A twilight breeze stirred a thousand gathered tents of goat hide. Brown and grey, wide but low, they barely stood out from the surrounding desert. A traveler might have missed them altogether except for the firelight, the scents of burning dung and roasting meat, and the voices of children playing.

Mounted warriors with scimitars and desert bows intercepted Jaska and his companions. Rahazakir calmed them, and they fell in beside their chief, eyeing the foreigners suspiciously. Inside the encampment, dozens of tribespeople swarmed their chief and the foreigners he had rescued. The tribe almost never encountered outsiders.

Rahazakir explained what he needed to various sub-chiefs. Soon emergency tents were set up. Elder women came with herbs, precious water, and bandages to tend wounds. Men brought the best of the food they had: roasted meat, goat cheese, and sour dates. Children gathered in droves and gawked until dispersed.

Lharro and Hyrkas took Chaolis from Yumiryo's back and solemnly placed him within their tent. The Arhrhakim planned to chant for three consecutive nights, guiding Chaolis's spirit into the Underworld before burying him in this dry, barren land so unlike the place of his birth.

To a stranger's observance, the Yritti seemed content, as if there were no great doom that followed them. It took time for one to see the small marks of frustration and brooding that edged their demeanors. They were a good-natured and gentle people, despite the harsh lives they lived. Few had been lost to the Stain over the years. Yet the Stain did follow. All of them knew its weight from the moment of birth.

Some elder tribespeople, when they felt they could no longer be of use, would remain behind to feed and thus satiate the Stain, temporarily slowing it down. This was another cruel facet of their existence and a demonstration of love by the elders, for their spirits would be trapped in the Stain, a fate far worse than oblivion.

Jaska shared a tent with brooding Ohzikar. When his companion began to sob while repairing his shield, Jaska quietly exited. He sat outside and watched dark Zhura rise, a charcoal blotch against the night-black sky. Some said her influence had brought sorcery into the world and that Avida the Bright Moon held her in check. Such were the thoughts of philosophers. Men like Jaska had only reality to deal with. Sorcery existed and it ruined more lives than it helped. Of course, the same could be said of iron and steel, prowess and bravery.

Jaska was a man of all those things. He had brought a hundredfold more ruin than good. He hadn't been strong enough to save Zyrella or to resist Salahn. But there was yet a chance, and Zyrella's likely death only hardened his determination.

Jaska eased himself into the Shadowland and traveled as far as he could, skirting around the Stain and heading back toward the canyon. He neither saw nor felt any living presence. Apparently, Salahn had given up on pursuing him. Jaska didn't understand why. Perhaps a ritual demanded immediate attention. After all, other than a prophecy made two decades ago, why should Salahn fear him?

Jaska returned to the world of the living where a brave yet kind-hearted warrior waited on him.

"Any sign?" Ohzikar asked.

"None."

"Thank you for giving me privacy."

"You tolerated me when I need much more than that."

"Yes, for her sake. I would do anything she asked of me." He slumped down and held his head in tired, trembling hands. "I am a templar without a temple and without a priestess or a goddess. I am your man now. I am nothing save palymfar."

"You are your own man."

"But I have never been free to choose my life's path."

"Then let vengeance be your way."

"No. I will fight as a palymfar, for a higher cause, even if both paths lead to the same end. If I did otherwise, so much hate would fill me that I would no longer be myself."

~~~

Jaska, Hyrkas, and Ohzikar went before the tribal council and were introduced to each member via his illustrious family history and personal deeds, most of which seemed inane. Last of all, they met Goat Shaman, an intimidating figure with his horns and furs, darkened eyes and malicious grin. That he supported their cause seemed a little disturbing.

Winning the tribe's approval wasn't easy. They didn't want their chief to go, but they had no way of stopping him except to convince him otherwise. They spent two hours trying. The council's chief complaint was that a sub-chief must lead them through a large turning arc before Rahazakir returned, increasing their danger. They also feared reprisals from the Stain, punishing them for attempting to thwart it.

"If I gain the weapon I need, I will aid your tribe first," Jaska promised.

Knowing they couldn't win, the council finally conceded. The elders left, but Goat Shaman remained to give them advice before they departed.

"I have a question," Hyrkas said. The plight of the Yritti fascinated him. It was similar to the problem his own people faced, yet their Stain was time and it lay ahead of them. "What happens if a single member of your tribe leaves? And then another and another, so that many of your people would escape?"

"Black boils will eat away at such a tribesman's body within a month," said Goat Shaman. "Many tried in the early years, and such was their fate. The disease was contagious, too. So they also carried death to other people."

"By the gods, what is this curse?" Hyrkas said.

"The curse of a forsaken goddess," Goat Shaman whispered. "And more I shall not say." His voice rose. "Now go. There is little time to waste and there is much at stake. If you should find the temple, Jaska Bavadi, take your old qavra in with you."

"I won't risk touching it."

"You may risk more if you don't carry it into the temple."

"Why?"

Goat Shaman shrugged. "Such are the visions of a shaman."

"I am maligned by visions and prophecies. What else can you tell us?"

"Only what my masters passed down to me. The temple is protected by one of the Eirsendan Keepers. Terrible beings. Only those worthy meet them and live to tell about it."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

