Sun, Moon, and Water The sun is evil. No, Khaba allows, it enables evil.

The young Egyptian stares through a darkened window at the bright, bluish-brown blob in the sky. The moon brings evil, as well. He would say all his people know this, but the only people he knows of are his immediate family. Everyone else is either dead or clinging to shadows, just as he is. Movement catches his eye a hundred feet below him. A dust devil dances, sending dry arms reeling in all directions. Spinning dervishes lost in their own evil beguilement, the sands have only one purpose: to seek out any and all moisture and soak it in, drawing it away from the sparse life left on the surface of the cursed land. Soon... Soon the sun will be at the optimum place to stretch the shadows across the courtyard, giving Khaba a safe path to the ruins. Water must be found, and he has been chosen. His father used to search, but night beasts had torn him apart at the edge of the courtyard. They had smelled the water he carried and followed him to steal it back and suck the moisture from his blood. They were relentless as long as the moon was bright, just as the sands inevitably devoured anything the sun fell upon. The only way to safely look for water was during the day...in the shadows. He grabs a tattered, sand colored cloak on his way out and swirls it about his shoulders. On his way to the courtyard entrance, he sees his kid sister and scruffs her hair, trying to reassure her. She bats his hand away, Don't do that. Ament smooths her hair down with one hand and falls in beside him as he walks. Don't go, she pleads, staring at her feet. He glances at her, but doesn't slow. Their small bin of water is dry. I have to. But the dervish'll get you. No. Why would it? He pats a small wooden flute hanging near his waist. It likes my music. She doesn't respond or even look. She's had this conversation with him several times since the two had watched their father being sucked dry, screaming in terror and pain.

I still have nightmares, she says quietly. Only it's you instead of Papa. An unbidden shiver creeps down his spine. Such dreams spoken aloud seem prescient. That would be difficult, he explained with a wink, The sun is out. No monsters. She just shakes her head and continues pacing him. She hands Khaba a small cracker to chew when they reach the large doorway. Come back safe, Brother. He hugs her and sets out, staying firmly inside the boundaries of shade. Ament watches him go, trying to ignore the rippling sands to either side of the path.

Once Khaba enters the relatively cooler shadows of the ruins, he allows his nerves to show a bit more and pulls the hood of his cloak up for a moment. He shivers and shoves it back again nervously, looking about him at the towering buildings and their connecting bridges. They had once been home to thousands of people but were now full of cracks allowing the sun to poke through to the sand-covered streets. He's able to mostly stick to safety among the collection of skeletal trees and crumbling rubble, though at times he is required to dash across open spaces, praying the devils won't find him. People in the past had already thoroughly searched the buildings closest to his family's shelter, forcing him to gradually range further and further away. Not only did the buildings get shorter the further he went, providing less shade, but the longer it took him. Fatigue, dehydration, and the sun's travels could quickly end his life in such an unforgiving environment. Axra min kida mafii, he mutters. Ahead is a large, empty common area with wide avenues branching off from it. He can't cross it safely, and going around it will be almost as dangerous. His attention wanders as he decides what to do and he steps into a bright ray of sunshine. Immediately, the sands erupt beneath his feet, sending him reeling into the plaza. He twists and turns with the

fingers of sand, barely avoiding being caught in a tight grip. He lunges for the alley he had fallen from, spinning to plant his back against the adobe. An arm as big around as his spears towards him, but drops as soon as it's cut off from the sunlight. Khaba pants as he watches the sand settle seamlessly into the bleached ground. The silence presses heavily against him. As young as he is, he has gotten used to small doses of terror such as these. His father died only three months ago, and he has been in the ruins almost every day since. He catches his breath quickly and looks for his next path. A thin line of shadow skirts a wall surrounding the courtyard, leading to an avenue to his right. He slides against the wall carefully, sure none have searched the buildings along the broad streets because of the danger they presented. He continues along the wall on his toes, flattening himself as much as possible to avoid the light. He is focused enough on his feet he doesn't notice the large crack in the wall. The sands are waiting and gush through the crack, shoving him away from the wall and relative safety of the shadow. He's prepared, though, and lands on his feet. Run! He dodges the spears of sand bursting from the ground at his feet and runs pell-mell, breath coming in ragged gasps, impervious to the debris around him. The spouts shoot up on one side, then the other, forcing him to jump from side to side. Suddenly, a sinuous arm of sand winds up and across ankle-level before him, sending him sprawling face first into the sand. He flips over and gasps for breath as towers as tall as he slide up to him and bend down as though to slowly stab through his body. He inches backwards away from them, heart pounding in fear. He gulps and shakily pulls his flute from its thong and begins to play. The towers seem to settle back slightly as he plays. The space between them encourages him and he carefully gets to his feet, continuing to play. Once up, he backs slowly, twiddling the whole time. The heads of the towers rock to and fro in time to the music and bob up and down with the

