Dust swirled between sun-bleached, tumbled walls. Hints of past greatness could still be glimpsed, here a faded mosaic, there the glimmer of crystal slowly being buried beneath shifting sand. The wind howled mournfully through Mal Tek, the great city now little more than standing stones.
Beyond those ruined stones stood towering cliffs, at the foot of which lay the sea, waves crashing on rocks eternally. The sea bore no memory, the city’s builders were wont to say. It was true. The sea was born anew with each dawn, glimmered fresh under the moonlight, and recalled nothing of the beings that once plied these waters in their tall ships.
One here did remember those tall ships and the men who sailed them. He recalled more than that. In his mind’s eye, the city rose again, greenstone walls lit by the sun. Mal Tek stood in its glory, assured of its power and permanence.
All gone now.
Hardin put one gnarled hand out, steadying himself against a half-fallen wall. Once, he might have known the building. Now, it was just a jagged lump of stones, half jutting from the ever-shifting desert sands.
Soon, the desert would consume it all, and Mal Tek would be no more.
Hardin pulled his cloak tighter about him. The evening wind off the sea chilled his bones. He turned and shuffled deeper into the ruins. After some time, he stopped. Two fallen walls came together before him, forming a dark V. He ducked his head and slowly walked into the darkness.
It was dim in the space under the stones, but Hardin knew the way by heart. He’d walked this path for decades.
“Who goes?” a voice challenged from the darkness.
“Who in the hells do you think it is, Jeddah?” Hardin responded. He pushed around a curve in the passage, and an underground room opened before him, large enough to house forty or fifty people comfortably.
Three waited there.
Jeddah stood beside the entrance, his broad shoulders almost wider than the door, face pinched in a scowl. Beyond him stood Arienne, his wife. Isha was the farthest away, warming his gnarled hands before the low fire.
“It’s time we left this place, Hardin,” Jeddah growled.
Hardin waved him away.
“No amount of walking about these ruins is going to change things. There’s nothing here for us!”
“Bah.” Hardin stumped his way to the fire and sat beside Isha. The other man’s hands trembled noticeably, and from more than the evening chill, Hardin knew.
“And where will you go?” Hardin threw the question over his shoulder as he too bent to warm his bones beside the fire. The heat felt marvelous, easing the arthritis in his knuckles. There was silence from Jeddah.
“To the east, Hardin,” Arienne said in her soft voice. He’d always liked Arienne. “There are kingdoms there. Other people,” her voice trailed off.
“You’ll find no mages,” Hardin’s voice grew hard. “Or if you do, they won’t take you in. And could you blame them?”
“At least we can try!” Jeddah broke in. “At least we won’t die here, cut off and alone from everything. We have to try, don’t you see?”
Hardin turned, fixing the dark-haired youth with piercing blue eyes. “Of course, I see. You think me a fool, that this is the life I wanted? Bah! You want to make a difference. You want to find others of our kind.”
“Please, Hardin,” Arienne broke in, but Hardin was having none of it. It was time to clear this foul air once and for all. He rose, unsteadily, and turned to face Jeddah.
“I know what you want, Jeddah. And I know what you’ll find. Death. That and the Knights of the Broken Wheel. You’ll find hatred and persecution. You’ll find villagers throwing stones at you in the hopes of killing you before you can bring your taint into their homes!”
Jeddah’s mouth set in a firm line. Hardin knew that look. “We have to try,” he said.
Hardin waved the young mage away. “Go, then. See what manner of death you can find.” He turned back to sit beside Isha once more.
“We’re leaving now, Hardin.” Jeddah’s voice was softer now. Hardin ignored him. It was simpler this way.
“Come, Arienne,” Jeddah called.
“Now?”
“Yes, we must travel at night,” he answered, holding out his hand for her. Arienne gathered their meager belongings and cast one last glance at the two old men beside the fire. Her mouth twisted, but she said nothing. They left together, Jeddah and Arienne.
“Am I alone?” Isha asked, his voice cracking.
“No, no, old friend,” Hardin reached out and clasped Isha’s hand. “I’m here with you.”
“I’m glad, Hardin. It’s so dark, and I’m afraid.”
“Hush now, Isha,” Hardin stared into the flames, a tear slowly trickling down his cheek to be lost in his beard. He held onto Isha’s hand, a last bastion of comfort in a world grown cold.