~~~

Rahazakir bid his people farewell, spun Yumiryo about as they chanted his name, then rode off while they sang heroic ballads. He traveled with a worried heart. It wasn't easy to leave his people, but he promised himself he would see his people saved from the Stain for all of time.

The travelers rode horses, but a train of camels loaded with four weeks worth of water and supplies trudged behind them.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the camp Ohzikar said, "What of you, Rahazakir? If we are on this journey too long won't the black boils take you?"

He shrugged. "It's possible. For now I'm technically still fleeing the Stain. Once I'm not, it will take at least a week, perhaps two. I will have adequate warning. Nightmares and urgings to return will signal the oncoming sickness."

"If either happens," Jaska said, "return immediately and don't worry about us."

From the Central Desert to the Sheflar Wastes, they rode as swiftly as they might across the parched, stony desert. This was some of the most inhospitable terrain in all of Pawan Kor. The Sheflar Wastes made the scrubland of Hareez seem like a verdant paradise. It was a flat expanse of grey pebbles, strewn across a plain of reddish sand. Wiry-stemmed succulents dotted the landscape, but there were only a few oases.

The Yritti avoided this land near to the Eastern Mountains as much as possible, but daring treasure hunters and sorcerers searched the wastes for Eirsendan ruins and the qavra stones that often slept within. Often one would stumble upon mysterious, cyclopean blocks of evenly cut stone, jutting from the wastes. Sometimes there was the hint of a temple and perhaps a tunnel leading down into burial chambers no human had ever stepped within.

Everyone was somber, except Ohzikar whose grief kept him in a state of mourning and Jaska who seemed possessed. He pressed them continuously. Even through the early hours of evening they rode. Jaska would chant a spell of darksight and the others would light lanterns. During the mornings they would briefly practice the katas and meditations of the palymfar, though Jaska's teachings were perfunctory. His mind dwelled on Zyrella and his past. He missed her presence almost as much as he loathed himself.

The Arhrhakim had brought Chaolis with them, tied to the back of a camel, wrapped in gauze and furs and preserved from putrefaction by some skill of Goat Shaman's. The Arhrhakim had decided to bury him in the mountains rather than the desert. No one sought to dissuade them. At each sunrise and sunset, they would chant a prayer over him, strengthening Goat Shaman's spell.

Once, they fell behind the others while Lharro lingered over Chaolis's body. He was lost in morbid thoughts until Hyrkas touched his shoulder. "Come, Lharro. Let's not dwell in the land of the dead while yet we live."

"It should have been me, Hyrkas. He was young and I have less to live for."

Hyrkas frowned. "He knew the risk when he decided to come along. This was his fate, not yours."

"But he wanted to see the world, he wanted these experiences. I don't care for them at all. I came here to do what must be done, not to see these hateful, barren wastes."

Hyrkas had thought as Lharro did at first, but he had begun to like the desert and the open expanses. They stretched his mind and broadened his awareness. He felt giddy with it all, as if drunk on the wine of the gods. He wondered if their enclosed mountain retreat had come to shape his people in ill ways.

"At least he died in the wide world he wished to see."

