The pyramid loomed before Koruk again, rising up out of the sea of red sands like some misplaced mountain peak. He remembered this. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? The stairs rose before him, black stairs, climbing up into the black heavens. The starlight glimmered off their obsidian faces. He took the first step, but then stopped. Why did he feel the compulsion to climb? It was like there was a voice in his head, telling him he needed to reach the summit, and the more he concentrated, the more it felt like that voice wasn’t his own. It was whispering, pleading, in a beautiful language he both understood and could not fathom. He turned away from the temple, and gazed out over the sands.

  A sea of strange, red faces greeted him. Red as the desert sands, red as the sky above. They were beautiful but strange, their bodies small and their faces soft, and black horns grew from their heads. The fire illuminated the sky, spreading across the heavens like a roiling monsoon storm front. In the distance, he saw the source of the fire, rising out of the horizon like a pillar of death.

  He pushed his way through the crowd, the temple forgotten. They parted easily, every face turned to look at him with curiosity etched on their strange features. Sand and space seemed to blur as he moved at the speed of thought towards the wellspring of fire.

  He stood in front of his village. It was burning. Smoke was rising from ruined huts. Orcs lie dead at his feet. He sank to his knees in despair. The smoke was choking…

  Koruk awoke. He heard a weird, high pitched voice babbling from somewhere. Was he still asleep? Was he dead? The words didn’t make any sense, and they got on his nerves.

  “Shut up!” he said aloud, and rolled over in his hammock, covering his head with his pillow. The voice continued, and slowly the dream faded away from his mind.

  Koruk flung the pillow to the floor and groggily got up. His head was thumping, and he felt like he hadn’t slept in days. He held his face in his hands for awhile, swaying slightly in the hammock. Eventually he opened his eyes and tried to find the source of the noise.

  On the floor, the white skinned creature they had rescued had finally awoken. It had been two days since the adventure at the dragon’s egg, and it had slept as if dead the entire time. The Bone Mother had set its arm with a splint, and given him a recipe for a strange broth to feed the creature as it slept. She said she had doubts it would ever awaken, but it seemed that she had been wrong, because it was staring up at him with open blue eyes.

  “I can’t understand you.” He said, as it continued its tirade. Koruk pinched the bridge of his wide nose. Where the hell was Moktark? The silver door stood in the corner of the hut in a place of honour, propped up with the other prizes he had won during his career as a warrior. It had caused quite a commotion when they got back. At the Bone Mother’s insistence, the village leaders had decided to call up the war council of the entire White Moon tribe, and dignitaries had been slowly filtering into the village for the last couple days. He just wanted to rest and relax.

  Koruk looked down at the alien laying on the floor of his friend’s house. It had stopped speaking, and was just staring at him. It looked so small and fragile, and Koruk was reminded of an ill tempered child. He and Moktark had been given the responsibility to look after it, given that they were the ones who drug it back to the village.

  The fire was still smouldering. The sun was out in the sky outside. The creature’s clothing and helmet had been hung up alongside the door. It had taken ages to figure out how to get it off so they could treat the alien’s injuries, but they didn’t dare rip it open. The leather it was made with was like nothing they had seen before and to damage it would be a shame.

  Koruk threw a few sticks onto the fire, and nestled a clay cooking pot in between them. He began to make another batch of the healing broth the Bone Mother had instructed him in, grinding up an assortment of pungent herbs with a mortar and pestle, and scooping them into the pot. He poured water overtop, and closed it with a lid.

  Koruk looked over at the creature. It was still staring at him. He tried smiling at it, bearing his teeth. It did not smile back. He sighed.

  “This is food.” He said, tapping the lid of the pot. “It will make you get stronger, apparently.”

  The creature continued staring at him.

  “Food. You know, uh...” Koruk stammered. He rubbed his belly and mimed eating out of the pot with a wooden spoon.

  The creature stared at him.

  “Food. Yum! Make you strong… shit, I feel like I’m talking to a baby.” Koruk said, his face sagging. The adventure the other day was meant to be a thing of glorious tales of victory to be sung around the fire. How had it come to this?

  Moktark opened the door of the hut, interrupting his moping.

  “Koruk, I talked to… oh, hello.” Moktark said, noticing the creature sitting up. He smiled broadly. “He’s awake!”

  “He is.” Koruk said. “What were you saying?”

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  “I spoke to the Bone Mother. She said she wishes to speak to you, alone.”

  Koruk frowned.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t question the witch. It’s dangerous.” Moktark said, shrugging.

  “Right, see if you can get this thing to eat. There’s some broth on the fire. I guess we should give it a name shouldn’t we? What should we call it?”

  Moktark drummed his fingers on his chin, a small smile twisting his mouth. How could he always be so cheerful? Koruk’s head still throbbed, and he was thoroughly miserable.

  “He came from the egg of the dragon right? Yes I know it wasn’t really a dragon...” Moktark said, waving his hand to deflect the objection Koruk was about to form.

  “Why don’t we call him… The Dragon of the North, Crusher of the Pathetic Beast Tamers!” Moktark announced proudly, emoting with his broad hands.

