The Eye of Yeme: The Sand Rogues, #1

By C. Tarradell

Shaye is an enigmatic thief who lives for the chase of treasure. The best at what he does, he has surrounded himself with a family of like-minded individuals, rich on their exploits of burglary and crime. But an overreach of his ambition may have propelled him and his family into an eons-old war between powers and forces way beyond their control - together they must struggle to find their place, to survive... and, of course, to walk away rich.

He was born with a glint of greed in his eye, the scoundrel.

Since a young lad, Shaye only ever cared about one thing: coin.

Well, also in what it took to get the coin. He was as much a thrill-seeker as a greedy thief.

A particularly interesting character, Shaye had quite an intriguing complex. A thief, a criminal, every day of his life, yet a good man with a good heart, a scholar and noble person, intent on doing the right thing for himself and his family of like-minded thieves.

Yet, for a thief, the ambition and greed is ever a nagging nemesis.

Overreaching (perhaps) for more, Shaye and his Sand Rogues venture to the western fringes of their desert home of Yemeatis, to the legendary and dangerous expanse of Hambetia, in search of treasures older than men.

But what was meant to be another of a string of heists, if not a different kind, quickly becomes a mission of survival for the Sand Rogues, as they find themselves caught in the middle of a struggle older than time, from an ancient epoch that men know little of.

Will they survive their latest exploits, together? Or will all, or one of them, fall to their pursuit of dangerous treasures?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Tarradell Books
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393689829

C. Tarradell

Chris Tarradell was born in Miami, FL. He has been many things; a student, a salesman, an accountant. He aspires to be many more; a pianist, a bassist, and above all a storyteller. A lover of all things fantasy (an avid reader and writer of fantasy, self-confessed show and movie watcher of fantasy, and gamer of fantasy), Chris is currently working on three series. ​A Tale of Two Fools - An epic saga of fantasy and mythological creatures. The Sand Rogues - Heist fiction at it's finest - the adventurous journeys of a relatable band of thieves and rogues. We Are Not Welcome - A post-apocalyptic piece of Sci-Fi fiction, set in a dystopian world where technology has failed and ceases to exist. Chris lives in Miami with his wife and family. He loves to hear from fans, readers, and peers - reach out!

Book preview

Prologue

In the heart of The Valley of Yeme, thousands of miles to the west of Tyne, dead center in the largest expanse of desert in all of Olvion, amidst the rolling sands and dense oases of the golden hot land of Yemeatis, there was a hole in the desert floor.

A hole ten miles wide, dropping off from the sandy desert floor at a perfect angle, seeming to fall into the very loins of the world itself. The hole was dark, and deep; staring down into the Devil’s Pit, as the Yemes called it, nothing but the very surface just before your face could be seen. Even in the ever-present bright and scorching hot sun of Yemeatis, this hole seemed to steal the vision right from your eyes as if you were looking into the very black soul of The Moonworld.

All that could be seen, and all that was present in the Devil’s Pit, was a horribly dangerous, rickety set of stairs starting from the upper right-hand corner of the hole, circling around the border of the entire pit and descending into complete and utter emptiness. None could say how this hole was made, or what was down below at the bottom floor... if there even was a bottom floor. None could say who had built the stairs into the abyss, or if it even reached the bottom or just stopped halfway down in the black circle of empty death, rocks and pebbles tumbling down at the very last step.

Then again, none could say much about the rolling deserts of Yemeatis altogether; a land so wild and untamed, so much of it uncharted, so much of it still in such a primitive state that it seemed to be a land with its own beating heart and breath.

Tynish legend, much of it probably superstition, had told of a beautiful gemstone lost at the bottom of the Devil’s Pit. This gemstone was so magnificent, so wondrous in its sparkling brilliance, that it could turn the see’er blind. A gemstone said to be a crystallized tear from the holy eye of Yeme himself, the Sunfather.

None had ever found The Eye of Yeme... in fact, none had ever entered the Devil’s Pit and came out alive.

But a treasure of that value was for one man only.

Part One – The Cards of Oum

Chapter 1 – Shaye

M aybe he’s hungry, Ada. Give him milk!

I’ve already fed him thrice today, Letos! How much more can one baby eat?!

WAAAAHHH! WAAAHHHH!! The hysterical crying of a baby wrapped in old brown cloths filled the humble shack of Ada and Letos, in the small water village of Harebulus.

