Chapter XIII - Mourning Sands

Trudging through the devouring sands, beneath the blinding whiteish sun painting the sky a pale yellow, Zykon could feel his limbs on the verge of giving up. At this point he mostly crept, the weight of the sands pulling him downwards, keeping his feet in place. He shouldn’t have struggled so much, sands have been present all throughout his life. His feet have felt them since he was born. Yet the master's words made perfect sense now; out in the wilderness the sands were not as thin as in Kaluh’a’jul. They were much denser and heavier, even experienced people could struggle with traversing it. A complication, true, but he knew that through It’s grace, he was going to master walking on it.

Standing in the middle of the group, he could see Master Delemon up above, leading them forward. Chatter echoed behind him, voices complaining about water, others about the scorching sun that felt warmer than ever, others simply wondering what awaited them on this journey. Since they left, Zykon has noticed his brethren often talking to one another, discussing various topics, praying or simply having a laugh. This has made him enjoy solitude more than he could have imagined and allowed him to focus on what the mission asked of him. Friendships were important, he knew that much, but that wasn’t his reason for joining the covenant. Through the mission he chose to accept alongside his brethren, he had to grow in the things he lacked, and that meant distancing himself from distractions such as the presence of others. People were necessary, but It was more so and making It proud, as well as Master Delemon, was something Zykon obviously could not fail in.

One thing that bothered him was the fact that he gave no importance to the map they viewed earlier, leaving him blinded as to where they were exactly. He remembers the name at least – Ar’kish Valley – yet he cannot remember where the villages were placed on the map. Watching and examining Master Delemon carry out the duties of the covenant had that effect on him, making him forget about other things that needed his attention. One man doing so many things at once, felt burdensome. Not only did the master lead them, but he also organized them, made sure there was enough food and water and prayed over them, all while doing It’s will. Being like that meant a lot. But being like that was what Zykon needed. Stepping up, taking the lead, displaying courage. There was no denying it; Master Delemon relied on the power of It to do so many great things.

His thoughts were disturbed by hurried steps from behind and as he spun to the right, he noticed a brother coming beside him.

“Thirsty, Zykon?” said Myhrr, an older brother, reaching for him with a waterskin.

He shook his head. “No. Besides, we have to be careful with how much we drink. There’s no basins nearby for refills.”

Myhrr pulled his arm beside him and nodded. “True, yet don’t let keep you dehydrated. And there are basins in this valley. The map said so.”

Zykon nodded and kept silent, peeking down at his steps. Myhrr advanced beyond him. “How is the experience so far? How do you find the covenant?”

He shrugged. “It’s… not… what I expected. But I’m enjoying it so far. It’s what I wanted to do since I was a child.”

“I didn’t think our covenant was popular with children.”

“Well… it was with me,” Zykon replied solemnly.

“I see. That’s a good thing.”

Silence settled between them, allowing the sound of sand pressed against their boots to become louder. Oftentimes he viewed people as being… strange. This constant need for talking, when there was nothing important to talk about, annoyed him. Conversations had to have a reason to happen, otherwise they were unnecessary. The covenant promised him one key thing – solitude. From the noisy world of flesh, from other people, from the world itself. That solitude was made even greater by the idea of living for It. And living for It is the main idea of joining the covenant.

Myhrr chuckled in annoyance. “Not too talkative, I see?”

Zykon forced a smile then glanced in the opposite direction.

Through the few times they talked, Zykon understood what kind of person Myhrr was – one that always tried to lift the spirits of others, and one that always liked to chat. While appreciative of his thoughtful approach, he could not get over how annoying sometimes his desire to chat felt.

“Your choice, Zykon. Only It knows what’s inside your soul, I am merely an outsider. Yet, what I wish you understood, is that being part of the covenant means being part of a group. Solitude is a gift meant to share with your brethren. Don’t forget that.”

“I… understand. I appreciate your words, Myhrr.”

“Thank It, Zykon. Not me,” he replied, patting him on the shoulder and then advancing past him.