  “It’s too long. Plus it was us that crushed the pathetic Beast Tamers. Well, you did. He is also not intimidating enough to be a dragon I think...” Koruk said, rising to his feet, looking down at the seated figure.

  “A young dragon is called a drake I think. He’s plenty intimidating enough to be a drake. He’s small, but he’s vicious!” Moktark said, a smile on his face. He was having too much fun with this, Koruk thought.

  “Alright, Drake then.” Koruk said, and laughed. For a moment his ill mood subsided. Moktark slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Get going, you don’t want to keep the witch waiting.”

  As he passed through the village, an uncomfortable number of eyes were upon him. Everyone had questions, but he had been told to keep quiet until the council meeting. It was… highly irregular. He and Moktark should be proudly displaying their prizes, and boasting about their conquests over food and drink. Moktark had singlehandedly bested a champion of the Beast Tamers! He deserved the honour of the victory. The village elders dared not question the Bone Mother though. Koruk was sure she was plotting something.

  And so he had kept silent. They hid their prizes, and refused to speak of the battle, trying to placate questioners by saying that all would be revealed after the council. Ironically, it only seemed to increase the mystique surrounding them and their expedition to the north. Whispers and rumours abounded.

  The children’s quarter was bustling with activity. Children ran and played everywhere, and several looked up at him with awe as he passed through the gate. It seemed that word had travelled here as well. Koruk felt deeply uncomfortable with his newfound fame, and avoided their gazes. Several women wearing fur kilts were engaged in chasing around a grinning child holding a pilfered pork shank, and Koruk smiled. Being back here was nostalgic, a mixture of memories good and bad. The women spotted him, and one of them marched over to greet him.

  “The Bone Mother awaits you, Warrior Koruk.” She said, bowing her head in respect. Koruk didn’t fail to notice that he was no longer “Tribesman Koruk”. Much had changed over the past two days.

  “Thank you, acolyte. I ask for permission to enter her home.”

  “You have it, Warrior Koruk.”

  Koruk nodded to her, and she bowed and walked away, returning to her duties with the children. Together with the Bone Mother, these women cared for all the young children of the village, regardless of their parentage or bloodline. He and Moktark had once been raised here as well, and it was here he developed his bond to his “brother”. Koruk wished his brother was here with him now.

  The Bone Mother’s hut loomed before him, built atop a small hill at the edge of the children’s quarter. Even in the broad daylight it seemed permeated with an unnatural darkness, as if shadows clung to its sides that would not give up. Bones dangled on strings from the lip of the thatched roof, rustling in the wind and rattling. The structure had a ramshackle look, as though it was long abandoned. Koruk shivered. He had hated this place.

  Steeling himself, he pushed aside the wolfskin door, and entered.

  The interior of the hut was large, probably three times the size of Moktark’s, with a conical ceiling that extended up above him at least thirteen feet. Bundles of herbs and meats hung from lower rafters that criss-crossed above him, filling the air with a complex, overpowering smell. A low fire burned in a pit in the centre of the hut, and smoke wafted up into the thatch of the roof.

  On a low stool in front of the fire, gently stirring a pot, sat the Bone Mother. Her face was shrouded by a cowl, but her long white hair dangled out of it in front of her, and her long yellowed tusks gleamed in the firelight. She didn’t look up at him as she spoke.

  “Warrior Koruk.” She said, a hint of mockery in her gravelly voice. “It took you long enough. How is your charge?”

  “It is awake. It survived.” He said, gritting his teeth. He had barely begun talking to this woman and he was already unnerved.

  “I know that much. I asked, how is he?” She said, continuing to stir. Koruk’s brow tightened. What was she getting at?

  “He seems… good. He spoke to me in some weird language. He’s been eating the broth.”

  For a moment Koruk caught the gleam of the Bone Mother’s eyes as they flashed up to meet his.

  “Good, good. There is a war brewing you know. You don’t understand what you started.” She began, her eyes disappearing again under the cowl. “I have a task for you. You will heed it, yes?”

  Koruk nodded hesitantly, not keeping his eyes off the crone.

  “Always such a quiet boy, Koruk. Not like that big friend of yours. The Beast Tamers have begun to invade our borders brazenly. They seek that which you found. The warriors of the tribe will be called away to meet them in battle. You will stay here in the village and tend to your new pet. Learn his secrets, tend his wounds, soothe his discomforts.”

  Koruk was shocked. What she was asking…

  “What are you talking about? The women should tend to him. I am no healer or nursemaid!”

  Koruk bristled. She had conspired to deny him and Moktark their triumph after their great victory. She had denied them the honor they were due. The village called him warrior! It wasn’t strictly true; he hadn’t personally fought against the Beast Tamers, but he finally had a taste of the respect that he craved, and she was trying to snatch it away from him. And now, she expects him to play nursemaid? It was humiliating. His face screwed itself up in rage.

  The Bone Mother chuckled. She tasted her soup with a spoon.

  “I am not doing this to try to wound your ego, Koruk. This is more important than you know. More important than a pointless border skirmish and displays of machismo.” She hissed, her sharp voice cutting into him and silencing his thoughts.

  “Go now. It will take time for the tribal strongmen to gather with their retinues. Learn everything you can from this… creature… in the meantime.”