In the land of Yemeatis, a hot desert of scarce settlements and expansive uncharted terrain, one of the primary and easiest professions one could get into was water-gathering. Water-gatherers would travel to the millions of known oases, and thousands more unknown, to harvest the fresh water of the world and deliver it to the big metropolis cities such as Tyne and Tall Sun. Unless from an oasis, water was scarce in Yemeatis, and was a very in-demand product. One would think a water-gatherer would be rich, his life full of exquisite luxuries for selling such a popular thing. But such was not the case.

Yeme, the Sunfather, had blessed His children with a hot barren land full of green and wet life; in small doses. The oases. His gift upon His world. Oases were plentiful in Yemeatis, with plenty of water-gatherers to claim the pure liquid gold known as water within. A Tynish trader or a merchant in Tall Sun did not need to pay too much for water because if they felt they were getting stiffed by one greedy gatherer, they need only wait the flap of a wren’s wings for the next reasonable one to come on through.

Harebulus lay in a region commonly called The Wet Dunes; a small area of desert several miles to the south of Tyne, just off the rocky coast to The Vorilian Sea, that was dense with green oases and water villages.

It is not for us to question ‘how much one more baby can eat’, Ada! If the baby is hungry, then we must feed him! That is it! Or he’ll starve!

Shhh, shhhh... the woman said to her child gently, all while turning her head to look towards Letos. I know that, you twit, what I am saying is that he may not be hungry! I have already fed him three times today!

Let me have him, said Letos brusquely. Ada passed the child over.

Letos gently took his baby, his son, in his arms from his mother. I want to try something.

Holding his child in his hand, he began walking around the shack, softly bouncing his arms up and down. Shhhh, Shaye. Papa has got you now. Papa has got you.

Ada stood in the corner, scolding her husband. He simply smiled at her. It wasn’t that she was a bad mother... Shaye, undoubtedly, loved her very much. And she loved him ten times over. It’s just that Ada was quite... gruff. Very stern and tough. She did not have the subtle patience sometimes needed for certain matters.

Letos, on the other hand, was as soft as a feathered pillow. He had the heart of a lion and the patience of a saint.

When I was a boy, my papa used to sing a Hambetian song to me. I will never forget the words. It made me think of the rolling sands, the glowing sun, and the crisp waters of Hambetia. It always calmed me... maybe it will work on Shaye.

Hambetia was the name for the largely unexplored western region of Yemeatis; sparsely populated, save for a handful of supposed peaceful tribes of natives. The Hambetians. This region of Yemeatis had a sharp reputation for being one of the most dangerous areas in all of Olvion; man-eating flora and fauna and indigenous blood-sucking wildlife, coupled with the fact that there were no known civilized settlements in sight, a scorching hot sun and a significantly less presence of oases than eastern Yemeatis would contribute to such a reputation.

For all of that though, Hambetia was purportedly a wondrous and gorgeous place, unlike any other. If one could survive long enough to soak in the beauty. Where it’s oases lacked in sheer abundance, it more than made up for in quality; Hambetian oasis-water was said to be the freshest known to man, coming from the very bowels of the earth, invigorating the senses with refreshing purity.

Letos began singing.

"On golden dunes and blankets of sand, on sheets of sunlight one could grab with the hand,

‘neath layers of plants that would crunch on your bones, ‘neath thrones of gold and men of stone,"

He paused. He did not have a bad voice; there was a unique lilt to it that could be described as pleasing to the ear. He looked at Ada and smiled. Her petulant smirk in response said, ‘I could do that too.’ Letos chuckled and continued his song. Shaye was still crying. It didn’t seem to be working.

"Above graves of kings and homes of darkness, not too close but not the farthest,

there you will find The Cards of Oum, a tool of time, a piece of doom.

Drink of the water of sweet Hambetia, find your will and find your place,

beware the dangers of dangerous Hambetia, treasures of old in front of your face."

Shaye had began quieting down at the mention of The Cards of Oum and had significantly quieted down further at the mention of treasures. The rascal. The mood in the shack of Ada and Letos quickly lifted as sweet silence filled their ears. The two of them exchanged relieved glances. Ada urged her husband to continue.

"Amidst men and women of the land of Yeme, beautiful women and hearty men,

humble tents and crude spears, the people wise beyond their years,

the sun the devil, the water a god, the melodies of the sand alluring and odd,

there you will find what the heart seeks the most, in Hambetia, a land of death and divinity there on the coast,

a glint for the eye, a bauble for the mind, a jewel for the finger, fortune for the kind."

The baby was fast asleep. The smile on his face was enough to light up a room, especially one as small as Letos and Ada’s hut.

