Ibn Sharjar: The watchtower
Posted on 30 Jan 2023 @ 12:54am by Atif ibn Sharjar - Merchant of the Al Ashar
Edited on on 15 Jun 2023 @ 6:11pm
Mission:
Ongoing Mission - Planet Obsidian
Location: Oasis of the Nine Stones
Timeline: M3 D07 12:30hrs
1812 words - 3.6 OF Standard Post Measure
Making their way south from the main settlement Jelik, on Khasta, had led the way, his sons and Ibn Sharjar following along. Their Eralsu had settled into an easy pace, rather like a horse’s canter. Their multiple legs scuttling along in a steady rhythm that covered distance quickly but was easy on the rider and did not tire the beetle.
Atif had got used to the movement after a while, he leaned back in the saddle resting his back comfortably against the high cantle, forearms on the tall pommel, reins held loosely in his hands and his legs relaxed in the long stirrups. Heta responded quickly to just the lightest tap of a spur point to any change in direction. It was clear that at such a pace Eralsu could cover many kilometers in a day.
Leaving the main village they passed by the stone walled stock yard, it was empty now as the herd of Chuchaki had been led out to pasture early in the morning by the herd boys. The youngsters walked fearlessly amongst the big heavy creatures, often leading a dominant bull along by an ear, the rest of the herd following on in their strange, lurching side-by-side gait.
Other children were collecting dung from the paddock, it was laid out in the sun to dry and then burned as fuel in fires or mixed with clay and used as a kind of mortar in construction.
There was a long stone building, where Chuchaki hair was gathered, washed and combed out and spun into a thick wooly yarn. Nearby was an area with several large round clay cisterns, here the yarn could be colored using mineral and plant based dyes.
One end of the building was open fronted and several women sat at large looms weaving the yarn into broad cloth, something like a heavy canvas, that could be used to make tents and awnings. There were a couple of smaller looms that processed a finer yarn for use as robes or blankets.
Even though the herd was gone, the smell from the compound was almost overpowering, Jelik, Gabrul and Sasil did not seem to notice but Ibn Sharjar wrapped a fold of his shemagh across his face until they had passed.
Beyond the Chuchaki pen was a patchwork of agricultural fields and plantings, various crops and ordered rows of date trees. Nearby were drying racks and people were busy laying out and turning the fruit, ensuring they were evenly dried.
The fields were bounded by earthen banks, perhaps a foot or so high; these formed a network of irrigation channels fed by the oasis lake. Simple dams of stones and earth were used to control and direct the flow of the water through the channels. When a field needed watering, the dam on the main channel was dug away, the water flowed into the channels surrounding the field and then several gaps would be opened allowing the water into the field. Once the field was inundated, the earth and stone dam was replaced and the water redirected to another field. It was a simple and efficient operation echoing back in history to early desert agriculture on hundreds if not thousands of worlds.
Most field work took place in the early morning and late afternoon. Dotted amongst the fields were simple dried grass roofed shelters or tents, where the villagers would sit out the main heat of the middle of the day, eating lunch, resting, telling stories or playing games.
They stopped several times, Jelik exchanging greetings with other villagers, many of whom came over to get a look at the off-worlder.
Ibn Sharjer found the Tej-Kal Jalfa to be friendly and welcoming, more so than many of the desert tribes he had met. Most of whom were stand-offish and took some time to relax around off-worlders, here he was met with smiles and a warm welcome.
His riding of Heta-Durshwa was a source of some friendly amusement and approval.
“A pity Heta is so old now, she was a fast one in her day” One elderly fellow commented, “You remember when your mother used to race Jelik, she was hard to beat! Will you be riding yourself in the races next week?”
Jelik waved a hand non-committedly, “Perhaps, we shall see”
“Ahh, yes, you have yet to beat Surnak, since he bested you two years ago” the fellow responded with a grin. “Perhaps you are right, better not to race than be beaten a third time…”
There were some chuckles from a couple of others. ”Maybe Khasta is getting a bit fat now?” One questioned.
“Fat and slow” another added, that brought more chuckles
“Khasta is not fat!” Jelik snapped
“It must be his rider then!” One retorted, “After three months in Kalara, Jelik has gone soft!” the rest hooted with laughter.
Jelik scowled at the teasing. “Perhaps somebody would care to make a wager?”
“A wager? So, you will be riding?” The older man cut in
“Perhaps…”
“Then perhaps a wager might be made…”
Jelik gave a stiff nod and spurred Khasta on.
