The sand elf led two horses out of a long tent of white linen, its sides rolled up to let in the breeze as the sun beat down on the desert. More horses were tethered in the shade within. Leiv was sure the pointy-eared bastard was keeping his finest animals out of sight.

"These are Ra’abi, elvish horses bred in the deserts for generations, swift as the wind over sand," the elf said as he handed over the horses for the humans’ inspection. Unlike the elves in Elyria, this elf was tan, his long hair, braided behind his pointed ears, bleached white by the hot desert sun.

One of the horses was the color of dull sandstone, the other shining like burnished gold. Leiv took that one, handing the reins of the other horse to Sven.

"They are faster than camels," the elf said as Leiv pushed his brownish-blond hair out of his eyes and lifted a fore hoof, inspecting the frog and the heel. Sven held a hand out to his mount, letting it sniff his hand before stroking its nose. "Though not as hardy. So if you’re unable to find any water, well, that may present a problem."

Satisfied the animal wasn’t lame, Leiv lowered the last hoof, dusting his hands off on his tunic and turning to face the elf. "Not to worry, won’t be a problem. We’ll take them." Leiv tossed him a small pouch of gold. The elf immediately opened the pouch and removed a gold coin, biting the edge with his pointed teeth.

"Shouldn’t we take the camels instead?" Sven leaned in and whispered. "I don’t like the thought of being stranded in the desert, should we find no water and the horses perish."

"No," Leiv snapped, swinging up into the saddle of his golden stallion. "These will serve. I’d prefer to get there as quickly as possible. Come, brother, let’s be off." He jerked at the reins and dug in his heels. The horse squealed and took off across the sand.

Sven mounted up onto his gelding and followed suit.

For the first three days, they had luck in finding water, following a dry steam bed. Along it were pools of crystal clear water, dotted with floating lilies, surrounded by tall grasses and blossoming sage.

"Well, this looks like a good sign," Sven said cheerfully, despite the sweat drenching his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead. "Hopefully the journey won’t be too rough. Should we rest here for a while?"

Leiv nodded and dismounted. "Sure, but not too long. I want to move on at dusk."

"Perfect!" Sven slid down from his horse, landing awkwardly, as he’d never been the best horseman. He began rummaging through his saddlebags, pulling out a book and quill. "Astrid would love these lilies," he said, thinking of their little sister as he tried to capture the likeness of the flowers floating on the surface of the water. "I can’t wait to show her these drawings."

Leiv snorted and shook his head. "Don’t get your hopes up. I love our little sister, but I doubt we’ll ever see her again. The elves, or those heathens in the woods, they saw to that, stealing her away from us. All they brought back that day was her cloak, torn and bloodied. The best we can do now is avenge her."

"But it was just that," said Sven, still drawing. "Her cloak. It wasn’t her. She could still be out there. She is a survivor. And if she was taken alive, wouldn’t we have heard from her captors? Wouldn’t they have reached out, whether with terms or for ransom? They’ve sent envoys before. And Melara did caution that we were looking for answers in all the wrong places. That we should go back, instead of forward."

"Yeah, like I’m going to listen to the goddess of twigs and squirrels." He took a swig from the flask he kept on his belt, staring out across the sands.

At the sound of the cap being unscrewed, Sven glanced over and scowled. Then lowered his head and continued drawing. "Might want to save some of that for later brother, once we’re out of the desert. It won’t do you any good here," he said cautiously.

Leiv wiped his mouth and glared. "Oh, piss off." He capped the flask and walked away.

They camped in silence the rest of that afternoon, and at dusk they continued to follow the stream south, across flat plains of white sand, empty in all directions, keeping the rising sun on their left, the setting sun on their right.

They followed a pattern of resting in whatever shade they could create with their crude tents during the heat of the afternoon, and traveled from dusk till dawn. By day they were drenched in sweat, and by night their damp clothes froze to their skin as they shivered and clung to their saddles.

As they left the empty plain, the stream bed disappeared, and for two days they continued south through shifting sand dunes, trudging up one side, sliding down the other, without any water to replenish their supply. Leiv grew increasingly agitated, and pushed Sven on through the scorching sun with little to no rest.  

Finally they reached the crest of the last dune, and looked down into a lush oasis below, shimmering in the heat. Grasses dotted with sage and marigold sprouted from the soil around a clear spring, alive with the calls of birds and frogs. A kingfisher flitted past, a small minnow wriggling in its beak. And on a large, flat rock, dangling her bare feet in the cool water, sat Astrid, her golden hair glistening in the sun.

