Book 3, Chapter 41 - Fishmongers Borough (1/2)

Cloudhawk, Autumn and the mysterious drunk made their way toward Fishmonger’s Borough atop their sandsharks. As ridiculous as riding fish through the desert sounded, it was even more amusing to witness. Amusing, but not easy.

The quicksand sea was a deadly place. It was a barren hell that would take their lives at a moment’s carelessness.

An endless sandstorm had raged over this land for years, covering ninety percent of it in scouring winds. In many areas it was impossible to see your hand in front of your face. Without the masks from Bonobo they would surely die as the sand filled their lungs.

Aside from the weather, the terrain itself was a threat. They were surrounded by quicksand with dangerous undercurrents that followed no pattern. A feather falling on the surface would be dragged under in an instant. Put simply, veteran demonhunters couldn’t press through this dire environment unaided and make it to the other side.

Of course, sandsharks traversed it without issue.

They were born in this place, lived their whole lives in the tempest. Instinct guided them through the dangers. Quicker than a horse or even car on a clear day, as well.

Still, after half a day of fighting the wind and sand the group was exhausted, to say nothing of their mounts. Through some unknown means, the flows of sand continued endlessly, increasing in intensity the deeper they went into the quicksand sea. The undercurrent tugged at the sandsharks, pitching them left and right. Dangerous pitfalls surrounded them on all sides.

A fierce gale surrounded them at all time, with wind that cut like knives. Grit struck exposed flesh like bullets. The briefest lapse and the riders could be pushed into the churning sands below.

The old man did not appear to be struggling at all.

It was becoming more obvious by the day that the cripple was more than met the eye. Not only did the winds and sand give him no trouble, on several occasions he actually uncorked a bottle of wine and helped himself. Cloudhawk found himself tiring, but he was strong enough that the environment didn’t trouble him too much. Autumn, on the other hand, was a frail and weak thing. She was only managing because Cloudhawk used the gospel of the sands from time to time to shield her from the elements. The brief respites gave her a chance to breathe, and the perseverance to keep pressing forward.

Cloudhawk was starting to worry she didn’t have the strength to make it through.

The sandsharks were fast, but already exhausted. He was sure they couldn’t keep up this pace. What if one got too tired and died? Where would that leave them? Their corpse would be sucked into the quicksand and lost forever. Even the old man wouldn’t be able to claw his way out.

As he struggled with these anxieties, something rose from the horizon ahead of them.

Oddball saw it first and warned its master. A silhouette emerged through the dim light, like a mountain standing tall in the middle of an ocean. The perpetual sandstorm made it invisible to the naked eye, and even Oddball only saw a hazy outline.

But what was a mountain range doing here, planted in the middle of a quicksand sea and a constant storm? It seemed more than likely the constant sands would wear it down or bury it eventually.

So a mirage, maybe? No… no it couldn’t be. Tricks like that could fool human eyes, but not Oddball.

Cloudhawk shouted over the howling winds at Autumn. “Hang in there, we’re getting close!”

Autumn was elated. The old man squinted his eyes, but before he could pick out the city’s outline a pair of figures suddenly rose up around them. Looking closer, they were revealed to be a group of sandsharks moving their way.

One… two... three of them. At the same time the sandstorm was finally beginning to let up.

Much to Cloudhawk’s surprise, he found that there were suddenly sandsharks all around them. Only two at first, but after a few moments there were ten. They were also able to see the mountain clearer now, and the fact that the sandsharks were being ridden. Some were being used as pack mules.

The mountain range in the middle of the quicksand sea had to be none other than Fishmonger’s Borough.

Years of assault by the surrounding sandstorm had eroded the mountains, and now they were smooth and rolling terrain pockmarked with caves. Denizens converted these naturally-occurring features into homes and other structures. The city they made was large enough to accommodate over a hundred thousand people. Banners caught Cloudhawk’s eye, fluttering in the wind, and among them men carrying heavy machine guns. Defense against the monsters that lurked beneath the quicksand, he figured.

It wasn’t uncommon for cities in the wastelands to move. They did it to avoid threats from groups that meant them harm, or roving mutant creatures. Fishmonger’s Borough was no different. The question was – how? It was the most incredible fact about Fishmonger’s Borough, because the eroded mountain range it was built on moved with the current of the quicksilver sea.

It was impossible for the outside world to track it. Between the kilometers of quicksand and constant sandstorm, even the greatest demonhunter tracker would be confounded. That meant there was only one way in and out of this place! Find a suitable place and hope you got ahold of some sandsharks.

Sandsharks had lived in this roving mountain range for generations. They’d been laying their eggs in the caverns below the sands for a thousand years. Once domesticated, Fishmonger’s native population made for excellent transportation, highly precise, and rarely lost to the sands.