Chapter 2

An Uneasy Alliance

After Zuberi reached the crystal formations, he turned, ready to to grab the spear of the machete, whichever would prove adequate to fight the colossal beast on his tail. There was nothing. Not even a swaying branch where, moment before, Zuberi would have sworn whole trees had fallen. He narrowed his eyes. The silverbacks, at least, were no figment of his imagination. They remained at the edge of the lush jungle, standing tall, agitating their quills to produce what Zuberi imagined flesh-eating cicadas would sound like.

The black crystal formations provided less comfort than Zuberi had hoped. They shielded him from the persistent light of the twin suns, but the structures also hummed with a low, resonant energy. The hum, different from the one in the jungle, vibrated through the ground, an unsettling lullaby that fractured his sleep. In his dreams, the humming transformed into whispers, voices that told tales beyond comprehension while swirling colors painted impossible patterns. Sometimes Zuberi tasted phantom saltwater. Other times, the markings on his arms pulsed in rhythm with the crystalline song. He spent the first cycle in this dubious shelter securing necessities, circling the cluster of black minerals, noting its abrupt rise from the glittering black sand, as if it had grown out of the ground. There was no other growth as far as Zuberi could see. His refuge was a lone landmark in a vast, exposed expanse. Each time he passed certain faces of a given growth during his initial exploration, the humming intensified, as if responding to his presence or to the alien marks branded into his flesh.

When he had almost completed his first round of the structure, he noticed the one thing that made him decide to stay. Near the formation's safety, close enough that he could dash there and back without fear, Zuberi found a pool of brackish, barely drinkable, metallic-tasting water. Once he was certain dehydration would not kill him, he needed to make sure the cure would not be as deadly as the illness. To clean the water, he needed fire. Earlier, he'd spotted a dead, dry log near the slope he'd tumbled down upon arrival. Cursing at himself for not snagging the log when he first saw it, Zuberi waited until the distant silverbacks were busy hunting moon-fur rabbits, only other creatures in the black expanse. The small animals, most black or white, some a shade of gray, all with a contrasting crescent on their backs, would jump out of the jungle at regular intervals and spend some time digging, then sit upright, look around, flick their ears left and right, and lower their snouts back into the sand. Sometimes, one rabbit would emerge with an orange bulb, about the size and shape of a mango. The rabbits always ate on the spot and in record time. Then they would dash back, scale the slope as if it was not nearly vertical, and they would not appear until the cycle repeated. With a shake of his head, Zuberi dashed across the sand, collected as much wood as he could carry, and returned to his crystalline refuge. The crystals themselves did not constitute an actual shelter, but, for some reason Zuberi did not want to question, the silverbacks stayed away from the black minerals, which was the second reason he chose to extend his stay.

Back in his humming shelter, Zuberi carefully unwrapped the flint and steel stored in a small pouch around his neck. Layers of cured skin, beeswax, and buffalo fat protected its contents, a meticulous precaution against home’s torrential rains, one not meant for oceanic submersion.

Brow furrowed, he broke off smaller twigs from the the main log, and peeled some of crumbling bark. Should he offer a prayer? Towards the twin suns? Twice the suns, twice the miracles—or twice the desolation. The thought soured in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he should pray to her god? Bile rose in his throat, hot and bitter, at the mere idea. The dark thoughts and the damp chill that had seeped past all the protective layers to dampen the flint sparked a wave of irritation. He cursed under gritted teeth and struck the flint harder than he intended.

A sharp tink echoed as a tiny fragment chipped off the flint, ricocheting off the nearest crystal face. The crystalline hum’s pitch spiked for a moment, and strange geometric patterns flickered across its surface like ripples on water. He felt an odd sensation as he struck again—like how it felt to inhale the desert dry air on a scorching day, while the markings on his body tingled with an almost buzzing energy. Looking down, his eyes widened when he saw the bundle of twigs and bark. They weren't just sparking—they were smoking, having caught fire far more readily than they should have. The flame that appeared had an unusual bluish tinge at its core, dancing in ways that defied the still air. With careful tending, Zuberi coaxed the flame into a familiar, strong orange with a stable white core.

