Wells of Ether

The vast swathes of gold which made up the Dalorai extended in every direction. Sala’ir sat atop the bluffs that overlooked his home, the Oasis of Kelak. The sand glistened beneath the sun as the Kelaki tribespeople busied themselves. They scurried about, passing between the loose throng of tall trees and sparsely verdant patches, between tents and the few more permanent structures.

These were his people. Half of them at least. Though polite conversation would find them called all manner of colourful things, the ones aboveground were most appropriately called Sandfarers. The Sandfarers were often the progeny of various long-forgotten criminals, exiled ne’er-do-wells, or those simply seen as unfit to dwell in the ruins below—to live alongside the Chosen. Sala’ir’s closest friend also lived among those above.

A mountainous youth, Talin towered above many men in the tribe. Both Sandfarers and Chosen held him in somewhat of an awe, whether out of pride or fear. He was a peerless warrior who, as a child, far outmatched his elders when it came to hunting or weapon craft—a natural gift from the gods of the desert. His father had been a merchant, who, in his final days, had sold the secrets of the desert tribes to foreigners from the grasslands to the South. Talin’s father had been sent out into the wastes, and with his mother long since passed, Talin was exiled above.

The Southern lands—they say they are as green as the desert is gold. Sala’ir wondered if the people there also chose to live in ruinous husks, filled with memories of what came before them. The young man stood, brushed himself off and looked to the nearest dune. He could easily pick Talin’s frame from among those who stood atop its peak. He raised an arm and saw one raised in return.

It was then that the sands parted, the desert screamed, the sun fell out of the sky.

A crack began to form in the now-blackened blanket above. It ran from one end of the horizon to the other. The pieces of darkness on either side strained and pulled themselves apart to reveal an enormous, blood-red eye.

Everything around him had fallen away as the darkness took him up. Sala’ir froze. All the while, the eye stared. Sala’ir could not break its gaze. As fast as the desert had fled, the eye receded—becoming ever smaller to stand in place of the sun it had stolen away. A second rend formed in the darkness beside it, opening slowly to reveal the eye’s counterpart. A third crack in the sky followed, giving form to a mouth of pointed, grin-set teeth.

The face in the darkness looked down upon the young man with cruel glee. Sala’ir realised that he had not taken a breath. As he tried to, he struggled. The eyes danced and the grin widened. Sala’ir began to trash. His chest would not move, not matter how he willed it. It was as if a shadowy, unseen hand now gripped his very being, threatening to crush the life from him.

Sala’ir clawed at his throat. His legs kicked out while his torso remained fixed in space. Darkness swept over the features in the sky as his strength began to fail. He swore that he could hear the distant calling of his own name. The last thing he remembered seeing was the face fading as a blue light rose on the horizon.

*

The air exploded out of Sala’ir as he woke. A strong pair of hands gripped his shoulders. Talin crouched beside him, his face red where Sala’ir had struck him. For a moment, Sala’ir thought that his friend wore the grin of whatever creature had held him in his dream. He closed his eyes, shaking his head to clear it before opening them again. Talin’s face showed concern. If he had felt the blow to his cheek, he didn’t show it. His voice came softly with a smile.

‘The gods plague your dreams once more, and I am the one to suffer for it. You’d give the hunt-master a run for his money with a swing like that, Sala.’

With this he released Sala’ir’s shoulders, his smile widening as he pushed the sand-coloured shock of hair from of his eyes. Sala’ir felt around beneath his bedroll for his waterskin, raising it to his lips and taking a long draw. When he had finished he tossed the skin to Talin.

‘Call me Sala again and, gods or no, I’ll make the other side match.’

He returned Talin’s smile before pulling his long, dark hair back and tying it with a cord from his wrist. A small crystal worked into the cord pulsed briefly with a blue glow. As Talin drank, Sala’ir stood and stretched—speaking sidelong to his friend in his loftiest voice.

