Desert Rhapsody - Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Abal had not slept well. The men who had kidnapped him had been taking out their anger on him the entire way, lashing him with a whip whenever they felt like it. His attendants had all been killed, and the camels that had once belonged to him were now laden with gold, silver, jewels, spices, and silk, driven onward by bandits. He had meant to take them by ship from the port of Suez to Baghdad, where he would open up his social circle and scheme for a post as a provincial official.

But now they were riding camels through the desert, fleeing for their lives as if the Devil were on their heels. They had been running for more than a month.

This was not the sort of experience Abal was used to. These people had dug gemstones out of a tomb and sold them to him, only to later put a knife to his throat and force him to write a letter, ordering his men to send the stolen goods back to Memphis. All because he had stopped in Fustat for a few days because he lacked an ornament for an exquisite golden box, disaster had fallen on him out of nowhere.

If not for the fact that their behavior was far too abnormal, he would have thought the Governor of Alexandria had caught wind of his plans and resorted to some filthy trick to send men after him. But these were indeed tomb robbers, no mistake. Men like this should never have had the nerve to become bandits, yet right now they were astonishingly vicious. They had attacked his caravan, seized his wealth, dragged him into the desert, tethered him with a long rope, bound his hands in front of him, and left him tied to a camel to be jolted around night after night.

Not since he had left Egypt as a child had he suffered like this, but the experience he had accumulated back then was still ingrained in him. He stayed silent, endured the beatings, conserved his strength with purpose, and waited for the right chance to escape. What was worth noting was the reason they had abducted him. Their terror was too unnatural. They had forced him to write a letter sending the gemstones back to where they had come from, while they fled in the opposite direction. Every one of them was as jumpy as a startled bird. The first thing they did each day upon waking was check beneath their clothes and shout neurotically,

“The curse! The Curse of the Stone!”

Whatever that unknown curse was, even if money could not solve it, men still looked forward to better days ahead. Abal promised them a generous ransom, so for the time being, his life was not in danger. He silently calculated their direction. They had followed the Nile River south and west, making a wide detour into the desert. Their destination should be Ghost City.

Anyone who had lived long in Egypt had heard the legends of Ghost City. It lay deep in the desert, destroyed by heavenly fire and earthquakes. Legend said the city had been built by the Devil, and anyone who went there would be haunted by the Devil, swallowed by heavenly fire, and devoured by venomous snakes and scorpions. Who knew what twisted logic had come up with it, but the tomb robbers thought they could fight poison with poison and use Ghost City’s curse against the gemstones. They planned to hide there until the curse on their bodies vanished completely.

But how could a gang of desperate men ever work together with one heart? An invisible fear hung over them, stretching every nerve taut. Quarrels, curses-every time they stopped, they erupted into infighting, and their numbers dwindled along the way. The madness grew worse and worse, a vicious cycle feeding itself. It was only halfway through the journey that Abal glimpsed a clue. That night, as usual, they ran until dawn, when the leader, Habe the Giant Hand, ordered them to make camp. It was said that those huge hands of his could twist off a lion’s head. If Abal had to say, they might not have the courage to face a lion, but twisting off a man’s head after stabbing him was well within their ability.

His men were full of complaints, but all they did was scrape shallow pits beside a dune and make do lying in them. No one was even willing to light a fire. Another round of shoving and fighting broke out, though at least no one died this time. But Abal had learned from experience. He did not fall asleep right away, only closed his eyes to rest. Sure enough, before long, a scream split the night sky.

He opened his eyes clear-headed and let out a breath.

“It’s here again! The Devil! The Devil!”

“Hop! What the hell are you doing?”

Everyone snatched up their knives like frightened birds. The little man named Hop had gone mad. He sprang up, his clothes torn open, and charged at them with a savage expression.

Abal’s heartbeat truly skipped for an instant. The Moonlight was bright, illuminating Hop’s chest in a wash of bloodred. That was absolutely not what a normal person should look like. His chest clearly showed the throbbing of his organs-his intestines, ribs, and beating heart.

