10 October 2024 / 24 June 2025
JTPYO – King of the Waste [3] / the trap (excerpt: "Cuetio")
Copyright © 2024, 2025 by Kristi A. Wilson (the first time "the trap" was published in my blog was 2017)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.
(from King of the Waste)
Our Story Thus Far: Cuetio is a character from King of the Waste [3] / the trap – he has already appeared as the MC in "the children's gifts" which is in the last part of "the trap." He's a boy age 14, a minor among the Children of God; the tribe has taken refuge in Onyx Hold when their way to an oasis is found to be blocked by hostile raiders.
Naxosos (sovereign of the Children of God) has via sorcery effected the release of the tribe's fighting force and, just a couple of hours into the morning (about two AM).
The Children of God, with the assistance of the sorcerer Joliel and a couple of the newly-released warriors, are now on their way to the oasis, their original destination, Kahechi Latho.
The narrative is from the point of view of the youth Cuetio. He is with his father and their three animals (a cow and two goats), as well as his sister and his elderly auntie as they leave Onyx Hold in the early morning hours.
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Around us people filled waterskins: Two of the Six each held up a large skin from which the Children of God took water.
All rejoiced and expressed blessings at the sight of our giants, who smiled and responded "We are glad. We are glad." (One will never hear these men say "praise God" – they are unbelievers, though as I have said they are righteous and responsible, generally, in their actions.)
Two of six war-horses stood with their heads down at ease on the flat place, swishing their tails and munching their feedbags, their tack spread out on the unnaturally firm surface, while the warriors poured. It was a heartening sight. Everything smelled of sweat and stress, but there was no suggestion of injury or blood.
Without a doubt, the tale of their rescue would be interesting.
The cattle were well along the march by the time we emerged and had begun; indeed, the bulls and priests were already to the bottom of the great dune and starting to swing to the north and the cows were almost down. It was mostly quiet but we could hear the drivers calling out every so often and the beasts' anxious lowing as they slipped and slid, and were hampered by the sand.
No additional instructions had been given as far as I knew, but it seemed that observing silence was of somewhat less importance now. That was reassuring. Even then, no one undertook to explain anything.
The Goddess herself was not seen, nor was the Second, nor the archmage, nor the four other warriors. Naxosos King was nowhere around – his friends were absent, and the others who had gone with them, the two priests.
We had exited the Hold almost at the top on the great dune's southwest side and our route curved down through sliding sand, southwest and then north, skirting the area of small dunes we had been required to navigate going up. It was a quick walk, but more exposed and footing was troublesome – once our waterskins had been filled, Father growled at Aghib and Fiyani, "You two! Go! Go!" and the two women had gone, stumbling and sliding, holding hands, along the faint way that traced the lee of a ridge then zigzagged down the dune-side. The goats went, too – Esseh and Shi are unerring at keeping to the trail and setting a pace.
The risk for a terrible tumble was by appearance much less than it had been the other day, going up – however, the sand here was unstable and deep.
Father waited until almost everyone else had gone. The two warriors were readying their horses when he asked the few stragglers if they would like to go ahead and then, satisfied that no one was being abandoned, he and I, and Gamti dragging the travois of all our possessions (including bulging waterskins), prepared to make our way down.
Our God is wondrous and mighty, and brings us easily and safely out of unimaginable peril time and time again.
Immediately we saw the travois was going to bog in the sliding sand, and it was heavy enough that it might even cause the cow to lose her footing, so Father and I would have to do some lugging to help Gamti. This was expected.
We began our trail. So glad was I to be out of the terrifying blackness of Onyx Hold that my steps were probably hurried – Okocas then spoke and said "Wait, boy! Turn and look!" and so I did and what I saw transfixed me.
To the west, all along the peaks of the Alethim-eya, from far southwards to almost even with where we were, storm-clouds bumbled with their insides glinting and flashing. It was not so far away that we were unable to hear the thunder.
"How can that be?" I wondered. I was not the only one exclaiming over it now.
"The priests," someone said and someone else said "The Goddess," and Father said, "Our King is also capable of feats that are beyond most men – it's the Prophecy fulfilled," and then someone said in a booming voice – it was one of the two warriors – "Our Naxosos King accomplished a great working this day and it will be great in the telling!"
It's likely I would have remained there staring for minutes, but Father again shook my shoulder and said, "Let us not get too far behind!" and so we each lifted a limb of the travois and without urging Gamti started down the trail, which was very clear to follow now, and we started down the side of the great dune, and I started praying.
By the time we reached the dune's foot, the flickering of the storm in the west had ceased and a smudge of light had begun to show in the east. "We have two hours to cover a little more than six miles," Father said. Again he checked behind us – the two warriors, on their horses, were in the van, so he had little to worry about as far as people straying or getting lost: Still he acted as though the safety of all the people was his sole responsibility.
Gamti went eagerly, all but swift-footedly: No one ever has to explain to her or her sisters in the herd what the sun's rising on a march might cost. I walked at her head, between her eyes and the oncoming light, to shade her (having to trot in a few places, as she keeps a very good pace). As the ground flattened out and became firmer it was not as necessary for Father and I to assist with the travois and so we made decent time, with Father keeping us going, all the while making sure never to lose sight of those behind us.
I didn't see my aunt or my sister at any point – that was reassuring. They were making good time, too.
Even before the sun was halfway up its heat was a sword. "We really have to move, now," Father would say every so often, as though we were not already toiling to the extent of our capabilities. As is his way, Okocas seemed to increase in strength and alertness as we traveled: On stretches where the going was easy enough that Gamti could pull the travois herself, he would range up and down the line, offering to help anyone who seemed to lag. (Sometimes I wonder if this doesn't irritate people who are trying to fall behind so they can sleep, chase game, or be intimate – but then remind myself that all these are forbidden on a march, anyway.)
I know Kahechi Latho and the signs that we are drawing near. It is not unheard-of to travelers along the range, but generally passed by, as there is a larger and more reliable source of water, Waram H'thel, within another few miles. The latho, I have been told, used to be extensive with two wells and a number of structures along it. These had all been abandoned, now sunken beneath the sand, and the latho identifiable by a pool that rises and recedes at random intervals. At its greatest twenty cattle can drink to repletion, after which it takes hours for the water to come back to where it was before – most of the time it is a wallow that animals and humans can dig to find a trickle, and perhaps every other year there will be no water at all except that the Redoubt can bring forth. (He has done this that I have seen a couple of times and by report many dozens of times. His ability is profound.)
An hour and a half up, the sun blared at our backs across the eastern Waste of Murmayi, so named on the map, as we drew within shouting distance of the latho. Here one can look back and see the great dune like the shrugging shoulder of a titan to the south and west.
Fiyani and Aghib were there already and greeted us enthusiastically, and showed us to the spot where we were to pitch. (Aghib is sixty but she is still very game on the march and, no matter how tired she is, she will always be there at the end to offer a hand in pitching, water, and cheering words.) There were already tents and awnings sprouting around the pool that was thankfully quite broad this day: In fact, there was more water in that place than I have ever seen or heard about. It was also muddy.
The muddiness made no difference at this time, however: To my eye and the eyes of a hundred beasts and a hundred or so people, Kahechi Latho was as lovely as any tree-shaded, flower-decked upland pond.
(end of excerpt) 24 June 2025
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