The oasis, like the rest of the landscape, was strange to Calliope's eye. She had read of them of course, much of the Old Magic came from the East and not all treatises were simple spell craft, but she had never seen one. It seemed like a beautiful jewel in the middle of a field of sand and rock. A rim of green around a large dark pool around which sprung up date palms and short prickly bushes from which orangish fruit with purple veins hung. The bandits, or whatever they had been, had clearly been here for some time and had constructed small shelters from woven palm fronds and other leaves. A fire pit had been indifferently covered with rocks and several joins of charred meat hung around it, the leftovers of some evening meal. The only permanent structure was a small hut that looked to be constructed of layers of palm fronds and layers of mud from the oasis that had been baked semi hard in the hot sun. Calliope thought it would melt if there were ever a really significant fall of rain, but that didn’t seem very likely in this arid land. A boy of perhaps ten summers stepped out of the hut looking confused and sleepy. His eyes focused on the intruders and he began to shout at the top of his lungs.

“Take it easy kid,” Neil advised. The kid did not take it easy. Instead he whipped a small knife from somewhere and lunged at him. Calliope snapped a word and he sunk to his waist in mud which a moment before had been solid ground. She spoke a second word and suddenly the ground was as it had been, save it trapped the lower half of the boy, including both legs and his knife hand. The boy continued to shout, thought they sounded more like curses than please for help. Intrigued Calliope stepped forward, batted away the childs free hand and grabbed both sides of his head. White wispy light gathered around her hands.

 

“Sawf 'aqtuluk! Sawf 'ateam,” he screetched, then the white light surged up into Calliope’s ears and eyes,  “...your breasts to the goats. I will cut off your manhood and nail it to the door!”

 

“Take it easy kid,” Calliope recommended, though her words now sounded in his own tongue. Neil gave her a puzzled look and she flicked a wrist in his direction. A small storm of motes of white light floated up into his ears and mouth as the translation spell took hold.

 

“I will have the hounds rut with you! I will…” he continued to rant. Calliope sighed.

“Have it your way,” she said and picked up the knife and yanked back his head by a handful of greasy hair, pressing the blade against his neck so it pinked his dark flesh. The child fell silent, freezing in place.

 

“Out of threats are we?” Calliope asked. The child nodded and Calliope held his hair for a moment longer before dropping it. The child began to cry. Calliope stepped over him and into the hut. It was surprisingly cool inside, and for a miracle it seemed the bandits hadn’t been using it for a latrine.

 

“Well hello,” Neil said, spying a small wooden chest amidst the rough hewn furniture and few clay pots of oil, dates, and other necessities. Calliope lowered the earthenware pot of wine she had been sniffing to pay attention. The chest was made of some highly polished wood that reminded her somewhat of dark cherry and had been artistically inlaid with brass. Neil pulled the lid open and whistled, turning the box so she could see a few small handfuls of coins, gold and silver of unfamiliar type and a small scroll. He took the scroll out and proffered it to her. Calliope took it and unrolled it, the translation spell didn’t teach one to read unfortunately, but she knew enough of the old arcane tongues to make something out about tombs. The tombs of the Sisters who are Mother to the Sun maybe? It was very old and written on crumbling vellum. Lines of ancient ink formed something of a map which seemed to be bound by the symbol for Ibn Kaydos’ ghost fence and included markings which might have represented several of the larger hills, those which might be picked out from a distance.

“It’s a map,” Calliope mused as Neil gathered up the various foodstuffs as best he could.

“To what?” he asked, his eyes glittering with avaricious excitement.

“Who knows, we can talk about it when we are away from here, at least one of those bandits knew a few spells to get that box open in the first place.” The turned hand headed out the door.

“Please! Please don’t leave me here, they will kill me for letting you steal everything!” the boy wailed, his tears cutting lines through what was likely months of grime on his face.

 

“I suggest you start digging then,” Calliope told him without much interest, knowing there was no way he was going to get himself out in time.

“Wait, there is another treasure, I can tell you where it is! Hakim hides it so the others dont steal it! If you let me out, I will show you where it is!” he pleaded. Calliope and Neil shared a look.

 

“Alright, but its no trouble to put you back where I found you. Come to think of it less trouble just to kill you and save Hakim a job,” Calliope warned him. The boy shook his head so violently it was a wonder his neck didn’t crack.


“No trouble mistress, Ibrahim will not lead you astray, I swear it,” he pleaded. Calliope spoke the same arcane word as before and the earth around Ibrahim became mud once again. He scrambled out, furiously batting at the dirt as though it might entomb him once again.

 

“The treasure Ibrahim, we don’t have all day,” Calliope prompted. The boy bobbed his head obsequiously and stepped back into the hut. He crossed to the bed, and pulled the straw palette away from the wall. At first Calliope though nothing was there, but then the boy knelt down and thrust his hand through the wall. A space had been cleverly hollowed out in the wall and then covered with mud as though it were part of the original structure. He pulled out a gemstone, or half of a gemstone cut so cunningly that light seemed to be trapped within, even in the darkness of the hut. It seemed obvious the stone was meant for a setting of some kind, though at the moment Calliope couldn’t think of what it might fit.

“Where did you get this?” Calliope asked, taking it from the boy and turning it over in her hands, feeling the subtle presence of magical energies around the thing.

“In one of the tombs on the map, the Djiin there killed Subadah and Kareem and wounded Yafrid so bad Hakim had to finish him off,” the kid babbled. The word Djiin didn't translate in her mind. They lacked a common concept.

“Interesting,” Calliope conceded and then turned for the door. “We best get going before our friends return.”