Conjunction

More of the silver filaments began to rise from the grass at his feet, the nearby shrubs wilting, the petals of their flowers falling to the dusty ground as he drew upon their vital energy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was stealing from them, but his cause was a noble one. If he did not succeed in his task, then there might be no bushes or flowers ever again...

As the nearby plant life shriveled, he sensed those weaving streams of magic coalesce in his feet, gravitating towards his injuries. His staff still tightly clutched in his trembling hands, he watched as the torn flesh began to knit, fresh skin growing over the sores before his very eyes. Healing that would have taken days or weeks under normal circumstances took place in mere seconds, a feeling of wellness driving away the pain and discomfort that had been plaguing him for the last few miles.

This spell took more out of him than the previous ones had, and he leaned against the trunk of the twisted tree for a few minutes while he rested, wiggling his toes as he marveled at the miraculous recovery. He was but a novice, but he found himself wondering to what extent wounds could be repaired in this manner. Blisters were one thing, but what about a broken leg? What of a sword wound, or a severed arm? It was a shame that the Master was so far away, or Caden would have asked him whether sorcerers had served as healers in the wars that he so often described. In any case, there was still much for him to learn. His journey towards mastering magic was still in its first faltering steps.

He pulled a fresh pair of socks from his pack, then put his boots back on, rising to his feet. Feeling refreshed, he hoisted his rucksack onto his back, using his staff as a walking stick as he continued on his journey.

***

Another night was finally falling, granting some brief reprieve from the heat, the unfamiliar stars lighting up the dark sky. This far from civilization, there was no shelter, certainly no cushy taverns with soft beds waiting for weary travelers. At least the consistent weather made camping more tolerable. There was no chance of a sudden downpour catching him off-guard, or a frigid wind uprooting his tent.

After searching around for a suitable place to make camp, Caden found a pile of boulders that formed a sort of protective ring that should provide some cover, and he set his pack down between them. He unfurled a straw-filled bedroll and laid it on the dry grass, then set off to find some firewood. It was plentiful thanks to the bristlecones. Many of the dead trees had shed sticks and branches, the lack of moisture drying them out to create the perfect kindling. Caden arranged a few stones in a circle, and stacked the wood inside it, using his staff to conjure a licking flame that quickly took hold. Before long, he had a crackling campfire going. It wasn't that he needed its warmth, the nights were scarcely cooler than the days, but some cooked food would raise his spirits.

He had departed the Master's tower with enough salted pork and stale bread to see him through a good few days, but he had stocked up on some more appetizing rations before leaving the inn. He reached into his pack and produced a small, portable cooking pot that he balanced on top of the burning embers, filling it from his waterskin. There was no reason to be conservative, there was plenty more where that came from. As the water began to boil, he withdrew some strips of dried and salted mutton from his pack, dropping them into the bubbling pot. He seasoned them with a few conservative pinches of salt and pepper from the glass vials of spices that he had brought along, stirring as he waited patiently for the meat to boil.

When the time was right, he withdrew a small, paper parcel that was tied up with a piece of hairy string. Within it were firm, leathery strips that almost resembled flakes of tree sap, but were actually pieces of dried gelatin made from beef broth. It was a kind of portable soup that, when placed in water, would rapidly regain its consistency and flavor. It kept for months and took up very little space. He placed three or four of the flakes in the pot, watching them dissolve, stirring the concoction with a ladle. The final ingredient was some pieces of stale bread, Caden tearing off some chunks and tossing them into the soup to thicken it.

Cooking was not too far removed from alchemy, and he had grown rather proficient ever since he had been sent to live in the city. The Master was often too busy to deal with household chores, and so cooking had become one of his responsibilities, and he had accrued a lot of experience over the years.

As he stirred his pot over the open flame, he heard the far-off howl of a wolf, the sound penetrating him to the core. He reached for his staff, reassuring himself that it was nearby, then returned to his cooking as he glanced around warily. They could be miles away, the sound would carry a great distance over this open terrain. There was probably nothing to fear. Even so, he doubted that he would sleep soundly now...

The soup turned out great. Caden had developed a healthy appetite after a day of walking, and he wolfed it down in only a few minutes, using more bread to soak up the broth. When he was finished, he lay down on his bedroll, the fading embers of his campfire casting his surroundings in their orange glow. There was no need for a blanket, he just balled up his cloak and used it as a pillow, gazing up at the scrambled constellations above. What could have happened to make them so askew? Why had they drifted so far from their usual positions?

He had read many books on astronomy, it was a subject that had always interested him greatly. It was known that the world stood at the center of the Universe and that the heavenly bodies such as the Sun, Moon, stars, and planets orbited around it. One could plot their trajectories with a telescope, calculate their motions with great reliability. Their orbits were once thought to be flawless, untouchable, like the endless ticking of an intricate clockwork timepiece. When one gazed at the night sky, they saw perfection, as pristine as the moment of its creation.

But that could not be true, something had gone awry. Had the world somehow shifted on its foundations, or were the heavens themselves broken? How could the artifact that the Master had sent him to find possibly correct that?

His mind continued to wander as he drifted off to sleep, but he was soon awoken by the sound of another howling wolf. This one was closer, jolting him awake, Caden reaching for his staff groggily as he sat up on his bedroll. The lichen-covered boulders that surrounded him were still lit by the fading glow of his campfire, its dim light casting deep shadows, his vision slowly adjusting to the gloom.

A pair of eyes appeared between two of the rocks, seeming to glow like burning coals as they reflected the firelight. A long, furrowed snout slowly emerged from the shadows, its jowls pulled back to expose rows of sharp fangs as it loosed a rumbling growl that shook Caden to the bone. It was a wolf. Despite its considerable size, it was gaunt, its bones clearly visible as they moved beneath its coat of matted, grey fur. There was almost no fat on the thing, it must be starving, which made it all the more dangerous. Wolves usually avoided people, they wouldn't attack like this unless they were truly desperate.

Caden's attention was drawn to his left, where another of the creatures lurked in the darkness, its pointed ears flattening against its skull as it snarled. It fixed him with its intense stare, unwavering, unblinking. A primal terror that bordered on blind panic overtook Caden as he realized that a whole pack was surrounding him. He could heart their growling, he could see more of them emerging from the gloom to peer at him, stalking between the boulders and climbing over the rocks.

He lifted his staff, moving as slowly as he could manage, struggling to suppress the fear that was turning his legs to jelly. He was moments away from being torn apart by ravenous beasts, his gaze lingering on their pearly teeth, strands of drool hanging from their maws as they anticipated their next meal. Magic could not be practiced with a clouded mind, he had to clear his head, as impossible as that seemed. It was his only hope of avoiding a grisly fate.

One of the wolves snapped its jaws at him as he rose to his feet, the growling intensifying, coming from all directions. His addled mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan. If he could conjure fire, then he could scare the wolves away. His terror made it doubly difficult, but he tried to focus on the incantation, his lips moving silently as he gripped the shaft of his staff with white knuckles. His roiling emotions were interfering with the spell, he could sense it, his lack of concentration making the flow of energy erratic. The glittering strands of quicksilver were fluctuating, what should have been a calm stream now a churning rapid. Caden aimed the bronze beak at the wolf directly ahead of him, the beast now close enough that he could have jabbed it on the nose, its rancid breath lingering on the air as it panted.

A shower of sparks shot from the tip of the staff, like a smith's hammer striking a hot iron, the wolf recoiling in alarm. It did not flee, however, those piercing eyes staring him down as it began to creep forward again. The rest of the pack were slowly closing in, waiting for the signal that would spur them into action.

Caden cursed under his breath, cold sweat pouring down his face. Was that all he could muster? Under normal circumstances, he had no difficulty producing a ball of burning flame, but terror held him captive in its paralyzing grip. He had but a scant few seconds before they struck...

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, willing his trembling hands to be still. Driving the wolves from his mind, he concentrated on those beautiful, shining strands of magical energy. They looked like liquid starlight, like sterling silver that had been smelted down, flowing in winding channels like a forest stream. Their otherworldly beauty calmed him, the adrenaline that flowed through his veins giving way to something more powerful, the crackling energies seeming to leap from his fingers to his staff like arcs of electricity. Fear gave way to a kind of exhilaration, courage warming his belly, making him feel like he could move the very mountains themselves if he so desired. It was intoxicating, invigorating.

As he opened his eyes, bellowing the final verse of the incantation, a jet of white-hot fire belched from the end of his staff. It was so bright that it lit up the surrounding boulders and shrubs like the rays of the rising sun, the hissing flames spitting bright sparks. He could feel its heat on his face, igniting the air around it, so intense that it could have melted steel.

The pack recoiled in confusion and alarm, yelps of surprise echoing across the heath, the blinding light forcing them to turn their heads away from it. Caden loosed a wordless yell, lunging at the nearest wolf. He didn't make contact with it, but he didn't need to, the smell of singed fur reaching his nose as the creature loosed a wail of pain. It scrambled to escape, scurrying between the boulders, Caden spinning his staff in a wide circle to ward off its companions.

He couldn't see anything other than the blinding flames, but he could hear their dull claws scrabbling on the rocks as they turned tail, their cries of alarm rising above the roar. When the fire abated, he found himself alone once again, the bright afterimage fading as his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. He began to laugh, the sound surprising him, a blend of triumph and relief overcoming him.

Caden sat down on his bedroll, still shaky, but less from fear now. As he lay back, he doubted that he was going to sleep much after all the commotion, but the distant baying of the wolves was no longer a concern to him.

***

It took almost fifteen days to reach his destination on foot, Caden stopping only to eat, sleep, and to heal his blistered feet. The heath became more arid and rocky as he went, the dusty earth giving way to sand, greenery becoming even less common. The twisted bristlecone trees were replaced with large cacti that bloomed with purple flowers, tall enough to tower over a man, growing in strange clusters. They were not the only variety. Everywhere he looked, he found a cactus with a radically different shape. Some were spherical and squat, while others grew like small trees with fleshy pads that branched off from a central trunk, covered in wicked needles. Still more sprouted in little clusters that almost resembled soap bubbles, each one sporting a colorful flower at its peak. Some were so covered in spines that they took on the appearance of fur. There were no more grasses or leafy shrubs. In their place were plants more adapted to the dry climate. The pointed leaves of agaves and aloes jutted in all directions, succulents sporting paddle-shaped leaves, desert sage adding more splashes of color as it protruded between the rocks. It was so far removed from the environment that he was accustomed to, but it had an undeniable exotic beauty about it.

For the first time in days, he came across signs of civilization in the distance. It looked like a trading post, its architecture far removed from the timber and plaster that he was used to. The structure was made from blocks of stone that had been overlaid with mortar that matched the tone of the desert around it, wooden supports protruding from it at intervals. There was no gabled roof, nor was there any thatching or tiles. This far East, there was scarcely any rainfall, and the people who lived in these parts might never have seen snow in their lives. It was tiered, two storeys tall, with more wooden beams jutting from the facade where the floor would be. The roof was simply flat, as it had no other purpose than to provide shade for the occupants. The windows were small and thin, covered up by wooden shutters, and there was a stone staircase leading up to the second level.

As he made his way closer, he could also make out hitching posts for horses that were in the shade of a large, fabric awning. There were a couple of them standing in the shade, drinking noisily from a water trough as they batted at clouds of swarming flies with their tails. There was a well nearby, too, where the occupants presumably drew their water. It could be the only source for miles, it was no wonder that the owners had set up their business in such a seemingly random location. Outside were signs hanging from chains, offering trade and supplies in several languages, including his own. It seemed that they welcomed visitors.

Caden walked up to the front door and pushed it open, emerging into a large room. It was cooler than the desert outside, and pleasantly gloomy. The only light bled in through the gaps in the shutters, providing just enough illumination to see by. The interior was much the same as the exterior, the walls packed with mortar, exposed structural beams visible above his head. At the far end of the room was a large counter, and behind it were shelves stacked high with all manner of food and supplies. He could see dusty crates, racks of weapons and what must be mining tools, along with parcels of non-perishable food. Beans, jerked meat, dried fruit, hard biscuits. His supplies had started to run low over the last few days, and he had been rationing, the sight of such a wealth of food making his stomach growl.

The trading post was far from deserted. There were a few tables and chairs scattered about the stone floor, some of them occupied by merchants from distant lands sporting capes and shawls. Caden was surprised to see a party of Dweorh crowded around one of the circular tables, nursing oversized mugs of ale. They were squatter than the average man at maybe four feet and change, but they were a robust, broad-shouldered people. Their arms were heavily muscled, each one of them sporting the physique of a circus strongman, their faces adorned with bushy beards in spite of the heat. The hairs were carefully braided, decorated with shiny beads and precious stones, clearly a source of great pride for their wearers. Their clothing was just as elaborate, their tunics decorated with geometric patterns woven from golden threads, the fabric dyed shades of vermilion and magenta. Their thick, hairy fingers were adorned with golden rings, each one of them wearing some kind of pendant or necklace.

It wasn't the first time that Caden had come across their kind, they sometimes traveled to the city to barter, and the Master had dealt with Dweorh merchants who traded in rare artifacts. They were a civilized race, known for the quality of their metalwork and their shrewdness when it came to business. They were said to live beneath the earth in vast, underground vaults where they mined ores and jewels. What business could they have out in the desert?

He was greeted by a man who was standing behind the counter, his skin a darker tone than the people of Caden's homeland. Around his head and shoulders was wrapped a long, colorful scarf, presumably to shield him from the sun. His clothing was made up of a linen tunic, not unlike the ones that had come into fashion back in the kingdom. The material was light and breezy, perfect for this sweltering weather.

"Welcome, traveler," he said with a rolling accent. "Come, come."

"It's nice to see a friendly face," Caden replied, walking up to the counter and shedding his pack. "I've been traveling the wilderness for weeks."

"You want food, supplies?" the man asked eagerly. "We have everything you could need."

Caden began to point to items on the shelves, the shopkeeper making conversation as he placed them on the counter one by one.

"So, you're a Westerner?" he asked as he set a parcel of dried dates down in front of Caden. "We don't see many of your kind in these parts, they rarely venture so far East. What's your business, if I might ask?"

"Certainly," Caden replied. "I'm...a botanist, my guild sent me here to conduct research on desert plants."

"Is that so?" the man replied as he placed a bundle of salted pork on the counter, looking him up and down. "Then, you're a scholar? Where are you headed next?"

"Further East, my destination is the Coral Sea."

"The Coral Sea?" the shopkeeper repeated, his brow furrowing beneath his colorful headscarf. "Take my advice, sir, and travel no further than this outpost. The only thing that awaits you in the Coral Sea is death..."

"Death?" Caden asked skeptically. "Why do you say that?"

"Our well is the last sure source of drinking water until you reach the other side," he replied, "and you won't. There are oases, but there are no maps of that place, no cartographer has ever lasted long enough to make one."

"Why wouldn't I survive?" Caden asked. "I have ample supplies, and I've made it this far. What makes the Coral Sea so different from the desert that lies behind me?"

"There are worse fates than dehydration that await you in the Coral Sea," he replied ominously, tying up a parcel with a piece of hairy string. "If the land doesn't kill you, its inhabitants will. There are tribes of monsters living amongst the ancient reefs and crumbling spires who will murder any trespassers they come across."

"Murder them? Why?"

"Who can say?" the man replied with a shrug. "Maybe they eat them. Maybe they capture them for use in their shamanistic rituals. Whatever their motive, it's not worth risking your life over some flowers."

"I appreciate the advice," Caden said, the shopkeeper dropping the subject when he realized that he had no intention of following it.

When Caden was stocked up with supplies, he added a tankard of ale to his bill and made his way over to the table beside the Dweorh. If they were so far East, it was likely because they were prospecting, maybe even operating a mine in the mineral-rich desert. If anyone knew anything about the ruined city, it would be them. The allure of rare artifacts and ancient tombs would be irresistible.