Long, long ago….
The dirt crumbled anciently between her fingers, so dry and soft it might have been moondust. Croe scowled at the tawny particles as they swirled away into the wind. She had been hiking, now, for three days, and had yet to glimpse any water…her supplies were thinning into dust, themselves. With a rough shrug, she adjusted her pack and rose up from her crouched position, squinting against the buttery light of late afternoon.
The terroirs of Shaman were inexplicable. Where she expected to find tropical jungle, she instead found herself in this strange chaparral, with low rocky hills, scrubby vegetation and twisting, stubborn trees. The map she had nicked from another pirate in the caves was amateurish, approximate, almost useless…although she was discovering that some of the more far-fetched notations did actually have a basis in reality. If you could call this place reality. Croe would have asked someone for clarification, but her one acquaintance was essentially a crazy vagrant. With a pet lion. Neither of whom she preferred to encounter when they were hungry.
She swallowed dryly, licked her parched lips.
At least the view was attractive. As she crested another hill, the setting sun cast the trees in shades of warm gold and muted rose, turning the dusty landscape jewel-like. The wind smelled of sage and the heat radiating from stone. Croe drew a deep breath and turned a circle, taking her bearings. When she returned to her original vantage point, a sliver of shadow that had not been there before arrested her attention.
The earth below her quivered slightly.
If Croe had been more excitable or more wary, she might have jumped at the sudden movement, the unprovoked appearance of this crack in space – for that is what it certainly seemed to be, a crack into which the light vanished, hovering almost eye-level above the sunwashed hill. Instead she cocked her head, narrowed her eyes. She circumnavigated the strange apparition, noting that it vanished from certain angles, as if it were actually sitting on the surface of something. But what? She leaned forward, trying to get a better look. It revealed nothing but darkness.
“What’s the worst that could happen,” she asked herself in a monotone, then smiled, her eyes growing sharp. The worst that could happen already had happened. And she was probably going to die of dehydration, if she was honest with herself. Barring some unforeseen and highly unusual streak of luck.
She reached out to touch the crack, and the light turned off like someone had flipped a switch.
Croe blinked against the darkness, waiting patiently for her eyes to adjust. In the meantime, she used her other senses – the air was much cooler here, and more humid, as if a mist clung to her skin. She could smell very little, mostly the absence of sage. Her ears detected the faint, distant sound of conversation. She turned her heard toward it, hoping to catch a clear word. As she did, the world swam slowly into focus.
“Hello?” she called into the gray shadows and fog, feeling suddenly, pointedly alone.
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