The three deserts are said to be the most dangerous places on the continent, even more perilous than the Corroding Sea. The treacherous tempests might allow you to cross the waters on a lucky day - but few have survived crossing the deserts.

In the Desert of Glass, the scorching heat of the harsh sun reflects back from the very ground with unyielding intensity. Anybody passing through is practically cooked alive. The Desert of Salt is a place of lethal and false beauty. The cracking crust covering the flat ground may sparkle like a coat of diamond dust, but all to be found there are worthless salt crystals and death by dehydration. And in the Desert of Dust, there is nothing but seemingly endless dunes.

But where these three deserts meet lies a place even more deadly and dangerous than that: the fabled Forest of a Thousand Thorns.

The Ancients tell stories about it. Tall, black spires protrude from the ground at odd angles, forming a forest of looming thorns that stick out of the dry earth like teeth and claws of a ginormous creature buried there aeons ago.

It is forbidden to go there, of course, by laws that predate the rational and logical warnings addressing the abject impracticality and lethality of going there - laws of gods as old as time itself.

So they say, but it's not like the laws of either mortals or supposed gods have ever bothered us much. In fact, it only made the location all the more intriguing. If nobody has gone there for centuries, probably even millennia, one could only dream of the riches that might still be hidden there.

As I turn to my partner Aloria, I see a glimmer of mischief light up her dark eyes as she surveys the vast expanse before us, and I know that she is thinking of those riches right now.

In the distance, amidst the black spikes that appear like tears in the blue fabric of the sky itself, stands a temple, surrounded by tall pillars. The building is as dark as the thorns themselves, made form a material like black, polished stone but unlike anything I have ever seen.

Eagerly, Aloria moves up to one of the pillars and brushes a layer of dirt and dust from the smooth black stone.

"Look at that. There's some sort of... pictogram?"

I peer past her at the carvings. The narrow but deep cuts are filled with dust and easily visible against the dark surface.

On first glance, I don't even comprehend what I am looking at. It is a confusing and convoluted combination of images.

They depict a creature of sorts, one of the oddest beings I have ever beheld. It does not resemble anything that walks the lands, swims the oceans or soars through the skies, and the longer I look at it the more I am confused by the weird and incomprehensible amount and arrangement of its limbs.

"I think it starts here," Aloria points out one of the images, that all seem to be arranged in a narration of sorts.

In the first image, the creature approaches an object, a chest adorned with a bold symbol that looks a lot like our symbol for the sun. Merely coincidental, probably. These carvings must predate our civilization by millennia.

In the next picture, the symbol of the sun fills the creature's misshapen body, and in the last the creature kneels beside the chest in a posture that I can only wildly guess to be deep reverence.

"Do you think this was a place of worship or something?" Aloria asks and looks towards the entrance of the building.

"Only one way to find out," I suggest.

It takes us two hours to break open the sealed doors, and it costs us all our fire paste. But at this point, Aloria and I are already convinced that whatever waits beyond will be worth more than all we ever possessed combined. Why else would the former denizens of this place have bothered to seal it up like that if not to protect it from thieves like us?

The doors open with a heavy creak and the air that wafts out from the darkness is unexpectedly moist and tepid. I light a starspark and discover the source of the scent - at the center of the hall is a large basin filled with water. I step closer to the edge of the pool, careful not to slip on the sleek black floor tiles and peer down towards the bottom.The walls of the pool and the entire room are lined with the same smooth black stone, but the room itself appears completely empty.

"There's more pictograms on the walls here," Aloria informs me.

"Any of them make any sense to you?"

"Nah, just more of the same."

"Then come over here instead. I found something."

I stretch to hold the starspark out above the surface of the water. It is smooth and reflective like the ground in the Desert of Glass, but as I move the spark a bit, the light dances over the dark mirror and next to me, Aloria gasps in surprise. Submerged at the bottom of the basin are countless large crates.

"We're gonna be filthy rich," she laughs, and the sound echoes between the empty walls of the temple beautifully.

"But first, we'll have to get filthy," I remind her as I step into the pool.

We dive down and drag a crate towards a shallower area of the pool. The object is heavy and we know right away we won't be able to carry back more than one. We don't have any fire paste left so we have to resort to brute force to crack it open.

The way it soon crumbles under the assault of our tools only confirms that whatever material it is made of must be ancient.

I stop before opening it and look at Aloria only to find her attention captivated by another pictogram adorning the sides of the crate. The starspark lights up her beautiful features and casts dancing lights on her eyes. They cannot outshine the bright light of curiosity I see within. It is moments like these that my heart sings for her beauty and I am reminded of when I first met her and fell in love at first sight. I yearn for her, but this is not the right place or time.

Soon. Soon we will be home, safe and sound, and rich beyond our wildest dreams.

"It's that same creature as in the other images, I believe."