‘On whose order does this Shield of mine deign to interrupt my much-needed slumber? By what grace am I deemed worthy of the presence of the great and mighty Tal-’

The waterskin struck Sala’ir in the side of the head as he returned to a neutral position. Talin sat with folded arms, corded muscle seeming to ripple beneath his loose robes.

‘You know what day it is and I’ve come to fetch you for it, my lord.’

Talin retched mockingly at the words before the two broke into laughter. After a few moments, Sala’ir let out a long sigh.

‘I suppose I can’t run from fate much longer, my friend. Not that sleep will bring me much peace either.’

Sala’ir straightened and stiffened, looking down Talin at his nose mockingly.

‘Will you stand by my side, to serve and protect the Spear of Kelak? Will you be the Shield to guard me from the stench of the Elders? Will you stand before the people naked and scream your love for the burning sands?’

Talin grinned wickedly before placing a hand across his chest and giving an equally stiff bow.

‘If that is what the Spear of Kelak wishes.’ He stood, still grinning. ‘Remind me to ask your father the next time I see him.’

With that, the two left the room. As they stepped towards the hall, a triad of small crystals set around the doorframe pulsed with light briefly. The crystal which held Sala’ir’s hair, as well as one set into an armlet wrapping Talin’s bicep, both pulsed in answer. The stone door rumbled, its outline glowing with light for a moment, before it sank downwards. As the two left the room and the hallway that came after, they quickly came to the central pillar of their community.

A wide, smoothly-worked, stone pathway ran a ring around an open chasm. At the centre of this gaping maw, held by nothing that the eye could see, sat the great Crystal. A roughly-wrought, gargantuan mass of glowing mineral. The Crystal sat suspended in the air, giving off a warm, blue glow—bright enough to light the surrounding pathway. This glow resonated with all of its smaller counterparts throughout the ruins. These crystals were the lifeblood of their people, providing them safety from the harshness of the desert above while powering the many luxuries afforded to those below.

Following the path, the young men neared the Mews. Talin pointedly looked away as they passed. Sala’ir caught his friend’s discomfort and gave a smirk.

‘Why don’t we pay Naj a visit before we get to the ceremony? I cannot remember the last time I took him hawking, and I’m sure he’d love to see you Tal.’

Talin paled.

‘You know I hate birds. That damned pet of yours almost took my left eye the last time we saw each other. I still have the scar!’

Talin jabbed a finger towards his un-reddened cheek before continuing his tirade.

‘By the Moons, I’d rather be bitten by a sand snake than go willingly into that devil’s den.’

Sala’ir’s answering laughter echoed throughout the large, open space as Talin shivered. The pair drew disapproving looks from those around them. Sala’ir had never paid the sanctity of this place much mind, though he guessed that may be why the gods chose to play with his dreams. Talin soon relented, joining him and laughing more at his friend’s amusement than with his own.

The pair eventually reached the Grand Hall—a massive, open room carved into one section of the Kelaki Ruins. The light leading to the hall bled from a soft blue into an orange as the crystals set into the walls progressively changed in size and shape.

Talin stopped short of the large entryway. It took Sala’ir a few steps to notice. The young Spear turned back to his friend.

‘Are you unwell, Talin? I hope you’re not reconsidering the visit to Naj?’

Talin met Sala’ir’s eyes. His face as stiff as the stone beneath his feet. An oddly emotionless expression which Sala’ir had only seen him hold around the tribe’s Elders. Talin stared speechlessly for a moment for a moment, watching as Sala’ir’s grin faded, before he looked away.

‘Sala, I don’t belong down here—or in there. These people do not want me here. I am not your blood, as much as you may treat me so. You know that. Your mother and father, I love them as my own, but my presence is a stain to their names. Bad enough that you put up being seen with me. I should-’

‘This once,’ Sala’ir cut him off with an easy smile, reaching up to place a hand on his large friend’s shoulder. ‘This once I will let that go. This is not you. Never have I seen you balk at people who do not know your worth. You must steel yourself Tal and join me. If we are to be seen as men, if we are to hold the reigns and break the shackles that tie these people to their troubles—then we must do this. Together.’

