People had questions and Oak had very few answers he wanted to give them. He could sympathize with their curiosity. If someone else, who by all accounts, was not a spellsinger nor had any deep knowledge of thaumaturgy, conjured huge gouts of flame in battle, he might have a couple of questions to ask as well.

That didn't make those questions or the curious and fearful stares any easier to handle.

They traveled only ten miles that day and even that felt like a small miracle. Three wagons sank to the bottom of the river during the crossing and six people drowned. One of them was a little boy, only eight summers old. To Oak's utter astonishment, many of his fellow travelers didn't know how to swim. So when a wagon sank, or they lost their grip on the ropes the teamsters had strung across the river, they just dropped to the riverbed like stones.

An absolute fucking travesty, but such was life on the trail. The Reaper lurked in every stream and pond, under every stone and twig. Waiting for a mistake. A lapse in judgement that would doom you and the people you held most dear. The Erelim worshipers must have felt right at home.

Hunted. That is what we are. Hunted by circumstance.

To Oak's relief, after the battle with the giant crocodile and the disastrous river crossing, most people were so bone-tired they had no energy to bother him with questions. Folk put up their tents, brushed their oxen, ate and passed out from exhaustion.

The relief didn't last for long.

In the morning after the battle, people swarmed him like flies. Ten different busybodies came to ask him pointed questions, and that was before Oak had eaten breakfast. For once, he was glad he looked like murder on two legs. If he had been a comely looking good humored lad, there might have been a hundred people nattering at him.

Oak shuddered at the thought and thanked the Corpse-God for all the scars on his face.

Tochukwu and the leaders of the different factions of the caravan had the decency to wait until Oak had eaten his breakfast. By three they came, and Priestess Ghadir, who led the Erelim worshipers, spoke first. She was a Muttalite woman in her late fifties, dressed in black robes and a headscarf of the same color, face like a death-mask carved out of driftwood.

Despite that, Ghadir somehow managed a kind smile. It was the eyes. Too gentle. Too gentle by far. Oak was instantly on edge. People with eyes like that would kill you and call it a blessing in disguise.

"Hello to you, Oak of the Northlands. How does the morning find you?" Ghadir asked, smiling like a doddering grandmother in the midst of a hunger strike.

"Well enough."

"That is good to hear. Very good. You see, we came to ask for a small favor," Ghadir said.

Tochukwu winced. He had the look of a man forced into a position he didn't much care for. The caravan leader shrugged and gestured with his hands, as if to say the matter was out of his hands at this point.

"Many of us saw you conjuring flame yesterday, but it is quite clear you are no spellsinger," Ghadir continued, her voice smooth like velvet. "You know how people are? They stir themselves up over the smallest things, especially on the road, away from their creature comforts. Could you do an old woman a kindness and reassure her congregation that you are not a Warlock?"

"I need no reassurance. Just want the truth." Ekundayo M'Barek, the captain of the mercenaries of the Golden Pact, scratched his long nose and grinned at Oak. "Ekundayo M'Barek at your service. Me and the priestess don't see eye to eye very often, if you can believe it. This is a rare treat."

Ekundayo was a heavyset man of maybe forty years of age. Clean shaven and clear-eyed. He had thick eyebrows, light brown skin and a scar shaped like a moon circlet on his left cheek. Oak figured he was part Koromite, part Muttalite.

If Oak had been dealing with just the Golden Pact, he might have told the truth. Most of them worshiped the 66th Legion; Samael's elites who had banded together after the fallen angel's death at the hands of the Seraphim and conquered a Hell for themselves from the demon Paimon. Ashmedai was on decent terms with the 66th Legion and the cultists of Glorious War would not kill him in his sleep.

Sadly, honesty is not in the cards. Right now, the best thing he could do was to keep things as ambiguous as possible. Ghadir and Ekundayo were not morons. They knew Oak was either a Warlock or a Chosen. They just didn't know which one he was. Both were probably leaning more towards the demonic side of things, but they could not be certain. Everyone knew that the Angelic Choir of the Cherubim valued their Chosen's ability to smite evil much higher than their table manners.

Hells, compared to some of the Cherubim's past battle maniacs, Oak was downright normal. He didn't even have any combat tentacles.

"I hear you, but I cannot help you. My business is my own." Oak squinted and glanced at the position of the sun. "Seems to me it's past time we got on the move. Apologies. I must hitch the oxen."

"Surely–" Ghadir started, a spot of irritation breaking through her calm exterior.

"Now, hold on a–" Ekundayo lifted a hand to forestall any complaints.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Oak didn't care. He just plowed right through the resistance.

"You must have misheard me. I must hitch the oxen. Good day to you both, Priestess and Captain."

***

Blessed silence lasted until they stopped for lunch. Since Oak had refused to confirm or deny the source of his powers, Ghadir pestered Sadia for the knowledge instead. Maybe the priestess thought the girl would be easier to pressure than a grown man.

Ghadir had barely gotten started with her rude interrogation, when Oak got up to tell her to shove it up her ass, but it turned out he needn't have bothered to.

