“HEY!” Geraln called to me from inside the pub. “What are you doing, man? Come on! Get in here!”

I’d been outside looking in, trying to muster up the courage to admit to Davod that I’d spent all his money. I saw him sitting with Geraln and two other men I’d never seen before.

The pub was lit by red candles set about the tables along with whatever daylight made its way through the front door. Several tables and chairs were laid out throughout the place, though most of these were empty. A Goloagi girl stood behind a bar wearing a blue apron that accentuated her ample bosom, with locks of wavy dark-green hair that tufted up in curls as it fell past her shoulders. She glanced up at me through emerald-green eyes and smiled wide as I walked in.

“Caleb!” Davod shouted. “Get over here, man! You got to meet my new friends!”

From the slur, he had to have been at least four or five beers in. Geraln had a look of a cat satisfied with his mischief stretched across his face, and there was a brown piece of paper with scraps of bread intermixed with some crumbs. As for the two other men, the one closest to the door looked up at me with a perfunctory smile and his knee shook as he spoke. “I’m Ales.”

The other leaned back in his chair with one arm draped over the backrest and gave me a smooth nod, holding his eyes steady as he gazed at me. “I’m Faren.”

Geraln resumed the introduction. “They were called to Carthia just like us.”

Ales added, “I thought for sure we'd be headed for Kulun. Where the hell is fucking Carthia?”

I asked him directly, “you don’t know anything about the place, either?”

Faren gazed at me through droopy eyes and answered. “I asked around. Apparently of all the conflict zones throughout the Empire, Carthia is the bastard child among them. They said don’t go there, that we’d be better off taking our chances with the Invisible Hand.”

Davod smirked and let out a “hmpfh!”

“But there’s hope!” Faren added, raising a finger. He took a slow sip from his mug and set it back down. “You see, we can escape the Invisible Hand by hiding out in the one place they’re too scared to go.”

“Where’s that?” I asked.

Davod smiled, shaking his head side to side as though stifling a laugh. Geraln giggled lightly to himself, and Faren answered. “Carthia.”

Davod chuckled while Geraln gave off a half-smile.

I couldn’t help but nod. “Well, uh… I bet the girls there are gorgeous.”

“Here we go!” Davod lifted his mug to me, took a good drink, and set it back down. Ales nodded and laughed lightly to himself.

Faren smiled and kicked under the table so that an empty chair skidded across the floor towards me. “Sit down, man. Tell us your side of the story.”

“What story?”

Ales spoke to that. “Your friends tell us you're some kind of doctor, got yourself a patient and everything.”

“I don't know about that…”

Davod slurred out his own explanation, “he's working on that, gods man, she's got thee most incredible fucking legs you ever seen!” He turned to Geraln. “Don’t get me wrong—Sage is a beauty, but you guys should see… what's her name?”

My eyes went wide. “You can’t be serious?”

Geraln answered. “Oasis.”

Faren asked his own question. “What kind of name is Oasis?”

Geraln answered him. “They're Saeni. They hate when you mispronounce their names, so they usually give you the translation.”

Davod repeated. “Oasis. Gods I'd like to get between that. Thick, meaty thighs push back on you like a spring, man, she is something else entirely! You make any progress on that yet?”

I nearly froze. “Her friend is dying!”

“Sit down, man.” Ales spoke to me. I did.

Davod slapped my shoulder. “You can’t let that go to waste. You got the perfect in on that girl. You screw that up, I will lose all faith in you from now on.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I still needed to tell him about the money. “It’s not…”

“Xello zere, xandsome! Vat can ve get for zhu?”

It was the girl from behind the bar. She spoke with a thick Goloagi accent, rolling her Rs and contorting some words as to be barely recognizable. She stood beside me, bent over slightly so that her breasts were level with my eyes, and wiped the table.

“I’m good,” I shook my head and smiled. “Thank you.”

Geraln leaned back in his chair and grinned. “That's Caleb-speak for I'm broke and can't afford a beer at the moment. He’ll have a syrup. On me.”