***
“Ale and two bowls of stew,” Jeddah told the morose woman who inquired after their order. She turned away toward the ramshackle bar. The bartender wiped down the board with a rag that must have been filthy at the Breaking, and not cleaned since. It had been five days since they’d left Hardin and Isha in the ruins, and Istall was the first village they’d encountered.
They’d passed isolated freeholds where they’d been able to beg a meal, but suspicious looks had driven them to walk as far as they could each day, seeking comfort alongside the road at night whenever possible. Jeddah hoped that Istall would be different.
The handful of patrons in the tavern seemed welcoming enough, in that they had paid Jeddah and Arienne no interest at all. That was fine by him, though. Still, after the barrenness of the road, the tavern seemed packed with humanity. Arienne clutched his arm, though they sat in the farthest corner of the filthy tavern, nervous with so many unknown people around her.
“Jeddah, I don’t…” The serving woman returned with their ale, cutting Arienne off. The stew was thin, but it steamed in the battered wooden bowls, accompanied by week-old, stale bread. The woman set two tankards of watery-looking ale on the scarred board and moved away.
“Hush, now,” Jeddah said, putting a hand on Arienne’s arm. “Let’s eat and then we’ll see what we can see.”
She nodded and turned to her food.
Jeddah ate without tasting his food, more intent on listening to the conversations that floated through the tavern. He heard little of interest. Most talk was of the weather and the lack of rain, raids on the outlying homesteads, the future harvest, nothing of interest to Jeddah.
They finished their meals, and Jeddah tossed a few coppers on the table as they rose to leave. Arienne was relieved as they exited the tavern, but Jeddah’s frustration simmered. Where would they go now? Night was falling, and gloom shrouded the narrow dirt streets of Istall. Lamps burned in windows here and there, but most residents of the town were already abed.
“Where will we stay?” Arienne asked. Istall had no inn. The tavern offered no rooms, not even a bed in a corner.
Jeddah sighed deeply. “I don’t know.” It looked like another night spent along the road. Istall had nothing for them. “Come on, we’d best start walking.” They began making their way down the rutted lane that served as a main street for the village.
They were almost to the opposite gate when a man stepped out from between two buildings. Arienne tensed, and Jeddah moved between her and the newcomer. In the failing light, it was difficult to make out the newcomer’s features, but he was tall, with a heavy beard.
“We know who and what you are,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “You’re not welcome here. Our Circle is full.”
A mage, Jeddah thought. “What’s this about? Surely you would welcome others! We have talents we could lend to the Circle,” Jeddah pleaded.
“Our kind?” The man laughed, but it was a bitter, brittle sound. “You are not our kind, stranger. Does sharing blue eyes make us brothers? Does blonde hair make women sisters? I say again: you are not welcome here. I was sent to urge you to kick the dust from your shoes and move along. “
Jeddah fell silent, the old anger boiling up in the pit of his stomach. They weren’t welcome here? What did they need this fool for, anyway? He jerked away, pulling Arienne with him.
“But why?” Arienne asked, looking back.
“Because we need no more attention! You must leave tonight. If you don’t, the results will be unpleasant.”
“Is that a threat?” Jeddah demanded.
“It’s a guarantee, boy. There’s an encampment of slavers not far from Istall. It would be most unfortunate if they learned of your presence. The talented command a high price from the right buyer, I’ve been told.”
Arienne fell silent, fear locking her lips tight. Shock gripped Jeddah. Why would a fellow mage sell them out to slavers? What was going on here? He pushed those questions away. He had Arienne to think of. They couldn’t afford to make enemies here.
“No, that would be damn unfortunate. We’re leaving now,” he answered, grinding his teeth at his impotence.
“See that you do,” the bearded man replied, stepping back into the darkness from which he’d come. Jeddah and Arienne shared a long look and then began making their way out of town once more. After all, what other choice did they have?
A thought struck Jeddah then. It had only been a few days, and Hardin’s prediction was already coming true.
***
“Help me outside, Hardin. I want to feel the wind on my face once more,” Isha stared into the shadows that danced on the cavern wall, seeing nothing. His white eyes observed only his inner world.
“It’s night, Isha. You should be resting,” Hardin put away the tunic he was mending, alerted by something in his old friend’s voice.
“Please,” Isha said, voice soft and tinged with sadness, “I can no longer find the way on my own.”