Only after securing the fire did Zuberi turn to the local flora, resuming risky experiments. Any boy who had passed his second hunter trial knew what must be done if one had to spend time in an unfamiliar wilderness. Zuberi spend a few moment trying to remember when girls had to prove the same knowledge, but he gave up after a few heartbeats, a frown creasing his brow. This was not the first time he caught his mind wandering useless paths when he should be focused on ensuring his survival.

A patch of vibrant orange fungi was nestled near the base of most crystal growths. A shade lighter than the bulbs the rabbits favored, the mushrooms had a white stalk and an orange cap. One bite, raw, resulted in violent stomach cramps, leaving Zuberi weak and trembling, never to forget this world's hostility. Back home, the timid portion, even from the deadliest mushroom would have upset his stomach, made him hurl, at most.

By the cycle's end, profound weariness, deeper than physical exertion alone, had settled over Zuberi. A sense of dread, a certainty that impending doom would befall him soon, weighed on him. He blamed his sour mood on the foul water and poisonous fungus.

Soon the first cycle, hard to call them days with no idea of their duration, blended into the next, the comforting flame nearby the only difference from the cycle before. The fire’s flickering light kept the deepest shadows at bay, and Zuberi had yet to meet a creature foolish enough to ignore the flame. If one existed, it would not have survived long in this harsh world.

His sleep failed to restore his energy, but Zuberi knew he needed to push forward. He gathered large, spiral-shelled snails that lived in the sandy mud near the dirty pool. Their sluggish movements made them easy prey. Unwilling to risk eating anything raw, given his previous experience, he cooked them directly in the embers, hoping, given their abundance, for a readily available food source. The result proved disastrous.

The meat was tough, rubbery, and left a bitter aftertaste that refused to recede. When he bit through his lip and noticed only after tasting the coppery tang of blood, Zuberi froze, third morsel never making it to his mouth. Although he had consumed a small amount, as one should in these circumstances, the snails caused more severe hallucinations than the azure berries, which had been the first thing Zuberi had labeled unsafe. Invisible colors shifted and blended into impossible shapes. A voice, melodious, charming, insidious, whispered in his mind. It suggested he use one of the black crystal's sharp tip. All he had to do was lean against the one that branched from the main growth at a right angle and—one thrust and all would end. Peace at last. Reunion with Bakari, Amara, Father—his people. He could finally atone. When he didn't acquiesce, the voice went from suggestion to demand, then it cajoled, threatened, and went back to begging—on and on until the nightmare ended.

When the hallucinations subsided, leaving Zuberi trembling and nauseated, he swore off the foul-tasting snails, or further experiments altogether. Competing against the silverbacks for moon-fur rabbits was preferable to this madness.

However, the snail shells proved useful. After cooking what almost became his last meal, Zuberi noticed the shells remained unchanged. No discoloration or flaking, which was typical with the ones he caught and grilled as a boy. He tapped a shell against a crystal, then two shells together, hearing a similar ding. Either the shells were made of metal or crystal. Zuberi chose the former theory because it explained the water taste. Placing two shells on top of each other, their openings facing, he filled the bottom one with the rank water and placed it in the center of the smoldering coals, angling the top shell to catch and collect the steam. Droplet by droplet, clean water condensed on the metallic walls of the top shell and accumulated.

The work was slow and tedious but yielded water free of metallic taste and, hopefully, sickness. The fatigue persisted, and though he drank his fill for the firs time in what felt like weeks but could only be two days at most, the snails' poison was nothing to scoff at. To make matters worse, the silverbacks were relentless; two moved along the basin’s perimeter, violet eyes focused unnervingly on the crystal outcrop. Waiting. On a few occasions Zuberi had seen the first beast, recognizable by the fresh wound still on its flank and its gait that favored one side as it surveyed the black sands. It came at random intervals, approached one of its kin nearby and, after a series of growls, went back to the jungle, scaling the slope in two of three powerful jumps despite its injury.

It was not long before even the constant crystalline buzzing grated on his senses, their song growing more insistent with each passing moment. It felt draining, as if they were somehow feeding on his presence, drawing something from him that he couldn't

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