Shouting in excitement, they galloped down into the valley. But as they reached the first clear stream, alive with marigolds and lilies, the lush plants shriveled into dead brush, and the water dissolved into a river of polished stones.

And Astrid... Astrid faded away, like dust on the wind.

Leiv jumped from his horse and fell to his hands and knees, grabbing at the stones, cursing the gods, the sun, the sky.

Sven grabbed the reins of Leiv’s horse, though the creature didn’t look at though it had the energy to bolt even if it wanted to.

"Leiv," gasped Sven through the linen scarf he had taken to wrapping around his face to shield himself from sand and sun. "Perhaps we should rest a day or two. I fear the horses won’t last much longer."

"Well, now you sound just like your precious deity Melara," his brother would’ve been spitting with rage had he been able to work up any saliva. Instead he threw a handful of stones in Sven’s direction. They scattered across the sand, rolling and bouncing against the horses’ hooves. The horses barely flinched, their heads down, sides heaving.

"Our people are dying! Every day, every hour, every fucking second! They are dying! Slaughtered by elves like the bastard we bought these stupid beasts from! We have spent months asking the gods for aid, and nothing! Useless advice and cryptic prophecies. No wonder their temples lie in ruin. They offer humans nothing. And now we are here, we are so close, so close to finding what we need. We must press on!"

His eyes were feverish, and Sven knew there was no use arguing with him. Leiv forced himself to his feet, took the reins to his horse, and mounted up.

"But if we lose the horses, we’ll never make it out of the desert," Sven implored. "And there truly was wisdom in the words of the gods, all of them, if only you would see past your anger. Perhaps we truly could have peace."

"Peace? You dare speak to me of peace with those who murder our people, our own sister!" Leiv glared. "And we don’t need to make it out of the desert. We only need to make it to the seventh." He kicked his horse into a gallop.

They rode the rest of that day and through the night, delirious with thirst and hunger.

And the next morning, they saw it. The Temple of the Fallen God.

Out of the flat expanse of sand, jagged black chunks of volcanic stone rose from the desert. Fearing another mirage, Leiv pushed forward, the horses stumbling with exhaustion. He slid from the saddle as they reached a large carved archway on the northern side of the wall, pressing his face and hands to the stone, heedless of the black rock burning his skin.

"Sven, we’ve made it! It’s real, we’re really here!" Leiv pushed himself off the rock and was already disappearing among the shadows.

Sven smiled nervously. "That we are, brother, that we are. For better or worse." He tethered the horses as best he could to a small chunk of rock, and followed Leiv inside, not even glancing at the carvings on the archway in his exhaustion.

The archway opened into a short hall, which led directly to the heart of the temple. The hall and the inner chamber were in total darkness, save for a circle of flickering torches. Pinpricks of light behind them and in the other three cardinal directions told Sven that there was a similar entrance on each side of the temple. There were carvings on the walls in the central chamber, detailed friezes, but it was too dark to make out what they were.

Sven pulled out a torch and, using his flint and steel, tried to light it. The spark touched the oil-soaked cloth, but fizzled and sputtered out. Sven pursed his lips and tried again. Odd, these are newly purchased torches, there can’t be anything wrong with them... 

Unable to light his torch, Sven pulled out a roll of parchment and held it over a portion of the frieze, rubbing the parchment with a piece of charcoal to capture the image.

Even though he couldn’t see it now, he was sure it would be valuable, telling him something important about the god. And if not, it was another charcoal rubbing to add to his collection of artwork from the other temples, to share with Astrid, to show her things she would never get the chance to see.

He remembered the carvings in the other temples, often depicting each god’s domain, whether he or she presided over nature or war or the arts. There was something different about this one... Horned demons? Devouring serpents? There was something sinister here that made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

Leaving his brother to inspect the pointless artwork, Leiv did what he had come to do, what he had done six times before. Moving lightly over the sand, he approached the circle of torches, and went down onto one knee just outside of them, facing a flat, circular stone in the center. Bowing his head, he raised his voice.

"Seventh God, strongest in power, hear my plea! My people are beset on all sides, fleeing from one land to the next, slaughtered by orcs, elves, and humans alike. I beseech you for aid, for the power to defend them in their time of need." Leiv’s voice echoed into the darkness.

Sven realized too late what he was tracing. "Leiv, no!" he whispered, dropping his parchment and charcoal, and running towards his brother.