The girl dropped her fingers into eight different mugs and picked them all up at once. Then she stood and smiled wide without moving her eyes from mine. “Are zhu man enough to xandal zat?”

Davod smirked. “You gonna love this beer, man, it’s hard core. Let me get another as well, miss.”

“Me too,” Ales added. Then Faren.

Geraln finished. “I guess it’s my turn, then? Fine. Make that a round, love.”

“Got it,” she nodded while gazing at him before turning and walking back towards the bar, and I couldn't help but notice she had plenty of backside to appreciate. Davod wiped his lips appreciating the same thing; he and I glanced at one another and just about shared a laugh at that. Then she turned and looked at each of us, giggled, and walked off.

Faren stretched his arms out and looked at me through droopy eyes. “So tell us about this girl, man.”

“Uh…” I still needed to tell Davod about the money. “Well, her name is Dune. The three of them had taken the pass from Saen, and she fell. Hard. There was a cut, and she broke a bone. No big deal. You clean the wound and set the bone, maybe twenty, thirty minutes, it’s not difficult. You come back every day for a few days…”

Ales interrupted. “Is that the one you’re trying to get with?”

“I’m not trying to get with anyone!”

“Nah,” Geraln added. “Oasis. Dune is the one with the injury.”

“She’s going to die,” I said.

They all looked at me.

“They didn’t take care of it, and it’s gotten the foul.”

“They tried to take care of it,” Geraln clarified. “The first doctor they went to had them waiting all day, then at the end of the day they were told the doctor had left. They went through that shit for two days before trying another…”

I had to interrupt him. “I’m not trying to get with anyone. Look. This is a life-and-death situation; Dune is in really, really bad shape. If I were trying to get with anyone, then at the very least I’d wait until the urgent situation is resolved, but until then I can’t even think about that. And right now, Dune is going to die. Tonight or tomorrow, likely, the next day if God wants to procrastinate about it. I don’t know what else I can do for her.”

Faren spoke to that. “It sounds like you need to talk to this Oasis girl and see if you can warm her up to reality.”

“I spent the money.” I felt my heart slam against my chest as soon as the words left me.

“Huh?”

I turned to Davod. “The thirty-five kren you gave me. I spent it. On supplies to try and save Dune.”

There was silence. Geraln started to chuckle while Davod tilted his head to the side. Then he tilted his head to the other side.

Geraln smirked as he spoke. “Honestly, Davod, you’ve known this kid your whole life and you still gave him money!”

Davod glared at him for a moment, then turned back to looking at me. He then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wasn’t sure if he was going to say something or if I was supposed to say more. “Uh… I had a few coins, that wasn’t enough. Oasis gave me eight kren—that was all she had—and it still wasn’t nearly enough. Uh… yeah.”

Davod took in a deep breath and covered his face in his hands.

“It was, uh… maggots to try and clean the wound, some liuwenia for the fever, Kuluni adder venom that’s to help the bone heal…”

“Caleb?” Davod spoke slowly, still burying his face in his hands.

“Yeah?”

At this point, the barmaid returned with five glass mugs filled with a dark brown beer that had a strong head of foam and began setting them about the table. She set one before Davod, and he didn’t move. Rather he spoke as though she weren’t there, still holding his hands before his eyes. “I’m going to forgive you for this. I’m going to let it go. But if I see your fucking face again before tomorrow, I’ll bash it in, so help me!”

Geraln spoke to me. “I think you’d better go.”

“Yeah.”

And so I left without so much as a sip of the syrup. I’d had in mind to do as Faren suggested, to try and warm Oasis up to reality, but figured she was probably still sleeping. Another option, I figured, was to go to the church and pray about it. At that point, there really wasn’t anything more I could do for her.

There had to be a church in Ulum, possibly more than one. I imagined a massive, towering monument to God with stained-glass windows like the one in Kyoen, a grandiose example of magnificent architecture to match the rest of the city. Of course I had no idea where it would be, but that wouldn’t be difficult. “Excuse me, do you know where the Daenma church is?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A Herali man, maybe in his thirties, answered me. “We have one here?”