Tilting his head, Zykon gazed at the sky, taking in its strange coloring and allowing his face to absorb the blinding light. He thanked It in his mind and asked for forgiveness for his way of being. Myhrr was right – the covenant was a community. As part of that community, Zykon had the responsibility of being close to others, engaging with them and carrying out the It’s will alongside them, not being on his own. And still, it didn’t make things any easier. Growing up, Zykon often secluded himself from those around, viewing people mostly as nice to be around, but not a necessity. His mother was the only exception to that rule. Since childhood he often saw the desires of others and felt… disgusted at them. Wealth, status or family were the main dreams those around him had, and he saw them as meaningless. Man had to be more than this, than simple earthly wishes. Man had the opportunity of living for the one who created him – It. This was far more fulfilling to Zykon than any other dream out there. Kaluh’a’jul did not do enough in that regard, enough to show people that a better role awaited them in life. Mainly devoting their lives to It in a ritualistic way, the faith of those in the city is far from what it needs to be. This needs to change. People need their eyes opened and hopefully, through the covenant, he could do that.

Eventually they climbed atop a hill and came to a standstill. Screeching noises came from below them, echoing in the vast nothingness of the wild deserts. Zykon peeked in the direction of the sound and noticed a herd of animals sitting in a depression below them.

“What… are those things?” a brother asked, frowning.

“Olihs,” said Master Delemon. “Strong, stubborn animals. Taming them is a chore, but they are useful animals if you manage to.”

Zykon stepped forward, reaching the edge of the hill and squinting his eyes, he examined them. Their bodies looked… odd. Their lower half was made out of long, slim legs, which made them appear tall at first. However, their arms were small and bulky, making their bodies look unbalanced. And the more they walked, the clearer it became to Zykon that the animals couldn’t even move naturally, let alone run. Something even stranger were their mouths. They looked rather wide, almost… human-like. From the sands beneath sprouted plants, brownish in color, quite dense and tall, which attracted the olihs’ attention, the animals chewing on them unbothered.

“They’re eating the maka. So, they’re not predators,” Zykon said.

“Correct. They couldn’t be even if they tried. Conflict is something those animals avoid at all costs, since their legs are barely capable of moving them,” Master Delemon replied.

“Well… how do they fight predators? They don’t look as strong as you mentioned them to be,” another brother said, gesturing at the animals.

“They don’t, Vo’kryon. Instead, they rely on their keen sense of sight to get them out of danger. That’s why they have six eyes instead of the usual two.”

“Which gives them time to retreat before anything bad could happen. Interesting, ” Zykon said, rubbing his chin.

Master Delemon nodded, and turned towards him, smiling. “Very well pointed out.”

Zykon beamed as he noticed his master’s reaction, a sense of happiness invading him rapidly. Being acknowledged by him meant more than any other word of encouragement he could receive from anyone else. To impress Master Delemon, a man holding such an important role in Kaluh’a’jul, a man carrying with him so much strength and presence, was to impress a devoted servant of It. One that was teaching Zykon to be more like him.

“Beautiful creatures. Could we ride them?” another brother asked, yawning.

Master Delemon frowned amusedly. “Well, Brimion, I just mentioned that taming them is a monumental task. Would you like us to continue our journey and leave you to struggle in that task?”

“No, it’s alright. I believe you. They look much better from up here than they would from down there,” Brimion said, resting his arms behind his head.

“I believed so. Besides, climbing them required a ladder, which we obviously lack. Their usefulness to us comes from their feces, actually.”

Zykon and his brethren eyed the master, frowning deeply.

“Fe…ces?” asked Vo’kryon, visibly disgusted by the idea.

“It sounds odd, true. However, those people sometimes struggle to find food in the wilderness. Kaluh’a’jul is lucky in that regard, not so much these people. Olihs feces are used quite often, and are incredibly healthy. Some cities even sell them as delicacies,” Master Delemon explained, gesturing firmly.

The image of eating such a… food made Zykon grimace. Throughout his life, he ate lots of disgusting foods, from sand bread to leaves, and he knew that what master said was not far-fetched. Doesn’t make it any less horrible to think about. Laws forbade anyone in Kaluh’a’jul from eating meat, so people found other means of nourishment. These means rarely had any taste to them, and if they did, they often made his stomach grumble in pain, asking to be left in peace. Nevertheless, he survived. But feces… was where he drew the line.

“Well…” another brother said, sighing, “if we run out of food…”

Brimion snorted then let out a loud laugh. “Go ahead and eat the feces, Kyzan. Make sure to let us know how they taste. We value your opinion greatly.”

Master Delemon shook his head, his face as stern as ever. “There is enough food to last us a couple more days, so we won’t need to eat them, thankfully. Yet, we need to start planning for the moment when our reserves run out,” he turned from them, gazing into the distance. “Near the Nama’hiri Wall is a forest, filled with fruits. We have to stop by and gather a few.”