Sala’ir turned, walking back towards the Grand Hall, golden light spilling from the entrance. Talin watched as his friend’s figure was silhouetted before him. He looked every bit the ruler he would soon become. Sala’ir called back over his shoulder.

‘And what did I say about calling me Sala? The next time I really will let Naj have his way with you.’

Talin’s smile was pained. As Sala’ir strode into the room, his Shield followed.

*

The Hall was stiflingly warm, the seams of each stone pulsing with an orange glow to match the fire pits set throughout. A large, multi-tiered dais ran from wall-to-wall at the end of the Grand Hall. Atop it stood the Council of Elders and Sala’ir’s Parents—the leaders of Kelak.

The floor of the Hall was broken up by several large depressions, each filled with pillows and people. The entire tribe was present. As Sala’ir and Talin entered, they quickly noticed that the lower platforms of the dais were filled with the tribe’s young men and women. Some exchanged looks, some smiled nervously, some appeared openly terrified. A few stood stoically. The sons and daughters of warriors.

All eyes turned to the pair as they entered, Talin a half-step behind Sala’ir as was proper. The low chatter preceding them died off quickly. The voice of Sala’ir’s father, Hesh’ir, boomed throughout the chamber.

‘How wonderful for us to be graced by the presence of the young Spear! I hope your sleep was peaceful, my son.’

Laughter ran throughout the chamber. Sala’ir seemed unconcerned, continuing his confident stride towards the dais. The babble of hushed conversation resumed as the two walked. Venom-tipped whispers followed Talin’s back from one side of the room, while rumours of his feats flowed from the other. Sala’ir’s first curled at his side.

As the pair reached the lower platform of the dais, Talin moved to join the others. Sala’ir stopped and gave a single command.

‘With me.’

Talin hesitated briefly, ignoring the sudden silence of the Hall. He gave a short bow and took to the steps once more. As Sala’ir moved to greet his parents, Talin maintained a respectful distance. The three embraced warmly before turning to look at Sala’ir’s Shield. Hesh’ir and Mehr’ir both smiled at him warmly, holding their arms out in welcome. Talin hesitated once more, feeling the glares of the Elders.

Sala’ir, noticing their glances, moved to pull his friend forward. An Elder broke from the pack, seeming to glide across the stone as a snake atop the sands. A curved, ceremonial dagger swayed slightly at his hip, marking him as one of the religious leaders. He spoke at a rapid pace alongside Sala’ir while the trio made their way to the centre of the platform, ignoring Talin completely.

‘You mustn’t do this my Lord. Think of your Father, your Mother. You bring the spawn of a traitor, a dog, to this sacred place. Do not shame them further.’

Sala’ir gripped his friend’s wrist, ignoring the malice in the Elder’s words. He stopped once he reached the centre of the platform, his voice echoing through the chamber as he addressed the tribe.

‘All of you, hear me now! Heed the will of the one who would soon be your Spear.’

The young man’s hand shot out, pulling the ceremonial dagger from the Elder’s hip. The Elder stumbled backwards, aghast. Sala’ir raised Talin’s hand, holding the dagger aloft as he took in the crowd below. Talin stood rigid beside him.

‘Today, we become the men and women of Kelak—we start anew. I would have this man’s name and the names of each and every Sandfarer child below me stained no longer. They hunt so that we may feast, they sweat so that we may stay cool. They toil and protect us—bleeding, hungering, and thirsting so that others will not. Here stand our brothers and sisters. All of whom will risk their lives to prove their worth. The names they claim for themselves will not be sullied by the shadows of those we no longer remember.’

The Elders started forward all at once, tripping over themselves and their lavish robes.

‘No longer! Today and for all days, this man and I are brothers. Should you need blood, you shall have it. Mine and his.’

