“This is some sort of dream. It must be.” Semthak said.

  “If it was a dream, my leg wouldn’t hurt so much.” Moktark replied.

  The pair walked, or hobbled in Moktark’s case, down a wide city avenue. Tall, square sided buildings rose up around them, peaked with overhanging tied roofs in red clay. Smoke was in the air, and the sounds of industry were all around them. The ringing of hammers on anvils, masters shouting at apprentices, the whoosh of bellows. Merchants lined the streets, haggling with traders and customers, rows of gleaming bronze tools and other items lined up on their tables.

  “Zernthod.” Semthak said. “How?”

  Moktark simply shook his head. The two wandered aimlessly for awhile, taking in the sights. The pyramid was gone, along with its black stone and puzzles and too-cool air. Where it once stood was the front gate of the city as seen from the inside, flanked by two massive stone statues depicting an orcish face and a giant snake, respectively. The fangs of the snake gleamed in the light. They were cast from solid bronze, each of them at least a metre in length.

  “That had to cost quite a bit.” Moktark remarked.

  “The Soot Serpent tribe can afford it. This is the richest city in the world, in all likelihood. The question is, how did we get here?”

  “Wonder if Koruk is here too? We should look around for him.”

  “Yes I think that’s...” Semthak began, but was cut off when he heard a familiar voice behind him. He spun on his soles, and saw a big orc with a back hunched from age and overwork. The orc’s hair was receding, leaving the crown of his brown head shining in the sunlight. He seemed agitated, and was searching between the shop stalls leading the streets for something.

  “Semthak? Don’t play games with me lad!” He called out.

  “Coming, Master Morzol!” A child’s voice replied. A small boy dashed out from somewhere, carrying a stack of incense sticks. He tripped and nearly fumbled the lot of them, but managed to catch them.

  “Ah you got them. Come! They’re about ready to begin the ceremony!” The big orc said, hustling his young apprentice away towards a tall building that appeared to be a giant stone chimney.

  The older Semthak stood dumbfounded and without words. Moktark nodded sagely beside him.

  “Yep. It’s a dream.”

  “How… why are we here? Why are you here? That was Morzol, my old teacher...”

  “Mess with ghosts, this sort of thing is what happens. That’s why you leave spirits to the spirit world.” Moktark said, pointing to the bowl Semthak still held in his hand. Semthak glanced at it, and saw that it was empty.

  “What do we do now?” Semthak asked, still in shock. Moktark shrugged.

  “Might as well follow them.” He said, pointing to the chimney-like building. “We’ll see what we see.”

  Semthak pushed open the door to the building, and was hit with a blast of heat. He held it open for Moktark, who clambered inside on his crutch, and then shut it. An enormous fire glowed red hot in a pit in the centre of the building, and a circle of orcs surrounded it, wearing tattered aprons dripping wet with water. The steaming orcs hurled pots of charcoal into the flames, occasionally stopping to rush to a waiting boy who threw a fresh bucket of water on them, keeping them from burning in the intense radiant heat. Semthak led Moktark to the water station, and the child splashed them with water, reciting a litany as he did so.

  “Be blessed by the waters, that you may stand the trial of the flame.” The child chanted, the words rolling off his tongue mechanically.

  “Through the flame we burn away our weakness.” Semthak repeated without thinking, the words appearing in his mind unbidden.

  Sopping wet, they found the heat more tolerable. A hot breeze whipped at their skin, blown in from openings at the base of the walls, feeding the fire before escaping up into the open sky above. The building had no roof, and was effectively a giant flue.

  Chains lifted a crucible out of the fire, and it was swung to the side of the chamber where indentations had been carved painstakingly into the sand of the floor. As it tipped over, a stream of glowing molten bronze flowed from the pour lip, splashing spectacularly as it filled the molds, running in rivulets in channels between them. The orcs cheered and crowded around, watching the metal cool into rows of freshly made arrowheads.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “You might be the first uninitiated one to witness this.” Semthak said to Moktark.

  “It was quite a show.” The big orc admitted.

  “Come on. My other self isn’t here, he must be in the workshop.”

  As Semthak pushed open the door to the familiar workshop, he saw himself sitting at a desk working on something. His younger self didn’t look up as he approached. In fact he didn’t seem to take any notice of him whatsoever.

  The young orc appeared to be working a hammer and chisel on an axehead, painstakingly carving tiny runes and patterns into the surface of the tool. Semthak smiled. He remembered doing that, for hour after hour, under the guidance of his master. The old orc leaned over the shoulder of his younger self, to have a closer look.

  Semthak’s blood turned cold as he laid eyes on the artefact.

  “No, it can’t be...”

  “What’s the matter?” Moktark asked.

  Semthak didn’t respond. The old orc glanced around frantically, panic in his eyes.

  From an adjoining room a door swung open, and Master Morzol appeared, draped in a great leather apron. The balding orc looked cheerful, and called out to his apprentice.

  “Semthak! They’re ready to test the new furnace! Come on, you get to work the bellows!”

  “Bellows again?” The young Semthak replied, making a face. “When will I get to pour?”

  “When I say you’re ready, which isn’t too far off if you keep it up. Don’t make that face at me, you know the bellows is an important job.”

  “Yes Master.”

  The young orc hopped off his stool, leaving his work half finished. The older Semthak put his hand on his shoulder to stop up.

  For the first time, the youth turned to look at his older self. Semthak felt his own cold blue eyes staring back at him, as if from a mirror. He shuddered, and his grip faltered. The young orc hopped away to join his master.

  “What’s the matter?” Moktark asked.

  “He’s going to die. I have to stop him.”

  “You’re going to die!?”

  “No, not me. If I was dead how would I be talking to you? Morzol, my master.”

  “Well lets save him then!”

  Semthak nodded grimly, and the pair rushed off after them.

  They entered another furnace room, similar to the first but larger, and were again hit with a blast of heat that seemed to suck the moisture from their skin and eyes. Semthak quickly directed Moktark to the water station, and they doused themselves.

  “I don’t see him!” Moktark said.

  “Over there, by the big kiln.”

  In the centre of the room, rather than an open pit, there was a sort of cone shaped structure made of baked clay. Into the top someone was throwing in buckets of rocks, followed by buckets of charcoal. The young Semthak was frantically working a pair of bellows, one in each hand, sweat glistening on his brow.

  “In a moment the kiln is going to explode. Morzol is going to… he’s going to be killed.”

  Moktark nodded, and started pushing his way through the crowds of priests and workers surrounding the kiln. He shouted at Morzol, but his voice was lost in the noise of the workflow. The closer he got, the more bodies seemed to get in his way, as if they were intentionally blocking him. Semthak appeared at his side, and the two of them working together bodied their way through the wall of flesh. No matter how many they pushed aside though, it seemed like two more stepped in to fill the gap.

  As they were struggling frantically against the crowd, they felt the crack of an explosion ripple through the air and they were forced to the ground as the crowd suddenly surged against them in the opposite direction, desperate to escape.

  “Damn it!” Semthak exclaimed. There were tears in his eyes. “Why are we here!?”

  The air was choked with shouts and smoke. Semthak burst into a coughing fit, and Moktark assisted him back onto his feet and led him out of the disaster area back into the workshop.

  The old orc sat down on the stool. He laid his head into his arms, and sat unmoving for awhile.

  “Old man? You alright?”

  “No I’m not alright! He was like a father to me. Do you know what that’s like?”

  Moktark nodded.

  “I think so.” He said. Although he didn’t know his father, Moktark thought about chieftain Avol, and the time they had spent together when he was a child. “Something similar, maybe.”

  Semthak slammed his hand down on the table.

  “What is this? What is this hell I’ve been brought to? This was almost it you know? I… ran away. I wanted nothing to do with the soot shamans anymore. I almost didn’t return. When I did, they didn’t say a damn thing, you know? Didn’t say anything about Morzol. Just gave me an apron, said I was ready. Made me a full fledged member. I ran away and they gave me a damn promotion...” Semthak said, the words coming out in a stream of consciousness. He choked, and coughed again, the smoke still tingling in his throat.

  Semthak sat unmoving for a time, staring at the unfinished axehead in front of him. The axehead that would never be finished. At the tools arrayed in front of him, lined up in perfect little rows on the table, just as he had always liked to leave them. Hadn’t he and Morzol made a cabinet for these though?

  Semthak blinked. The axehead lay in front of him, and beside him was a cabinet, the drawer open. His tools were aligned in the cabinet, in perfect little rows, just as he always liked them.

  Semthak frowned.

  “This is a dream. It isn’t real.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying!” Moktark exclaimed, slapping his leg for emphasis. “The ghosts! They can make you see stuff yknow!”

  Semthak grimaced.

  “I don’t think we ever left the temple. None of this is real. None of it!”

  Semthak swept the axehead off the table. It fell towards the floor, but never made it.

  The back of his head hurt when he woke up.