Arzhur

Sand tore across Arzhur’s skin as he huddled as low and tight as he could against the weathered stone.

The storm had come out of nowhere. Seconds ago the sky had been its usual dusty blue-gray, and he’d been, as usual, digging for relics. He’d even remembered *all* his tools this time, from the delicate brushes used to clear away the fine grains of sand from brittle bones to the corrosive acids used to dissolve the stubbornest magical wards.

Ruin hunting was serious work. Not for the faint of heart, or the forgetful.

He adjusted his mask and pulled his hood down further. Blast, he’d forgotten something after all. His goggles. The stone he’d managed to scramble behind was taking the worst of the beating, but already his eyes watered from stray grains of sand, and he huddled down tighter, tucking his head and covering his eyes with his paws. Nothing to do but wait it out…

He had no idea how long he waited. Time had no meaning in the storm, and he couldn’t even hear his own breathing over the howling of the wind in his ears. His feathers slowly filled with sand, and every movement sent it trickling down his skin.

And then suddenly…silence.

And then through the silence, a voice, as hissing and silky as the storm had been dry and howling. “State your request.”

Arzhur’s head popped up, and he blinked sand out of his watering eyes. The storm had cleared much of the sand, revealing a wide, circular platform carved entirely of stone. Strange runes ringed the center in three clear lines, and within the runic circles was a figure. A shadow, with glowing eyes, a croocked, slimy form, and long, agile fingers.

Arzhur shook himself, scattering sand, then heaved himself up, sitting neatly on the stone he’d been sheltering behind, and folding his wings. He curled his tail around his feet too, for good measure, and answered. “I don-”

He coughed, that blasted sand had gotten in his mask! He wrenched it off and coughed again, horribly aware of the things glowing gaze upon him. “don’t judge me,” he rasped, then tried again. “I have traveled far in both body and mind searching for you, shadow spirit.”

The spirit nodded once, a few glowing blue mushrooms sprouting along its spine and instantly withering to nothing. “That much is clear,” it said. “State your request.”

Arzhur cleared his throat again, licking his dry lips. He’d thought long and hard about his request, but he still didn’t want to rush. This was a delicate process, and one wrong word could land him in serious trouble. He shook a bit of sand out of his tattered garments and said, “I don’t have the usual sort of request.”

“Oh?” The spirit tilted its murky-looking head, a few more mushrooms poppingup and fading away. “You have come quite far, but not for money, power or revenge?”

“None of those things,” Arzhur agreed, a bit sheepishly. “I know it might not be proper, but…I’m quite sure I’ve thought of the best possible request.”

The being shrugged. “Name it.”

Arzhur could tell it did not expect to be either surprised or impressed. He licked his lips again and said, very carefully and clearly “I request you -- as my assistant, and companion on my travels.”

The spirit froze with mushrooms half sprouted from it murky puddle-feet. It stared at him. “M..me?”

Arzhur nodded. “You are agile,” he said. “I’ve done the research – you can fit into small places, can see in total darkness, have knowledge of the ancient languages and their meanings…I cannot think of a better companion for a treasurehunter like myself.”

The spirit tilted its head, considering him. “A treasure hunter,” it said. “So you would have me travel at your side. Seeing…far off places…and new lands….” A dreamy quality entered the hiss of its voice. And then it wilted, looking at the circles of runes. “I cannot. I am…bound here.” It looked at him. “Choose a different request.”

“I already chose,” Arzhur said, stubbornly. He drew one of the vials of acid from a pouch, and slid down off the rock, going to the outermost ring. “And you are bound to grant my wish… “ he tipped some acid on the rune of binding – one of the few he recognized. The stone carving melted under the acid’s hungry presence, “…So don’t give me any excuses.”

There was an audible ‘whuff’ of dispersed power. Sand billowed outwards and the shadow spirit made a strangled gasping noise, momentarily collapsing into a puddle.

For a second Arzhur was afraid he’d killed it. But then, slowly, the spirit raised its head from the puddle of goop, bright mushrooms sprouting all over its shoulders and head…and staying. “I…would love to come with you,” it whispered, a tremble in its voice. “I have been stuck here for so long… why…how…?”

Arzhur smiled at it. “It’s a long story,” he said, beckoning for the spirit to come forward.

Slowly it did, flowing over the stone, leaving no trail as it crossed one, two, three rings of runes. “I would greatly like to hear it,” it said, sounding almost shy.

“Hear it you will,” Arzhur said, still smiling. “We have a long way to go, for our first target. I’ll tell you on the way.”

MisterArtist