Hardin sighed deeply. The hour was truly late, but he knew the sky was clear. The stars would be burning above, sparks of white fire in the Nightmaiden’s skirts. It might be nice to sit beneath the great arching dome of the night and listen to the secrets the wind whispered. It had been too long since he and Isha had walked the ruins together. Hardin rose slowly, joints creaking their protest.
“Very well, take my hand, Isha.”
Isha’s hand was cold, and Hardin was shocked at how light it felt, like spun glass or dandelion fluff. Hardin drew him up like he was an infant, and Isha smiled, perhaps remembering the past.
“Come with me.” Hardin led Isha out through the twisting entrance. The pair emerged beneath the night sky, the wind tugging their ragged robes. Above gleamed the stars, uncountable and untouchable, but even more beautiful than Hardin remembered.
“What do you see?” Isha asked, a note of pain in his voice.
“I see the Plough, rising above Jessa’s crowned head. She’s looking mighty fine tonight.” Hardin turned to the south, “Oh, there’s the Raven! I can’t remember the last time the stars were so very bright.”
Isha smiled in response. “Let us walk, Hardin. I want to feel the sand beneath my feet.”
They walked through the desert night, Hardin describing the stars wheeling above their heads. The moon was a thin sliver of herself, far to the west, hanging just above the darker line of the horizon. Isha listened to it all, drinking in Hardin’s words, painting pictures of the world now denied to his eyes.
As they approached the cliffs, the crash of waves on stone washed over them, and the tang of salt rode the night’s wind. “I always did love the sound of the sea,” Isha said. “Take me closer.”
Hardin hesitated, the thought of the cliff edge hidden in the night giving him pause. Isha laughed, putting a gnarled hand to Hardin’s shoulder. “I know your thoughts, old friend. Have no fear.”
Hardin helped Isha toward the cliffs, one arm wrapped around his waist to keep him safe. Just before the cliff edge, he found a fallen column, once the support for a great temple roof. Now it was nothing more than detritus in the sand, but it would serve as a bench for their old bones.
“Come, sit with me for a moment, Isha,” Hardin guided Isha to the stone perch, helping him find its surface.
“Ah, ah! To sit with the wind in my hair and the waves in my ears again!” Isha tilted back his head and laughed to the night sky.
Hardin sat, happy for the heat from the stone column, still warm from the day’s sun. Isha had fallen silent, his face expectant, waiting. His frail hand found Hardin’s once more, gripping with surprising strength as the old man turned his blind eyes toward his friend.
“Thank you, Hardin.” There seemed to be layers of meaning in that simple statement. Isha leaned against him, white head resting on Hardin’s shoulder.
“Tell me what you see,” he asked again.
Hardin described the stars again, leaving none out, not even tiny Pimbrekie, far, far to the south. “A shooting star, Isha!” he said suddenly, the vision transporting him back through the long years to a time when Isha’s white hair had been gold and his blind eyes a vivid green. “A shooting star!”
There was no answer, would be no more answers.
Hardin sat there for a long time, letting the wind sing to him of grief and loss, sadness and pain. He listened to the waves pound their aching, melancholy song and then, finally, he lay Isha down for the long, cold sleep.
***
“You know he’s going to take sadistic joy in seeing me eat my words, don’t you?” Jeddah scowled. Arienne smiled, but there was no malice in it.
“He’ll have a good laugh, but you know he’ll be happy to see us, Jeddah. It can’t have been easy with just him and Isha,” she answered her husband.
Jeddah shook his dark head. “No, I suppose not. I wish… I regret leaving the way we did. I was just so angry.” He stared off into the distance, watching the desert wind swirl sand through the disintegrating ruins. They’d been gone no more than a moon, yet it seemed as though the desert had swallowed even more of the ancient city.
The pair made their way through the ruins, following the fading track as it wound its way past eroded standing stones. Here and there, the glint of glass in the afternoon sunlight caught the eye, but Mal Tek was filled more with ghosts than glories.
It took little time to reach the leaning stones that marked the entrance to the mages’ makeshift home. Jeddah led the way, twisting sideways to fit between the walls. The darkness grew more palpable with each step, the air musty and stale. Something was wrong. Behind him, Arienne made a questioning sound, and he knew she sensed it as well. Something had happened here. Something bad.
Blind within the darkness, Jeddah groped his way forward with his hands. Eventually, he felt the passage widen, the touch of stone under his left hand disappearing as they entered the underground chamber they’d once called home. There was no light, no sound. Jeddah shuddered.
“It’s like a tomb,” he whispered to Arienne.