"Leave me in peace, or I am going to rot your tits off. Then I will remove that shriveled patch of skin you call a face and wear it as a mask!" Sadia screamed from the bottom of her lungs. "If that doesn't scare away these fucking flies, nothing will!"

The people in the surrounding wagons stared at the little spellsinger like she had just grown a set of horns and sacrificed a virgin to the full moon.

Sadia might have some unresolved issues with priestesses.

By Ghadir's scandalized expression, Oak deduced it had been at least a decade since anyone had spoken to her like that. The priestess stalked away from their cooking fire in a huff, back straight and eyes flashing with rage.

"You got a mouth on you, girl." Ur-Namma grinned. The elf had pulled out a dagger, and he spun it in his hand, flipping it around with ease. "Not the wisest course of action, antagonizing her like that. But I enjoyed watching it."

"You got a reprimand for me, as well?" Sadia asked and threw a dark look in Oak's direction.

Oak lifted his hands in a signal of calm. "Far from it. I was about to tell her off myself. You just saved me the trouble."

"Right."

"Don't act your age, spellsinger. Oak is being sincere," Ur-Namma said. "I can tell by the empty look in his eyes. That dull mind could not even envision the low cunning needed to lie."

Sadia guffawed, despite her apparent attempt to hold on to her anger.

"Thanks, Ur-Namma. I'm really feeling the love," Oak replied and got back to eating his beans.

Fucking beans.

At least Geezer didn't make fun of him.

***

That night, Oak couldn't sleep. He felt restless and no matter which way he turned on his sleeping pad, something was off. A stone dug into his shoulder. There was a root right where his spine rested. His toes itched. He tried sleeping with a blanket. It was too hot. He tried sleeping without a blanket. It was too cold.

After twisting and turning for a good while, trying and failing to fall asleep, he got up and went for a walk. Geezer, the saint that he was, came along to keep him company. They didn't stray far, walking along the perimeter of the caravan and keeping the wagons in their sight at all times.

Wandering aimlessly in places you were not familiar with at night was not advisable. In fact, Tochukwu had stressed that such stupidity was to be avoided at all costs if he wanted to survive the journey across the Hundred Kingdoms intact.

Which was why Oak didn't know what to do when he heard sniffling in the distance. Someone was crying. A female someone, if his ears didn't betray him.

I don't think this counts as aimless wandering, exactly. After all, I have a destination in mind.

Armed with justification and a huge fucking falchion, Oak set out towards the crying. The sound came from behind a large rock jutting out of the flat plain, some ways away from the caravan perimeter. As he got closer, he realized the voice was familiar.

"Hi," Oak said and sat down next to Sadia. Geezer licked the girl's cheek and pushed his head in the crook of her neck, offering what comfort he could.

"Hi," Sadia replied with a broken voice. The girl buried her face in Geezer's rough fur and wept.

"FRIEND. WHY SAD?" Geezer asked.

"Yeah. Do you want to talk about it?" Oak palmed some loose earth and let it slip through his fingers, staring into the dark horizon. It was a cloudy night. "No pressure."

Sadia sighed. "Why not?"

She wiped her eyes on her sleeves and stared morosely at the ground, biting at her thin lower lip. Sadia tried to speak, faltered, and her mouth clicked shut.

"I–I don't even know how to begin."

"Take your time, girl. The world's ready-made, so we are in no rush."

Geezer laid his head on the girl's lap and they sat together in the darkness, listening as the wind howled across the plain. Oak could hear rodents skittering in the long grass, dashing around on their little legs and searching for food.

Miles away, a hyena's barking laughter sent a flock of birds fleeing to the sky.

"Everyone always dies or abandons me." Sadia hid her face in her hands and sniffled. "Dad left before I was born. I never even met him. Lost plenty of friends in the slums and had to leave the rest behind when me and mom fled the war. Then those fuckers killed mom."

Sadia shook, sobs wracking her thin frame as she held onto Geezer for dear life.

"I'm tired, Oak. I just wanted a friend. A single friend." Sadia glanced at him, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Well, Creation delivered and then took her away in the same breath. Ekua was so bloody kind. She deserved better. It's not fair."

"You are right. It ain't fair."

A lump formed in Oak's throat, refusing to budge. He had never been good at consoling people. No one had ever expected it from him, either. Usually, he was the reason folk needed consoling in the first place. Not a good foundation for providing a shoulder to cry on. Oak stared at the girl, brows furrowed and heart aching, and came to a decision.

You deserve better too, little spellsinger.

"Listen to me, and listen well, Sadia. This is my oath to you. I ain't abandoning you, not ever. And I won't die either. You can count on that." Oak pressed a fist over his heart and grabbed Sadia's shoulder. "Wrath and struggle eternal, girl. I will stand by your side, as long as you will have me."

"But–"

"NO. WE PROMISE." Geezer poked Sadia on the nose with his snout. "YOU. MY PACK."

"Damn you two." Sadia hugged Geezer and wept. "I will hold you both to that promise, then."

"GOOD. NOW SCRATCH ME."

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