Cale and his band of freebooters have finally caught up with Max, a canny old rogue who has spun them stories of lost treasure. They have survived desert storms and marauding tribesmen to arrive at the canyon of the fabled Stone Well. Together with a mysterious Sun Dancer and a refugee from the halls of learning, Cale and his men must unravel the old man's riddle and somehow escape alive.

The Story Continues...

Dawn of the eleventh day found the cruiser settled on the hard-packed sand at the mouth of a canyon that was, at first glance, indistinguishable from the dozens of other they had so recently traversed. The Djindi had melted away with the rising of the sun, their salutation to the dawn still echoing faintly from the steep rocky overhang.

Cale had mustered most of the crew to the main deck where now, carrying only minimal tools and supplies, they were preparing for the last leg of their journey. The oasis was clearly visible at the far end of the canyon, towering palms beckoning, gilded by the sun.

Leaving Ferrin in charge of a skeleton crew, they set out across the canyon floor.

“The winds will begin rising before we are half-way there,” Krall complained. “We should bring the cruiser farther up the canyon, Cap’n.”

Several of the men added their support. Already sweating in the thin air, none of them relished the idea of being caught in the open by a sand storm.

Cale turned and looked at them without expression. “Walk faster,” was all he said.

By the time they reached the lush undergrowth that surrounded the palms, the grumblings and complaints were loud, blasphemous, and continuous. The faint, winding track they followed around the worst of the rock-falls and across drifted dunes completely vanished at times, causing them to stagger across piles of loose scree that rolled and scattered underfoot, twisting ankles and wrenching knees with every misstep. Footing that looked firm would fall away without warning, threatening to swallow anyone caught in the rush of sand.

Sheltering in the lee of a rocky outcropping, Cale divided the crew into small search parties. Raising his voice to be heard above the rising winds, he shouted, “Look for the old stairs leading down to the well. When you find them, send one man back to alert the rest of us. The sooner we get out of this, the better,” he added.

Sending Venn with Marco, he signaled to Osaa and Krall to bring up Max. The two had half-carried, half-dragged the old man all the way along their torturous route. Max’s clothes were stained and torn; his face sported several days’ growth of graying bristles. Wine-soaked and bleary eyed, he sagged between his keepers, head bobbing in time to snatches of song. Droning his way through yet another tuneless, mangled rendition, Max raised a gap-toothed grin to Cale.

“G’day, Cap’n Cale, sir,” he shouted, the rising winds whipping away his words. “Would you like another tune, Cap’n?”

“Where’s the well,” Cale yelled.

“Say please,” Max admonished. His cracked voice rose against the winds as he sang the words aloud, twisting them into a singsong refrain. “Please, say please; say please to me, please.” Suddenly, without warning and with surprising strength, he tore himself free of their restraining hands and fled into the storm.

Smothering a curse, Cale tore after him, shouting for Krall and Osaa to follow.

He could hear the old man crashing through the undergrowth just ahead of him. Branches whipped Cale’s face, and the dense brush threatened to trip him as he tried to keep up. Abruptly, the crashing stopped, followed by a muffled thud. Then all was silence except for the winds. He stopped in his tracks straining his ears for any hint of Max’s whereabouts. Osaa panted up beside him a moment later.

“Where’d the old buzzard go, Cap’n?”

“I’m not sure, but he’s around here somewhere close.”

Cale heard Krall’s shout. “Over here, Cap’n. Over to your left.”

Both ran in the direction of the shouts to find Krall on his hands and knees tugging at a large flat boulder embedded in the ground. Osaa threw himself down, trying with all his strength to help loosen the heavy rock

“Wait a minute. Let me think.” Cale pulled the frustrated men away to better inspect the barrier.

“Max couldn’t have moved this on his own,” he mused, wiping grit out of his eyes flung there by the steadily increasing gusts. “So, where is the entrance?”

Walking around, peering at the boulder, he exclaimed, “Look - here, where the corner is worn,” and placed one hand against the immense rock. Under steady downward pressure, the heavy boulder pivoted on its length, revealing a winding staircase. Rubbed smooth by the passage of many feet, the narrow stone treads descended in a steep spiral into the silence below.

