The Tower (revised)

The Tower

“Quickly now, the Storm is approaching.” Everyone felt it, heard it. The wind that shakes the bells rarely ceases quietly.

Already eddies of dust skirted along the ground. She had told him once that when the first currents of the Storm blew along the desert floor she would stare down from her perch and pretend that the streams of sand were the returning River. He, too, would often gaze down and tried to imagine it. And if he squinted, he would start to see it - see the turbid waters - but all too quickly it would fade back into swirling dust and shattered illusions. He was forced to take solace in merely watching her face - an echo of the dream. It was then that she seemed happiest.

“Loosen the tarps, bring them over the north face of the Tower.” He slipped down off his perch and began to move over the scaffolding. The great bells swung back and forth. Someone on the east face began to blow a horn. He gathered up the tarp under his arm and began to work his way north. Another horn bellowed above him, echoing the first, then a third horn sounded twice from below. A west wind.

He dropped the bundle of tarps off at the top of a stairway, in the care of another two men who were working furiously to repair a broken canvas. He made his way back along the side of the Tower, till he found the spot where the scaffolding was closest to the Tower wall. Making sure no one was watching, he made a short leap from the wooden planks to the sandstone blocks, his sandals scraping softly as he landed. For a moment, he thought he heard his name being called. He held his breath and listened but no second call came.

He forced his back against the wall and slid out along the ledge. Once he had made the mistake of looking down but he was not nearly so foolish now.

He pulled himself around the corner and found her waiting there. The ledge wasn’t more than a yard wide but it was more than enough for him to feel at ease.

“I thought I heard someone calling your name.” Wispy hair darted across her face. She looked more tired than usual, almost troubled.

He smiled and took a seat beside her. The great expanse of the desert rested in front of his eyes, looking as it had for most of the morning. Yet upon the horizon a small dark line was beginning to grow and waver. She frowned.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She paused for a second. A far away look crossed her face. He had seen her like this a few times before. “Do you think there are people out there?”

“They shut down the mines for a storm, gather everyone-“

“No…” she trailed off. “I know that. I don’t mean the mines. I mean out there.” She motioned with her arm towards the roiling horizon.

“In the sands? They’d be killed by the Storm.”

She went silent. She stared into the desert.

“Have you ever walked upon the sand?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Not that I can recall. There’s nothing but the mines down there, which I’ve really no reason to…”

“I went down yesterday.”

“To the mines?”

“Just to the sand. I wanted to feel it.”

He fell silent.

“The Council says that someday we’ll build the tower so high that even the Storm won’t reach us.” He sighed. “I suppose if that happens, then we’ll be able to see into the desert. We’ll be able to see if there are other towers, other people out there. And we’ll be able to find the River.”

She laughed. “You sound like the schoolmaster.”

They watched as the winds began to whip the sands. Great boiling clouds started to culminate upon the horizon. They would reach the Tower shortly, a few minutes at most. He was usually eager to push it to the last second, to feel the thrill of the Storm, yet today he felt anxious. Something was wrong.

The wall of sand had begun moving over the horizon. Its shadow cast across the desert, nearly reaching the bottom of the Tower. In its presence, the Tower looked like a dwarf and the people, nothing more than fleas. He began to get nervous, his hands trembling at his side.

“We should go in,” he said as he moved to his feet.

She smiled. It was a strange smile. It was not of happiness or contentment but of something entirely different; it was almost a smirk. “A little longer,” she said.

“The Storm will be here soon…”

She paused for a moment and then looked into his eyes. “I’m staying here.”

“What?” The remark caught him off guard. He staggered.

“I’m staying out here. I want to feel the storm.”

“You’ll be killed!”


“Maybe.”

“We have to go-“

“Then go.”
Anger started to rise within him, yet it was nothing put beside the cold fear that was grabbing hold of him. The Storm had already crossed half the distance between the Tower and the horizon. A minute more and it would hit.

“Sarah, this isn’t a game.”

“It’s not.”

Out of desperation, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the opening, quickly sealing the canvas behind them. She gave him another smirk – this time a true smirk.

“Come down to the mines with me tomorrow,” she said. “I want to show you what it’s like to walk on the sands.”




The next day they were lowered down the side of the Tower in a small mining cage. They had had to wait until midday as the mine’s entrance was still being dug out from the sandstorm.
As an elder of the Tower, Sarah’s grandfather, Owdun, accompanied them down. He had lived in the mines, as Sarah’s parents did now. “If this is your first time in the mines, you are truly in for a treat.”

Sarah smiled as if he had made a joke.

“It’s wonderful,” continued her grandfather, “Water pouring straight from rock.”

“Like a stream?” he asked, distracted. He kept glancing towards the horizon, expecting to see a slight shimmer. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the Tower.

“No I’m afraid not. You see, there’s water everywhere. It slowly gathers in the rock and trickles out into the mine. But it’s terribly slow and inconsistent. Nothing at all like a stream, I’m afraid.” The small cage hung perilously on the side of the Tower, swinging gently from side to side. “I can show you once we’re down.”

Sarah was once again looking towards the horizon.

“Has anyone ever died in the Storm?” Sarah asked, looking towards her grandfather.

“Plenty have died. Every few years, a renegade or a vagabond will wander off into the desert. No one’s ever seen again. It’s truly tragic.”

“But has anyone ever seen someone die in the Storm?”

“Of course. Last month, Ferit Dair was blown off the Tower. Poor fool didn’t make it to shelter in time. Few have died in the mines though. You might not think it but mines are much safer than the Tower.”