“Isn’t there a village near the wall that we should come across? The maps said so,” pointed out Myhrr, approaching the master.

Master Delemon spun and pointed towards a hill, taller than theirs. “There is one beyond the hill. We have to climb it and then we’ll see it.”

Climb? The hill looked dangerously tall, not to mention abrupt. Climbing it was… an aspect one would not take into consideration when glancing upon such a hill. Wide, stretching like a wall separating the lands, the hill in question was more than a challenge. It was impossible. And still, that didn’t stop Master Delemon from deciding their course of action. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that captured him, as he took into consideration climbing it. He scratched his head, gazing at the ground, examining how to best approach it. Their boots were incredibly useful in many scenarios, giving them the ability to remain steady, even on shifting sands. However, were they that useful? He lifted his leg, noticing the little bumps on the surface of it. Maybe. Perhaps. Either way, there was no way around it, no way he could choose not to climb the hill. Zykon felt his throat drying up and he swallowed loudly, attracting the master's attention.

“Zykon, it’s alright. It is tall, I know, but we’ll manage. Pray to It and follow, stick close to us.”

He nodded slowly, then a little faster as he tried to convince himself things will be alright. Will he succeed or make a fool out of himself?

“Let’s move,” Master Delemon said, marching.

They all fell behind him and descended back in the valley which led them towards the other hill.

“Master, may I ask you something?” asked a taller brother.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are there no… predators around? We left Kaluh’a’jul for a few days now and we haven’t come across any. I remember my father telling me stories about great beasts roaming the sands, yet I saw none.”

“You don’t want to meet predators, Xerk. That’s not why we’re here, nor is it going to be a reason for us to travel the sands.”

“But… shouldn’t there be more animals? Hunting? Fighting? Taking care of their cubs?”

“Not if there’s an even bigger predator than those you’re thinking about.”

Zykon perked up, frowning deeply. “There’s legends talking abou-”

“Yes, there are,” Master Delemon declared. “I doubt any of you want to see it for yourselves.”

“What legends? What is Zykon talking about?” Xerk said, apprehension taking hold of his childish voice.

“Kur’kul.” said Myhrr, his voice carrying worry. “You wonder why there’s not many predators around? Most of them are afraid. Afraid of something far greater than them all.”

“Isn’t Kur’kul a myth made to keep children away from the wild sands?” Brimion asked, scowling mockingly.

Myhrr spun to meet him, lifting his eyebrows. “It’s real, brother. And you all heard the master – you don’t want to see it. That beast is capable of destroying villages and devouring other species like they’re a bunch of frightened chickens.”

Zykon gazed at the sands below, rubbing his chin, feeling dread conquer him. Kur’kul was indeed a legend, one that he often heard his mother teach him about as he grew up. Teaching was to put it mild; she mostly terrified him, trying to keep him from wandering into the wilderness, which as far as he was concerned, worked. Even if for him the myth worked, some other people wanted to prove its existence, and marched into the wilds to find it. Some returned, some never did. Many of Kaluh’a’jul deem it to be just that – a legend. However, Zykon knew there was much more to it than simply that. Much more that he wanted to find out, but knew what that would require of him and for now, he chose to toss it aside.

“Don’t let this story distract you.” Master Delemon commanded, “It will protect us from any beasts, be it Kur’kul. Our minds should be focused on our mission. We mustn’t allow distractions to grab our attention.”

And just like that, the topic came to an end, no one wishing to discuss it any further. Thank It for such a leader gifted to them.

Finally, they arrived at the hill seen before, now a towering giant before them, blocking the sky above. Sweat dripped down Zykon’s cheeks as he examined it, trying to find the best approach. Yet before he could find one, Master Delemon already dug his feet in the sands, walking atop the hill like it belonged to him. Slowly afterwards, everyone followed, Zykon included. Uncertainty paralyzed him about half-way, and he glanced below, seeing the deep fall that awaited him should he fall.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Move, Zykon. Pray to It and move, do not look back,” shouted Master Delemon from up above.

He nodded and swallowed, ascending. Step by step, feeling his legs tiring under the intense pressure, he climbed. When his legs felt like giving up, he collapsed on the ground and used his hands to push him further, throwing specks of sand behind him. He chose against looking back anymore, especially given how close the top seemed to be. Praying under gritted teeth, Zykon used every ounce of his body’s power still left, pushing, digging, lifting himself, trying to beat the hill. Finally he reached the top and breathing heavily, he collapsed on the ground, sand falling on his face and garments as he did so.