Then he shrugged and moved off without another word.

“Pardon me, I’m looking for the Daenma church.”

A stout, older Herali woman answered me. Her long, dark-green hair had streaks of gray that she’d braided together, her gray hairs as one lock intertwined with the rest. “Oh, uh… I don’t know… for sure… It’s that way… I think.”

That way I think was east. I went back over to the center of the plaza and stood next to the massive stone Falcon sculpture with a perfectly steady stream of water pouring out from its mouth. Looking west, the city dropped down the valley and disappeared into the hazy blue horizon. To the south and east, the Terbulin mountains wrapped themselves around the city like a mother cradling her baby. To the north were the relatively tame mountains that led one into the rest of Heralia.

I sought another passerby, a pair of Goloagi girls with perfectly coiffed curly hair, dressed in fine silk. “Sorry ladies, do you know where the Daenma church is?”

They looked at one another and smiled between them. The girl on the left had lush, dark-green eyebrows, wide lips, and a darling figure. She looked me up and down and smiled. “It’s uh… I’m pretty sure it’s that way.”

She then turned to her friend, a petite girl with a set of diamond tree stone earrings dangling down to her neck while she’d tied her hair in the back. She giggled, then bit her lip. As she spoke through a smile, her eyes traversed my body several times. “Yeah, you go down that way, about half an hour, and it’s on Pelahosa Street.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” they sang in unison. Then, as I took the main road east, I turned back to see the two of them still looking at me, only to break into a giggle as I did.

In the distance, white-capped mountains like molars gave way to brown grass and rock. I went about a block down a street divided in two by large, wooden planters that hosted all manner of herbs that smelled absolutely divine. Basil mixed with lavender mixed with rosemary, mixed with just about whatever else you could imagine painted an herbal story as the road dipped down a steep embankment. The way was crowded, but it moved a lot faster, with people moving in one direction taking to one side of the street while people moving the other way took to the other in some unspoken rule that they all agreed to follow.

I went a block down, and the street bottomed out into a gully. Down a nearby alley, I saw someone had painted a message on the walls of a building. Boros, where the fuck is my money?

I kept on a few more blocks. By the side of the road, the street climbed so steep that buildings had one door at the road, then the other half of the floor was taken by the street as it climbed out of the gully. Several shops had windows half buried into the ground where you could look down into the first floor, except one had a red-and-white striped curtain over it.

I passed by a jewelry shop on the right. They had a necklace made of cut diamond-tree stones, one that grew out from the neck in a triangle shape of smaller stones strung together in a swirl pattern, to meet at the center where a circle of stones was left open, the center of which was a large stone that had to be at least an A4. It gave off colors that seemed to shift at will, as if the stone itself glowed with the story it told from reflected sunlight. The handiwork rivaled the best I’d seen back home in Gath, and they wanted thirteen-thousand kren for it.

Ryoen’s dad used to pay us two kren for a sack full of the things every spring.

Thirteen-thousand. I shook my head and walked along.

Up several more blocks, the stone buildings grew darker, but with brighter highlights. I passed by a screened-in area with several tables just outside a shop with bright-yellow, patterned awning over the main door where people dined on plates that smelled strong of onions sauteed in butter. A Saeni gentleman came outside carrying a wooden board that hosted a cast iron skillet that sizzled and gave off a hefty amount of steam along with the scent of brandy.

A few more blocks, and I came to another circle plaza where the street wrapped around a carved stone monument to Goat set atop a column of polished white marble, surrounded by a garden on all sides. A footpath made of tiny brown pebbles was separated from the planters with a wooden border, planters that were home to a host of different herbs and spices. I passed by a young Goloagi girl searching through a patch of basil. On the next turn, an older Herali gentleman worked at feeling the soil and pulling weeds.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you know how far it is to the Daenma church?”

He scratched his head. “We have one here?”