Moving out from the fields, the track led out into an area of desert, ahead in the distance Ibn Sharjar could see the jagged black-glass hill on which sat the stone-built watchtower they had flown past yesterday.
The sun was well up in the sky now, the morning heat rose with it as they passed through sand dunes, dotted with patches of scrubby undergrowth and thorny bushes. There was a rustle from one patch, several Siniki were rooting amongst the bushes, they stopped as the Eralsu passed, heads lifted, snouts quivered as they sniffed in the beetles’ scent. One large boar came forward, two sets of tusks each side of its jaw, it stood there protectively until they had passed by.
Some twenty minutes later they reached the base of the obsidian hill. It was as high as the surrounding walls, seventy or eighty meters tall and poked up from the sand, a steep black lump, mostly worn smooth by the wind driven sand, but here and there were brighter patches where the surface had flaked off, exposing the bright inner glass. The area around its base was littered with fragments and shards of obsidian. A path led off the track to the hillside, there was a small stone hut and a corral, containing two Eralsu. They dismounted and led their mounts into the corral, turning them loose with the other two.
“We will climb up to the watchtower and get out of the noon sun” Jelik explained “You can see a great distance from the tower, over our lands and out over the glass too”
Behind the hut was a stairway, it had been cut into the obsidian and led up the hillside, The steps were narrow, just wide enough for two feet and steep each riser perhaps a quarter-meter tall. They started upwards, in the shade at first but the path wound its way into the full sunlight and Ibn Sharjar was quickly bathed in sweat. At one point the path turned into a traverse, crossing a sheer cliff of glass, with a drop of some fifty meters on the left and crammed tight against the cliff side on the right. Atif found himself sweating a little more as he threaded his way across that, carefully keeping one foot in front of the other.
Once across the traverse, the path swung back on itself and climbed up to the flat summit. Stepping off the last stair Ibn Sharjar found himself on a plateau, perhaps two acres in size. In the center was the ancient watchtower, it was round, maybe ten meters across at the base; the walls sloped inwards as it rose, fire stories tall. It was built from cut stones, perhaps a foot square. Each one of which must have been individually carried up the steep pathway and traverse to construct it. A dangerous and laborious task.
The tower had a doorway at the bottom, several windows on each level, the top rampart was covered by a wooden frame with an awning for shade. There was a cry of welcome and a figure waved down to them from the top.
Jelik waved back and led the way, entering the doorway and turning sharply left. Ibn Sharjar followed and found the tower had an inner and outer wall, between them was an internal stairwell, made from wide slabs of stone, built into the wall on each side, it climbed up and around circling the tower as it went. It was dark and thankfully cool but cramped, the walls pressing in on each side as they climbed. An open doorway on the right led out on to the two internal wooden floors as the stairway passed them. The first two seemed to be storerooms, the next empty and the forth, a living area, with a kitchen, table, chairs and beds.
The top level was open, the walls about four feet tall. Wooden posts rose another three feet and supported the awning overhead. In the center was a tall metal brazier, it was packed with wood, under it were two large, sealed, clay pots and several wooden torches wrapped in clothe.
A man and woman were there, they greet Jelik and his sons warmly. He introduced them, Nedjla, the woman, was his second cousin and Kasiq her husband.
“They are taking their turn in watching” Jelik explained “Each family provides two adults, for three days and three nights at a time. They live here for those days, one must always be awake and watching.”
He pointed out over the rampart; from the tower one could see in all directions, three hundred and sixty degrees, out across the oasis to the surrounding walls of obsidian and the featureless plains of the Lethini Deadlands beyond.
Ibn Sharjar stepped up to the wall, leaning on the rampart he looked out. It was after noon now, the sun high in the sky, the heat was brutal even under the awning, there was a breeze up here, but it was hot and dry, with a sting of grit that made him slit his eyes.
“For what do you watch?” He asked
“Anything which might threaten the village” Nedjla replied “Storms or enemies”
Kasiq pointed to the torches and pots under the brazier, “These contain oil and fire-mud. If there is danger, we light the brazier, in the day we add oil to make smoke, at night the fire-mud to make it burn brighter”
Staring out at the featureless plains would be tough, hard to concentrate with that stinging wind Ibn Sharjar thought to himself and commented as much.
“It is what we do,” Jelik replied “We are Tej-Ka-Jalfa, we find our path and we stand our watch”