With his final word, Sala’ir released Talin’s hand and brought the blade of the knife across his palm. He winced as a thin trail of blood arced across the stone below. He turned to Talin, flipping the dagger deftly to offer its hilt. He raised his bloodied hand and waited for his friend. Talin looked pained, tears running down his face as he took the dagger and followed. He didn’t flinch as the blade met his flesh. Talin raised his hand before the pair turned to grip one-another’s forearms. Blood fell freely, intermingling on the stone below.

Talin’s voice came softly to Sala’ir’s ears. ‘I am sorry, my brother.’

Where the blood flowed into the seams of the stone, the golden glow intensified. A set of symbols burst into life in its wake, the unfamiliar runes encircling the pair. Their blood moved of its own accord, forming an intricate set of patterned lines beneath their feet. The light in the rest of the chamber suddenly dimmed. Scattered voices of the people below rose to a fearful cacophony. Sala’ir’s parents screamed. The Elders cowered. The light of the symbols intensified until it was an almost blinding white.

Sala’ir watched as the knife Talin held swung towards him. He felt the grip on his forearm tighten as the blade slid across his throat. He caught one final glimpse of Talin, choking and spluttering as unfathomable pain shot through him. The image of his brother’s face was burned into his mind even as darkness took him. A pair of red eyes and a maddened grin filled with pointed teeth.

*

Talin began that day like the many others that came before. He rose before the sun had the chance to, stretched and moved slowly, but smoothly, through the several forms that were taught to Kelaki warriors. This painstaking process usually ended just as the sky began to change colour. Each and every strip of muscle in Talin’s body stood out. A heavy sheen of sweat coated him and darkened the sand at his feet.

While the sun took its time to rise above the horizon Talin bathed, filled his waterskin, and began his patrol around the outskirts of the Oasis and through the settlements of the Sandfarers. It was halfway through his patrol that he noticed something—a small object protruding from the base of the dune he was crossing. With a short hop Talin hit the side of the dune, sliding down. He reached the bottom quickly, circling around the object and brushing the sand from it.

It was wooden. Not from Kelak then. He bent at the knees, gripped the thing, and pulled. His arms, back, and legs rippled as he strained, his grip biting into the wood itself. The moment the object shifted, the sand beneath his feet fell away. He would have screamed, but the sand closing above him stole the sound from his throat.

Talin did not crash into anything below. He simply stopped. No longer falling, he began to lose track of direction as he floated. All around him was darkness. He still held whatever it was in his hand. Something circular, with cornered edges and spokes leading to a centrepiece of some kind. He clutched the thing tightly, feeling the grooves where his grip had partially crushed the wood— it helped him to calm his breathing. As Talin’s hand passed over the centrepiece, a red glow rose from beneath his fingers.

In response, an enormous red Crystal bloomed before him. Its glow was dim, but he did not feel the warmth from it as he did the one below Kelak. He floated before it as it in turn floated, slowly rotating. As the red light grew Talin noticed the deep scores in its smoothly-hewn surface. The light dimmed once more before suddenly brightening. The small crystal set into the wooden wheel he held began to get hot. Talin tried to pull his hand from it, but could not.

‘At last.’

The voice resounded from the very darkness itself, enveloping Talin. It was not a kind sound. Smoke began to pour from the red crystal and Talin began to struggle, kicking feebly in the air. The smoke suddenly speared towards him, forcing itself down his throat and nose. He choked on it—his struggle becoming ever-wilder. Images flashed into his mind.

He was below Kelak, the Grand Hall strewn with bodies. Knife in hand and a slain Sala’ir in his arms. He was before the great Crystal. Its blue light sputtered out as it fell into the chasm below, crashing into the ruins and shaking the earth as it tumbled. He was above the desert. The Sandfarers cheered. He was striding through the desert, a line of people behind him. He was fighting, killing, conquering. The images came faster. He stood surrounded by greenery, his people at his back—the entire desert, all of the tribes united under him. His spear sailed through the air, driving a hole clean through a man’s chest and the metal plate he wore on it. None could match him in speed nor strength. He tore swathes through the armies that stood against him.

