Asherah crossed the mountains, made her way through cities breathing
with a hundred smells and a hundred languages. She passed over
mountains under a depthless sky, and then she came at last to the
land she had been seeking, the land she had begun to half believe was
a legend, for no such land could be real. It stretched before her,
vast and empty and pale under the moon. Ushar, the desert, where her
path led over colossal dunes in the ageless silence to the place
where red stone pillars stood over crimson sands.
She rode a black horse with a long head and thin legs. It was taller
and more agile than her lost pony, and very much swifter, but it did
not have the same endless endurance. Asherah wore her sword at her
side and new, black-fletched arrows bristled from her quiver. She
bore new mail armor and a new scar underneath it. Her pale skin was
wrapped in black cloth to keep the sun from it, and her eyes were
painted dark to cut the glare. She had begun to learn the ways of
the lands of daylight.
At first sight the desert looked like a land without form, the dunes
in high waves like ice frozen on a pond. She remembered cascades of
ice, and how the water would freeze solid at the grasp of winter and
be fixed in shapes all through the cold seasons. This was like that,
only the sand shifted beneath the hooves of her steed, and the
sighing wind caught up the dust and whirled it into the sky. She was
glad to have her face covered, to keep her from breathing it in like
ground glass.
She had been warned to keep to the caravan routes that led south
across the wasteland to Ahrimaz, and she saw the tracks of many
beasts and men in the sand, and so she followed them. In places
great posts stood up from the dunes, pennons bright at the tops of
them, and they helped to mark the path. Asherah rode with her bow in
hand and an arrows set to the string, ready in case some raiders or
thieves thought to test her. This way was usually followed by
caravans of pack animals, guarded by mercenaries. She rode alone,
and so she knew she would seem a ripe target.
The trail led through the dunes and then into a barren, rocky land
where ancient river channels cut through the stone and left wandering
canyons it would be easy to become lost in. She camped by day in
deep shadows, hiding from the fierce sun and the terrible heat. It
was like the furnaces of a nightmare, under that blazing light. She
traveled by night when there was cool air and starlight to guide her.
The day was too bright, and too savage.
She rode for ten nights and sheltered for ten days, and then she
followed the rising ground to a stony hill that let her see all
around. The caravan path led southwest from here, into kinder lands,
and she saw the beginnings of the grasslands she had been told of.
Her path led due east. She rode down the rocky hillside to a narrow
defile where there was an oasis, with a small pool welling up from
the stone. She let her horse drink while she filled her waterskins,
and then she mounted again and rode away from the trail, and into the
deep desert, where lay the accursed lands she sought.
Under the silver sword of the moon she followed the trail of what had
been a river, but was now only a pathway of dust. Here and there the
hooves of her steed snapped on bones half-buried in the silt, and she
knew she was on the right path. Ahead of her lay Ushar, a city once
great and fabled, girdled round with walls and towers, filled by
multitudes. Long before the armies of her ancestors had come to
these lands, Ushar had been accursed, and abandoned. Once a river
had flowed across what was now a wasteland, and it was said that when
the city was cast down, that the river ran with blood and corpses for
seven days, before it dried up and ran no more.
There was no shelter here from the sun, and so she rode when she
could, stopped to camp when she could find the shelter of rocks or
small canyons. Asherah covered her face with black cloth and looked
at the world as though through a haze of darkness. Great birds
circled overhead, hungry for her flesh, and she rode with an eye to
the sky, wary. She watched the cliffs, and sometimes she saw shapes
she thought were men, watching her from far away. It was said that
no one dwelled in this waste, save ghosts and devils.
Slowly, over three days ride, the sands and stones began to turn to
red, until it was as though she rode through a land of ancient blood.
The stones rose higher, until they were like lines of shapeless
pillars, marching away to the unquiet horizon. They were red like
teeth, casting bleak shadows on the hardpan earth. She did not like
passing beneath them, and on some of them she saw garlands made from
bones and the branches of thorn bushes, tied with black glass beads
and hung with dead flowers.
The day died, and the moon rose, and Asherah came in sight of the
walls of Ushar, black like blood in the silver light, whelmed by sand
and by time, towers fallen into ruin. She drew rein and looked on
it, and she let out a long breath, for here at last, after so many
weeks of travel, she had reached her goal. Now she would find the
trail left by Gathas the sorcerer, and she would follow her stolen
king to where he had been taken. She uncovered her face and breathed
in the ageless wind, and she rode on.
