It took three days for John to be able to stomach food again, two more for him to stand, and another still to begin the march. It has now been nine days since the encounter with the Night Fiend. Though he limps, John does his best to keep pace as Yael leads the way.

  “Come on now. Almost there.”

  “Are you going to tell me where we are going?”

  “Why bother now? You will know it when you see it.”

  “You had better be right about that.” John brings his water bladder to his lips and squeezes out the last swig. “We are now out of water.”

  “We still have plenty of Lezzan blood.”

  Yael offers his own bladder, which John declines.

  “Be that way then. Just do not cry when it is all gone.”

  Yael pours a large, flowing gulp of thick blood into his mouth. The smell was foul when he first harvested the life liquid a week and two days ago. It has only worsened since.

  “Let us stop for a meal. We need our strength when we get there.”

  The Drak’aan plops his full weight onto the sands. He has another drink of blood followed by desiccated Lezzan meat. John tried some of that a few days prior. It has the texture of wood and the flavor of bad cheese. Or very good cheese, if you are the type to enjoy that.

  John reaches into his pack. It was lighter than he would have liked at the start of this little escapade. Now it’s just about empty. Only one red fruit left. The only food he can tolerate since arriving on this arid hell hole. The rind is thick and hearty like a melon while the inner flesh is firm and juicy like mango. The taste is harshly tart, even more so than unsweetened cranberry. They are very good. But after over a week of eating little else, he has long since tired of the taste. John never expected to crave the delectabile flavor of cold, canned macchiato stew and stale hardtack.

  Yael tosses a small, opaque, glass bottle lightly on the sand next to John.

  “That might be more your taste. I was planning to save it for after. Might be of more use to you than before.”

  John takes the bottle and pulls out the wooden stopper. It smells like whisky. Tastes like whisky too. John decides not to ask what it really is and just pretends it is whisky. The army always handed out strong liquor before a battle. This may be an omen.

  “Thanks for the liquid courage. Are you ready to tell me what to expect?”

  “A one foot tall magic toad man who speaks riddles.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m getting used to not knowing anything.”

  “That is a bad habit to develop. Tell me, how does an animal as ugly as you end up here? I have been to four of the five worlds and never seen nor heard of a creature such as you.”

  “If I knew, I would tell you.”

  “Come on. There has to be more to it than that.”

  John, having finished his whisky and fruit, tosses the seeds to the sand and puts the glass away for future use. From his bag he finds a suitable drawing implement. A long dagger of crude iron.

  “I was in the museum, where I worked.”

  “Museum?”

  “A place to store and study ancient artifacts.”

  “Ah, you were a scholar.”

  “No. I was a… janitor.”

  “A servant? That is far below even my lowest expectation.”

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  John is now thankful for the whisky. It is the only reason he has decided not to deck Yael in his snout.

  “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born into royalty.”

  “Born?”

  Yael snaps off a hunk of Lezzan meat and crunches it as if it were hard toffee.

  “I ascended to the throne by right of tournament. Do you know what the last King’s son was doing before my exile? Stitching fashionable boots for well-to-do Drak’aan women.”

  John looks down at Yael’s wide, splayed toes with sharp raptor claws. How does one like him even wear boots?

  “What people would be so stupid as to denote their ruling class to a mere bloodline?”

  John nodded. Granted it was easy enough for him to agree being a child of democracy. Humanity did have many, many kings.

  “We don’t have tournaments to decide our jobs where I come from. I had to work or starve.”

  “A strong boy like you could do no better than wipe away other’s grime?”

  John wishes he had another bottle. Though that would make his drawing in the sand less coherent.

  “I was meant to inherit my father’s farm. Then he and my mother got very sick. Spanish Flu, they called it. I was off on another continent fighting someone else's war. By the time I returned, the farm was in ruin and they were both gone. I was forced to sell the land for a pittance. I considered moving away to a city. Getting an industrial job. Or perhaps opening a shop. But I couldn’t bear to leave Kansas. I wasn’t ready to throw away what little I had left. So I moved from job to job, until I settled as a janitor in a small museum off the beaten path. I call it a museum. It was merely a glorified barn with whatever random trinkets the owner fancied. Most were fakes. Shrunken heads made of goat hide with modern thread. Dried and mutilated sea creatures made to look like monsters of myth. Skulls of purest crystal carved many millennia ago, with the distinct etchings of an electric drill. The owner thought it was all real. More money than sense, that one. Paid me more than I deserved so I did not complain. Besides, it was amusing. Sorting through the fakes and forgeries, seeing everything they got wrong. Then I found this.”

  In the sand, John had drawn an amulet. Circular with five smaller circular indents attached to each other by a pentagram.

  “This was genuine. Large and beautiful gems of many different colors. A metal like gold, but somehow stronger. Intricate metal work that can match or perhaps even surpass the best jewelers of my age. It must have been worth a fortune. Yet here it was rotting away. I held it in my hand, considered trying to bring it someplace that could better appreciate the magnitude. Then, I woke up with sand in my mouth. Among other, more private locations.”

  Yael inspects the drawing carefully.

  “I have seen this before.”

  “You have? Where?”

  “You are in luck. We are already almost there.”

  “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  John rose with renewed energy. Perhaps there was some answer to this mystery after all.

  “Fine, fine. Just finished anyway.”

  Yael follows John for the first time in this trek. Marching at double speed further into the desert. Another hour passes before Yael calls out.

  “We are here, John of Kansas.”

  John turns in a circle. Looking for this great receptacle of their needed knowledge. All he sees is more sand in all directions.

  “Where is it?”

  Yael keeps walking. Holding his claw out in the air in front of him.

  “A place such as this hides by being where you cannot see. Your eyes are not to be trusted. Look beyond them, and see with your desires.”

  John closes his eyes. Trying to imagine home. He opens again, only to see sand.

  “I don’t understand. What do I-”

  Yael is gone. John is left alone in the dry heat.

  “Yael! Don’t you dare leave me here!”

  “See without your eyes.”

  John cannot tell from where Yael’s voice is coming. It seems distant yet intimate. Miles away yet close enough he can almost smell Yael’s bloody breath.

  “Look with your desires.”

  John closes his eyes again. He imagines… he imagines a big ice cream sundae. With extra chocolate sauce and no nuts, just as he likes it. He imagines a nice rare steak with horseradish and potatoes. He imagines his bed. No, a better bed. Soft and clean with thick sheets. He imagines his old dog Scampers. Best friend a boy could ever have. He imagines Susan Collins and what could have been had he gained the courage to ask her. He imagines every regret made and every could have been that was not. He imagines his parents. Smiling happy and hugging him close as the war ends. He imagines Danny. Poor, poor Danny.

  He opens his eyes. He is within the stone walls of a grand temple. One that puts the old cathedrals of Europe to shame. A history told in stained glass and tapestry. A ceiling painted so beautifully it gives Michelangelo a run for his money. Gold, silver, and precious gems abound. And right there for all to see, the central piece of this entire exhibit, a giant symbol hands from the central stage much like a Cross on Earth. A giant circle, there within five more circular gemstones. One yellow, one green, one blue, one red and one white. All attached together in a pentagram.

  Then John sees a one foot tall toad man in a robe.

  “All men feel me. Weak or strong the pull is the same. How far I carry you depends only on how far you let me. The wisest only feel my presence when envisioning the impossible. What am I?”