“I’m impressed, Zykon,” said Myhrr. “I wasn’t expecting you to climb so easily. First time I did something like this, I fell about twice or thrice and the master had to come help me.”

Zykon groaned and lifted himself up on his feet, brushing away the sand. And in that moment, he shook his head in disbelief. He swiveled instantly, looking behind him. He climbed it. The entire hill. So far high. It was… unbelievable. He actually had the courage to do something as wild as this, something he would have naturally avoided at all costs. Not to mention the fact that he did it alongside Master Delemon, and he was also witnessed by others. The young boy he knew was able to climb a mountain of a hill. Zykon beamed as the realization became more clearer.

“I… did… it,” he said, confidence exploding within him. “I can’t believe that I actually climbed so… much.” he glanced around, “From this high up we’re practically ruling over the deserts.”

“Zykon,” Master Delemon said sternly. “Deny yourself! This climb was not solely your doing.” he pointed above.

Zykon wiped away his smile and bowed, adjusting his voice. “You’re right… master. I apologize for… what I said. Won’t happen again.”

“No need to apologize to me. You already know who you need to do that to.”

Shaking his head, Zykon pushed against his foolishness, his own pride in himself. A grave mistake he made, one that would most certainly cost how the master views him now. Why is the body so hard to resist? The emotions so hard to push against? Yet… he didn’t feel like he was entirely wrong in his choice of words. After all, he was the one that climbed upon the hill, not It. It only helped him, gave him the strength necessary to finish his fight against the hill, and granted him the courage to conquer it. In the end, Zykon was the one that did all the physical effort. So why was the master so… harsh in his words? Was Zykon’s way of thinking… wrong in some way?

Perhaps Master Delemon was simply tired. Overburdened by such an important task. Zykon knew things couldn’t be easy for him — that is one of the many reasons he wishes to learn from him — so it is understandable if his reaction came from needing to rest. His master may be a strong man, but he was still a man, just like the rest of them. Zykon himself knows how his physical needs can influence his emotional ones. He can only pray to It to grant the master what he needs and stop upsetting him.

“There it is. Ul’am’ajaki,” Master Delemon said as he closed in on the edge of the opposite side of the hill.

Zykon paced forward and as he reached the edge, the village in question revealed itself. Placed in a stretch of land, surrounded by dunes, flowers and withered trees, the village was not big by any means, yet sizable enough to fit a considerable number of people. Smoke came out of chimneys, which made Zykon frown as he noticed, since there was no need for a fire to be made. There never was, not as far as he could remember growing up. However, the trees signaled something important – winter was approaching. Kaluh’a’jul is warm most of the time, but maybe other places are not?

“Rather small for what I anticipated. I doubt there’s many people living there. Especially this out in the wilderness,” said Brimion, rubbing his bearded jaw.

“Why would… those people want to live far away from anything… remotely human? Isn’t it dangerous to do so? What if a sandstorm hits them?” asked Vo’kryon, scratching his head and tilting it in confusion.

“We don’t judge people on the choices they make, so please,” Master Delemon said, raising his palm in annoyance. “While living out in the wild sands is dangerous, it is not impossible. And you can notice it. You’d be surprised just how easily these people can take care of themselves.”

“Besides, Vo’kryon,” Myhrr interrupted, “these people have a lot of resources around. Look at the trees. They wither now, true, but when they’ll blossom, food will be abundant. And sandstorms may hit them, but their walls are tall. They can protect them.”

Brimion snorted. “These walls holding against a sandstorm? Are we sure we’re talking about the same sandstorms brothers?” he raised his arms in confusion, “the ones that constantly fall upon Kaluh’a’jul? I think we all know how many issues our city has with them. I find it too nice to believe they don’t have the same problems, if not worse.”

Master Delemon shook his head. “Kaluh’a’jul is an exception, Brimion. Sandstorms are less powerful in the plains than near mountains. Those people don’t face what we have to face, and not as regularly either.”

“Nevertheless,” Myhrr said, “a storm is still a storm. So we better not wish to hit us, now do we? They may lack the same strength as those in Kaluh’a’jul, but being caught in one — alone, with no shelter — means certain death.”