movements of the flute. Khaba grins inwardly. He always fears and loves their reaction to his music. He spins in rhythm and watches them bob in response. When he steps backwards, they slide forward. A step towards them is met with a skid backwards and a sway to the side. They are under his control. Unfortunately, he cannot play forever, and he knows it. The dance has taken him close to the end of the wall and an entrance to the first building. With one last twirl, he drops the flute back on its cord and dashes for the doorway. The sands are ready for him. They explode beneath his feet in one huge column that lifts him high into the air. The sands constantly shift under him, trying to curl around him. He writhes away from the loops that try to compress on him. Just as a large swath starts to come down over his head, he grabs a rope hanging from a bridge stretching across the street. Hoping to get away, Khaba shimmies up, grateful for the solid, wind-swept stone free of sand. He doesn't have time to wonder why the bridge is safe, but he takes a moment to slow his heart after his close escape. He glances down and sees nothing but flat sand on the ground, thinking he has some semblance of safety. Dua Netjer en ek, he thanks whatever deity has given him this blessing, and takes a step towards the nearest building. He freezes when he hears the skittering of sand and looks down. Nothing is moving. He takes another step and hears the sound again. Step, sound. Step, sound. It's following him! He glances to the other side of the narrow bridge and sees his shadow. Of course. It knows where he is. He drops to his stomach, hoping that will fool the sands beneath him, and slides forward, looking to reach the building across from him. But the unblinking eye of the sun sees all and cannot be fooled by lack of shadows. As he crawls, he hears the sands still slithering, but the sound is now closer. He spits out the dust in his mouth and grinds his ear against the rough stone beneath him to hear

better. Nothing. Then something. The sand has wound up sun-dappled sides of the buildings, resting on ledges created by fallen bricks, and is sliding toward him, trying to be stealthy by moving only when he does. Khaba hopes to reach the building first. Crawl, slide, crawl, slide, inch, slither, drag, whoosh! He has made it! He swings his legs around into the shadow just as the snake of sand swishes up to crash where he had been a split second before. Down he slides. The rock is smooth from hundreds of years of merchants throwing gods knew what down the chute. Now Khaba slides down, welcoming the darkness. He hits bottom hard and tries not to black out as his recent exertions catch up with him. Exposure to the scorching sun, lack of water in the dry air, and overexertion of his young muscles are now taking their toll. He lies at the bottom of the chute, his head swimming, but he can't stay there. He will be missed. He drags himself to his feet to look around himself and get his bearings. Nothing meets his eyes. The light from above is sucked into the encompassing darkness and he swallows back a different source of fear, one much older than the fairly new fear of the light. Instinctive fear of absolute darkness makes his eyes strain as wide as possible. He steps gingerly forward once, twice, driven through the fear of the unknown by the fear of the known behind him. His movements take on a fluidity his ancestors once used to avoid being noticed by both humans and demons alike. He knows there are demons. Both in the sun and out of it. A warm breath brushes his face, freezing his steps. He mouths a prayer, his ringing ears searching for any sound. Ament's dream returns to him, full force. His blood, wet as the old tales of rain, sang through his veins. A siren call to the demons of the moon. A low growl rumbles from his left and he runs. Obstacles meet his hands before him, shredding his skin. He allows his elbows to bend like

wagon springs, propelling him sideways around boulders. More grating snarls surround Khaba, confusing him even more. He crashes to the floor as his foot hits something. He lays still, breath coming in ragged gasps. Any moment, the sharp fangs of the beasts will tear into him, he's sure. When nothing happens, he pushes himself to his hands and knees and moves forward again. Momentum means life. To stop is to give in and die. He catches a whiff of fresh air and turns his head towards it. He crawls towards it, not caring if fresh air means returning to the sun. At least in the day, among the sands, he can find safety. The dervishes play with their food. The demons only devour. Soft, warm fur brushes against his arm and he stops again. A soft grumble sends tremors through his body, but the fur doesn't move. It's snoring, he realizes. This must be one of the demons' dens. He inches to the side away from the beast and continues towards whatever opening is letting in the air. Soon he sees a light. Khaba rises to a crouch and quickens his steps. Ambient light begins to filter in. The more light, the less snoring he hears. He has escaped from the den. Ahead, though, is the sun. The sands are waiting for the next round of dancing. Khaba's muscles begin to bunch, preparing for more struggle, when he smells it. Water. Feet planted, he turns his nose this way and that to find the source. A clear drip of water rings in his ears and he jumps towards the sound. His foot splashes in a small pool just out of reach of the light in the dim recesses of a collapsed side of the building. He smiles and jumps into the water. The cool kiss of water caresses his bare, sand-blasted legs up to his knees. He lifts handfuls of the water to his lips and throws some into the air above him to dance in the shower as it rains back down upon his turbaned head. Yet again, though, he can't stay. His family is waiting for him. He looks around the pool, looking for something, anything, to give him more hope. He finds it. An old waterskin half buried in the accumulated dirt gives him something to fill with water and carry. He plunges the sack into the water and watches sparkling bubbles rise from the opening. When no

more appear, he lifts the skin and wraps a piece of thong around the neck to hold it shut. Now back to the business of the sands. Tiptoeing, Khaba stops just shy of the bath of light. There is a difference in his bearing now. He has something precious to return to his family. He holds life. He lifts his chin and steps into the light. The sands howl towards him and he hesitates only a second before he side steps just as the sand barrels past him. He keeps walking, lightly dodging the jets of sand from the sides and below. All that is on his mind is the skin of water he holds in his hands and the life it will afford his family for another day. He sees the shady entrance to the large mausoleum his family calls home. The courtyard in front no longer has a safe path through it. The sun has gone too far down. He runs. Ament is standing in the doorway, yelling at him. He can't hear her, though, as the blood rushes in his ears. He's made it! Safety is right... He stops. The sound in his ears is more than just adrenaline. He looks down at the water gushing from the hole torn in the waterskin. The cool water flows down his legs mixed with his blood. He looks up one last time into Ament's tear-filled eyes as a dervish overtakes him and twirls about his form. The sand forming the now muddy dagger protruding through the boy's chest join the dust devil as it scours and rips all from the boy's bones before collapsing back into the ground, allowing the dry, bleached skeleton to clatter to the ground. The sun wins again.