The walls loomed high in the moonlight, black against a black sky,
bitten by time into ruins that tumbled down and lay half-buried in
the sands. The red pillars of the earth stood high on all sides, and
she stopped for a moment, drawing her horse to a halt as she breathed
in the stillness. This was the place, this was the precise angle
from which she had seen the ruin through that strange portal so many
weeks ago.
She looked down, and indeed, there before her the sand was marked.
Half-blurred by winds, the tracks of the wheeled crypt that broken
slaves had dragged through the gateway could be seen in the deep
sands. The weight of the massive, moving tomb was so great that it
had scarred the baked hardpan beneath, and she rode slowly, following
the trail as it led her out of the wilderness to where the ruins of
the ancient city stood silent in funeral night.
Even the winds here seemed to be still, and there was nothing to
break the quiet. Even the soft sound of her horse walking on the
sliding sands was loud, and she felt the emptiness pressing in upon
her from all sides, as though she were the only living thing for
untold reaches all around.
Coiled in her mind were questions she could not answer, and not only
one. She had thought that tomb robbers would have sought the fortune
buried with the fallen emperor, but they had ignored it, taken only
the sarcophagus itself. What did they want his body for? And why
bring it here, to such a desolate place, so far from anything? It
stank of sorcery, and that made her grind her teeth in anger. That
some smug conjurer would use the body of the great Druan for some
twisted purpose of dark magic was utterly offensive to her.
Within the walls, there was little to be seen of the city, for much
of it was buried by sands and worn down by time. Great pillars and
obelisks had long ago fallen to the ground, and those buildings still
visible were low and mostly buried and hidden. The city was dead and
gone, all save one great structure toward the center. A great round
building, covered over with reliefs etched so deeply even the sands
had not worn them away, and though the walls were awash with dunes,
still the great arched entrance loomed black and empty. Within it,
there was a dark ember glow.
Asherah waited, and watched. There was no sound, not a breath of
motion in the air at all, yet her hair prickled and stood and she
felt herself watched by unseen eyes. She sat easy on her saddle,
head bent as if she were drowsing, exhausted and unmoving. Her horse
snorted and shifted, and then she turned, quick and sure, drew her
bow and loosed.
The arrow was a dark flicker in the silver light of stars and the
moon, and it struck quivering in the chest of the black-swathed shape
that was no more than twenty paces away from her. It threw back its
head and gave a long, wailing cry as it crumpled to the sands, and
she saw it had a desiccated, blackened face. It was like a man she
had seen frozen to death and left in the ice for years. Yellow teeth
gleamed in the moonlight, and then more of the creatures leaped out
from shadows and hollow places and rushed upon her.
They did not howl or scream war cries; they simply rushed on her like
hounds, and she drew and loosed her arrows as swift as she could.
Three of them went down, then six, and then they were too close and
she rammed her bow back in its case and drew her sword singing into
the light, and her horse screamed as it whirled around, surrounded by
clawed black forms.
Her horse was not fierce as a northern pony, but it was quick and
agile, and she was glad to feel the ease with which it spun and
darted. Asherah swept her sword down and cut off a head, then turned
as another creature sprang for the back of her steed. A thin arm
reached for her and she hacked it off. There was no blood, no
pouring ichor, only a scream and then silence again.
She rushed through them, her blade slashing to one side, then the
other, reaping down all who came in reach. She left four more off
them twisting and mutilated, and then she broke through and raced for
the dark archway that beckoned with a dim red light.
They did not follow her, and she rode to the great dome, drew rein
and looked back to see that they had vanished, leaving only the slain
upon the sands. She stood and watched, wondering what they were.
Were these the last remnants of the inhabitants of the city, or were
they cursed ghouls who guarded the place of their death? What once
was a grand city had now become a necropolis.
The arched entryway into this last massive building was many times
taller than any human who ever walked. It was a place made for
giants, or for gods. The entrance led deeper inside, through walls
so thick it was like walking into a tunnel. The sides were carved
into scenes from the glory ages of the city itself. Asherah saw
processions of supplicants and kings, armies marching and conquering.
