Across a Scorching Desert

Chapter 1

The heat was scorching, but then again, he was used to it, padded paws pushing against the sands, leaving indentations that would soon vanish with the wind. He clutched his robe around him; though it was hot, he was nervous, and his belly full of unease.

"J'zargo! Where are you going?"

It seemed that Ahnassi had seen or heard him exit his tent; she peeked out from under hers as he glanced at her and growled, clearly annoyed at him. It was only understandable; it was almost noon and Ahnassi wished to sleep, as they all did near midday. The little tents near their two carts of merchandise formed a bleak picture in the endless dunes, and left them vulnerable in the sand. However, their stop in the middle of the desert was not likely to be attacked by any caravan raiders, and they all needed the rest and shelter from the sun.

"I don't know. I needed to think."

"Think inside, then! Regardless of whether you are sleeping or not, you should be near the caravan at all times!" Ahnassi seemed to debate with herself and decided to leap out onto the sand to follow J'zargo. He observed her easy movements as she bounded toward him, graceful even for a Khajiit.

Soon, she was close to him, and did not have to yell to communicate.

"J'zargo, don't wander off. S'shani dozed off a little while ago and I can't defend the merchandise alone. Why aren't you sleeping? It's nearly midday."

J'zargo flicked his tail, annoyed. "Like I said, I had to think."

"Well," Ahnassi stopped, then bared her teeth in a smile. "Come, think in my tent. I have a few cakes left over from the other day, and a bit of moon sugar. We can eat some of it and then you can do your thinking, alright?"

J'zargo shrugged and flexed his arms. "Why not?"

As he and Ahnassi walked back to her tent, he let his right hand graze the hilt of the blade at his hip. He had received it at his coming of age, years ago, from his father, who was long gone. It was an old elven relic, improved many times over the years. Had it only been three? It felt so much longer than that...

Ahnassi unfastened the clasps of her tent and J'zargo briefly looked across the sand to his. It looked as undisturbed as he had left it; no pegs dislodged or flaps waving the wrong way. In the desert, a Khajiit's only shelter was his tent. He could not afford to have his damaged, for they had a long journey ahead.

Stepping into the large tent, J'zargo removed his leather boots and placed them on the special mat by the tent-flap. He adjusted the various herbs and potion flasks hanging on his rabi, and noticed that S'shani was still asleep, sighing softly. Ahnassi's husband was a formidable warrior, known in his hometown for his extraordinary strength and agility. J'zargo could never best him in barehanded combat, but looking at him lying there, peacefully asleep, reminded J'zargo of when he had still been a kitten, and he longed for the simplicity of childhood.

"So," said Ahnassi in a low voice, "what are these things you are thinking about, hmm? That make you walk off into the Ne Quin-Al without a crumb in your pack?"

Sitting down on the mat in the living area of the tent, a few paces away from the sleeping S'shani, Ahnassi withdrew a sweet roll from the satchel on her shoulder and a glass jar containing moon sugar. Laying the roll on a plate perching on a low table, she opened the jar and sprinkled the roll with sugar delicately with her fingers. Breaking it in two, Ahnassi passed one half of the roll to J'zargo. He accepted it and murmured a word of thanks before starting to nibble on it.

"I only put a little. Can't afford to be completely over the moon if you wish to sleep, hmm?"

J'zargo nodded and sighed.

"I was thinking about how my younger days are dwindling away, and all I am is a caravan guard."

Ahnassi gave him a strange look.

"Not that it doesn't pay well, but, I am skilled enough. I would like to go somewhere in the world, learn of new people and new places."

The woman across from him chuckled. "And where would you go? Valenwood? To frolic with the Bosmer?"

J'zargo furrowed his brow. "No, not to Valenwood. Perhaps go to Morrowind. Or perhaps even make my way to Skyrim. The tales sing of great beauty in the snow-ridden peaks. I have never seen snow, Ahnassi. Perhaps I should, at least once."

Now Ahnassi laughed outright. "A Khajiit, freezing his tail off in Skyrim? You were born with the heat. That much cold just might bite you enough to kill."

J'zargo felt himself grow defensive and snapped, "There are Khajiit traders in Skyrim. Perhaps I should guard their caravans, and not yours. Where are we going again? Making the mighty trek across the desert, and for what? To sell skooma to the poor addicts in Rimmen? What's the point to all of it, Ahnassi? How much money until you can settle down and live a happy life, have children, be at peace, like you've always wanted?"

She narrowed her eyes and her voice dropped to a whisper. He had struck a nerve, he knew, and he shouldn't have. "Only a few more years, and you know that, J'zargo. Then we can all be happy, and you can find some nice girl who is fierce enough for you."

"I don't want a girl. I don't want a peaceful life, the same, day in, day out, in Rimmen or anywhere else. I want something more out of life! I don't want to waste away!"

Frustrated, J'zargo held out his empty palm and concentrated. "You see this?" A tiny flame popped up, dancing a few millimeters above his fur. "This is a gift from Baan Dar, the trickster, he who gives us Khajiit our last minute strokes of genius and cleverness, so that we always evade our enemies. Magic, the power to command the elements, or to manipulate the very folds that separate us from Oblivion, the greatest trick of all. And what am I doing, blessed with this power? I am guarding caravans with my sword and my shield, a sell-sword for hire."

He put out the flame and put his hand down. "That is what I have been thinking about, Ahnassi. About how maybe, I was meant to be more than this."

Ahnassi gazed at the space where his hand had been a moment earlier, and sighed. "This is indeed much to think about, J'zargo. What would you do? Travel to Summerset Isle, study under the Altmer?" She furrowed her brow. "They do not take kindly to other races much. Perhaps to the north, to High Rock, to live among the Bretons? They are powerful magicians. But it is far, very far..."

"Yes, it is far, but farther still my spirit will be from me if I stay a caravan guard my whole life."

Ahnassi crossed her arms, and let out a breath slowly. "J'zargo, stay with us to guard the goods to Rimmen. There, you can speak to my mother. She has seen many years and many Khajiit gifted with magic in her time. Perhaps she can give you some words to advise you."

J'zargo thought about it. Ahnassi's plan was sound, and though he had never met her mother, the stories told of a powerful warrior and Clan Mother, who spoke with the conviction of a fool and the wisdom of a scholar. That she had allowed Ahnassi to marry a caravan trader had always astounded him. Usually, Clan Mothers' children continued the long tradition of making skooma from moon sand. Perhaps Ahnassi was the youngest sister, and had been allowed to escape the skooma cultivation, to wander the desert. J'zargo did not know much about her, only that she had a sharp tongue and was a fierce bargainer. He wondered how she had managed to keep in good relations with her mother, even though it was clear that she did not share her wealth with Ahnassi.

The corners of his lips curled upwards. "Very well. It wouldn't do to quit this job halfway through, either, would it?"

Ahnassi peered at him critically. "No, it would not. Now, finish your sweet roll and go to sleep. I will stand guard over the merchandise. You need to sleep and let the moons guide you to your fate."

"Very well."

J'zargo munched on the roll, and, swallowing it, exited the tent, into the bleakness of the desert.