He stood atop a stone wall as stone buildings burned below. A bloodied ring of gold in his hands and his fight finally finished. The southerners, the desert men who had betrayed his father, those that had killed his mother. All gone. His people safe. No more wars. He saw the red crystal, floating high against a clear blue sky and a wide green field. He didn’t hear the laughter or the screams that followed. He didn’t see his own features twisted into a wild grin.

His vision snapped back from darkness. Talin stood in the sand, a wooden wheel with a deadened, grey crystal at its centre. His breathing came heavy as sweat once more covered his entire body. The sun shone overhead, close to noon. This could be his future. This was what his talent, his body, had been destined for. Prophecies of the Dalorai had always been delivered in overt ways. He swapped the wheel to his free hand, clenching his fist a few times as he checked the place it had been crushed.

‘Talin, there you are.’

Talin looked up quickly, catching the shocked expression of one of the Sandfarer warriors. Talin could not bring his name to mind—though he’d seen his face often. His head felt foggy. The young man’s words stumbled slightly as he spoke.

‘A-Are you well? We have been looking for you since dawn. Were you not supposed to join Lord Sala’ir today?’

Talin stared for a moment longer before shaking his head to clear it.

‘Apologies. I was patrolling and found this,’ Talin tossed the small wheel up to the man, who scrambled to catch it. ‘I’ll go fetch the young Spear now.’

The man looked at the wooden thing, dumbfounded. Talin climbed the dune to place a hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘Could you take that back for me? I found it half buried. Elder Mufi should check it over.’

The man looked up and met Talin’s eyes, a shiver running down his spine. He could have sworn he caught the briefest glint of red in them as the young Shield smiled.

*

Sala’ir lay on the stone of the dais, his vision fading to darkness as the blood drained from his neck. Before he knew it, darkness took him. A blue light eased into view and suddenly he stood before the great Crystal. Warm as ever, the Crystal’s voice enveloped him.

‘Another has interfered in your fate, young one. Though fear not. You are my chosen, and so you shall return.’

Images formed before Sala’ir. Images of death and destruction. Of red chains broken. The golden sands of the Dalorai dyed with blood as a giant crystalline form floated overhead. He saw the wicked grin from his dreams in a blackened sky. The southern greenlands below coated with ash. He saw Talin caught fast in a cage of smoke, a bloodied handprint on his forearm. The Crystal’s voice returned.

‘No time to rest. The Shield needs its Spear and the Spear its Shield. I can give you only a small piece of time, for he is in thrall to the other now.’

After a moment, Sala’ir’s own thoughts began to resume. Before he could gather himself, the Crystal spoke once more.

‘Ready yourself, this will not be painless.’

*

Sala’ir shot awake, his hand moving to his throat as he tried to cough the blood from it. Nothing was forthcoming. A figure moved to stand over him. He looked up, seeing Talin’s face shift between that of his concerned friend and the grinning god of death. As Talin reached out to ease Sala’ir, the young Spear flinched backwards.

‘Whoa now, easy Sala. Your night terrors have fled. It’s only me.’

Sala’ir rubbed at his throat, finding the waterskin without any trouble this time. He drank deeply, but offered none to Talin. His Shield was concerned, but tried to lighten the mood regardless.

‘Must have been some dream. I hope your damned bird wasn’t there. Always leaves a bad taste in my mouth when he’s in mine. Time to rise, Sala’ir. Initiation day and it’s almost past noon.’

No laughter was forthcoming. The Shield watched the Spear, rubbing softly at his hand. It still burned from the red Crystal’s touch. Sala’ir remained silent, clutching the waterskin for a moment before taking a deep breath and splashing his face. As calm came to him, he quietly tied his hair back. Moving to the opposite corner of the room, he took up the short sword that he’d previously left behind—tying it to his waist.