“It… keep us safe!” said Vo’kryon, staring at the sky with his palms clasped.

Everyone repeated the same phrase and descended towards the village. As it came into sight, Zykon took notice of the walls – tall, yes, but not quite. Nowhere near those of Kaluh’a’jul’s, that was certain. He knew they were made out of sandstone from their rough facade. Through an overhead flat arch, equipped with a rusty gate, carriages rolled in and out of the village in a hurried manner. Too hurried of a manner for someone that was in no danger. Nobody bothered to acknowledge them, to say anything, to stop and ask where they come from. It was as if they didn’t even exist. Zykon caught a glimpse of the men’s faces as they passed them. They were afraid, yet there was no danger. They entered the village and were met by a long, curving pathway, houses huddled together on each side like people in a busy marketplace. But no one was outside. No children playing, no women doing house work, no men praying. Absolute stillness, as if nobody actually lived here. As they advanced slowly, he noticed that windows were shut, giving him no way of seeing inside. A few of them had pieces of wood mounted hurriedly for… more protection? He struggled to understand the point of it. The smoke coming from the chimneys clearly proved there were people living in this village, yet no one… came out. They arrived at a crossroad, which looked like the center of the village. Before them stood a statue placed in the middle, its head cut off, hanging loosely from the body. It was clear something bad happened here. Were they attacked? By bandits? Or… Famagh’ugh?

“Well, they certainly are a very welcoming bunch. Are we sure we want to stay here?” asked Brimion, sneering.

Master Delemon gave off a flat stare. “We are sure. Something terrible happened over here. It has to bless them.”

A groan sounded nearby. They turned and looked under a sloping roof, where an elderly man sat, half-asleep and bruised. Approaching, Zykon noticed the wounds on his folded arms. Cut wounds. Tiny. Fresh. Occasionally blood dripped from them, colored a bright red. He seemed… oblivious to them. Like they weren’t even there, almost in front of him now. Seeing the man, Zykon received all the confirmation needed. This place suffered an attack, and quite recently. Yet, no visible destruction met them. No homes were demolished, and while the walls were in need of some maintenance, they were intact. If Famagh’ugh were actually responsible for this, Zykon found it hard to believe they would be so kind if they actually were behind this attack.

While the damage on his arms was minor, the cuts were probably done to terrify him rather than hurt him, the elder man looked rather pale. Corpse-like even. He snored, but his breathing seemed hard, and it had an unusual sound to it. Was he sick? Dying even? Poor man.

Right before entering under the roof, the elder awoke sluggishly and then as he saw them, he jolted violently to his feet, pointing a cane at them, as if ready to fight them at any moment.

“We come in peace, friend. No need to be frightened,” said Master Delemon, raising his arms to appear as harmless as possible.

“P-p-peace?” the elder asked, grimacing. “Peace ye say? I know ye peace, creature.”

The elder spoke with so much disdain, it was hard to remain focused on his words. As if he hated them just for existing, just for daring to sit near him. For someone that barely looked alive, he now had a lot of vigor in him, ready to challenge the entire covenant even.

“What are you talking about, elder? What happened in this place?” asked Myhrr.

“Peace happened here. That’s what happened,” the elder replied, stumbling as he advanced slowly, his eyes like those of a predator.

Master Delemon bowed sluggishly. “We do not know what you speak of, but we assure you, we’re not here to cause trouble. We are here to serve you in any way you need.”

Everyone followed Master Delemon’s signal and bowed. Hopefully this way the man understood they were not here to cause trouble. Because even if the man was far beyond his greatest years, the sheer hatred in his voice made Zykon fear an encounter with him. Who knows just how strong he could be in a fight?

The elder snorted mockingly. “Ye bow to me? Ye want to help me? Where were ye when the vicious ones attacked? When they beat us? Took our wives for themselves? Where?”

Zykon clenched his jaw as he was carried back to the moment Kaluh’a’jul was invaded. So much death, so much destruction and suffering and for what? Just so they can assert their dominance? To show others their strength? Their power? Such vileness like that in Famagh’ugh was something Zykon couldn’t comprehend. There should be no place anywhere for such… people. Justice has to be served.

“Where, creatures? I can’t call you any different than that. For ye are no man, just creatures. Taking, killing, doing whatever you deem fit!” the elder said, spitting on the ground in front of them.

