Koruk took a last look around at the pleasant oasis. Somewhere a fish jumped out of the lake, and a flock of birds took off at the sound of it splashing against the tranquil water. The sandskimmer was fully restocked with supplies, and Kiwai had instructed them on how to sail it and lubricate its wheels. The imp was very reserved in their company. Koruk supposed that made sense. They were asking him to violate the sacred traditions of his people by helping them.

  It seemed a shame to leave this beautiful place, he thought as he walked idly through the cobblestone paths of the village. Paradise abandoned. What if they just, stayed? Or looted the place and went home like Moktark said.

  No. Nice or not, he had a quest to complete. Some feeling in his heart told him to get a move on. It felt like time was short, although he had no idea why he felt that way.

  “What are you doing over there little brother? Let’s get a move on!” A voice called from further down the hill, where the sandskimmer was parked.

  “I’ll be there in a moment. I’m just having a look around!” Koruk yelled back. He took one last look at the oasis, and marched down to meet his friends and companions.

  They pushed the barge through a narrow pass in the cliffs, which was made considerably easier by not having three imps standing on it while they did so, and when the wheels hit soft sand they hoisted the sails and set off. Night had fallen, and they had decided they would travel until dawn, resting during the day as they had before. It would take some getting used to the change of schedule.

  All that night they rolled along, the wind whipping at the sails. Semthak occasionally took a reading of the stars with a strange device Kiwai had showed him to use, his brow furrowed in concentration. Overhead the shooting stars were frequent sights. Streaks of light in the heavens big and small. Once a massive one seemed to pass over, and it lit the ground briefly with a flash. Kiwai hunkered down as best he could and bent himself into a strange posture as he performed some sort of prayer. Oben seemed worried as well. For the orcs though, it was just a light show.

  The next morning the winds kicked up. Sand began blowing around in the air, stinging their skin like tiny needles. Kiwai called an emergency stop.

  “Sandstorm! Take cover!” He shouted.

  “Under what?” Moktark asked.

  “Anything you can find!”

  Struggling against the wind, the orcs built a hasty barricade out of baskets and supplies on the deck while Oben and Kiwai brought the sails down. Koruk coughed as sand blew up his nose.

  “Is this normal!?” He yelled over the howling wind.

  “Yes!” Kiwai replied. “Here, stretch the sail over those baskets, we’ll make a shelter!”

  It was a tight fit in their makeshift wind shelter. The cloth sail overhead flapped alarmingly in the wind, and Moktark held down the edge with his arm as he leaned against it. It seemed to last forever, and the rhythmic flapping of the tarp and wind started to sound hypnotic in Koruk’s ears. He felt his eyes drooping, and he nodded off.

  When he woke, he found the deck of the barge almost completely submerged in sand. The main mast stuck out overhead looking like a tree growing out of the ground.

  “What do we do? We stuck!” Oben groaned.

  “We dig!” Moktark replied, shaking sand out of his ear. Kiwai nodded.

  And so they dug. It took an entire day to unearth the boat, and much heaving and pushing to get it out of the pit it found itself in, but eventually it came loose and began rolling again. The party cheered, and clambered aboard as it began rolling away.

  More days passed. A second sandstorm nearly buried the skimmer, and they weathered it just the same, digging the vehicle out in the evening after. Kiwai directed them on a course south by southwest, and he gradually grew more comfortable with his new companions. He still refused to speak to Oben, but around the orcs grew more relaxed. Koruk found him a good traveling companion. Several times the imp’s advice saved them from hitting hidden boulders or falling into valleys between the dunes from which the barge would not easily escape, and gradually they began to trust him and his judgment.

  One week after they had set out from the oasis village, they spotted a speck in the distance. As they got closer over the course of another day, that speck grew bigger, the shape of its faces growing in detail. Koruk felt a frog in his throat looking at it. Could it be…?

  As they rolled up toward it there could be no doubt. A towering four sided pyramid rose up out of the ground, occluding the night stars behind it, seeming to drink in the light. Hundreds or maybe thousands of stairs were carved into one side, leading up into the heavens. Never before had he seen something so obviously artificial with such scale. It was like a manufactured mountain. If the stairs were anything to go by, it was at least 500 feet tall.

  There could be no doubt in Koruk’s mind. He had seen this place so many times already that it felt like returning home in a way. He fought against a feeling of tightness in his chest, could hear his breath moving in and out of his lungs as time seemed to slow down. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and not just from the lingering heat trapped in the sand, he knew.

  He looked over at Semthak. The old orc’s features were tight. His lips were pressed together. He stared unblinking ahead. Kiwai and Oben looked similarly stiff. Only Moktark was at ease, his arms folded against his chest.

  “Impressive.” He said. Koruk simply nodded. Impressive didn’t hope to do it justice.

