omen of magic's lies and tricks,
on the horizon sits mirage.
dark, hateful snare of djinnis six
lain to short beggars' pilgrim haj.
~ Trials of the Sah'arah

I woke up today at ten p.m. I had not slept that far past dusk in four months. I had dreamed constantly about the dune I was to climb that night, and could not put the thought of it out of my mind for a second even after having wakened. It was to be a long climb, but as I wrote yesterday, I had the time, and so I began scaling it as soon as I could make myself ready and rouse my camel.

I crested its peak just as dawn was breaking. My climb did not disappoint. Two things were apparent from that vantage point that were completely unknowable otherwise. The first is the reason for my riding in circles. Just in front of the dune was a ridge that stretched for miles straight as a spear. I had been following the base of this ridge for the last three days, believing that it ran true for its entire course. As it is, this is completely false. It does run straight for miles, but then starts to curl, imperceptibly at first but more aggressively later, back left towards the mountain dune. It actually is the shape of an oval, but its size is so large that a lone rider at night already tired by desert travel could never notice its slight curvature. So, that is the mystery solved.

It is however the second sight that surprised me more. Thirty five degrees to the right of the ridge, just visible upon the horizon in that early dawn light, was a break in the interminable continuity of the desert. It appeared to be the very thing I could not believe it was, for things too good to be true always are. It looked like only thirty miles lay between me and a lush, lifesaving oasis. I blinked my eyes. It still stood.  Wiped my face. There, still, it was. Walked away then came back again. Nothing I did changed what it was I saw; there was an oasis sitting in a large depression in the land just two days’ ride from where I sat.

I sit here now atop this dune and deliberate. As I have said, things that are too good to be true always are.  I have never heard of any oases in this part of the desert, and I begin to suspect that there is an evil at work. Why was I drawn so strongly to summit this dune? And, once on top, to discover both the reason for my failure and a means of escape? With a clear mind I remember that just but a few hours ago I had defied giving the desert its full reward, and now my mind is being drawn to abandon its newfound peace and take up again hope of delivery. Surely this is the work of those vile spirits, the Djinnis, who embody the heartless malevolence of the desert. I had said that I would not bow my knee, and this offence has brought the ire of the desert upon me! This oasis is nothing but a mirage sent to draw me out of peace and dignity into a shameful death.

Such were my thoughts as I set them down at dawn. I have slept all the day, and have awakened to a changed heart. Before, believing I had no fate but death, my goal was to preserve as much dignity as a man in my position might be able. Now, slim chance as it is, I do not know that I am sentenced to expire here. I will go to this oasis, shaking off all fear of what dangers should come. If I am to die, then it would be good to die well. But refusing to take my chance at life because I refuse to risk a better death is folly in the highest degree.  I stand now, mount my ever faithful companion, and go. What befalls me befalls me, for I am a man living on borrowed time already, and I challenge these terrors of the desert to stay me.

August 13, 1531
Sahara Desert, Northern Africa
A lowly bedouin and his friend camel

his head in swoon, a footstrike slips and lo!
a smoking body falls on searing hills.
he struggles up then quits the deed. and so
the shifting sands have broken this man's will.
~ Trials of the Sah'arah

Tonight around one a.m. I passed by my dune for the third time. In the face of such evidence even a crazy man could not help but realize that he was continually retracing his own steps. I stopped myself, then and there deciding that I would quit my wandering. Though I knew the desert had killed me, in my spite I would not give it its final satisfaction. Doubtless, it wanted to see me lurch about as a madman till my final hour, wasting myself faster and faster as the craze set in, all until the point where I lay spent and dead on the burning sand, my body waiting the short time to be crumbled to dust and united with his desert brethren. Well, I would not do it. The desert was to be my hangman, indeed the noose was already set, but it would never be my master.

I stepped off of my friend camel and laid down. He was much surprised that at this point in the night, not having even been half of a normal night's march, he was being rested and pet. I do not think, though, that he was opposed to the idea. I myself was feeling better than I had in a month. The mental strain of pathfinding and rationing food and drink was off of me, and I allowed myself both to relax and eat my fill. I had accepted death.

I have now been sitting for around three hours, alternately dozing and enjoying the unusual coolness of this night's air. A thought has just entered my head as I put the finishing touches on this journal entry: until this point, I had never considered scaling the accursed mountain. My thought had always been that the effort and time to do so would not profit one who had so little energy and supplies. But what are those now? Nothing. I do not know what compels me, but I desire to summit this dune. Well, I have nothing if not a free day tomorrow's night, and I think that a tall dune will suit me as a grave much the same as a short one should.

12 August, 1531
Sahara Desert, Northern Africa
A lowly bedouin and his friend camel

ten hundred days of wandering, yet my course remains unclear.

sun blacked skin, parched lips smoldering, in this desert drear.

~ Trials of the Sah'arah

In my most recent weeks the only solace from the oppressing dunes surrounding me, apart from the stoic nature of my ever trusty camel, has been found in commiserating with the author of this little book, Trials of the Sah'arah, that I elected to take with me as one of a very few workable luxuries. The rigors of desert travel afford little room for packing dainties. Each dawn, as I am settling down to bed, for in these latitudes only a fool would travel by day, I have been reading a couplet, or at the most two, for I must ration my entertainment the same as my supplies. Though I do not know if the verse be any good at all, it has given me incalculable comfort just to know that another, though himself long dead and now at peace, has experienced the thirst and burning that I now go through. My hold upon my sanity would long ago have passed without his words' tempering influence.

However, I suspect that hold to now be slipping. In this last week I have passed by a certain mountainous dune twice, and though I pray it was a different dune each time, I fear that I have finally entered into the last leg of so many foolish journeys: walking in circles. A man struck by this affliction has but little chance to recover, having lost precious days provisions as well as becoming a doubter rather than a follower of the dictates of his most precious resource, cool-headed reason. Having come to the realization that this enterprise, conceived out of sheer necessity but never blessed with any hope, is coming to this most unfortunate end, I have begun to set down my thoughts into writing in the vain fancy that some man may one day rescue my life out of obscurity by the discovery of the record of my death.

9 August, 1531

Sahara Desert, Northern Africa

A lowly bedouin and his friend camel