Angel of Destruction

Untitled Part 1

Martin couldn't decide if the object in front of him was a large stone or a small boulder.  It stood all the way to his thigh, and was almost as far around - almost spherical.  It was certainly unique from the other rocks littering the desert sand.  They were jagged and rectangular, as if they were once the building blocks of a great city.  And they were everywhere, laying about in haphazard chaos for miles and miles, their ivory hue contrasting with the orange sands that held them.  This stone, however, reminded Martin of Michelangelo's  David- smooth white, and polished.  It was a jarring juxtaposition to the rest of the landscape.  

Martin breathed in deeply, then gently ran his hands over the stone's marble like texture.  It was cold, even in the searing heat of the Zagora Desert.  He was surprised to find that the seemingly smooth texture of the stone was an illusion.  His fingers detected minute cracks and lines that his eyes couldn't.  Was there a pattern under his fingertips?  He squinted in the bright sun and tried to focus on the stone's surface, but couldn't make out the lines his fingers had found.

A sudden inspiration came to him, and Martin closed his eyes.  He replaced both of his hands on the stone, seeing with his fingers as they traced out long, sweeping curves alternating with short spines and j-shapes.  Feathers?  He opened his eyes and looked again.  Nothing.  What ancient sculpting tool could etch lines so fine that they couldn't even be seen?  Why would an ancient sculptor even create such a thing?

"So," a male voice, low and heavy with a Spanish accent sounded just to Martin's left, "do we take it or leave it?"

"Guillermo, have we found any other stone specimens like this one?  Anything that stands out from these limestone blocks?"

"Not that I've found.  This one seems to be unique among the rubble."

"Rubble?" Martin asked.  "You think these might not be natural limestone formations?"

Guillermo looked about thoughtfully.  "I've never seen anything like this in the desert before that occurred naturally.  In my experience, this type of landscape is an ancient debris field.  But," he mused, "I could be wrong."  

Martin smiled.  "I doubt that.  Your experience is seldom wrong, my friend."  If this was indeed an ancient debris field, then something great and awful had happened here long ago - an event that was not recorded in any history or text that he had ever heard of.  He continued, "Do you know of any event that would have caused this level of destruction?  If you are right, then this was once a massive city."

Guillermo shook his head.  "This is just as mysterious to me as it is to you, Martin.  It is intriguing."  

"In that case," said Martin decisively, "we take it."  He rested his hand on the stone a last time and closed his eyes again, feeling the barest outline of feathers under his palm.  He could almost see the graceful form of an outstretched wing taking shape, rust-colored feathers reflecting the blood-red light of the setting sun.  Limestone towers proudly jutted from the desert sand as the wings circled round them.

"Hey!  Martin?"  Guillermo's voice jolted Seth from his thoughts.  "Are you ok?"

Martin snapped open his eyes and pulled his hand from the stone.  "Yes - sorry," he replied.  "Carry on."

Guillermo gave him a sideways look.  "You need water.  Heat stroke is a serious thing out here.  No arguments."  He pointed Martin in the direction of the water cooler on the truck with one hand while waving over several strong members of his crew with the other.  Soon the stone was safely strapped into the bed of the truck and Martin and his expedition, every  man properly watered - were heading back to Zagora.