1. Gog

CHAPTER 1

GOG

T he stars are bright tonight. A hunter’s sky.

Ranging this far into Skuyr territory is ill-advised at best. Suicidal at worst. Mine is a harsh world which constantly tests one’s mettle. But it is a good world.

I pass through a copse of skeletal trees, the gray bark coarse and hard as stone. They look dead, but they are not. In another thousand years, one of them may begin the arduous journey to become a Life Tree.

For now, though, they wait, gathering nutrients from deep beneath the soil. The Elders tell us there is water, far below ground, which the trees drink. I wish it were closer to the surface. My canteen sounds as if it has a carper beetle rattling around inside of it.

I’m saving the last swallow. I’m so far out of Drokan territory I don’t know where the water sources are. The Yellowclaw river runs somewhere to the north, but has a bend that puts it at least two day’s journey from here. I would be unlikely to last that long without water.

My best hope is to find a spring or a creek. Even just a weak trickle oozing out of a crack between rocks would work. Of course, there’s another possibility.

If I run into any Skuyr, I can slay them and take their water.

I didn’t bring a weapon of war with me. No stone hammer, no longer bladed sword. My gear is that of a hunter: A stout shortbow made from ironwood, two dozen arrows, twelve pile and twelve with wide blades. Small and large prey, respectively.

I have a knife strapped to my bare thigh, but it’s more of a tool than a weapon. If I do run into Skuyr, I will be at a disadvantage. But still I forge on.

My memories of the last Life Tree ceremony have yet to fade. I’m on the verge of my fiftieth summer--young for my kind, barely considered an adult--and I have yet to find my jalshagar. I grew so worried I consulted the shaman to speak with the Life Tree on my behalf.

The answer had not been a happy one. I was told my one true soulmate would never be born on our world. That had been the final grain of sand which tipped the scales and prompted me on this dangerous, wild hunt.

The people of my village, Redcliffe, barely tolerated me anyway. I am sure many of them were secretly pleased I would go through life mateless. In some ways, I can’t blame them. One mistake, and I darkened our tribe’s future. I will pay that price until I die, I suppose.

So perhaps there was some self-destructive impulse which drove me out here, so far from home and safety. Not to mention far away from freshwater.

I freeze, straining my ears. What is that? It could be the wind blowing through the sharp spines of a venom cactus, or it could be the flow of fresh water.

I scamper up a rocky hill, scaring a night bird and the many-legged wiggling thing it had been about to dine on. The bird caws its distaste at me for ruining its hunt as it flaps off into the night.

At the top of the hill, I can see the land spread out like a cloak. Ahead of me lies a cracked and broken plain, fissure so wide and deep they form an underground highway system for Skuyr. I am definitely in their territory now.

A distant mountain range juts up at the edge of the plain. Turning to the east, I see red sand dunes rearing up like waves in disturbed water. Not much living there, and likely no water.

To the south lies Redcliffe, where I am loathe to return. And to the west…salvation.

A patch of verdant green shines in the starlight. It must be an oasis, and that means one thing: Water. I smack my parched lips and move carefully down the hill toward the green. It turns out to be further wavy than it looked on top of the hill, but I can reach it. I have to.

I trudge up to the oasis some time later. The smell of water hits my nostrils, and I quicken my pace. A small rivulet of water, not more than four inches wide, spills from a hole in the earth. It feeds into a pond, dotted with red reeds waving in the night wind. Small winged shapes dart over the pond.

That is a good sign, not a bad one. The insects would not be here if the water were unsafe to drink. I'm still cautious, despite my burning thirst. I carefully remove a crystal from one of the pouches at my belt. I dip it into the tepid water and wait. The crystal lights up from within with a soft blue glow.

I put the crystal away and then thrust my face into the water, slurping it down with greed and abandon. I refill my canteen, and then decide to remain at the oasis for a short time. I was a fool to range out this far. I will wait until dawn, when the Skuyr are less likely to be about, and return to my village.

Or would I? Part of me wanted to remain at the oasis forever. Even if it was right on the verge of enemy territory.

Light flares. Fearing a Skuyr attack, I leap to my feet and string my bow. Maybe I can take some of them out at range before they get too close.

But there are no Skuyr, no burning brands of pitch. Instead, the light comes from the sky itself. A bright smear of light has formed above. It can’t be a comet, because those appear to hold still.

A shooting star, then? I have seen many of them in my years on this world, but never one that seemed so bright, nor so close. Most of them burned up long before they crashed into the ground.

This one, I could see, would not burn up, not entirely at least. I tried to estimate where it might land, and soon gave up. Far. It would land very, very far from here. Perhaps on the other continent.

The ball of green and yellow light grows momentarily brighter. Pieces of it spark off and shower down on a different trajectory. The explosion must have stolen their impetus and momentum, and now they’re falling like any other rock.

Most of these smaller micro-meteors burn away quickly. One, however, continues to plunge toward the ground.

It disappears over the sand dunes, and then a muted impact reaches my ears. It definitely hit the ground, but there should be an ever expanding nimbus of debris and sand, perhaps even earthquakes. Or a plume of matter shooting into the night sky.

None of those things happened, as they should with a meteor of that size. My curiosity piqued, I decide to investigate. It could be a threat to the Drokan, or it could be just some celestial oddity.

I estimate it will take the better part of the night to reach the impact sight, if I leave now. I drain my canteen and then refill it, before gathering some edible plants and grubs from the oasis. The grubs are tasty sweet in my mouth, exploding into gibbets of fatty flavor. They will help sustain me on this new hunt.

Traversing the dunes proves difficult. The sand sucks my feet in past the ankles, slowing me down considerably. The first pink heralds of dawn paint the horizon by the time I reach the impact site.

It looks like the meteor mowed the top off one of the taller dunes then struck in a trough between rises. A twenty foot deep crater now resides in the trough, holding something round at its center.

I frown, because the orb does not look like stone. Its sides are smooth, and reflect the redness of the pre dawn.

I venture down into the crater. The orb has a hole in it. A hole eerie in its round perfection. I thrust my head inside and gasp. Within is a cave of wonders. Strange, flat gemstones and crystals glow with an inner light, much like my own crystal. There’s something that resembles a padded chair, but small, too small for a Drokan to fit comfortably.

Why is there a chair inside of a meteor? And what are all of these flashing stones and lights? Where has this come from?

“Kro…” I say with reverence. This must be the work of the gods, because who else would wield such power? No craftsmen in our village could possibly hope to replicate this strange artifact.

Then I realize, if there is a seat, then there was likely a rider. A rider who is missing.

I go back outside. The floor of the crater has fused to glass. I can follow the broken trail leading out toward the south edge of the crater.

I pick up more signs of passage on the surface. Someone definitely went this way, and recently. Whoever it is, they move without worry of leaving an easy to follow trail. That is a mistake this close to the Skuyr.

The trail leads me to the border of the dunes and the jagged, cracked terrain. The hard, dry stone leaves little to work with for a tracker.

A high pitched cry reaches my ears. A voice quite like a Drokan’s. It is followed a moment later by the screech of an angry Skuyr.

I race along the canyon until I come around a bend and see what’s causing the ruckus. Four spear wielding Skuyr in pursuit of a child.

No, not a child. Something else. Her body bears the marks of a mature Drokan female, though she lacks size and horns. Her golden hair flashes in the early morning sunlight. I can’t make out many more details from here, but her garment is strange and covers her from neck to feet. Not a good idea in the desert.

Of course, in a moment, heat exhaustion will be the least of her worries. I do not know this stranger, or if she might present danger to my people.

But if the Skuyr want her dead, then I will do all I can to keep her alive.