Here is the sixth installment of the collaborative story, written by Pam Hage.
Want to see more of her work? Visit https://www.pamhage.com/
With love,
Cato Frederiks
Njin led me outside. The sun hovered at the edge of the horizon, casting a red hue over the dunes around us. I squinted. After so much time underground, the brightness was blinding.
It took me a moment to spot Emeralda. She stood some distance away, peering through a polished disc of manalite. The spell embedded in the gemstone magnified the world like a spyglass.
“I wouldn’t take too long,” she said to Njin. “I see movement on the horizon.”
“Basilisks or lizards?”
She shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough, now that our guest is outside.”
My throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
Emeralda lowered her viewing crystal. “The deadly breath of a basilisk is magical. It draws its strength from its prey’s magic. Someone like you is a feast.”
“Breath? Not gaze?”
She laughed. “That’s a stubborn myth. You’re lucky Rando and Sati can run fast—otherwise you’d know better.”
“Let’s not push that luck.”
Njin pulled a pan flute from inside his cloak and began to play.
The melody rooted itself in my chest. My heartbeat synced with its rhythm. Deep notes pulsed through me like a second pulse, filling me with energy. I wanted to move. The tempo quickened. The notes climbed. My feet itched to dance. With each rising phrase, Njin’s eyes flared a bright, unnatural green.
Then—movement beneath me. A soft rustle. The sand stirred. Grains rolled past my feet toward Njin. It didn’t matter if dunes lay in their way. The sand defied gravity, crawling uphill, converging from all directions.
Around Njin, the grains gathered, first into small columns, then dozens, then hundreds, rising higher and higher until—
I gasped. “They’re people!”
Emeralda didn’t even glance. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon through her crystal.
“They’re the memories of people,” she said. “Everyone who crosses the desert loses part of their memory to the sand. It’s a curse so old no one remembers why it was cast.”
“I didn’t lose mine. I suppressed it,” I insisted. I could feel it—my past wasn’t gone. It was hidden, tucked away at the end of some dark tunnel. I just… didn’t dare walk it.
“It may feel different, but part of your memory really is gone,” Emeralda said. “It’s the reason you’re here, if Njin is right.”
She lowered the crystal and pointed toward the sand figures. “See those smudges on their chests?”
I squinted. The figures—life-sized, carved of sand—were dancing wildly to the rhythm of the flute. It took effort to notice: faint streaks of reddish brown across otherwise pale sand.
“That’s Njin’s blood,” she continued. “With it, he can absorb those memories. Make them his own.”
That’s how he knew my name.
“One of those dancers is me?”
“Touch it. You’ll know right away.”
I stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the dancers. The sand-figures never stopped moving—whirling, swaying, utterly alive.
Heart pounding, I took an uncertain step into their circle.
They ignored me completely, dancing in tight circles around Njin as if I didn’t exist. I moved with them to avoid collisions, falling into step with the music. But now what?
One of the figures turned toward me. A man of sand, arm extended as if to pull me into an embrace. He had my build. My hair.
I jumped. This was me.
Hesitantly, I reached out and touched his hand.
“Show me why I’m here.”
The world blurred.
Colors bled together, swirling into a thick vortex until they formed a new scene.
A valley opened before me, sliced through by a river and framed by towering mountains. The scent of pine filled the air. It was beautiful… until I noticed the mine carts, the ventilation shafts, and the heaps of manalite ore piled along the banks. That steely gray mineral made my stomach turn.
Lord William Roch stood beside me, cane in one hand, the other clapping my shoulder.
“I’m glad I hired you. The biggest manalite vein ever found… who would’ve thought?”
I had. My magic had led me here. It made me a gifted mageologist.
“It’s also the most impure manalite I’ve ever seen. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Industry is desperate,” he said. “Why pay mages when you can power your production with enchanted pebbles? A little impurity’s no big deal.”
“A little? This is garbage!”
The nobleman twirled his mustache. “Luckily, we have refinement techniques.”
“Ha! That’s a good one—”
But he wasn’t laughing.
Bile rose in my throat. No! Those “techniques” destroyed entire ecosystems. I didn’t want that on my conscience.
I tore my hand away.
The valley vanished. I stood once more in the desert. I stumbled from the dancers, rage boiling in my skull.
I stopped in front of Emeralda. “You dirty sand-goats! I don’t want my memory back! The whole reason I came here was to forget! You knew this!”
She sighed. “Yes. Njin says your guilt runs so deep it’s tearing your magic apart.”
Of course. Without that magic, I wouldn’t have become a mageologist. That manalite vein would’ve remained hidden.
I looked down. “It’s my magic that ruins everything.”
“But what if your magic could save an entire people?”
I looked up. “What did you just say?”
“The basilisks grow in number every year,” she said. “We want to build a life elsewhere. But the desert’s curse strips us bare the moment we leave. We need to offer something of equal value to our memories. The only thing that matches… is magic itself.”
She nodded toward Njin. “He would’ve done it long ago, if it were up to him. But without his spells, we wouldn’t survive the basilisks.”
“So you need me. As a sacrifice.”
She nodded again. Exhaustion sat behind her eyes—but so did hope.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve searched for someone willing. To you, your magic is dangerous waste. To us, it’s salvation.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Giving up magic has to be your choice. Barely a catch at all.”
Emeralda drew a blade from the sheath at her hip and handed it to me.
“The problem is, it requires your blood. Can you face your past?”
I looked from the blade to the dark red smears on the dancers’ chests.
No—I didn’t know if I could.
But if it could save a people… I had to try.
“What do I need to do?”
This collaborative story was written by fellow authors who want to support me in my crowdfunding campaign. Each writer contributes a piece of the tale—and you can, too. With your donation to my GoFundMe, you help make my neck fusion surgery possible. In doing so, you’re helping me find my way back to living, instead of merely surviving.
Cato.
👉 Read the finale of this story here:
