A young man with black skin, white hair, and golden eyes sits in front of a sail and writes in a book. [https://i.imgur.com/Gtq9vLS.png]

The wind wagon cut across the hard packed desert sand leaving behind a lone pair of wheel tracks behind it. As far as the young disciple could see they were the only scar on the surface of the desert visible in all directions. 

On a few occasions they had passed a small outcrop of rocks. The captain of the small single sail wagon made sure to stay far away from them. He said some of them hid caves with undesirable creatures inside. The disciple had a hard time believing that anything could live out here. They had stopped three times for rest since the last time he’d seen another pair of tracks. It had been an additional two stops since he’d seen another wagon. He had never felt so disconnected from the rest of the world.

The stops came at regular intervals. At the beginning of their journey the sky had been too bright for the captain to see the moon and use it to account for time. Instead he used a small bronze instrument that clicked and whirred to keep track of the time. As they moved further away from the sun they were both able to see the moon. The captain always made sure they were moving when it came up over the western horizon and they often sailed well past its descent beyond the eastern one. When they stopped Desh would tend to the fire and keep watch while the captain slept. So far he had not found it necessary to sleep himself.

A gust of cold air caused the disciple to look to the north where he saw the sun begin to hide behind the dunes. All his life he had been told that to go beyond the light of the sun was to leave the grace of their one and only god. This was the first time he had ever seen the sky without the sun high above his head or felt the cold of night. Soon they would be so far south that the immovable light of god’s love would be entirely hidden. The thought caused him to shiver.

He looked to the captain of the small wind wagon. The sun on the horizon reflected brightly in his golden eyes.

“Hey! Old man!” He cried out over the rumble of the wooden wheels and the whipping of the sail. “Sun is getting low. We must be getting close, right?”

The captain turned his head to look over his shoulder. His white beard fluttered in the wind as he peered at the horizon. “Not even close.” He looked back at the disciple with a glare. “Call me ‘old man’ again and I’ll throw you overboard.”

The captain of the wind wagon was a short Auric man. All the hair from his head seemed to have migrated to his thick eyebrows and his long beard. He had spent so many years riding his small wagon across the desert that his eyes were set in a perpetual squint that made them hard to see. To the disciple it appeared as if he was always scowling, even when he was asleep. 

Like most wind wagon captains he wore simple, dust colored clothes. It was impossible to tell if the clothes had always been that color or if the sun and sand had bleached them. Like other wind wagon captains, this one had several tattoos. The most notable was of his own patron deity: The lady Aurae, goddess of the wind. It was on his forearm and was a crude profile with her cheeks puffed and her hair flowing behind her. A cloud of powerful wind escaped from her lips and blew across his left hand which was normally covered with a tattered leather glove. 

His vessel was a small four wheeled wagon made of old planks. Once upon a time it might have been painted. The endless days of sand and wind had turned the entire vehicle a plain gray that made it harder to spot against the desert sand. In the front of the wagon was a mast that stood proudly above the front axle. The captain would sit on a bench at the back of the vessel and steer the rear wheels via lever while also keeping the lines of the sail pulled taut. There was no need to account for the direction of the wind. As long as the captain’s goddess favored them the winds would always be at their back.

In the days they had ridden together the disciple had decided that he liked the captain. He was almost certain the man wouldn’t actually throw him overboard. Partially because the captain seemed to be a good man. More importantly, however, the elders who had arranged this trip for the disciple had paid well above the going rate for transportation. The sandy old captain might not appreciate the disrespect but he appreciated the gold. The disciple was a light load and so the captain had been able to take on other cargo. Yet, there was little to do on this trip and the two had found mutual enjoyment annoying one another.

“I’m sure I could walk there if I had to. During the great war the entire army of Arkatu marched from their capital all the way to the lands of darkness.” The disciple recited from his history lessons. 

The captain scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure you could survive for a while where we are now. Further south is an entirely different matter. Beyond the sun the desert is frozen and hostile. It’s also full of beasts and bandits. Every man has heard the tales that a lightbringer can go without sleep or food. Fat lot of good that’ll do you though. In the dark you’ll starve and grow tired just like the rest of us.”

“I’m not a lightbringer.” The disciple was quick to remind him.

“All the more reason you’d die. There’s no need to worry though.” The captain’s squinted down at the crude tattoo on his arm and his mustache curled in what might have been a smile. “Me and the lady will get you there safely.”

The disciple hoped that this was true. 

The moon was still low over the western horizon. It was likely to be a very long day of traveling. Most days he worked on his devotions while they sailed along the pristine dunes. From the wooden foot locker next to him pulled out the large book dedicated to this task. It was still new as it had been gifted to him when he began his pilgrimage. The pages were gilded in silver and the binding was a deep red leather. 

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Every disciple of the god of light owned several such books over the course of their lifetime. Some of the other gods had scriptures that they had dictated to their disciples long ago. These religious texts were copied and passed down over generations. Arkatu had declared that each of his followers must create their own scriptures. A disciple would study the nature of their god and of light itself. Their thoughts were written down as a form of sacrifice and worship. These books became synonymous with the practice itself. A disciple of the lights' devotions could just as easily reflect his religious writings as to the large book they carried. The weight of the book was a constant reminder of their obligation to the god who provided the entire world with light and life.