The loving father set his baby boy down on his makeshift crib. The peevish yet doting mother came to kiss her baby boy on the forehead.

Together, Shaye’s parents smiled at each other, relieved for the sweet soothing feeling that can only be felt when silence comes on after a long bout of intruding noise. They hugged each other, happy, content, joyful, and they slow danced to no music as only long lovers could.

HE RAN THROUGH THE streets, huffing and puffing, his chest heaving and his heart beating fast.

Stop that man! Stop him!

He looked back and smiled the same rapscallion smile he’d had since his youth. This was his favorite part; the chase. The Tynish Reds chasing him through the streets and alleyways of the city as he ran off with his prize.

Just ahead, he was quickly approaching a line of merchant stalls. He looked back; the Reds were still with him. They shouted out to the merchants ahead of him, hoping and expecting for civilian support.

Stop that man! By order of the Vizier, stop him!

He sped up, almost approaching his maximum speed.

I’m hungry, he thought.

Passing merchant stalls, he grabbed an apple as he ran. Gotcha. Thanks!

The fruit merchant scoffed and yelled at him, her angry fist shaking in the air. Oh, it’s just an apple, woman! Share the wealth! he remarked as he dodged and dipped his way under and through the obstacles in his way.

Taking a bite, he veered a sharp turn to the left, sprinting down a narrow alleyway with Tynish brown houses looming up on either side of him. Lines of hanging clothes crossed all above him and he had to duck his head to make sure someone’s undergarments didn’t smack him right in the face. He took another bite of his apple, deliciously juicy, then looked at it mournfully, sorry to see it go, as he threw it across the street, moved the satchel with his prize to his back, and ran up the wall to his left.

He was an agile man; blessed with speed and nimbleness, thank Yeme. One, two, three steps up the wall, just before he lost his momentum and began to fall downwards, and he heaved himself up and grabbed the top of the roof with his arms. He pulled himself over, crawled on his stomach to the other side of the dirty and dusty roof, and looked out at the street below him. The same one he had thrown his apple to.

Just moments later, the Reds came running, their scimitars drawn, and pointed at the apple.

There! one of them yelled. There is the apple he stole! This way! They all followed, sure they were on his tail. The sound of their heavy booted feet, running away through the streets of Tyne, slowly dissipated into nothingness.

He turned over and fell flat on his back, letting his body go limp for the first time in hours. He closed his eyes and smiled, and slowly began laughing to himself.

The sound of someone pulling themselves over the ledge of the roof, just as he had done before, should have jolted him out of his moment of bliss. But it didn’t.

Up came the fruit merchant, laughing hysterically. Oh, Shaye, that was brilliant! She ran over to him, dropping to the floor, nudging him fondly as if to say ‘Well done!’

He sighed happily. Well, Nesma, you played your part magnificently if I say so. He looked at her with a smile in his eyes. They each laid there, on their backs, on top of the dirty Tynish roof, looking up at the bright and golden sun of Yemeatis.

Did you get it? she asked.

In response, he pulled the satchel over to his stomach and opened it. As soon as he did so, a faint red light could be seen from inside the bag. Nesma’s eyes opened wide, her eyes glinting, a mischievous and magnificently greedy smile on her face.

Shaye pulled out the contents of the bag; a ruby the size of his fist, with a clear as day diamond embedded in the center. He held it up in the sun, the two thieves staring at it, transfixed and mesmerized.

Just over the side of the roof, a window popped open. Get off my roof, you goat fuckers!

Shaye and Nesma looked at eachother and laughed.

Chapter 2 – The Loft

Most thieves and merchants of the criminal underworld, or otherwise disreputable characters and criminals, preferred keeping their black market dealings underground. There was a certain sense of security and comfort, though possibly irrational, with having several thousand pounds of sand and rock over your head, separating you from the real world, when fencing your stolen wares or hoarding your ill-begotten treasures.

But Shaye was anything if not unconventional. He believed that if the Reds were ever to put their mind to an uncloaking mission, revealing and uncovering as much of the criminal activity in Tyne as they could, the first place they would look is underground, in the many cisterns holding water reserves and sewers under the big city.

Shaye would not be there. Nor would his Sand Rogues.

