There was a rustle of leather and fabric as Maisha unbuckled her pack, followed by a faint liquid sloshing. The light that banished the darkness had a green tinge to it, revealing a broad circular space lacking anything save a dust-covered tile floor and a circular stone stairwell. It traced along the spire’s wall, curving up into the darkness that waited above.

“Glow worm sap,” Maisha explained, giving a wan smile as she shook the glass jar in her hand. The light emanating from it increased its glow a fraction, Pilgrim noting how it revealed yet deeper shadows beneath her eyes. Seeing his scrutiny she looked away, staggering a little and causing Kusiph to come to her side.

“She needs to rest,” he said, glaring at Priest with an expression that dared him to voice a challenge.

“We all do,” Priest agreed. “We can’t venture out until daylight in any case.”

“Why?” Seeker asked. “What’s out there?”

“Over a million souls dwelt in this city before the fall. Many remained in its wake, and they are not quiet.”

He glanced at the door as he spoke, causing Pilgrim to take a closer look. “This is no more than ten years old,” he said, running a hand along the rust-free iron of the lock.

“Ours is not the first pilgrimage,” Priest replied. “Not all were sent with the intent of reaching the Crescent, but to prepare the way for those that would.”

“How long has it been?” Book enquired. “Since the last pilgrimage, I mean to say?”

“A year.” The cleric’s face clouded and he gathered his cloak about him, moving to sit down at the base of the staircase. “Eight souls led by our Arch-Prelate, the head of our order. Only one returned, a woman who came to pray for knowledge. She had been a great scholar in her homeland, feted for her wisdom, but thirsted for more. How she made it back to us will forever be a mystery. When she walked out of the Whispering Sands her eyes were gone from her head, torn out by her own hands, and yet she was smiling. ‘He answered my prayer,’ was all she said and would offer no word on the fate of our Prelate. She refused all offers of help and wandered into the desert. We never saw her again.”

None of them said anything to break the silence that followed, instead all finding what comfort they could and settling down for the night. They clustered close to the light from Maisha’s jar, eating a sparse meal from the rations provided by the priests in the chapel. It was bland fare, consisting of hard tack and some form of cured meat which only Chena seemed to find appetising. After the meal, the jar’s glow began to fade, regardless of how vigorously Maisha shook it.

“I have more,” she said, voice weary as she reached for her pack.