Grabbing Krall by the arm, Cale shouted, “Go find Marco and the rest of the crew. Bring them here.” To Osaa he yelled, “You stay near the top here, to guide the others down.”

Krall nodded once and jogged off. Osaa, however, had other ideas. Drawing a large, curved skinning knife from under his shirt, he gestured to the stairs with it. “Not this time, Cap’n.” His upper lip crinkled back in a snarling grimace, revealing large, crooked teeth, “I‘ll just come along with you. Cap’n. Sir.”

Wordlessly, Cale brushed past him and started down the stairs.

The great stone fell ponderously closed behind them, and the two men were enveloped in the cool silent darkness of the stairway. Cale could feel Osaa’s breath, rank with the stink of fear, rasping in his ear. The man was so close he was nearly treading on Cale’s heels.

In the little time it took them to descend, Cale noticed that the air was perceptibly cooler, ‘Which is to be expected, underground,’ he reasoned. What he didn’t expect was the air to feel noticeably fresh, nor, on reaching the well below, did he expect to find a cavernous room - part natural, part hand-hewn - illumined by faint shafts of light filtering down from the surface above.

Dust puffed up under their feet as they crossed the smooth stone floor, sending golden motes dancing into the light, lending an unreal quality to the scene in front of them. Kneeling in a shaft of light, the Gennaran cradled an unconscious Max in her arms. A swelling knot was fast purpling on his forehead, and the blood from his smashed mouth dripped in a steady stream onto her once snowy robes.

The woman’s tabard was ripped along one shoulder, the silken, beaded fringes matted and torn. One cheek bore the puffed and reddening imprint of a large hand. Disheveled curls hung down her back, freed from the diadem that lay, twisted and broken, on the cavern floor. Her bare feet were bruised and bleeding, bearing mute testimony to a brutal forced march from the cruiser.

Flanked by five of his watch-mates, his hand was poised to deliver another of the backhand blows that had felled the woman. Seeing Cale, he froze for a second. Then, catching sight of Osaa, he straightened up slowly, a satisfied smile playing about his lips.

“Well done, my friend,” he called to him, adding, with a self-satisfied smirk, “Cap’n, good to see you so soon. I was sure we’d have to wait longer for the old man to lead you here.”

Osaa’s hand reached down to remove Cale’s sidearm. “It’s gone,” he called in alarm.

“Where is it?” Ferrin demanded.

Cale shrugged, wordlessly.

At a signal from Ferrin, Osaa smashed his knife hilt into the side of Cale’s head. Staggered, Cale lurched forward, dropping to one knee.

As Osaa moved in, bending over him for another strike, Cale’s hands flashed out and up, one hand catching the wrist of Osaa’s knife hand; the other, his unguarded throat. With a single heave, Cale flipped the knife-wielder around to face him. Coming swiftly to his feet, he dragged his startled opponent up on to his tiptoes, tightening his hold inexorably. Struggling and kicking, eyes bulging in fear, Osaa clawed at Cale’s choking fingers. Suddenly, he stiffened. His eyes traveled slowly down to the razor-edged point of a Djindi hunting lance protruding from his chest, and the spreading scarlet stain that soaked his shirt.

With a jerk that shook Osaa’s frame, the lance point was withdrawn. Collapsing onto his side, he gave a convulsive jerk, legs scrabbling in the dust; then he was still.

Wiping the blade clean and hefting the lance experimentally, Ferrin rubbed the delicately carved characters that decorated the shaft. “I had a feeling this might come in handy,” he declared. “Have a seat, Cap’n,” he continued, gesturing to the floor beside the woman. “We’ll wait here for Krall and the others.”

“Those come at a high price,” Cale remarked, conversationally, referring to the lance. “What did you trade for it?”