Men with tall helms and long beards ruled over a city of splendor
and an empire of plenty.
Asherah climbed down from her horse and led it deeper inside the
ruin; under the sands, bones snapped under her feet. This was a city
of death, and only death would come from this place. She looked down
and saw the marks upon the sand of the passage of the great tomb, and
she knew she was on the path she must follow. Sword in hand, she
pressed deeper.
She came to a door, and it stood open, the two heavy halves drawn
apart. They were a deep green, the carvings upon them obscured by
corrosion while the thickness of the metal gleamed darkly. The sands
were piled up against them, and it was plain they had been opened
very recently. Within, the floor was smooth, and she saw the red
glow and knew this was the center of whatever power still lived in
this place. She tethered her steed to one of the massive bronze
doors and went inside, sword ready in her hand, feet quiet on the
ancient floor.
o0o
Within, the vast, domed building was one immense chamber, undivided
and open, with only a single ring of pillars marching around the
inner circle to hold up the roof. The glow blazed out from within,
casting red shadows over the floor and the walls. Every inch of
stone within was carved with writings and markings that made no
sense, and the figures marked there were of strange proportions that
hurt the mind to look at. Asherah shuddered, feeling that she was in
the presence of something unutterably old.
She went closer, feeling a heat on her face, as though a great fire
burned ahead of her, and then she saw that the center of the vast
chamber was a pit, and from that pit emanated a glow and a blaze like
a fire that did not fade. The light did not flicker, but pulsed slow
and heavy, like the beat of some ancient heart. Her own heart ran
fast and unceasing as she crossed the wide floor, until she stood on
the edge of the pit, and looked down.
The hole was not deep, but it was still several times the height of a
human, and at the bottom lay a saw-toothed cluster of jagged stone,
like spines or broken crystals, and they glowed from within. She
flinched at the feeling of the terrible heat on her face, and it was
familiar to her. The broken pieces below looked like stone she had
seen in another place, far away. Her head was filled with wonder,
thinking on that other place, far to the north, where another hole
like this was the resting place of stones that burned and never
failed. The star that had fallen from the sky, a gift from the fire
goddess to aid them in their time of greatest need. Now, here, she
had found another.
And then something moved in the pit, and she stumbled back, afraid
and breathing hard. Something rose up, and she stared with her mouth
dry and speechless as a human form climbed from the fire. It was
like a man, but not like one. It seemed to be made all of jagged,
broken pieces of glowing stone, bound together with some invisible
force. It was taller than any human had ever been, and it moved with
a deadly, fluid grace. More pieces of stone drifted up from beneath
and joined its body, and some of them floated in the air around it.
The heat from it was fearful, and then it turned to face her and she
saw points of light glint there like eyes. Four, then six.
A wave of something passed through the air, like heat shimmer, and
she felt as if the mind of the thing – its alien attention –
pressed against her own mind and unfolded it, deciphered her as
though she were a puzzle too simple to bother with. “What is
this?” it said, a voice like the tone of a bell in her mind.
“Another come to disturb my long death? Speak.”
Asherah felt her mouth dry as the desert, but she firmed her grasp on
her sword, and made herself answer. “I am Asherah, servant of
Ajahe, Goddess of Fire. I am of the Karkahd, who for generations
have guarded the tombs of the kings. I come seeking those who have
done wrong to my people.”
The thing did not move, save for a sliding shift of its strange body.
“I care for none of those things. Why are you here? Answer.”
Asherah breathed out a long sigh, a kind of relief. She had wondered
for a terrible moment if this were Ajahe herself, but that was not
so, and her mind was eased by that. “Men came here, weeks ago.
They dragged with them a great, wheeled tomb, and one of them was a
man of magic. I seek what they did here, and where they have gone.”
“Ahhhhh,” the thing said, with a strange feeling in her
mind. She did not hear the voice with her ears, but rather inside,
with her mind, an awareness outside sound. In the great, domed
chamber, all was silence save for her own small voice. “Yes,
the dark one and his men with him. They woke me from my long sleep,
and then they took from me.” It held up one arm, but she could
see no hand, nor fingers, only folding, sliding shards. “Are
you one of them?”
