The Desert Sparrow

Something’s not right.

The hums of the Sahrawi winds were unusually tumultuously this morning. Our tattered tent rustled in unison with the desert winds as if to warn us of the calamitous journey that lay before us. If I had known that these parts were going to be so unfruitful, I would have opted from joining 4665 on the mission. He’s always been the optimistic one of our pairing but something about these winds instilled a feeling of uncertainty within the both of us.

"If we’re going to make it before nightfall, we should start moving"

4665 tried to sound collected but I could sense the urgency in his voice.

His tall figure cloaked with dark soot-stained fabrics towered over me as he peered through the opening of the tent. This was the first time I’d ever seen my brother look so worried. We’ve been traveling for several days through these barren lands in search of anything worth a damn. Metal scraps, broken machinery, cords and wires, remnants of centuries old civilizations built by our ancestors. They’re valuable enough to trade up in the highland markets. It’s only a five days voyage back and forth from our camp and that’s if we’re able to manage our time right.

The tribe is preparing to stock up on life supply before winter rings in and temporarily halts our voyages to the mainland. If we return empty handed, we’ll have to work nonstop all season to make up for it. So far, we've collected a few strands of barbed wire, a busted radio, and ten whole bullet casings.

"Don’t be so stupid, you should eat something before we head out. Who knows what could happen on the road"

My brother has a habit of pushing himself beyond his limits.

As if we need a battered saviour in our midst.

"That’s easy for you to say. If I fail the mission, father and the tribe will hold it over my head forever. You don’t have to worry about any of that because you're a..."

4665 mutters the last few words and I can see his body is struggling to keep upward. He’s more worn out than I’d originally thought. If he continues to ration his food like this, he won’t make it anywhere past noon.

"Eat. Now."

I take the tote bag out from behind me and rummage out a handful of scorpions I’d caught creeping into our tent some nights prior. I was planning on saving them for the trip back home but I don’t think we can afford to wait. I extend my arm towards 4665 and hand him four. He desists from trying to argue with me as soon as he sees the frenzied critters' ill-fated attempt to break free from my grip. My brother places them, two by two, in the device located on the his left wrist. Once the monitor flashes green, an indicator that the device has successfully extracted all life force from the scorpions, 4665 removes the carcasses and sends them out into the open desert. We watch as their small blackened shells are whisked away by the winds.

The storm slowly begins to settle down enough for us to regain our sight over the land. We dismantle the makeshift tent and mount our trusted Zeiba, Tala, ready to undertake the final stretch of our mission.

We traversed the vast empty lands in silence. Gust after gust, heavy winds blew. Heaps of red sand formed only by the heavy winds that came from every which direction as the burning sun shone mercilessly on anything and everything in sight.

"There’s some shade off by that pear tree. We should take a minute or two to organize our things before we arrive at the market"

It's not uncommon to find fruit trees withering away in the desert. Centuries ago during the Revolution, many scientists sought to create hybrids in all shapes that could withstand the saplings of war—famine being the most catastrophic to peripheral communities. What they didn't anticipate was that of the one branch of the hybrids they had created, the human hybrids, although able to weather these mortal conditions for longer, could not consume the bearings as they were not alive.

They were all but synthetic replications of nature's gifts. The human hybrids raged war against their makers and sought justice for their perverted existence—hundreds of thousands of lives lost. Years later, a treaty was signed signifying an end to the war and prohibiting the consumption of humans by the hybrids. They were banished to live far from civilization as punishment. The desert became their home and the Nomads became their title.

My brother nods in agreement as the market could be seen some miles off in the distance. A few moments rest shouldn’t affect our time at all considering how far we’ve come.

As we draw closer to the withering tree, we see a frail figure clothed in unusually bright white garments. It’s an older man, visibly human, taking refuge in whatever shade we’d sought out for comfort. The tree bestowed a large shadow over his meager frame leaving just enough room for the both of us to come and join. He smiles in our direction as if inviting us to sit with him.

"What on earth is he doing out here?"

My brother’s got a point. Humans don’t usually find themselves in these parts—too dangerous for their liking. The situation is as odd as they come and knowing my brother, he doesn’t trust this one bit.

The man motions to the empty space beside him patting the warm sand thrice. We dismount and I make my way towards him, 4665 staying behind with Tala. My brother nestles firmly beside her as to soak up whatever shade her body offers to his large build—a clear “no thank you” on his part.

"What are you doing standing so far away?"

I look up and witness what I can only describe as a miracle: a silver sparrow flutters down from the pear tree taking space on the man’s shoulder. A small, delicate bird thought to have disappeared long before the Revolution. The ancestors once spoke of such creatures who roamed freely throughout these territories. They are believed to be messengers of good fortune. The old man turns his gaze towards the bird and feeds it a palm full of planting seeds.

"I do not make company with your kind and if you cared for your life, you would seek to leave this place at once."

The old man inches forward unveiling a blue clay jug that many travellers of this region use to carry warm tea. The man gestures for my brother to drink.

As expected, 4665 refuses.

The man then turns to me and I kindly accept. I doubt a man of his age would have any reason to harm us. I sip and anticipate sweet tea but I'm shocked to discover that it is fresh milk, cold too. The sensation is euphoric. I can feel the cool substance rushing down my body in brisk waves sending me into state of utter bliss. I've never tasted anything so pure before.

"You know, the ancestors believed the sparrows possessed supernatural healing powers and employed them for medicinal purposes. You see, after the Revolution, all but few were captured by... well, our kind and placed into labs, used in experiments and such. The sparrows are the key to life itself which makes them as invaluable as they are beautiful"

My brother scoffs arrogantly as if that’d been the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. I see that he's noticeably paler than before which isn't a good sign. I hand the flask back over to the man and make my way towards Tala. I quickly separate all of our valuables from my tote bag into the small compartment located on Tala's upper left thigh.

"Thank you for the drink, sir. But, we really should get moving"

I turn towards my brother.

"Shit..."

He's not breathing.

I drop to the floor and begin to shake him feverishly.

Nothing.

Silence was absolute.

Then, alas.

I am greeted by three rhythmic bells of death.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Two beeps means danger. Three beeps means full systematic shutdown. In other words dead, deceased, donezo.

"Hey, stay with us. Don't you dare fail on me when we're so close to the market! Please don't leave me here alone."

Still nothing.

The old man rolls the flask over the hot sand and I grab it. He gives me his nod of approval and place the brim just above my brother's lips when the old man chimes in.

"No, don't be silly. Place the contents into his wrist. That is where he receives his life supply, is it not?"

Without much time to question whether or not to trust him, I do exactly as I am told and place every last drop of the flask's contents straight into the opening of the life monitor.

There is one final momentary pause before my brother's eyes begin to flutter open.

"6467..."

I turn my body back towards the old man and see that he is nowhere to be found. There was absolutely no trace that anyone else had been there. All that remained was the silver sparrow that stood where he once stood alongside a woven basket. I peer inside and count a total of nineteen unhatched eggs. I place them into my tote bag and make my way towards 4665.

We mount our Zeiba and continue on our journey to the market.

The old man's words still ringing incessantly in my mind.

"...The sparrows are the key to life itself"

I have no idea what he meant.

But, I have a feeling that we might just find out.