The Silent Guardian — Chapter 11, Part 2: Samarkand

This installment is part of The Silent Guardian, a time-travel science-fiction novel. Browse the serialized novel archive. Previous: Chapter 11, Part 1: The Brooch.

By the time the sand shifts to firmer ground, my pace quickens. Minor signs of life emerge—a distant caravan winding along the horizon, the outline of walls rising against the blue haze of midday. Samarkand.

When I finally crest the last hill, the city unfurls before me, bustling with life. Tall, domed structures dot the skyline, their intricate mosaics glittering in the early afternoon sun. In many respects, this city is the same as Sachu. The smells, noisy merchants, and crowds all set me on edge. While I understand the traders speaking Chinese, the locals here speak Sogdian. Its clipped consonants are unmistakable, though the meaning of these words escapes me.

Samarkand is a melting pot of cultures. Persians, Turks, Mongols, and travelers from distant lands cross these narrow streets. The place is alive with the constant hum of movement, which should be comforting after so many weeks alone. Instead, it heightens my caution. There is always danger in a crowd.

I stop at a stall selling dried food, pretending to inspect the goods. The bustling marketplace stretches out, a chaotic dance of movement. People weave through the crowd. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

Then, beyond the mass of people, I spot him again. I’m sure it’s the same man from Sachu—half-hidden beneath a worn tunic, standing at the corner of a narrow alley. He is too rigid. His gaze is fixed on me. I catch a flash of his dark complexion and piercing green eyes.

Dahr-khoday. That’s what he said.

I am confident this man is following me. Is he a Phylax?

I pretend to haggle with the vendor as I gather my composure. If this man is on a mission, he’s working alone. Something in my gut tells me I’m his target. I sense he’s trained to hunt, track, and strike in the same way I am. For all I know, he has already set the trap.

I slip down an alley; my footsteps muffled against the uneven stone. The noise of the marketplace fades behind me, swallowed by the soundless passage. The walls press in. My hand moves to my belt, fingers brushing the hilt of my knife. It’s a comforting weight, though I leave it sheathed for now. A fight here would be messy, but I’ll be ready if it comes to that.

I glance back, catching stillness in the alley behind me. Yet the tension coursing through me refuses to ease. If I’m being followed, they will know this route better than me.

The path soon narrows into a dead end. The walls are unbroken—no doors, no windows, nothing to slip through or climb over. I rush to the most concealed corner, crouching low behind a stack of broken crates. It’s not much of a refuge; however, it will give me an extra minute to assess the situation. I position myself with my back to the wall, fixed on the entrance.

My breathing slows as I force my body to remain motionless. The entire city seems frozen with anticipation. Then, I hear a shuffle—not one but two sets of footsteps.

As the sound gets louder, my grip tightens on the hilt of my knife. I can almost feel them pressing into the alley. The talisman pulses in my pocket with an insistent vibration. They are time travelers.

I strain my ears, catching the soft rustle of fabric and a boot scraping against stone. A bead of sweat slides down my temple. They must be with the Phylax. Or, is the Dahr-khoday something new to worry about?

A shadow appears at the alley’s mouth, stretching across the wall. Another follows. The shapes of the two figures merge briefly before separating again.

The first figure steps into view, a hood pulled low over the face. Their posture isn’t openly hostile. The second follows close behind, movements sharper, more aggressive. Both pause to scan the alley. I keep my eyes on their hands—empty for now, but I know better than to assume they’re unarmed.

The talisman’s vibrations act as a warning. I adjust my grip on the knife, readying myself for what’s to come. I wait. The longer I stay, the more I might learn.

The woman raises her hands higher. I notice the subtle gestures of the Phylax sign language. We’ve come to talk. Her fingers quiver as she forms the words. Her companion shifts his weight, glaring at the alley’s entrance as though expecting someone else. We don’t want to fight.

Phylax? If they are, why are there two of them? Am I that dangerous? Something in the way she moves suggests she is telling the truth. They aren’t here for a fight. Not yet, anyway.

I step out from my hiding spot, still keeping my distance. The tension in the alley crackles between us. I keep my focus on the woman. She is the leader. Her fingers quickly weave through the air in a series of signs. You need to come with us. The Council will explain everything. She hesitates, then adds: It’s safer if we travel together.

Safer for whom? I wonder.

I watch her closely, waiting for a catch or an attack. I fight to maintain my cold detachment. What could be so wrong? It must be significant if the Phylax is sending scouts to find me. Or this is a lie.

Your safety is at risk, she signs. Ours depends on you as well. The implication is clear: if they fail to bring me back, it will mean trouble for them.

The man starts to sign something but stops halfway. His fingers hang in the air. He looks at the woman, who shakes her head almost imperceptibly. The rest of the message remains unsigned.

I check them over for weapons. They both stand with open stances. Still, I don’t let my guard down. They could strike at any moment. This could all be part of a trap.

The woman signs, We don’t have time. You have to come with us. It’s not safe here.

If something has gone wrong within the Phylax, it could mean chaos or betrayal in the ranks. Why would they need me to fix it?

Before she can start signing again, I lift my arm. I’ve heard enough. I won’t go with you, I sign back. I’m traveling to the Acropolis anyway. I’ll get there on my own.

The idea of traveling with them, under their unnerving vigilance, makes my skin crawl. I will follow the Phylax creed: always travel alone.

Continue with Chapter 11, Part 3: Orders for Merv. New installments publish daily at 5:00 AM.

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