The blood did not pour out with his organs as common sense dictated. It was as if they could still be seen moving, steaming hot. The scene could only be called hell on earth. Then Abal thought of everyone in this party except himself likely carrying… this cursed thing on their bodies.

“Damn it, this is the Devil’s place! The Devil has marked us all!” Hop had lost his mind, snot and tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to stay here anymore! You all tricked me! You tricked me into Jahannam! You can all die here! I’m leaving! I’m leaving! I’m leaving!”

His eyes were bulging with fury as he lunged toward the camels and tore at the bundles, still not forgetting to grab money. Meanwhile, his companions, united in appearance but divided at heart, cursed and reached for their weapons. Some vented madness by going insane; others did it by killing. The tomb robbers had already been reduced to ten men. Habe the Giant Hand roared as he swept past Abal, rushed over, and drove a knife into Hop’s chest.

The transparent place finally broke, and blood gushed out with a splash. The corpse was stabbed more than a dozen times. Hop rolled down the dune with his eyes wide open, still clutching the gold he had thought of until death. The blood trail stretched long and gruesome. As usual, no vultures came. The desperate men stood in the dead silence, chilled to the bone, with only Habe’s frenzied panting audible. Faint Moonlight spilled down, and the sea of sand revealed an abyss before them.

“Listen well, you pack of cowards.” Habe stood before them with a hideous expression. His clothes were open too, and beneath his collarbones, flesh and blood were visible. Abal held his breath. His heartbeat was a little fast, but he still calmly lowered his head, avoiding Habe’s man-eating gaze. Habe panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot, his yellow teeth sharp beneath his beard. He looked like a living Devil. In truth, there was one most uncanny thing no one was willing to say aloud: they had been killing one another all along the way, spilling blood everywhere, yet not a single wild beast, vulture, venomous snake, or scorpion had come after the scent to eat them.

They had not encountered a single living thing along the way, as if they were walking through the underworld, ready to be swallowed by the sea of sand at any moment. Habe roared,

“Anyone who screams nonsense again will end up just like him!”
Abal seized the chance to half-bury a piece of his undershirt in the sand.

After that, the tomb raiders kicked and beat him along with the camel-horse foaming at the mouth, then kept fleeing for their lives. The torn-open bundles were never fastened again, and gold spilled along the way, but no one dared pick it up. Abal touched his stomach. For now, he did not feel anything wrong. Fortunately, he had an exceptionally knowledgeable lover, and that made him very proud. Though that lover never came to him of their own accord, he could still learn interesting things. For example, he had heard that if corpses were not disposed of properly, or if one ate recklessly, one could catch infectious diseases.

“Be especially careful of rats,” his woman had told him. “You’d better pay attention to hygiene.” Her face had been expressionless when she said it, because she was refusing to let him bring a pile of suitors’ heads into bed with her. But Abal naturally knew this was because she loved him. She was only angry that he had not found time to visit her for years. After he helped her solve a problem last time, they had gone several months without seeing each other again. He knew she had gone to Alexandria on business, and he had originally wanted to find her so they could go to Baghdad together. Now there was no point talking about that. In his letter, he had hinted for Fatini to find her and bring a ransom to save him. But he had not known he would be taken this far. He hoped she could catch up. He had faith in her.

Thinking of Jia Nan’s icy expression, he narrowed his eyes. His cracked lips were still dusted with coarse sand, just like her sharp tongue and teeth-painful and spicy when they bit.

He believed these people had caught an infectious disease. What else could it be? A curse? Back then, the great snow mountain they had seen beside the oasis, the Devil’s temptation-hadn’t she explained that away in just a few words? What the hell did this illiterate lot know? If Jia Nan saw this, she would definitely know what was going on. She knew everything. Digging into her was like digging for gold; she always gave him surprises. That was exactly what he loved about her.

Thinking about his lover from time to time let him relax for a while, but Abal was beginning to realize that the reason he had been brought into the desert was not simple. Not a single one of these people had tried to drag him down with them and infect him with the curse. That was not normal. There were no merciful saints here, so there was only one explanation: they needed him to stay healthy. He had heard that the Devil’s curse required a sacrifice. Abal kept his patience. The true chance to escape would only come after they entered the Ghost City.