Ferrin gestured to Osaa’s limp form. “Him,” he said. One of his companions sniggered. Ferrin turned on the man. “Take him topside. They’ll be waiting for their payment.” As the man stared at him, aghast, Ferrin grabbed the crewman nearest him by the collar, pushing them both towards the body, shouting, “Now - or you’ll join him up there permanently!”

Grabbing Osaa’s still bleeding corpse between them, they dragged him towards the stairs, leaving great scarlet smears in their wake.

Ferrin turned back to Cale. “Your sidearm…,” he said, voice flat.

“I must have lost it while we were chasing the old man,” Cale replied.

“Sit!”

Cale carefully lowered himself into the dust beside the woman. Glancing at her briefly, he leaned over to get a better look at Max. The old man’s breathing was ragged and his eyelids were twitching slightly.

Ferrin booted Max’s legs. Failing to rouse him, he gestured to the remaining trio to watch Cale and the woman. Grabbing the old man by the shirt collar, he dragged him to the water’s edge. Plunging Max’s head into the pool, he held him immersed until the old man began to thrash. Dragging him out for the space of a gasping breath, Ferrin shook him hard before plunging his head back underwater. Waiting slightly longer to pull Max out, Ferrin shook him harder this time. The old man struggled, protesting weakly as Ferrin again immersed him up to his shoulders.

Waiting until Max’s thrashing stopped, Ferrin heaved the barely conscious man out onto the stones and stepped back.

Strands of lank, graying hair straggled across Max’s mottled, bluish face. His clothes were sodden almost to the waist. Gasping and coughing, he rolled onto his side, great gouts of blood-tinged water spewing from his mouth. Finally, groaning pitifully, he raised a trembling hand to wipe the hair from in front of his eyes.

Ferrin glanced to where Cale and the woman sat, silent and unmoving. Nodding his satisfaction, he turned back to Max. Kicking him sharply in the ribs, he said, “You will tell me what I want to know, or I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

Max doubled up, groaning. As Ferrin drew back his boot a second time, Max weakly flapped one hand in assent.

As the old man struggled to sit up, the boot thudded into his side, lifting him, retching, onto his other side.

“Do you understand me?” Twice more Ferrin’s heavy boots connected with Max’s back and legs, drawing sobbing cries of pain.

“Let him answer!” The woman’s voice rang out sharply, echoing strangely in the cavernous space.

Ferris’s face suffused with rage. Reaching her side in two swift strides, he twisted one hand in her hair, pulling her face close to his. “I do not take orders from temple dancers, Gennaran whore,” he hissed. Releasing her head, he drove his fist full in her face, smashing her to the floor.

He looked at Cale, held immobile by the blade of the Djindi lance held across his neck by one of the crewman while the other pinioned his arms behind his back. “When Krall returns, I’ll let him have you both.”

His boots gritted on the dusty stonework as he crossed back to the old man. As he raised his foot to stamp on the prostrate man’s out-flung hand, a slight scuffling from behind brought his head around sharply. He froze, staring uncomprehendingly into brilliant blue eyes. The last thing he heard, just before the blade of the Djindi lance sliced across his throat and he choked in his own blood, was the woman’s voice saying coldly, “You should have let him answer.”

Stepping over the still-twitching Ferrin, the woman knelt beside Max. Supporting him to his feet, she turned to Cale.

Eyes locked on the woman, he released the crewman he had held pinned against his already dying mates and stepped back. Pointing towards the stairs, he said simply, “Go.”

As the terrified fellow fled the cavern, Max let out a harsh bark of laughter. A racking cough shook him, and he spat bloody phlegm onto the stones. “Let the Djindi have what the sand don’t get, I say,” he rasped.

“I heartily agree.” Marco’s voice came from the shadows across the pool. Stepping into a shaft of light, he continued, “However, it cost me no little effort to lose Venn and his bunch of cutthroats. I’d just as soon not be here if he finds his way back.”

Max straightened with a grimace. Clutching his bruised ribs and leaning heavily on the woman, he headed towards a rocky outcropping on the far side of the cavern.

As the two slowly limped past Marco, he took in the woman’s disheveled appearance and her bruised and bleeding face.

When Cale came abreast of him, he fell into step beside him.