“We apologize for what you endured and we understand that it hurts. No need to call us creatures, for we are men just like you. We are not responsible for what was done to you, but we would like to know who was.”

The elder leaned forward violently and raised his arms. “They looked like ye! Dressed in robes, carrying weapons, their faces painted. They were like ye. Don’t try to fool me!”

Zykon punched the sands below and received a flat stare and a shake of the head from Master Delemon. He nodded and apologized in his mind, feeling embarrassed by his action. No more need for further examination – Famagh’ugh were here.

They all stood. “Elder, those… people you have seen, they may look like us, but they’re far from who we are. We are the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul and we are on a mission in Bahar to bring aid to those in need, to help in any way we can, to provide our services for the betterment of others,” said Master Delemon, his low voice carrying so much compassion.

“Kaluh’a’jul?” the elder said, perking up with a frown. “Weren’t ye destroyed? Brought to rubble?”

“Elder, our city’s fate is not yours to mock!” said Kyzan, stepping forward with narrowed eyes. Myhrr pulled on his arm, dragging him backwards.

The elder chuckled. “What can ye even do anymore? Ye’ve been destroyed, Kaluh’a’jul, ye matter no more.”

Zykon tensed, the words spoken by the elder increasing his… hatred? He shouldn’t hate, those emotions were not meant to be had. Yet… how could he not hate Famagh’ugh for their actions? For making him suffer? For taking his mother? For making him a coward? He sighed, letting go of his emotions. He needs to know better than this. Praise It… for only It knows what’s best for him.

Master Delemon stepped forward lightly. “Kaluh’a’jul was attacked, elder. That is correct. But that is not why we are here, nor does that make us weak. Our mission is to help those in need, just as It, our God, helped us when we needed. We would appreciate it if you ceased talking about us in this way.”

The elder waved dismissively and mumbled something to himself, before turning to sit.

“The ones that attacked you are the ones we are trying to protect you against. So, can you give us more details about what happened? Where did they go?”

“Details? What good are details doing? Already told ye, they came a couple of nights ago for the first time, started stealing our food, our livestock, our tools. Then they left. They returned another night and began threatening us to give them more, so we gave them. Some entered our homes and did as they pleased. We tried fighting back, but they cut us. And grinned while doing it. Murdered a few children, a few men. Creatures, I tell ye,” the elder said, spitting on the ground, his nostrils flaring.

Master Delemon folded his arms and sighed. “We understand and we apologize for what you endured. Could we rest for the night here? To protect you in case they return?”

“No!” the elder snapped. “Ye not staying here! Ye want to finish what they started? No! Ye leave our home, now.”

Suddenly, people opened their windows to glance outside, the elder’s shout echoing loudly in the empty streets. Turning to see them, Zykon noticed women carrying children, their faces bruised or cut. Even a few children looked like that. His eyes widened with empathy. A few men stepped out of their homes to take a better look at what was happening, and as Zykon saw them, he glimpsed into eyes lacking any hope. These men looked… strengthless. As if they were not men anymore, but… something else. Men that needed to protect their village, to fend off against attackers, to take care of their families were… reduced to simply existing. Accepting their fates without doing anything to change them. Obviously, there was nobody among them capable of protecting against Famagh’ugh. Only the covenant could. How could this elder refuse their help when their situation is this dire?

“Elder, we don’t think you understa-”

“I understand, creature! Ye are not sitting here, among our wives and children, among our homes that we built, with our own hands. Bare hands! Ye may not be as the other creatures, but ye are still creatures nonetheless. Ye may leave. We’ll take care of ourselves,” the elder said with a troubling cough.

Zykon gestured towards the homes. “Elder, the people are terrified. You need hel-”

“Ye don’t tell me what we need, boy! Look after yourself, stop trying to tell me what we need. We can protect ourselves. Don’t need a boy to tell us what to do.”

Zykon shifted his head towards the ground, his eyes half-closed. He only wanted to help. There was no need to be called a boy. True, he was one, he had… a long way to go until he could call himself a man, but the elder shouldn’t have been like that. Being a boy doesn’t mean he could not help.

Myhrr advanced, adjusting his voice. “Elder, with all due respect, you are terribly wrong. Clearly you’re not doing a good job at protecting your people, even with your walls in place, they can still enter whenever they want. We can help you.”

“Ye cannot! Ye can only help us by leaving, and never return. We had enough creatures in our homes already. Don’t need more. Now go!”

