[b]Elsewhere, Ceyr[/b]

The black storm raged.  Winds tore across the land and torrents of dust and sand roared through the sky.  A single speck of light, far below, tried in vain to create a path through the gale.  A lone camel-drawn carriage inched its way across the cracked earth.  Blown glass lanterns on each corner were the only light visible without.  The reins that stretched from a slit through the front of the carriage pulled taught as the two camels reared and nearly stumbled.  A door was thrown open, and a single figure wrapped in heavy protective cloth leapt from the stalled carriage.  It turned in several directions, seeking a sign and finding none.  It reached inside the cloth and pulled a fragment of amber on a string and held it out in one hand, the wind nearly pulling it loose.  Nothing else happened.  The figure turned, frantically, the wind dying slightly as its roar settled into a resonant boom.  The necklace slacked and hung almost loosely.

"MIRNA!"

A covered head shot out from the door of the carriage.

"Mirna!  Is it working?!  Did it show you?!  Which way do we go?!"

Mirna pulled the heavy cloth from her face and let it drape around her neck.

"Damn damn [i]damn[/i].  It's no use, Borah," she sighed.  "Gods' blood, it's no use.  Tell mother not to worry, we'll be there soon."

She ran the back of her free hand across her face and put on what she thought was a smile.

"How's dad?"

Her brother's face screwed up at this.

"The same," he replied.  "He's asleep, and breathing fine for now.  Mom stopped crying, which is a good sign.  Water the camels and come back inside.  It could start again at any moment."

Borah threw her a large canteen and bucket and pulled his head back in.  They had been traveling through the wastelands nearly three days.  Mirna sighed a long, heavy breath and stuffed the amulet into a pocket and walked around to the camels.  Five days since their father fell ill.  The village's mystic called it a terrible curse, but Mirna stood firm and insisted it was a sickness, one that could be cured in the city.  The nearest hospice, in the city of paved roads and lanterns at night.  Days of journeying away, but better than sitting home and waiting for a sickness to take him.  The people of the hamlet on the edge of the desert told them to avoid the wastelands, as all life disappeared within.  A small and gray and incredibly old priestess smiled with her one remaining tooth and told them going through was days faster than circling around.  She even offered to sell them a pathfinding amulet.  A very expensive one, a stick of charcoal encased in a beautiful triangle of amber, blessed by the local priests and instilled with the power of the gods.  All the money Mirna had.  Days faster.  Three days.  Mirna stroked the camel's head as it sucked nosily at the water.  She struggled to hold back a sob.  They would die out here.

"No death here."

A moment passed.  Realization dawned and Mirna's breath caught in her throat as she spun around, clutching the bucket to her chest.  Nothing.  She looked down.  A tiny figure in a tiny brown robe, barely as tall as her waist, looked up at her.  Even in the gloom she could see its face was ashen gray, with a large nose and shimmering brown eyes that contained an eternity of sadness.  Though she had only read of them, she recognized it as a goblin.  It looked very young, possibly, but at the same time very, very old.

"W-What?"

"No death here," it spoke again in its odd tremoring voice.  "No life.  Only dust."

Mirna caught herself and lowered the bucket as respectfully as she could.  She had heard of bandits, but nothing had prepared her for this.  She hardened her gaze and pulled herself taller.

"Forgive me, uh, sir.  Madam.  Goblin.  We're lost, you see.  My father is gravely ill and we're looking for the city and to be honest w-we've been sidetracked, you could say, but we have no money, no money at all, and if you would kindly show us the way we'll gladly--"

A sword was pointed at her.  At least, Mirna thought it was a sword, burned to ash as it was, and tiny as it was, even in the small creature's grasp.  The goblin turned and stretched its arm to the right side of the carriage.  There was a deep, nearly humming boom, barely audible, and a flash of golden light in the distance.  Mirna gasped slightly, her eyes frozen on the warm, welcoming light beaming through the dust and ash.

"MIRNA!"

She jumped again, and turned to see Borah sticking his head out the window.

"I think it's starting again!  Are you finished with those spitting bastards?"

"I--the camels?  Yes but, this goblin..."

Mirna turned to where the goblin stood.  It was gone.  The ashen land stretched away, no footprints in the sand below, as the horizon darkened and the winds closed in once more.

...

[b]Tower of Broken Dreams, Ceyr[/b]

Ashes swirled through the marble doors of the Tower and gathered on the floor.  Dust rose to his feet in the flickering gloom, gathering his cloak about him and placing a hand on the sword at his side.  Traveling as a cloud in the presence of others would expend energy, and he saw no reason to hide himself in the company of gods.  His large brown eyes followed the staircase as it spiraled upward, shrinking and disappearing into the distance.  One thousand one hundred eleven steps.  Dust took them without haste, with the same measured pace of ages past.  He walked.