Her words snap me out of my thoughts and I follow her gaze. I find myself agreeing with her, although the shape and structure of the creature's body still confuses me. The images before us don't depict the same story, only the creature itself, surrounded by an illegible swirl of strange symbols and glyphs, none of which I have ever seen before. They cover the entire crate on all sides. The only symbol I recognize is that of the sun. The black circular glyph radiating equally black rays decorates all sides of the container.

"What do you believe it means?"

"Maybe the creature was revered as some kind of god," she speculated. "The sun could symbolize its power. Maybe we read the other images in the wrong order, and it didn't so much as 'take' the sun from the chest but put it there, for the people to worship?"

"Ever heard of any cult that worshiped anything..." I gesture around us. "Like this?"

"No," she admits, "So let's find out what this is about!"

We push the lid off the chest and peer inside.

Aloria grumbles quietly in disappointment. The crate is filled about halfway with what looks like small pebbles. Under the light of the spark, they appear to be made of lead.

"Really, they worshiped rubble?" she scoffs.

She digs in and cups a small amount of the pebbles, and then allows them to trickle back into the chest. A few bounce off the walls and land in the water at our feet.

Sharp gasps of surprise escape both of us, as suddenly, whatever magic lives inside the pebbles comes alive and they begin to glow faintly blue.

Quickly, I cup some water and begin to transfer it into the crate. Aloria pitches in and by the time it's full, its contents are shining with a brilliant blue light. It basks her features in a magical glow, lighting them up from the outside as much as her awe seems to radiate from within.

"What do you think this is?" she asks in a whisper.

"I'm no gaeomancer, but I bet we can find someone willing to buy it, whatever it is."

We pack the pebbles into our bags, opting to leave the large and unwieldy crates behind. Countless of these treasure chests are still waiting at the bottom of the basin. Perhaps we can come back again one day, although I doubt we will ever need to. Soon, we will have more money than we could ever spend.

The trek back through the deserts is arduous and exhausting. We were too wary of the old and tepid water in the basin to fill our flasks, so we have to make due with our rations. The heat seems more scalding than ever before. As we cross the Desert of Dust I already feel like it is coming from below my feet and all around me just as much as it comes from above, attempting to cook me alive long before we even reach the Desert of Glass. The sun is blistering our skin despite the many layers of our clothes.

On the third day of our journey, Aloria gets violently ill.

We just passed halfway through the Desert of Salt when she comes down with a sickness unlike anything I have ever seen. It seems to draw all fluids from her body, tears, sweat and blood alike, until she is so parched that in her feverish state of mind she attempts to drink from the brine pools.

I give her my water rations and urge her on, all the while fighting the sense of nausea that makes its home within myself. I plot a detour on our trek home so we can at least restock on water.

From the fourth day on, I occasionally have to carry her.

On the fifth day, we reach the edge of the Desert of Salt and come upon the Wastelands. There is no life here, but at least there is water. Many underground rivulets have carved labyrinthine paths through the rocky soil over the millenia. I somehow manage to carry Aloria along the narrow path winding between ragged outcrops, and eagerly drink from the first stream we come upon. Aloria is too weak to drink, so I have to force the liquid down her throat, only for her to retch it all up again.

I look at my companion, my beloved, and feel worry bore into my heart like the thorns that pierce into the sky somewhere far behind us. Her skin is cracked open and covered in blisters and sores, like the surface of the Desert of Salt. Her once thick and luscious locks are shaggy, and falling out in strands. As she lies in my arms that night, shivering with another feverish dream, I mean to comfort her with a soothing caress, but her skin comes apart under my touch. She doesn't wake up and merely whimpers pitifully. I give her black milk to ease her pain, but it only makes her more delirious.

"It's a curse," she whispers hoarsely.

"What?"

"A punishment from the god we have stolen from..."

"Nonsense, Aloria, there are no gods," I say softly. "There is only gaeomancy."

But even gaeomancy cannot explain what is happening to us.

I try to hide the symptoms of my own disease so as to not worry her too much, but by the sixth day she notes, in a break between her feverish dreams, that I can no longer keep down our rations nor the water.

The pebbles weigh heavy, and I have already scattered some of them along the way to reduce the burden I have to carry. But there are still enough. Soon we will be rich, and there isn't an ailment the healers of Orinth cannot cure, if one is willing to meet their price. We will be able to meet it tenfold.

"Maroi, leave the treasure," Aloria croaks as she notices I am still carrying the bags. "Leave it, and leave me. You're stronger than me and you can still make it home. Leave it all behind and never return to that cursed place."

"Nonsense, Aloria. We will both make it home, and we will be rich, like we always dreamed."

My own voice is as dry as the wastes all around us. It will be another six days until we reach civilization again, if I can keep up the pace. But as I continue our climb across the rocky landscape, violent shivers wrack my body and my limbs feel weak and leaden.