With each deliberate movement, his strength returned. His mind blazed through the images he’d been shown. He tried to recount what had happened in the Hall the first time, searching for some explanation. The memories were becoming hazy. The smiling face of Talin and his tearful apology flashed into his mind once more. His throat throbbed in response.

‘Sala, you don-,’ Talin began.

‘A Shield speaks when he is spoken to.’

Talin looked wounded for a moment, before quickly donning a flattened expression. All sarcasm, levity, were drained from him. Only a touch of concern remained. Sala’ir stood facing the corner were his sword had been, his back to his friend.

‘As my Lord wills.’

‘Go fetch my bow. Ready our hunting packs also. I will meet you by the Mews.’

‘Sala, it’s the initia-,’ Talin’s protest was cut off once more as Sala’ir’s words came softly and sharply.

‘Twice now. Once more and I’ll cut your tongue out myself. The packs. My bow. Now.’

Talin bristled. His entire being was screaming for him to lash out. To wring his friend’s neck. But this was no normal day and for Sala’ir to have one of those cursed nightmares right before the initiation was unlucky indeed. He would confront him later, once he had cooled off.

The door rumbled to a close as Talin left. Sala’ir tasted blood, biting hard into his lip to hold back his tears. As he rubbed their remnants from his eyes, he caught sight of his hand. A reddened line ran across his palm. He wondered if Talin’s hand would be the same.

The young Spear left the room, circling the opposite way to put as much space between the Grand Hall, the Mews, and his Shield as possible. He came to a stop before the Crystal, his eyes scanning its rough exterior. He took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh.

He reached the Mews soon after, Talin waiting patiently. The Spear pointed for the Shield to lead the way, the pair hefting their packs and exiting the ruins. The oasis above was empty as they moved through it. The sun had long since taken to setting and, though still warm, the sand would soon cool. The passed a lone lookout as they left the edge of the settlement. He gave no words of warning or farewell. He simply watched Sala’ir and Talin as they dipped below the nearest dune and out of sight.

The friends walked well into the night, the moons lighting their way. After a time, Talin stopped. Sala’ir’s voice sounded from a long ways back.

‘I know what happened. I know what you were going to do.’

Talin turned, his friend holding an arrow nocked. Talin’s answer was spoken much softer, but still reached Sala’ir’s ear.

‘Then you know that will not stop us.’

Talin’s face twisted, donning the nightmarish grin once more. He managed a few paces before the first arrow sunk into his chest. The young Shield staggered but began to pick up the pace, running at his friend as a second arrow pierced him. Blackened smoke poured from the wounds in place of blood.

A third arrow founds its mark near the first before Sala’ir threw the bow aside, drawing his sword. He could not hope to match Talin in strength, but the edge was his in speed. Or so he thought. Talin caught the blade as it shot towards him, holding it a hair’s breadth from his chest. Smoke pooled around his hand, no blood following. Sala’ir screamed, forcing all of his weight against the blade. The sound of metal scraping bone could be heard as it eased through Talin’s fingers and into his heart.

The grin didn’t fade as the Shield spoke.

‘I’ll see you again, princeling. When you wake.’

Talin reached out, gripping Sala’ir’s neck with his free hand. It took him almost no effort to squeeze the life from his Spear. Sala’ir clawed at his friend’s hand as the light slowly faded from his eyes.

The young Shield gasped. He felt suddenly cold as the blood flowed from his wounds. The sand reddened around him as he collapsed to his knees, slumping to the side. He watched with fading vision as the crystal holding back Sala’ir’s hair began to shine with blue light.

*

Talin’s eyes snapped open, his chest felt as if it had been kicked by a horse. He held the wooden wheel in hand. The red crystal seemed to dance as the sun blazed overhead. He did not hear the Sandfarer calling his name. All he heard was wild, distant laughter.

Below the sands, Sala’ir shifted. His sleep was fitful as the gods played their games.