"That doesn't make it fair," Lharro replied. "There are so many humans, so few of us."

~~~

A woman's tortured screams awoke Zyrella. She jerked her body forward but that brought pain to her stiffened muscles. The chains that bound her rattled. At first, she thought that she had gone blind, but slowly the world came into focus as she blinked and cleared out the mucus gathered during her long slumber.

The bleak cityscape of Kabulsek stretched out before her. Weak and emaciated, her mouth dry, her lips cracking, Zyrella hung chained to a narrow spire on top of the central tower of the Grand Temple of the White Tigress. Naked and exposed to the elements, she had blistered to hues of pink and crimson with patches of skin already peeling. Even the inside of her body felt as if it were on fire.

Despite having a fever, her mind was surprisingly clear. She called on her qavra, but the amethyst stone wasn't there. Its absence was a pain unto itself.

On a landing below her Salahn was killing a young woman. He didn't seem to take pleasure from it. However, he took his time, gently carving the girl's flesh so that she suffered. When he noticed that Zyrella was awake, he finished the poor woman with a single slash to the throat. Zyrella guessed the demonstration was meant to intimidate her but hoped the death served at least some greater purpose than that, however foul that purpose might be.

He stalked toward Zyrella. "Awake at last priestess? You certainly took your time. And I must say, in addition to being far more powerful than I thought, you are quite resilient. Still, you would have died without the magic I used to preserve you."

She said in a croaking voice that barely rasped free of her throat, "I don't think denying me water and leaving me to the elements helped."

"I wanted to keep you alive, not make you feel welcome. You are a heretic, after all. A renegade priestess defiling the good name of my temple."

"You may claim it, but it will never be yours. It belongs to the White Tigress and her people."

The Grandmaster laughed. "Do you not understand that your goddess is forever bound to me? Because we are united this is now my temple and my home as well."

"You are not completely one with her, but you could be. With her full being would come her full power. It was that part of her that I called upon in the Shadowland. If I had the strength I could do so even now." She tried to make the last bit sound believable.

Salahn's eyes burned with indignation. "Do you really think me a fool? Or do you think I am that proud? I am not some petty dictator. Power must be handled carefully. And no, our minds are not melded, and never shall they be. I will not open myself up to her corruption."

"Her corruption? As if you were the pure one?"

"I am pure. Purely evil."

"You enjoy that, don't you?"

He looked her over carefully. "You look so much like your mother, more than I thought you would. So much like her in attitude as well. I am tempted to rape you now."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Yes, I rather would. Have you not learned that what I most enjoy is doing things no one else would dare? Of course, I may have raped you while you slept."

"You didn't. I would know."

He rubbed his hands across Zyrella's body, fondling her breasts, teasing the nipples until they were hard, forcing Zyrella to look away. "Isn't it strange, priestess, how the body cannot tell between foe and beloved but simply responds to the proper stimuli. It makes one wonder much about the nature of love, does it not?"

"There would be much for you to wonder about wouldn't there?"

"I'm hurt that you think I do not love. I care very much for my daughter, and myself."

"And your mother."

"And my mother," he said with narrowed eyes and a grating voice. "The Farseer dared much in showing you my past. Did you see your mother? Did you see how I treated her?"

Zyrella spat into his face and Salahn chuckled. "Believe it or not, I loved her. I wept when she died."

"That I didn't see and I wouldn't have believed it if I had."

"It's true, even though she didn't return my love. When I conquer the Shadowland I will open the Gates of the Underworld and retrieve her along with my mother Jeraia."

"My mother has gone beyond to the Realm of Light."

"Then I shall conquer it as well."

"You dare to challenge Kashomae and the other Great Deities?"

"Have they resisted me yet? They will be like all the others. Slow to act, lethargic from the slumber of centuries. They will not withstand my hunger and ambition."

"What you seek is hollow. When there are no challenges left, what will you do? All the power in the world will be meaningless."

"Have you ever been all-powerful? Has any mortal ever risen as high as I shall? If it is all in vain, I will know and I will see it firsthand." He smiled and ran his hands along the inside of her thighs. Then he grinned again and turned away. "I shall return later. Then you can meet your sister."

"I know her well enough already."

"But she doesn't know you at all."

~~~

The arduous trek across the Sheflar Wastes took two weeks and required most of their supplies. With Rahazakir's guidance, not a single step went awry. At the foothills of the Eastern Mountains, grasses and wildflowers pierced the arid soil, along with an abundance of swollen succulents. For five days, Rahazakir led them north, until they came to a crescent valley at the base of the mountains.

After scanning the terrain with a confused look, he cursed. "My sense of direction has left me. I don't know which way to go. All I do know is that we're close."

Jaska grinned and pointed. "The temple lies in that direction."

"How do you know?"

"Because Avida will rise over the mountains at midnight, just there. If we go that way, I'm certain we will find the temple."

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