I can ignore the pain from the blisters and cracks, many of which have turned into festering wounds. But Aloria's skin has veritably dissolved. Her clothes are soaked in blood and pus, and cling to her bare flesh. She has stopped talking, and only whimpers at my every touch. No amount of black milk seems to sooth her agony.

But soon, soon we will be home, and it will all be well.

On the seventh day, we come upon a cave.

We seek shelter from the glaring sun that shines down on us with a fiery anger that I have never known before. Her words echo through my mind, and I remember the sun-like symbol on the pillars surrounding the temple and the crate. A black circle with its wide black halo fractured into three equal parts.

A punishment from the god we have stolen from...

I sit her down on the floor of the cave, with her back leaning against the wall, but she is so limp she almost can't keep upright. When I put the flask to her mouth, she only moans in agony. The sound of her voice reverberates through the small cave, reflects from every wall and tears through my heart, over and over.

I light a starspark to look at her wounds - I have long since stopped dressing them. By now, her body has become a wound in its entirety and it is a futile effort. But I try to clean them, keep them free of infection. Maybe it is just as futile. My own body is wasting away, the sores on my skin have taken on shades of blue and yellow, and I am running a fever almost as hot as the sun outside.

But I will not give up on her.

Her eyes snap open as I touch her again, and her gaze darts past me, towards the darkness at the back of the cave. And she screams.

I recoil in surprise, and stumble against the wall behind me - or so I thought. What felt like crumbling stone turns out to be the crumbling remains of a creature, huddled into a niche in the wall. With a scream of my own, I back away again, and the skeletal figure tumbles free.

I stare at it blankly, trying to make sense of what I am seeing.

The slender, elongated body is covered by a thin membrane that looks like old leather. It spans over a series of bones, like fish bones but arching from their point of origin at the back and coming together at the front again. On the very top of it all sits another, spherical bone with two holes, like two dark and hollow eyes staring at us, above a horizontal slit that exposes a row of countless teeth. From the cylindrical center, limbs sprout forth. I count them, twice, three times, four times. To make sure.

Two at the top and two at the bottom. Just like the creature in the images.

Aloria clacks her beak in an expression of unease.

"It's the god," she croaks, "It has come to punish us!"

The creature's hollow eyes bore into me, and this time, I believe her.

I back away, but my legs give in. I scramble to her side on all eight, under the silent scrutiny of the nameless god of old. Shakily, I grab all our bags and pouches and move to the entrance of the cave. A small slope leads down towards a riverbed, where a stream is gurgling softly.

I look down at the pebbles. They appear dull and dark in the shadow of the little cave, like the eyes of the oldest of the Ancient ones, when they become so old that they return to the waters because they can no longer dwell on land.

I know nothing about the rites and customs of the people who once revered the four-limbed god of the black sun, and I can only hope that I can appeal to its mercy in the only way I know, the way of my own people and culture.

It is nighttime by now, and I take that as a good omen. I have never believed in the moon goddess, I believe in gaeomancy alone. But as the full moon casts a soothing silver glow on the landscape, I think that if the goddess truly exists, maybe this is her way of pleading for our sake with the angry, alien god.

"Forgive us," I whisper, "We didn't know. We didn't understand. Forgive us."

I empty the bags and watch the pebbles roll down the rocky slope. As they drop into the water, they begin to glow again with that eerie blue light. It is swiftly carried away by the stream, just like the luminescent eggs of the Lesser ones who are not allowed to enter the breeding grounds on the first day of the Season of Rearing. Like most creeks in this area, the water will be flowing towards the river Yoldre, passing through the city of Ornith and eventually joining the waters of the Calm Sea, where the Ancient ones are laid to rest.

I watch until the last of the flickering blue dots disappears from sight, and then look back at the avatar of the god.

The starspark is about to die down, and shadows dance across the creature's uncanny features. I cannot tell if it is appeased or scornful or perhaps amused - too confusing is its unfamiliar appearance. All I can do is hope for its mercy.

I feel endlessly tired but relieved as I move over to Aloria and wrap my arms around her tightly. Her breath is labored with pain, she is too weak to even whimper and only heaves a heavy sigh. I can feel my skin begin to melt where we touch, as if my flesh seeks to be one with hers, like in the way some of the creatures of the depths become one when they embrace.

"Soon, my love," I whispered. "We will be home soon."

____

A.N.

One of my resolutions for 2019 was to write a short story each month. Last month, I participated in a photo prompt contest, so had to stick to a word limit. This time, I wasn't so strict on myself, so it comes down to 3130... not too bad, I think.

I wanted to tell a story like this for quite some time. The final spark of inspiration was ignited when shared this link: https://daily.jstor.org/can-we-use-art-to-warn-future-humans-about-radioactive-waste/

I have often thought about this problem (somewhat a result of an obsession with nuclear physics in my teenage years) and in particular, how conceited it is of us to believe that we owe such warnings only to members of our own species.