemical scent tickled his nostrils. "That is not thunder ... but I think I know who caused it...."
A tiny fellow came running out of the black cloud, like a figure fleeing a burning house; only Philos the scientist was not terrified, rather he was ecstatic. "It works! ... It finally works!"
Running gleefully down the sandy slope, the soot-smudged little man saw the trio before him and his happiness only grew. As he ran up to them, he all but did a little dance.
"Ah, I knew it!" the scientist said. "I knew you were close, my lady—I felt it last night. .. and an invention of mine confirmed it... so I headed this way."
The scientist bowed, a low, respectful gesture, before Cassandra, saying, "My lady oracle .. . And you, barbarian—hello!... You see? I have perfected the Chinese compound! My magic powder works!"
The three travelers responded to this ball of enthusiastic energy with a stunned silence.
"By the way," the scientist said casually, "would any of you happen to have any water? I'm utterly out."
Their goatskin water pouch was near dry, too, but the scientist suggested they watch for birds, and follow them, for "our winged friends" would surely know the way to the nearest oasis.
And within an hour, they had reached an oasis so beautiful, so perfect, it should have been a mirage; but it was not, it was real, as the birds circling over its ring of palms confirmed. Just beyond the oasis, mountains rose steeply, and the desert seemed only part of the world, now, not its entirety.
Along the rock-bottomed pool, crystal waters shimmering under the sun, Cassandra knelt, cupping her hands with cool liquid. She glanced up at Mathayus, standing beside her, still moving on wobbly legs, but clearly on the mend.
She asked, "Do we dare drink? Or is it poisoned?"
Before the assassin could answer, the little thief came running by and hurled his fetid body into the water, making a huge splash, submerging himself.
"It is now," Mathayus said.
Nonetheless she drank the water down, and the Akkadian crouched beside her and filled his goatskin pouch and several water bottles.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," he admitted.
"Well... what will we do next? Where will go?"
"I feel as though I've returned from the underworld, prematurely ... and I admit... I can't think clearly, yet."
She touched his arm. Her smile was as glorious as this perfect oasis. "You will. Time. Just a little time..."
Perfect oasis, he thought. Too perfect?
She began to say something, and he said, "Quiet, woman," his eyes slowly scanning their surroundings. His hand moved toward his scimitar.. .
... and around them, sand seemed to explode from the ground, ringing the water spot!
Men in leathers and animal skins, hard and fierce, rose from the holes they'd hidden in, tossing off rattan sand-colored mats, and aiming crossbows and slings at the little party.
"Oh dear," said Philos, on his knees by the waterside.
"Bandits," Mathayus breathed. But he had seen their like before... he knew these markings, the bone-and-bead necklaces....