The plaza offered three different streets that led East. I needed to find someone who knew which way to go.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but do you know the way to the Daenma church?”

It was a Herali man about my age, some inches shorter. “I don’t know. Maybe that way?” He pointed north.

I found another. A young Herali couple walking arm-in-arm.

“Uh… maybe that way?” The man pointed south, while the woman pointed towards the direction I’d come.

I found a Saeni woman wearing an apron smeared with a year’s worth of stains mostly faded carrying a large basket with a lid on it. “Excuse me, but do you know where the Daenma church is?”

“Yes,” she nodded, answering me in fluent Herali with a sharp accent. “Go down that way,” she pointed to the east route that climbed a hill as it trailed slightly to the south. “When you cross over the bridge, turn right, then go up the hill and turn left at the top of the hill. Turn right at the goat farm, go up the hill some more and it’s on the right.” She smiled and reassured me, “you can’t miss it.”

Then she went about her way, turning back to shoot me a wide smile, wish me luck and wave “bye.”

I found myself on a wide corridor. It was less dense with people, and the central walkway was dotted with huge ceramic pots that hosted diamond trees large enough to climb on. Lush with leaves, the trees were dense enough to block the view upwards to a degree and mute the hot sun that would have otherwise blasted the street. The gray stone buildings were as tall as everywhere else, though some of the shops looked a little older with faded paint on the wood, and large wooden shutters in place of glass like there had been around the place we were staying. Several blocks down, I passed by a bakery that announced the smell of warm sour bread to all who passed by, and the street began to rise sharply. In the narrow space between two buildings, I saw a small door open. A middle-aged woman with medium olive skin, sandy-green hair, and light green eyes wearing a dirtied-up apron and a blue hair cap stepped out. She glanced at me briefly before setting the tray she’d held on top of a large can and scraping the charred remains of animal bones with scraps of meat to the rats, who eagerly gobbled them up. Then she went back inside.

Further up the hill, between two more buildings I saw an old man lying down beneath a tattered blanket that left his crusty feet exposed. Beside his hand, an empty wine bottle had broken and shattered over the cobblestones while rats scurried about in the corner. Along the side of the adjacent building, someone had scrawled in white chalk with rough handwriting, Giselya will suck you dry, ten kren for half an hour. Next to that was another message written in a Saeni script.

I came to the bridge. All along one side of the beige stonework and facing out against an expanse of city in the valley below, someone had painted in black using Goloagi, Go home sand-rats!

I crossed over the bridge and headed up the hill. Shattered jars and torn clothes were strewn through the street where one store front had been ripped apart. Doors were missing, torn from shattered wooden frames, and numerous doors and windows had trails of soot reaching up the wall above them. Every few feet, there was a pile of rubble—broken bricks, shattered wood, shards of broken glass, charred remains of some construction, and in one corner I saw a trail of dried blood with a handprint on the adjacent wall. All throughout, I saw Saeni people busy cleaning up the mess. They all looked up at me with apprehension as I walked by. On several buildings, I saw messages in sloppy, painted letters in the Saeni script.

At the top of the hill, I turned, and the cobbled stones gave way to a bare dirt road as it dropped down and came to a large fenced-in area where a large number of goats had stripped the ground bare leaving piles of tiny black pebbles of manure all about. The sharp livestock stench dominated the air, and I hurried along to get away from it. At the end I turned right, and followed the road up another hill. There was a stretch of wood fence to separate the road from the goats, where someone had painted another message. Toren’s mother sucks dog dick.

Several small shacks dotted the sides of the road, most of them with red paint peeling away to reveal sun-bleached, half-rotted wood beneath. I followed that road as it led me up the hill and twisted around the corner, to where a large blue building rested ahead on the right with the large, four-point triangle of the faith made of wrought-iron and mounted on an overhang that stuck out over a wooden porch that held the front door.

