Well
of Souls by Robert Walton
Her
naked shoulder turned toward me as she slid between two boulders and
disappeared like smoke in darkness.
Earlier,
hot dust tingled in my nose like freshly cut spice.
Earlier
yet, Abbas spoke beside me as dawn grew among declining stars. “Jonathan, today
you will see the great treasure of our people.”
I
rubbed my eyes. “It’s worth rising so early?”
Maryam
affirmed from my other side, “It is.”
Abbas
continued, “You enjoyed the feast last night - my mother’s rice with saffron,
the lamb?”
“Very
much - the yellow melons, too!"
“Does
it not surprise you that rice grows, that sheep graze, that melons fatten
here?” His left hand swept wide.
My
eyes followed the gesture to rocks blood-red in the sun’s first rays and silky
dunes, pale as moonlight.
“Water
flows beneath the earth through ancient ways to our fields, water from the Well
of Souls. We could not live here in the sand sea without it.” Abbas
lowered his hand.
Maryam
murmured, “It flows even in dry years like this one.”
I
nodded. “That is a great treasure.”
“More
precious than jewels or gold.”
I
looked at her. “Is it guarded?”
Her
eyes glowed in the dawn’s light.
“Of
course.” Abbas rubbed his dusty beard. “Our soldiers patrol far into
the desert.”
Maryam
added. “And the women of the well watch over the deep springs.”
“Women
of the well?”
“Bah!”
snorted Abbas, “My little sister spouts an old wives’ tale!”
Maryam
shook her head. “No, Abbas, they are there and it is their tears - tears of
both joy and sorrow - which bring the rains to distant mountains and so to the
well."
Abbas
muttered, “Bah!”
We
turned our horses onto a blank slate of desert sands.
Our
ride ended at midday before three hills, round as mares’ bellies. “Abbas?” I
asked.
“Yes?”
“The
entrance is near?”
“It
is hidden." His dark eyes searched ahead. "Those rocks to the left
are our guidepost. Come.” He jiggled his reins. Dust the yellow of cardamom
billowed from beneath the horses’ hooves.
We
dismounted an hour later and hobbled our mounts in the shade of two sandstone
slabs leaning together. Maryam scampered ahead of us into a slit in the
hillside. I followed Abbas into the opening.
Coolness
enfolded me. Pools stair-stepped away into a cavern’s depths. Waters trickled
from one to another like words meandering from grandmothers' lips. Sunlight
swords struck through crevices far above. One stabbed the farthest, greatest
pool, made it bleed molten silver.
Maryam’s
voice chimed like distant bells, “This way!”
Abbas
shouted, “Wait for us!”
She
looked back, her eyes teasing like starlight on a midnight sea.
"Wait,
Maryam!"
She
cast off her robe and ran.
Abbas
called again, “Wait!”
Her
naked shoulder turned toward me as she slid between two boulders and
disappeared like smoke in darkness.
Gathering
clouds deepened dusk as only Abbas and I rode between fields green with new
plants and on to the city.
I
never saw Maryam again.
Robert Walton - Is an experienced writer from King City, CA. hIS novella
"Vienna Station" won the Galaxy prize and was published as an
e-book. It is available for Kindle on Amazon. He co-wrote “The
Man Who Killed Mozart” with Barry Malzberg, later published in F&SF. His novel Dawn Drums won both the Tony Hillerman best
fiction award and first place in the Arizona Authors 2014 competition. Most
recently, Cricket Media published his “Mansa Musa’s Wisdom” in the February,
2022 issue of Spider Magazine.
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