His hand found what he sought, a torch mounted to the wall, the head still coated in sticky pitch. It took only seconds to strike a spark with flint and steel, and he was rewarded with the warm, yellow light of flame as the torch caught and began to burn.
Jeddah held the torch aloft, flickering yellow-orange light illuminating the interior of the chamber. Nothing seemed disturbed. There was Isha’s pallet. He could make out Hardin’s next to it. The few belongings the two men had owned were still in evidence. It looked as though they had just stepped out, but the air was stale, breathless. No one had used the chamber in days.
“What’s happened?” Arienne asked. Jeddah did not need to look at his wife to know she was afraid. He felt it too, those cold, clutching fingers encircling his heart.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “There are no answers here, though. We must seek them elsewhere.” He led her back the way they’d come.
The sunlight blinded them after the dimness of the underground chamber, and the very air seemed to hold a threat. The wind’s constant song faded, dying to a mere whisper, a moan of regret. The taste of ash filled Jeddah’s mouth.
“Where would they go?” Arienne asked.
“Perhaps they’ve been sleeping outdoors. Sometimes it gets close under the stones.” Even as the words passed his lips, Jeddah recognized the lie.
“Where do we look?” his wife asked. While Mal Tek might be giving up the fight against time and nature, the ruins were massive. Any number of boltholes, tumbled stones, and half-standing buildings would serve as a temporary shelter if Hardin and Isha had decided to move their quarters. Still, there were a few places Jeddah knew to look. Both Isha and Hardin had been fond of the cliffs overlooking the sea.
“We’ll start with the cliffs,” he answered. “If they’re not there, we can check the old glassworks.” Arienne nodded, fear darkening her expression.
As they made their way toward the cliffs, Jeddah felt Arienne slip her hand into his. His pride would never allow him to admit it, but it gave him as much comfort as her. Hand in hand, they walked the ruined streets, the breeze freshening as they neared the great sea cliffs.
The cliffs stood stark and deserted, their rocky solidity giving way to empty air. Beneath their jagged teeth, the waves pounded ceaselessly in their quest to conquer the land. There was no sign of Hardin or Isha. Frustrated, Jeddah turned to leave, but Arienne tightened her grip on his hand.
“Look!” she pointed away from them.
Jeddah squinted in the bright sunlight and could just make out a dark shape against the rocky soil of the cliffs. Fear tightened its grip as they approached it. On closer inspection, the shape was not dark at all. It was a mound of soil covered with flat stones. At one end, a larger stone had been set upright.
Arienne went to her knees, and Jeddah felt a surprising pain as he read the single word engraved across the surface of that stone. “Beloved”. It was a grave.
“Who is it?” Tears choked Arienne’s voice.
Jeddah was silent for a moment, then the truth dawned. “It must be poor Isha,” he answered. “If it were Hardin, Isha’s blindness would not allow him to carve the marker.”
So, blind old Isha was gone, but where was Hardin? Had the old man struck out on his own after the death of his companion? Had the desert sand swallowed him up? Perhaps he had gone searching for Jeddah and Arienne. If so, perhaps he’d made his way to Istall or one of the scattered freeholds the pair had passed. Jeddah opened his mouth to voice the last possibility, half in hope of comforting his grieving wife, when the sound of flapping cloth came loudly to his ears.
Jeddah glanced around, and a flash of grey at the edge of the cliffs caught his attention. Leaving Arienne to her tears, he walked slowly toward the lip of the abyss. There hung a tattered grey garment, caught between two jagged stones. It was a robe, worn and frayed with age. He knew where Hardin had gone.
A narrow trail wound its way down the face of the cliff, all sharp turns and precipitous drops. Hearts heavy with grief, Jeddah and Arienne made their way down to where the cliffs met the sea. Here, a narrow strand of rocky beach offered something approaching solidity. They found Hardin’s bruised and broken body amidst the jagged rocks, washed by the salty sea.
As carefully as they could, husband and wife carried their friend’s body back up the cliffs. There, they dug a narrow grave and buried Hardin beside his beloved Isha, companions through eternity now.
Arienne sobbed as Jeddah led her from the cliffs, and tears streaked his own cheeks. “Come, my love,” he said to her. “There is nothing for us here anymore.” He led her away again, leaving behind the once-great city of Mal Tek and the remembrance of two old friends. As they walked, the desert wind gusted, fine sand filling their tracks, erasing any sign of their passing.