  Around the base of the pyramid they saw that a city of tents had sprung up. Thousands upon thousands of colourful cloth structures were nestled in the shadow of the smooth faced black mountain, and little pinpricks of light from fires flickered like fireflies. More sandskimmers, sailed to and fro the city occasionally, and Kiwai explained that they were delivering food and water to the city. When they arrived they would be expected to surrender their cargo as well to help supply the pilgrims.

  “So what happens now?” Moktark asked. “Do we just wait for the sky to turn red or whatever?”

  Koruk glanced over at the old shaman, and Semthak shrugged.

  “It’s a good question. You saw the visions more clearly than I did. Your decision, Koruk.”

  “I don’t know. I...” Koruk began. He tried to shake off the anxiety he felt. “It doesn’t make sense to just sit here. We need to see if we can get closer.”

  “We’ll be noticed. Last time I checked my skin wasn’t as red as a tomato.” Semthak said.

  “We can wrap ourselves up in our robes. As long as we don’t get too close hopefully they won’t notice.” Koruk began. The plan seemed dodgy even to his own ears but he couldn’t think straight at that moment. “Kiwai can lead us. He’s one of them.”

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  “I said I would take you to the Oracle. I have done so.” Kiwai said. “Now I will leave you.”

  “What? No, wait. We could use your help!” Koruk stammered.

  “He did bring us here. I’d say fair is fair.” Semthak nodded. “He held up his end of the bargain. If he wants to leave he should be allowed to. Not that we could do much about it. If he wanted to raise a fuss we’d be noticed.”

  “Thank you.” Kiwai said. “I will not reveal you to the others. Best of luck on your vision quest.”

  Koruk forced an uneasy smile onto his face and nodded at the imp.

  They maneuvered the skimmer into an open plaza between a circle of tents, and disembarked, trying their best to hunch down and shield their faces. As soon as they had stopped a crowd of imps began unloading the water and baskets of food from their skimmer and carting them off. Koruk winced a little at the blatant robbery, but said nothing. Thankfully their personal effects were left behind, along with a little food and a small jug of water.

  “Generous aren’t they?” Moktark growled.

  “Shut up, they’ll hear you!” Semthak whispered harshly.

  Koruk looked around for Kiwai, but the imp had already departed it seemed, blending into the crowd. Koruk spotted him in the distance. The imp gave a parting glance to the party, before turning and disappearing.

  After the skimmer was unloaded, the crowd dispersed and they were left alone for a moment.

  “Should we take down the sails and set up camp?” Moktark asked.

  “No. We might need to make a getaway.” Koruk said.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet Drake. What are your plans? You wanted to see the temple right?” Moktark asked the human. Oben acted as if he had been jarred awake from some daydream, struggling to bring himself back to the present place and time.

  “What? Yes. I never thought…” He started. “I will go with you. See temple.”

  Moktark nodded slowly.

  “Alright. Let’s go then.”

  As they began walking into the city towards the pyramid, Moktark pulled Koruk aside.

  “What’s up with him little brother?” He whispered. “He’s been acting like he’s possessed ever since we left Brittle Teeth. Barely a word to any of us, disappearing randomly. You don’t think...”

  “Think what?” Koruk whispered back. Moktark made a face, and a warding hand gesture.

  “Ghosts. Maybe he really is possessed.”

  “No. What? Okay I admit Drake… Oben, hasn’t been the most… talkative traveling companion...” Koruk began, scratching at his neck through his headscarf.

  “Forget talkative. And what was that crap with the imp? Look I’m just saying, keep an eye on him alright?”

  Koruk looked Moktark in the eye. The bigger orc was tense, a sort of tension he’d never seen display even before battle. Koruk nodded to him seriously, and Moktark seemed to calm down a little.

  If Oben had noticed the exchange he said nothing. It was strange, Koruk thought. In their adventures he had found himself constantly amazed by the sights they’d seen. The mountains, Brittle Teeth, the desert, the oasis… they had all felt so novel, so interesting. He’d never experienced anything like it.

  For Oben on the other hand, it was as if he was just going down to the river to catch fish. Walking down familiar paths and seeing familiar things. Koruk found himself struck by a feeling of incredible age as he looked at the human. Something about his expression, or his posture perhaps. As if Oben was an old man who had lived too long, and seen too much, so that nothing seemed new anymore. That didn’t make any sense. From his face, the human looked quite young, as far as Koruk could tell anyways. In any case, his hair wasn’t white, and he didn’t seem feeble. Why then did he seem so… dispassionate?

  As he pondered these things, Koruk found himself looking up into the sky. All at once there were thousands of shooting stars lighting up the night sky, like a spray of white rain through the heavens. The sky began to light up, and then a massive fireball flashed in the distance. It soared overhead followed by a roar that nearly knocked him flat. A screaming, groaning noise, more horrible than anything he had ever heard. The ground trembled. The sky was engulfed in fire as flaming debris streaked through the air overhead, and smaller meteors slammed into the sand with loud thumps, kicking it up in great clouds. The greater mass of the fireball disappeared into the distance, over the horizon.