There were numerous small holes in the wall where the plaster had peeled away to reveal the building’s wood construction beneath, many of them bleached by the sun. To the side lay the remnants of a wooden gate that had been smashed to bits, and beside the front door I saw those symbols, those three large, squarish glyphs I’d seen in the tapestry shop in relatively fresh white paint, that Umeazi script that meant we will never forget.

The front door itself was heavy wood reinforced with riveted iron planks, and not a hint of life could be discerned beyond the building’s face.

I knocked.

I waited. I stood while a gust of air came off the mountains and brought the ice with it. I waited, and I shivered. I knocked again, louder.

Eventually, a faint shudder of footfalls came up from behind the door. The door cracked open, and a figure appeared behind it. It was a middle-aged man with a strip of hair that wrapped around the back of his head with just enough curl to tell he was Goloagi. He stood in ornate woven clothes with a giant gut, and held the door mere inches open.

He stared and said nothing.

I decided to initiate the conversation in Goloagi, unsure if he would understand me otherwise. “Good afternoon, sir. Are you open for prayer?”

He blinked his eyes several times and scratched his chin. “Who’s asking?”

“I am Caleb of Gath. I was passing through, and I would like to pray here, if that’s alright?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and the glob of flesh that was his neck stayed put as he turned to look behind him. Then he turned his face back to me and passed his eyes over me, looking close at my hair as it fell down over my shoulders.

“I’m not from here. I was raised at the church in Gath by Mother Searnie and Father Yewan. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? It’s in Osenia.”

“You just said you’re from Gath.”

“Barony of Gath, County of Osenia. Uh… Duchy of Heralia. Obviously. M-maybe not obviously. I don’t know, maybe that’s obvious?”

At that, he raised one eyebrow high above the other, took a sip from a cup he held in his hand, and opened the door.

He moved his round self to the side as I stepped in. “What’s your name?”

“Father Gerson,” he replied. “Right this way.”

The reception room was spacious, with a torn red rug at the center and several wooden tables along the walls. One hosted stacks of books that had been overtaken by cobwebs, while another hosted large rolls covered in dust beneath an open window. A fat, brown rat scurried along and disappeared into a corner when I walked in.

Father Gerson led me down a dark corridor to the right that ended with a heavy wooden door. He opened that, and we came to a courtyard with a covered walkway on both sides, strewn with shattered pieces of wood and broken bricks. At the next building, on the second floor, the black remnant of soot reached from an open window along the wall to the roof.

The door at the other end of the courtyard was hanging on by the lower hinge and completely separated at the top. Father Gerson had to lift it and hold it steady in order to open the way into the next hallway. All along the walls, I could see dents from where an axe had chopped into the wood, and on the right the friar led me to a tiny room with stone walls. At one wall was a small glass window with a circular hole in it the size of a potato and cracks trailing into the edges. There was another four-point triangle made of wrought-iron at one wall, and a prayer bench opposite a small rug.

“Sorry we don’t have anything more comfortable,” he said.

“This is beautiful, thank you.”

At that, his chin wobbled as he nodded, and then he walked off.

And so I knelt, closed my eyes, and clasped my hands together.

Heavenly Father, I am scared. I’m worried about Dune. I’m afraid she’s not going to make it. Without your help she definitely won’t. If you have a strain of mercy for her, then perhaps you will see fit to heal her? I’ve nothing else I can do. I’m also scared of Carthia. Everything I’m told about this place says it's a death trap, and I don’t want to go. I know that you will look out for me and guide me in the direction you want me to go in, so that is all I ask. I thank you for bringing me here safely. I thank you for putting kindness in Davod’s heart enough to forgive me. I hope you find me worthy of serving you, Lord. Please take care of Sarina for me? Amen.

After I was done with my prayer, I went back out into the hallway. I heard a ruckus at the end of the hall that sounded like a hammer banging away at some nails. I followed it until Father Gerson was in view, piecing together a wooden gate.

“May I ask,” I said, “do you have any plaster? I’d like to fix some of those holes out front if you don’t mind.”

He looked up at me in intense curiosity and set his hammer down.