He crossed his legs and opened the book on top of them. It was so big that it covered his entire lap. Only the first handful of pages had any writing on them. The disciple turned to one of the first ones and stared at a hand drawn circle describing the entire pantheon of the gods who ruled their world and their relation to one another. There were eight of them. The four heavenly gods were the gods of light, dark, life, and death. The remaining four gods were called the four earthly gods and they presided over the forces of earth, water, wind and fire. The symbols of the four heavenly gods occupied the outer circle while the symbols of the earthly gods were imposed on a square inside that circle. The diagram spoke to the hierarchical relationship between all of them. Of course, Arkatu sat at the top as he provided the light and warmth that allowed for all of the other god’s creations to exist.

The young disciple spent much of his studies on this journey thinking over this diagram. He had found it while studying a book of devotions from an elder who died long ago. Particularly he was interested in the relation between the forces of life and death who stood at the left and right of the circle. 

He drew his pencil from the pouch strapped to the side of his thigh and began to carefully take notes below the diagram. With the way the wagon bounced over every bump, he had to move slowly to ensure his writing was legible. He wrote on the nature of Iva, the deity of life, and Mara, the deity of death and how they could both only exist thanks to Arkatu’s light. Lower orders of life such as plants literally derived their sustenance from the sun. Many Arkanians were capable of the same thing. The disciple himself was able to almost entirely forego food as long as he could gather enough light. All life depended on the light and there could be no death without life.

His concentration was broken by the sound of the captain shouting over the wind in his rough sand sailor’s accent. “That’s an awful big book. Are you writing a story?”

The disciple paused his writing and looked up. “No. It’s my devotions.”

It struck the disciple as odd that a man as well traveled as the captain had never seen another disciple carrying a similar book. While lightbringers and elders did not carry their devotions with them, most disciples were rarely seen without theirs. Such a personal possession was not to be left unattended.

The disciple began to ask the old wind wagon captain how was it he had never seen such a book. He stopped when his golden eyes caught a faint glimmer in the sky behind them. At the last second he was able to recognize something flying towards him with great speed and dodged to the side. A metal throwing knife landed in the barrel behind him with a loud thunk. He stared at it, inches from his face, in disbelief.

The captain, being a seasoned sailor of the great sand sea, knew to waste no time inspecting the weapon. He turned and stared back at the horizon, looking for the source. Coming up over the last dune they had crested was a man on a vehicle known derogatorily as a pallet sail. They were made from large sails and small pieces of old wind wagons. Though there were no wheels on them the sail was large enough to drag the smooth, polished boards across the hard packed sand. 

“Goddess be good…” the captain whispered as he pulled the sail tighter in the hopes of gaining speed.

The disciple put his book to the side and peered into the distance. The attacker was far away but somehow seemed to be moving closer to them. “Is that one of those bandits you were talking about?”

“No.” The captain said as he began to steer the wagon down a dune in an attempt to gain speed. “Worse, it’s one of the beasts.”

The disciple looked back at the throwing knife stuck just inches from where his head had been. “Well he’s pretty accurate for a beast. He almost hit me.”

“He wasn’t aiming for you.” The captain said curtly. “He was aiming for the ropes.”

To punctuate this point another knife came and landed just inches away from where the sail was attached to the wind wagon’s mast. Had it cut the line it would have dropped the sail and incapacitate them. 

“Pray to your goddess for more wind so we can outrun him.” He was trying not to panic.

“Oh sure that’d be great.” The captain retorted sarcastically. “He’s riding our tailwind boy. If I pray for more wind he’ll just catch up to us faster. We should dump the cargo. If we’re lucky that’s all he wants. If not then at least we’ll move a little faster.”

The disciple thought that was a pretty bad plan. Even if they did get away they might die of thirst without the water they had onboard. The disciple quickly realized the danger they were in. A faint voice in the back of his mind began to speak up. It warned him he wasn’t ready for this. For a moment his vision grew dim and he felt himself losing consciousness. The disciple shook his head and focused pushing the voice back into silence. 

He was already forming a plan. He was no sailor though and needed to know more about the wind wagon.

“How fast can you stop this thing?” he cried out over the wind even as he went to work. He ripped a large sheet of paper with text scrawled on it out of his devotions which he folded and stuffed into his pouch.

“Stop?!” The captain was incredulous. “To do what? Fight him? That’s madness. I’m a wagon sailor and you said it yourself: you’re no lightbringer.”

“No but I’m still a disciple of the light. If I pray for a blessing it will be granted.” The disciple was looking ahead of the wind wagon now. They were going downhill but there was a large dune just ahead. If they could get to the other side fast enough though then they would be out of sight if only for a moment. A moment was all he needed.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a different pencil with white lead and began to write down a prayer on the mast of the wagon. As he wrote the prayer he filled the captain in on the plan: When the disciple gave the order the captain would come to a hard. 

The captain stared at him as he began to write, then looked back at the bandit who was moving closer to them. “As you wish boy.” He steered the wagon towards the highest part of the dune.