On the eighth day, they entered the Ghost City. It was a towering, timeworn complex of buildings. Though its infamy had spread far and wide, it truly was magnificent. The stone city still had desolate porticoes, impossibly tall columns, and collapsed bricks and tiles. Only walls, stones, and roots remained in the entire city. Sand-stained leaves struggled out from beneath the rocks, silent and soundless.

A wind suddenly rose, whirling across the ground with a low howl, sweeping up black sand as it followed their footsteps. The camels neighed uneasily. No one spoke. Fear and exhaustion weighed down their steps like stones, slowing them as they waited for death to arrive. Abal had a strange feeling, as though the moment he arrived here, every sound around him had been swallowed whole, and the living were being devoured by this city.

The thought only flashed through his mind. Leaning against the camel beside him, he struggled with it into the wide-open ruins. The animals were utterly exhausted as well. One camel collapsed to its knees, and then the lead camel let out a mournful cry. No matter how they beat or cursed it, it refused to go any farther. The group had no choice but to anxiously eat some dry rations, drink water, and light a fire. Abal pretended to be exhausted and rested against a porch column, while in truth, he quietly picked up a shard of stone and used the shadow beside the bonfire to saw at the leather cord binding his hands.

He kept sawing until the third day. This was to wait for the camels to recover their strength. He had to drive all the camels away; otherwise, he would either die of thirst in the desert or end up playing a game of pursuit with them. Time was unbearably hard to pass. Every night, the sand wailed without stopping. The stars and moon gave no light, and no matter how large a fire they lit, it was useless. The vast Ghost City was empty, and everyone had ghosts in their hearts. The way the others looked at him grew more and more savage. He was no longer a wealthy hostage, but an outsider who wasted food and could be sacrificed first.

These people were going mad.

Abal decided it would be better to provoke a conflict first, take a beating, and exchange it for their carelessness. Before nightfall, he found an excuse to enrage the second-in-command, the irascible, monstrous Huosen. He mocked him and threw gold in his face, striking him until blood streamed down. The other man roared and charged up to him.

“Looks to me like your people have already forgotten you!” he bellowed. “Don’t think you’re still someone important here!”

He raised his whip and lashed down at Abal’s head and face. Abal lowered his head and endured it. Then he suddenly heard a hysterical scream. Firelight illuminated a camel that had walked into the middle of them. It slowly chewed its cud and lowered its head calmly. The bell around its neck rang once.

A dead man was sitting on its back.

Dead silence fell. Someone behind them trembled as he said, “That isn’t… our camel.”

Only the lead camel wore a bell, because the sound guided the other camels forward. Their lead camel was still properly tied up nearby, so where had this one come from? Eleven pairs of eyes watched the stiff old man slide down from the camel’s back. A leather pouch rolled into the yellow sand, and bloody glints scattered after it. Someone shouted like a madman, “Gems!”

Rubies rolled among silver coins, red as fresh blood. It was the very one Abal had once bought-the one that had brought disaster down on him. Footsteps sounded behind them, drawing closer and closer, like the God of Death coming to claim a life. The bell around the lead camel’s neck rang, drawing everyone’s gaze toward the gate. From the swirling black sand, a masked figure slowly emerged, leading a camel.

Abal panted softly as he looked at the newcomer. His eyes curved, and he let out a breath of laughter, baring his unshaven mouth-then immediately lowered his head so no one would see. He began straining against the leather cord around his wrists. It was nearly broken. He knew the chance to fight back and escape had come.

Only the person opposite him glanced at him from afar. Jiang Yuan said, “I brought the ransom as promised.” As if she were truly that dutiful, standing here for no other reason than to pay money and redeem the governor. Beneath her veil, her gaze swept over the tense group one by one. She did not look like someone who had brought money. She looked more like a vengeful ghost come to collect lives. “Let him go.”

I really don’t think what I wrote is scary at all.