At the top of the tallest building in the city, The Assembly, named after the name for the Yeme government, where members would meet for the most important of legislative decisions, is where Shaye and his Sand Rogues kept their home. The Loft, they intimately called it. A circular three-leveled chamber, unused since the earliest days of the Tynish government where it was once a storage room, a legislative chamber, and a meeting hall, in that order. It wasn’t the most convenient home to hang your hat, in terms of ease of access, but Shaye didn’t believe in things being easy. He preferred to always be on his toes, to always be challenged, or otherwise go complacent. For Shaye and his Sand Rogues, going home for bed and leaving after breakfast meant climbing up several dozen miles of sanded stone and pebbled terrace through whatever means necessary; gauntleted grappling hook, hand and foot, or a mixture of both. All of his Sand Rogues were athletic individuals, trained in the ancient method of Prorou, a form of Yeme physical training that stressed the importance of a limber and agile body, linked and connected with a cognitive awareness of environment. It was through this connection that Prorou teachings believed true happiness and unison between body and spirit could be attained Those skilled in Prorou were often able-bodied individuals who vaulted off roofs to land in an acrobatic roll leading into a run on the ground, or who ran up walls and vaulted their bodies backwards or sidewards, their corporeal forms true testaments of the strength their minds had achieved.

Thought not intended as such, it was the perfect physical training regiment for a thief or an assassin.

Among those who preferred to keep their faces hidden under cowls and to keep a dagger at their waist, Prorou was a must in the repertoire of skills and abilities in keeping away from the Tynish Reds, or whoever their pursuers may be. To be a thief, or an assassin, and not be trained in Prorou was; archaic. It was the new wave, the pinnacle and apex of thieving success.

The Loft was massive; a true gem. Plenty of ample space for Shaye and his Sand Rogues, of which there were only six, making seven of them in total. Shaye picked this place because he didn’t just want living quarters. Many thieves lived in certain places, hovels and far-away shacks, that were nowhere near their hoards. They kept their treasures in distant caches where X marks the spot. Shaye did not like this. He did not like the idea of passersby walking above, or around, his treasures when he was not there, hidden or not. He also didn’t like not seeing his prizes after he won them. He wanted a place to live, a place to lounge, a place to put his prizes on layaway, and a place to love.

Shaye was a very mental person, a true thinker. He believed that the mind was the greatest tool to any human being, in any profession, and he worked hard to focus on the little details that many overlooked to keep his mind in tip-top shape. He kept his treasures always in sight, near his bed even, to always look at the face of success. Better to wake up to the glint of a diamond and the sweet sound of jeweled pearls than to a croaking bed in a drafty room. It was therapeutic, and Shaye was a therapeutic kind of man.

The Loft was in the sky, where Shaye, and his treasures, could look down at the normalcy below, truly holding himself above all standards. He had to be the best, had to be different. His Sand Rogues were no exception.

The Loft had no door, though it did have windows. The entrance to their home was a single balconied terrace, crumbled and destroyed in certain places. The only way in when they found the place, it was completely open to the elements of wind, sandstorm, sun and stars. It wasn’t practical, no.

But who cares. Shaye didn’t.

Crawling over the balcony, not nearly huffing and puffing as much as they should, the routine allowing a welcome sense of ease and comfort in their climb to their home, was Shaye and Nesma.

Aalia immediately greeted them.

Did you get it? she asked, excited.

In response, Shaye pulled around the satchel. He opened the cover and pulled out the jewel he and Nesma had worked for; the giant ruby with the clear and brilliant diamond embedded in the center. He held it up in the air, allowing sunlight to shine through it, red- and-rainbow colored reflections bouncing off the walls outside The Loft’s entrance.

Yeme’s balls... Aalia proclaimed. It’s fucking magnificent, isn’t it?

Shaye laughed, Nesma rolling her eyes. Aalia was the youngest and newest of the Rogues; quite a character. The others, particularly Ikrimah, did not wholeheartedly agree with Shaye’s decision to bring her in. They thought she was too green behind the ears; her entire thieving career a game that she pursued with an almost childlike obsession, dripping with naivete.

It was exactly that reason that Shaye brought her on; to find pleasure and fun in stealing from others, as opposed to doing it for monetary necessity, was a dying trait in the thief today, and one Shaye truly admired and could relate to. It was positively wicked.

It is. And it was not easy to get. He began putting the gem back in his satchel, the glow of red disappearing within. The Reds were all over us for this one; we lost them quick enough, but I’m concerned they may be getting more dogged in their chase. It seems the Vizier has not taken kindly to the rise in theft in his city.

Aalia seemed to not care about this topic. Well, boss, what’s our take? she asked as she twirled her hair and bounced on her toes.