  “That is… my ship…?” Oben said to himself, staring in shock.

  A few of the tents had caught fire, and were billowing smoke. The groaning noise and the light in the sky died out quickly, and the sky returned to its normal darkness. As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

  The silence was not to last. Voices started to cry out from in amongst the tents. Fanatical cheers. They spread like wildfire through the city, and from the crowd surrounding the companions. The imps raised their arms and weapons to the heavens and cried out in their strange melodic language. It was as if they were possessed. Every tent was emptied, the crowds of cheering imps pressed in around them. One of them bumped into Koruk, pushing the sleeve of his robe up his arm a little, revealing a thick wrist with mottled brown and green skin.

  Koruk quickly brushed the sleeve back, but the imp had noticed. He began shouting in alarm.

  Without hesitation Koruk ran. He grabbed Oben, who was still staring startled at the sky, by the arm, and drug him along. Moktark and Semthak quickly caught on, and followed, Moktark desperately trying to unwrap his weapon and shield from the canvas he had concealed them in.

  Koruk ran for the temple, practically carrying Oben, Moktark and Semthak close on his heels. In hindsight, he didn’t know why. Why didn’t he run back to the skimmer they had left, and probable escape? For some reason it never even entered his mind.

  It didn’t take long for the cry of alarm to proliferate through the camp around them, but in the confusion they managed to evade pursuit all the way to the foot of the temple, where a crowd had formed in a wide circle around the structure. As they crossed that line formed by the edge of the crowd though, they were quickly pointed out, and all at once a surge of thousands of angry red figures pushed forward, weapons in hand.

  “Keep going! Up the stairs!” Koruk shouted. Oben tripped, and Koruk lifted the light man into his arms as he ran. Moktark managed to get his obsidian war bat untangled, and swung it in wide arcs behind him, warding off attackers armed with knives, spears, and hurled rocks and sticks.

  The climb up the stairs of the temple was a frantic affair. Most of the crowd seemed hesitant to touch the glassy black stone of the pyramid, but a few braver imps ascended after the fleeing orcs. They fought a retreating action up the stairs, with Moktark swinging and kicking at the pursuers, occasionally sending one tumbling down the pyramid head over heels.

  Semthak took an unlucky hit from a stone slung from below, and went down hard, his staff clattering away.

  “Koruk! Get him! I’ll cover you!” Moktark yelled. He repositioned to stand over Semthak’s fallen body, swinging his sharp weapon in a figure eight pattern and howling. The imps crowded around him, reluctant to get close. Koruk dropped Oben and shouted at him to run for the summit, and grabbed Semthak by the collar of his robe and started to drag him away from the spears and blades of the imps.

  Somehow, they managed to reach the top of the stairs. The top of the pyramid was a flat, square plaza, just as it had been in the vision, but instead of a being of light in the centre, there was a hole, a shaft leading down into the depths of the structure.

  “In there! It’s our only shot!” Koruk shouted. Moktark didn’t reply, too busy warding off a long spear that a screaming imp was jabbing furiously at him.

  Koruk ran to the hole in the centre of the plaza and looked down into it. It seemed to be a shaft, leading down into pitch darkness.

  “Oben! Give me a hand!” Koruk shouted. Oben hastened to to his side.

  Oben dropped his pack, and they managed to extract a rope from it, and Koruk swiftly tied it to the shaft of a spear that the imps had thrown up at them, hoping to skewer one of them. He gave it a tentative flex, and it seemed strong enough to hold one of their weights, maybe. It was going to have to be. He placed the spear over the hole and threw the rope down, gesturing for Oben to descend. To his credit the human wasted no time in jumping down and rappelling down the rope. The spear shaft bent alarmingly under his weight.

  Koruk then tied the rope around Semthak’s waist, and lowered him into the hole. He winced as the unconscious orc’s head hit the walls of the shaft on the way down, but he didn’t have time to be gentle about it.

  Moktark felled one of the red men in his berserker rage, sending a mass of bloody rags flying down the stairs into a teeming horde of other imps. It only slowed them down for a moment, before another one took his place. Koruk yelled at Moktark, and the big orc abandoned his defensible position and rushed to Koruk’s side.

  Moktark glanced down the hole, and grunted.

  “Go! I’ll hold them off!”

  Koruk grabbed the rope and began rappelling down into the darkness. The rope burned his hands badly, but he didn’t care. The adrenaline in his blood made him largely immune to the pain. He bounced off something on the way down, but eventually hit solid ground.

  Moktark followed behind, but suddenly dropped as the rope lost tension. He tumbled down the hole yelling at the top of his lungs and landed on top of Koruk hard with a pained yelp. The spear clattered down behind him, broken in two.