“Speaking of cutthroats…,” he began.

“How did you find your way down here?” Cale interrupted him brusquely.

“The place is a rabbit warren,” responded Marco, airily. “There are passages everywhere.”

Cale fixed him with an expressionless stare.

“Someone must have told me about it,” was Marco’s cryptic reply.

Whatever Cale’s thoughts were on that nugget of information, he kept them to himself.

For several minutes, they walked in silence, the smoothly joined stones of the cavern giving way to rough-hewn rock underfoot. The passage narrowed and rose sharply, bending first left, then to the right. Cale felt a slight draft of cool air coming from somewhere ahead of them. The light in the passage was dim, but enough to see by.

After some time, they came to a branch in the passage. One arm led sharply up and to the left, the other sloped down slightly but continued straight ahead for as far as was visible.

Pointing at the right-hand passage, Max said, “That was meant to lead down to the canyon mouth. They never did finish it. Dead end.” His speech was punctuated by a racking cough that brought a froth of blood to his lips. It dripped, unheeded, into the dust. “We go up,” he said finally.

Marco froze suddenly, grabbing Cale’s arm. “Do you hear that?” his harsh whisper rebounded along the narrow passage.

Cale paused, while Max and the woman continued ahead. Listening intently for a moment, eyes closed, head down, he finally looked up at Marco. Together they went forward, silently, alert. The only sounds were the scuffing of their feet in the thick layer of dust that lay everywhere, and their breathing.

The walls of this passage were rough and slightly damp to the touch. The roof bulged down in several spots. One such protrusion caught an unwary Marco on the side of his head. He cursed loudly.

With an echo, unnaturally loud in that confined space, his words seemed to bounce back from all sides, accompanied by a childlike, chuckling laughter.

Max stopped abruptly, clutching the woman’s arm, his eyes ablaze with excitement, he turned to Cale and Marco. “It’s still here,” he cried. “Come on!” Dragging her forward, he half-ran, half-lurched the last few steps up the passage.

Marco let out a low whistle as he entered the large chamber. Standing in the middle, he turned slowly around, trying to take in what he was seeing. Three walls were hewn smooth and covered with vivid depictions of exotic wildlife; brilliant flowers bloomed everywhere; strange creatures cavorted with joyous abandon across the walls and over the entryway; riotous colors dazzled the eyes.

Perhaps the most astounding feature of the chamber was the fourth wall. There, the inner wall of rock had been shaved so thin it was almost translucent. Light from the lacework of steeply angled shafts that pierced the outer wall glowed gently through a mat of hanging greenery. Cool, clear water chuckled musically over glistening colored stones to fall into a wide basin at the foot of the wall. The outflow of the basin was directed to the roots of several small palms that flourished among a multitude of ferns and grasses. From there it flowed out a small cleft at the bottom of the wall.

“By the great bald Triplets of Gorgos.” Marco’s tone was hushed, reverent. “The StoneGarden. It really does exist.”

The chamber echoed back his voice, blending it with the bubbling chuckle of the fountain’s waters to create a sound like a chorus of laughing children.

Running to the latticed wall, he peered out craning his head around. “There!” he exclaimed. “There’s the grave mound. You can just make it out at the bottom of this cleft.”

“In the spring, it’s covered in flowers.” Max’s voice was gentle, barely a murmur. “It’s truly the most beautiful sight you’ll ever see”

Marco turned from his discovery. Max was in the middle of the chamber, supported by Cale and the woman, lying half across her lap.

“My grandma’s people kept the story of the garden. ‘Twas she who first told me, and I determined to find it.” He paused for a moment, gazing lovingly around the chamber before he continued. “I came here many times as a young man. I once lived here with the Djindi for a season, but I’m a wanderer to the bone, you know.”

A bloody froth of bubbles burst on his lips as another spell of coughing shook him. Once it had subsided, he peered up at the woman’s face. “I had to come home, don’t you see.”

Max sighed, once, deeply. The gentle laughter faded from the chamber with his sigh, as the light in his eyes died.

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