Everyone glanced at one another, confused. This elder was… so relentless in trying to get rid of them. For someone in his situation, Zykon simply couldn’t understand his way of thinking. Help came their way, brought by the grace of It, help in the form of capable people that could fend off against Famagh’ugh, and he rejected them. These people were not going to make it, not like this. And the elder seemed fine with the idea of leaving his people defenseless, or he just simply lost any bit of trust he still had before encountering Famagh’ugh. True, what they’ve been through… was awful. Still, that was not a good reason to not fight back, to not push against those that oppress you. Suffering should… strengthen them, not make them abandon any hope. Just as suffering made him choose to stop being a coward. If Zykon chose to cower further after the invasion, what would have happened to him? Would he have been here now, on a journey to become what he needs to be? No. He wouldn’t have. That is precisely why these people… should not cast them away.

“Very well,” said Master Delemon with a sigh. “We shall leave,” he bowed, smiling faintly then turned towards the covenant, “come, let’s move.”

Zykon cocked his head. “Master, these people are go-”

“I know, Zykon. Their choice is their choice, we cannot force them to do what they don’t want to,” Master Delemon said, eyeing the homes, a hint of pity in his eyes. “We can only pray to It that they will be alright. Now, let’s move.”

For a brief moment, Zykon stood, further confused by his master’s words. They shouldn’t abandon them like this, they should stand and fight. This way they could help them and fight Famagh’ugh, possibly even deal a blow in their numbers. Maybe this way they could also do something for Kaluh’a’jul. He shook his head, grimacing. No, he needs to follow master’s orders. It will protect these people, even if they couldn’t. And Famagh’ugh… as much as Zykon wants to face them, it shouldn’t be his place to bring justice to them.

They marched through the village, another exit coming in sight. Approaching, a rotten smell began invading their nostrils, forcing Zykon to frown. The smell was intense, and it seemed to come from near the gate. The moment they reached it, they turned and Zykon’s mouth dropped in disbelief. Corpses sat impaled on three wooden pillars, their faces opened, flesh jutting and dangling in the wind. Limbs were broken, twisted, wood piercing them. Signs of deep cuts signaled pieces missing. Beneath the pillars was a pool of blood, with hideous organs bathing in it, flies and rats devouring them. His widened eyes could not believe what they were seeing. He felt his body getting sick, the disgusting image before him forcing him to look away, trying his best not to barf.

“By the name of It!” said Myhrr. “There’s a dozen or more. How could they have done something like this?” he pinched his nose, the smell too foul to resist it.

Master Delemon bowed his head and mumbled a prayer. “It, grant them access to your kingdom. May those poor souls find refuge in your arms.”

Zykon spun and looked at the master. He showed no dissatisfaction with what he was seeing. Almost as it was something… common.

Kyzan raised an arm, frowning. “We need to find them, master. This cannot be allowed! It needs to punish the-”

“Famagh’ugh is not why we’re here, don’t forget that. Besides praying, there’s nothing we can do. Our mission is not to act as an army. I know how you feel, but don’t forget – we are here to bring people to It,” he pointed to the corpses, “and for them, there’s nothing else that we can do.”

As difficult as Zykon found it to accept, Master Delemon was right. The bodies impaled were nothing more than husks at this point, which belonged to the sands. Hopefully It will have mercy on them, if the world did not. Still, the idea that they were not meant to fight, bothered him deeply. He knew from the start that the Primal and Master Delemon agreed to avoid conflict at all costs. But conflict followed them, and as they were now seeing, it was causing more and more harm to innocent lives. People lived in fear from Famagh’ugh, from their bloodlust. Inaction was not going to put a stop to that. Zykon understood the importance of not using force, yet he… wanted to. His Guardian has been sheathed ever since the rite, sitting on his back, waiting to be used. A gift from It to carry out It’s word. Bahar needed justice to be brought to evil. And as far as Zykon was concerned, there was a bigger amount of evil than Famagh’ugh. Maybe Master Delemon could be persuaded to see things like he did.

Now with the village behind them, Zykon glanced back for one last time. The feeling of guilt bickered him, pushing him towards more hatred for Famagh’ugh. He knew it wasn’t right, he knew It could sense his feelings, and yet he couldn’t control them. He reached behind, feeling the sharp, uneven hilt of his Guardian. And in doing so, he hoped to use it to bring the justice he envisioned upon Famagh’ugh. Through It’s will, of course.