Sarah went quiet. She still appeared troubled.

The cage was lowered into the mine where it came to rest upon rock and fresh sand.

“That’s sulfur you’re smelling. Comes naturally with the water,” explained Owdun as he lead them down a cavernous hallway. They passed by hundreds of canvas tents and makeshift rooms, carved out of the rock wall.

“I never realized how large it was down here.”

“It’s its own city. Would you like me to show you where they gather the water?”

“Maybe another time, Owdun,” said Sarah. “I wanted to show him the sands.”

Owdun frowned. “Well I suppose it would be foolish for me to try to stop you. But promise to be careful. Listen for the bells; if you don’t hear them, you might be trapped out there.”

“We will be careful, grandpa.”

He smiled and turned to go but then stopped. “Oh, and Sarah? You will visit your mother while you’re down here, won’t you?”





They ventured through the mines for some time. The closest exit was still buried in sand, so they traversed to the next exit. It was only a few hundred yards farther, yet it lay along a much smaller branch of the main tunnel, which twisted and turned and carried more pitfalls than it did people. Several times they came upon small holes, which poured down sand and sunlight in accordance with the wind and the clouds. And for each hole, there were three miners fighting back the sand.

“Why do you call him Owdun? It’s not his real name, is it.”

“Hmm…?”

“Your grandfather, you always call him Owdun.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “I called him Old One, as a kid. Only I could never pronounce it, so I stuck with Owdun.”

“Old One?”

She smiled to herself. “You see, there was this rumour that went around when I was a child. People used to say that my grandfather hadn’t been born in the Tower or the mines. They said his birth had never been recorded. It was, of course, just a story. They have his records in the Tower; he was born here, like everyone else. But I had always liked the story; I wanted to believe it. And as a child, I just assumed that if he wasn’t born in the Tower, he had to be older than it. Very old, foolishly old.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it.” He stopped and grinned. “You think your grandfather was born in the sands.”

She went silent for a second then sputtered out, “I… it’s just that…” She paused. “It’s not like that.” She began to march forward again. “C’mon, I think I can see the exit.”

They stepped out into the bright daylight. For a second he could see nothing but the glaring sun. All sounds of mining or work on the Tower were lost in the gentle wind. For a moment, he felt lost. But then he saw the Tower rising up behind him, dominating the sky. He wondered if they would be able to hear the bells down here.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the swirling sea of sand. He held up a hand to block out the sun and dust and saw that Sarah had already begun trudging forward. He took several steps and fell. Never before had he walked upon sand and it surprised him how oddly it shifted under his weight. He felt the warm sand shifting in his sandals and for a moment wondered if this is what the River would feel like. How small he felt moving along the ground like an ant. And how odd the Tower looked from a distance! He smiled. Perhaps he could grow to like the sands.

He stumbled once again. This time when he brought his head up, Sarah was gone.

“Sarah!”

A muted call came from the next dune. He sprinted to the top only to see her cresting the next hill. She waved him on. Half running, half stumbling, he chased after her. Finally, he found her resting upon a secluded dune. However, it was different than the rest. It looked like another entrance to the mine, yet it quickly petered off. A cave, he realized. A few odd jars and vases were all that marked it as unnatural.

“I wanted to show you this,” she said.

“What is this place?”

She smiled. “It’s a home.”

“Who…” He trailed off.

“Whoever it is, they’re gone.”

“You don’t think…”

“No. It’s not more than ten years old.”

He stood there astounded. How? he wanted to ask. Why?

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

“More than this?” he laughed. “Of course.”

“I’ve spent the night out here.” She looked towards the horizon. “In fact, I’ve done more than that. Not more than a month ago I spent an entire week out here.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s crazy. What if the Storm came?”

She looked at him. There was a silence

“No,” he said, “No. How…”

“I hadn’t planned on it. The Storm caught me off guard the first time I was walking the sands. It was painful but luckily I was dressed well. I pulled my shawl around my face and managed to find this shelter. It shields the wind but you have to keep moving to keep on top of the sand, then when it’s over you dig out the shelter again. It was terrifying, yet it can be done.” She laughed. “It can be done.”

“This is insane.”

“Don’t you realize what this means?”

“Sarah, you can’t be serious. Whoever built this shelter either gave up or died out here.”

“Or moved out into the desert.”

“What if the wind comes from the wrong direction? What if you run out of water?”

“There are many shelters, facing all different directions - some even natural, lucky enough to be spared from the sand. And you heard Owdun. There’s water everywhere. It can be found.”

“But he also said it was scarce and unreliable.”

“I want to show you one more thing.” She led him to the back of the shelter, where a small plant flourished.

“Desertbrush?”

“After the Storm, I stole into the lower levels of the Tower and brought this out. I had to see if it could grow.”

He advanced and felt it’s thin leaves between his fingers. “It’s blossoming.”

There was a moment of silence, in which they both gazed at the plant. Then Sarah took his hand and stared him in the eyes. For a moment, he thought he heard the distant ringing of bells. “Saul,” she said, “I want you to come with me. Come with me into the sands.”

“This is madness.” His voice had faded to a whisper.

He looked up once again at the looming Tower. Its shadow began to fall across the two of them. Its parapets and walkways loomed in the sky, like great arms, grasping the sun.

“This is madness,” he muttered. “This is madness,” he muttered once more. Then, he turned and began to follow Sarah into the desert.