But it had already begun. The shadows gathered, and took the form of a tall figure, hooded and cloaked. Darker than the darkness. The figure hovered just outside the torches on the opposite side of the circle.

As Sven stumbled to a halt behind Leiv, he noticed not just the figure, but also the stone in the center of the torches. There was a symbol on it, which glowed faintly, becoming brighter as the figure spoke.

"It has been a long time since any have come," a voice hissed from the darkness, from the figure, but also from all sides. "Tell me, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Leiv stood and drew himself up proudly. "Prince Leiv, heir to the throne of Andavia. My people dwell now in Elyria, where we are trying to rebuild. We fled the orcs in our homeland, only to be beset by dwarves, elves, and even our own kind in a new land."

"Elves," the voice mused, "there has never been much love between elves and I. Tell me of what you seek."

"Power. The power to destroy our foes. There were tales of mighty sorcerers of old, humans who studied magics, who could raise water from the oceans or bring down fire from the skies, leveling the armies of their enemies. But that power was lost, long ago. And so I desire such power, to keep my people safe."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the torches crackling as they flickered.

"This I can do," the voice hissed. "But there is a price. Many have come, but none have given me what I require. I will not give you what you ask, without receiving something in return." The figure moved closer, hovering just inside the circle of torches, seemingly untouched by their light, still darker than the room itself.  

Leiv swallowed nervously, forcing his fear down, and approached. "What is it that you require, Seventh One?"

The voice in the shadows laughed, a hideous, sickly laughter. "You, young prince. I require you."

Leiv didn’t hesitate to answer, and Sven couldn’t help but wonder if his brother even comprehended what the figure asked. "And if I give myself to you, you will give me the power to save my people, to defeat the armies massing against them, and secure their new kingdom?"

"Leiv, don’t do this!" Sven hissed, reaching for Leiv’s arm. "There must be another way, there has to be. We will find it, just please don’t do this!" And he realized the strange pattern on the stone was wet, wet and red as blood, not glowing, but appearing to glow as it reflected the torchlight.

Leiv pulled his arm away and stepped forward, out of his brother’s reach.

"Yesss," the voice hissed, and the figure beckoned, "come closer, and you shall have the power you desire."

Leiv walked between the torches to stand on the stone. The figure faded, and shadows loomed on all sides, pointing towards Leiv. Circling. Closing in. Climbing and obscuring his form. And as Leiv disappeared behind the shadows, he started to scream.

The torches grew brighter, from yellow, to orange, to red. Red as fire, red as blood. Sven couldn’t look, the glare was so bright.

Despite the glare, he tried to step forward, to reach his brother, but a cold wind rushed through the temple, pushing him back. And the torches flickered out.

Leiv stopped screaming. And Sven heard nothing, nothing but the pounding of his own heart and his ragged breathing, coming in gasps.

Then, one by one, the torches flickered back on, bathing the chamber in a soft glow. The figure was gone, the shadows were gone, and alone in the center of the torches stood Leiv.

"Leiv?" Sven asked, his voice breaking, as he approached.

Leiv turned. At least, it seemed like Leiv to Sven, just different. His eyes were gold, and his hair had darkened, with a thick streak of silver above his left temple. He wore a cloak of shadow, so dark it was untouched by the light. His nails were long and black, and climbing up his arms were patches of grey, leathery skin.

When Leiv turned to his brother and smiled, his eyes had none of his familiar warmth. And when he spoke, it was with the voice of the shadow.

"Your brother is gone. He is mine. He has been mine since he first set foot into this desert. The others turned him away, but he knew I would give him what he desired. I could feel his anger, his rage. It was so easy to drive him towards me, so very easy, especially once I found his weakness. His foolish, beloved little sister."

He lifted a hand in front of his face and inspected it, flexing the fingers. "Yes, he will make a fine vessel. Strong, this one, and full of fire." He grinned, lips pulling back to reveal pointed teeth.

Sven stumbled back, terrified, his heart pounding in his throat. He had lost so much, he couldn’t lose his brother, too.

"No, no, he can’t be gone! Leiv! Leiv, I know you’re still there!" He screamed in desperation.

Leiv’s eyes flickered, softened. As did his voice.

"Sven. Sven, I’m so sorry... Tell Astrid... "

Then his eyes hardened again. And his voice changed.

"No!" The voice growled. "He is mine!"

The shadows closed in, obscuring Leiv. And when they cleared, he was gone. Sven sank to his knees in the sand, howling in anguish.

Next Chapter: New Chapter