She was gorgeous; young, fit, long brown locks. She had a beauty mark just over the right side of her lip, and a ring on the left side of her nose. The backs of her hands were covered in intricate Yeme-style tattoos, interwoven patterns of symbols and lines, curvatures of shapes and images.

The Rogues differed from most thieving bands; they shared their wealth. Truly, like a family. What Shaye stole belonged to the others; and the same was true in reverse. Nesma’s theft netted her the same take as Aalia, Ikrimah’s netting him the same profit as Zaamil. All the money they made from the prizes they decided to sell, (as everyone knows any good thief has a respect for his treasure and keeps some as his own), went into one pot that all seven members equally drew from. There was no monopoly, there was no dictatorship. To be a member of The Sand Rogues was to be part of a positively bastardly family in which everyone was equal.

I’m thinking it should be a good several thousand eyes each. Though I’m uncertain. I plan to meet with Dirar later today, Shaye answered her.

Aalia lit up and bounced with glee.

The three of them crossed the threshold and walked into The Loft.

The place truly was too big for seven of them. Shaye had often thought of expanding his band past the intimate family he had now, but he did not want to lose the connection they all shared. To go for quantity over quality was fools’ talk; though he saw nothing wrong with finding another thief or two if they were the right fit.

When entering The Loft from the balconied terrace outside that served as its entrance, you would immediately find yourself on an interior balcony overlooking the second sectioned chamber. Stairs led downwards on either side onto the floor of the second chamber and further downwards to the first chamber. A separate flight of stairs could access the third chamber and was located at the back of the second chamber. The second chamber was huge; this one housed the only couple of the band, Asil and Zanaa, who were always a thieving duo; almost all of their heists were ones similar to what Nesma and Shaye had just pulled off. One of them a decoy, the other the thief. And, often, the roles switched mid-heist between them both. A gem that Zanaa had snatched while Asil kept the guards busy was, suddenly, in the hands of Asil while he led the guards on a chase, Zanaa in disguise as a fellow guard leading them in the wrong direction.

They weren’t home at the moment, Shaye thought to himself. Hopefully, they brought something home tonight, which would make this day a fantastically profitable one.

The third and highest chamber was, obviously, home to Shaye. Nesma, too. They weren’t romantically involved, though they were constantly teased by the others. ‘Just fuck her already, Shaye!’ to hear Zaamil say it. Nesma was the first Sand Rogue and was as much responsible for the building of their family and its dynamic as Shaye was; this was why they shared the highest chamber together. At least that’s what Shaye told himself, and the others.

Aalia, Zaamil, and the band’s lone wolf, Ikrimah, shared the lowest chamber. They had no problems with this; the lowest chamber didn’t mean the lowest respect. In fact, it was thought to be more favorable than the second chamber; everyone entered The Loft through the second chamber, so privacy was often scarce. This didn’t bother Asil and Zanaa, however; they were free spirits who were seldom in a bad mood. The other five had walked in on the couple having sex more times than they could count; it didn’t even phase them anymore.

As they stood there on the interior entrance balcony, Ikrimah was coming up the stairs on the right. Zaamil on the left.

Shaye, we need to talk about the cards, stated Ikrimah as he walked up the stairs.

Oh, for fuck’s sake Ikri, give the boss a break! Every day! yelled Zaamil with a smile on his face, ever the belligerent.

Shaye turned his head towards Zaamil and scolded him; he hated being called ‘boss.’

Yeme’s sandy balls, you guys need to live a little. Come on Aalia, let’s go steal some shit. Some of the boys underground were telling me about this rich merchant up in the Sunsquare who has more gems than food in his kitchen! Ha, imagine that!

Aalia laughed and went with Zaamil, the two of them jumping over the exterior balcony and beginning their descent to the streets below.

Do you know something else, Ikrimah? asked Nesma, inside.

The only thing I know that I didn’t before is how urgent it is that we retrieve them as soon as possible. They are the secret to traversing the Devil’s Pit; they’re basically a map. Do you not think others are having similar conversations, just as we are, about the importance of getting them? He stood on the stairs, straight, his arms behind his back. An unnatural position; others would have leaned against the stairs, or the wall, or maybe ran their fingers through their hair.

Not Ikrimah. He was stoic, as always.

Nesma looked at Shaye.

He sighed. If the legends are true, they’re all the way in Hambetia, Ikrimah. I don’t know if we are prepared for that yet. The place is a death trap.

The place is a gold mine, Shaye. Those tribesmen have more treasures under their feet than we’ve ever seen in our lifetimes, combined. We cannot allow fear to become complacency.