“They are my enemies,” Asherah said. “I hunt them. I would
slay them, and take back what they have stolen.”
“I have been here so long,” the thing said, as if it had
not heard her. “I fell from a place I cannot remember, and I
broke into pieces. I have lost much of myself. I cannot remember
who I was before. My eyes are dark, my mind broken into pieces.”
It shifted and folded upon itself. “I have lost my way, and
now part of me has been stolen.”
“Please,” Asherah said. “Tell me what they took, and I will
follow them, I will take it back and bring it back to you.” She
swallowed. “I know where another star lies. I have seen it.”
The thing from the fire went very still. “You have seen it?”
“Yes. It fell far in the north, where the sun never rises, and it
is always cold. It made fire that never died, and we took it as the
blessings of the Goddess.” She felt her hand clenched tight on the
hilt of her sword. She was afraid. This thing was not flesh and
blood, how could she fight it, or kill it? She searched for
something else to say. “A shard of it was made into a sword.
Those I seek stole the tomb where it lies. I would regain it.”
“You took it. You took all of it. You will burn for this.”
It came closer, the heat baking against her. “You stole
my hand!” it howled in her mind, holding up its left arm.
It lunged for her, and long crystalline blades slashed for her skin,
but she dashed them back with her sword, fell from the terrible
impact. She rolled to her feet and scrambled back as it came for
her. The shadows of the pillars shifted on the wide walls as it
followed her.
But it did not follow her very far. As it ventured too far from the
pit, it seemed to lose strength, and the glow and the heat of it
diminished. Smoke rose from the skeletal form of its body, and it
groaned, slumped where it stood.
Asherah did not wait; she darted forward and leaped past it, and as
it turned to face her, she barred its way back to the pit of fire.
“I am not your enemy, but I will not flee from you!” She thrust
her sword up in the darkness, red gleaming on the blade. It had been
forged and tempered in this very fire. It would not easily give way.
“Tell me what they did! Tell me where they went!”
The thing rushed at her, but she met that rush with a whirl of her
sword, and steel met unearthly crystal and sang a song there in
darkness. It was tall and had terrible reach, but she was not trying
to kill it, she sought only to fend it off, to keep it from reaching
the pit, and even as it fought her, she saw its surface darken, and
begin to fade.
It left its guard open, and she lunged in under the sweeping talons
and caught the back of its leg with her left hand, felt the heat sear
her skin. She cried out, and pulled as hard as she could. It wailed
as it reeled from her sudden counter and fell against a great pillar,
jagged edges of its form scarring the stone.
“Enough,” it begged her. “Let me pass. I am dying.
Let me pass!”
“Tell me what you know!” she said, striking a blow on its
upraised arm that sang a note like silver bells. The flesh of her
hand smoked, and she clenched it against the pain.
“They woke me, but I was powerless. I was too cold, and too
slow. They touched me with fire so I would awaken, and then, while I
was weak, they struck off my left hand.” It clutched the
stump, its heat fading. “They went that way,” it said,
pointing east beyond the dome. “Dragging their great golden
thing behind them.”
Asherah drew back, and the thing clawed itself across the floor,
smoking and losing pieces of itself. She almost pitied it, almost
wanted to help it, but she did not. She knew better than to trust a
thing of elder sorcery. Something inhuman and terrible. Once it was
strong again, it might slay her, if it could.
It dragged itself to the pit, and she watched it fall in. Fire
roared up, and she stepped back as she felt the heat grow in the
deathly dry air. She watched the pit, but it did not emerge, did not
speak again. She backed away, until she could place the pillars
between her and the pit of flame. The circle of pillars that she
guessed might have marked the limits of its strange life for ages.
She left it there, crossing the wide floor to the great doors. She
took her horse and mounted it again, rode out into the silent ruins
of the dead city of Ushar. She circled the great shrine of fire, and
then she went east through the empty streets. There she saw the
marks of the great wheels in the sand, and she followed them
eastward, toward the setting moon.
Her hand burned, and she looked at it, seeing the angry burns seared
on her flesh. She knew the scars would remain, like this place, and
the ancient being trapped here. Something that might be a god, or
might have once been a god, like the last ember in a dead fire.
Asherah rode into the desert once again, seeking.
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