Winter 1917 – The Adventure of the Burning Word


The desert stretched to the four directions. We could see no human activity. A small herd of camels strolled in the far south. Otherwise, not even the wind moved. This seemed as good a place as any to drop anchor. 

While Jack and Quint prepared a dinner of rice and lentils I spidered down the anchor rope. After two weeks in the airship I had a great desire for earth, even hot sand, under my toes. After a pair of back loosening cartwheels I began to pace a spiral out from the anchor.

The more I walked the more my eyes began to tell me stories that I did not wish to know. I have seen enough cities buried by the elements to be able to recognize their shape. We were anchored atop a sand buried ruin.