It was hot. His overcoat and suit jacket hung in the crook of his arm, and the buttons of his shit were popped open. He should’ve expected that from a desert, but it was much hotter than he could’ve imagined. The sun sat bright and heavy in the center of the sky. The heat from its rays unrelenting and unforgiving. The barest shade could be found when he crouched behind a cactus, but it was like putting a plaster on a bullet hole: ineffective and more disheartening than dealing with the problem head-on. Shielding his face, he looked up into the sky, seeing that it was as vast and blue as it had been for the last hour.

The worst part of the heat was the thirst that came along with it. However, quenching it was not as easy as grabbing a pitcher from his fridge and filling a glass. He hoped to find an oasis, but he didn’t think he would be so lucky. Just thinking about a glass of water had him swallowing against the dry feeling in the back of his throat.

He looked down at the compass in his hand to see if he was still going the right way. The desert was identical from every angle, a tan flatland dotted with bushes and cacti. He had thought he would see sprawling dunes eventually, but he had yet to see a single one.

Hours passed without a change.

He had never been so thirsty in his life. Sweat poured down his face, which he patted dry with his suit jacket. The haze that obscured the horizon dizzied him, and he had a hard time remembering what direction he came from. The sun above him didn’t seem to move, a permanent fixture in the center of the never-ending sky. When he looked down at his compass again, he saw that he was still moving east, the arrow shaking slightly as it pointed.

Wind gusted past him, and he covered his eyes to protect them from the sand-filled air. He must have inhaled more sand than was good for him at this point. Another thing he learned about deserts that he hadn’t known before. Wind was frequent and frequently biting. The flatlands let it build and build without obstacle, and it hit him full force. For once, he wished he was back at work. He’d rather deal with his awful boss and Rebecca than this.

He continued on. There was nothing else to do.

With the sun in its fixed position, he didn’t know how long he’d been walking. However, sleep weighed on his eyelids and limbs, so he knew that it had been a while. That’s why he thought his eyes were deceiving him when he stumbled across a town.

It wasn’t much to look at. The buildings were crumbling and covered in a thick layer of sand and dust. But it was like heaven to him. He stumbled closer on sore and increasingly numb feet, the town calling to him like a siren’s song. When he crossed the border, a wave of relief flowed through him. Most of the homes were dilapidated, and the rooves had since been eroded away. Despite that, there were a few buildings that offered an extensive amount of shade. He walked to once such building and rested on the bare ground. The cool sand soothed his overheated body, and he was truly able to relax. His eyes drifted close, floating into sleep.

***

He didn’t leave the town for a long time—or for what he thought was a long time. At first, he wanted to stay put because he was comfortable. Then, as hunger and thirst gnawed on him, he wasn’t strong enough to leave.

His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his lips were so parched they cracked. The blood he licked away the only thing to moisten the inside of his mouth. His stomach stopped growling a while ago, the pain receding as time ticked by. Had it been days? He felt like he was wasting away.

His mind was trapped inside his deteriorating body, and it was hard for him to find things that could occupy his attention. There were no animals in sight, and the sparse vegetation lost his interest quickly. Today, however, footsteps sounded near him. He wasn’t strong enough to move, so he wished for the people to come to him. He didn’t care if they were nice or not. Any attention would be welcomed.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” a man asked.

The other man groaned, “I’ve told you a thousand times. The poles haven’t switched. We’re still good.”

“The maps say we should’ve reached Lacerta by now.”

There was a pause before, “I’ve never known a cartographer I can trust.”

“But these are Romero maps, Hari.”

“That name means nothing to me, and you know that.”

“Check the poles. The maps are right.”

He could hear them getting closer to him. Practically vibrating with anticipation, he waited for them to see him. If only there was a way to call their attention. With his mouth and throat cracked and dry, noises higher than a whisper wouldn’t leave him.

Hari said, “I’ve checked the poles already. They haven’t changed!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Well, my maps can’t be wrong!”

He could see their shoes. Just one more step closer and they would see him. Except they stopped walking, their shoes stood side-by-side. They weren’t talking either. Silence reigned, broken up by the howling of the wind.

“Hari, let me see the compass,” the unnamed man said.

There wasn’t a response from Hari, but he saw one of them step back. He heard the rustling of clothes.

The unnamed man spoke once more, “Where are we going?”

“Lacerta.”

“No, we’re not.” If he could see their faces, he imagined the unnamed man would be frowning. “Let me see that damned compass.”

One of them, who he now assumed to be Hari, took another step back. The unnamed man rushed forward and grabbed Hari, spinning them to face the wall across from him. He could see the back of the unnamed man, and Hari was short and slight enough to be hidden behind the man’s bulk. They would only have to turn around to see him.

“Jak, the compass is mine!”

“Be quiet!” Jak shouted into Hari’s face, “How dare you trick me?”

Clothes rustled as Jak tried to pry the compass away from Hari, but the smaller man held on tight. However, his grip was momentarily shattered when Jak’s hand reared back and slapped Hari across the face. Hari’s fingers slackened long enough for Jak to wrench the compass from him, who then punched Hari. Hari fell to the ground, holding the side of his cheek.

He watched as Jak brought the compass to his face, concentrating hard on the object’s surface. He couldn’t see what Jak saw, but whatever it was made the man angry. Jak’s brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched. Hari’s compass dropped to the side, swinging from Jak’s wrist. From what he could see, the compass was similar to his own. Except there wasn’t writing on the back, and the compass’s arrow spun wildly, shuttering to a stop before starting again as it revolved around its axis.

“Where were you taking me?” Jak hissed to the fallen man.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who sent you?” It shouldn’t have surprised him, yet he was taken off guard when the tips of the Jak’s fingers flamed a dark black.

“Death doesn’t scare me,” Hari said, a smirk curling at his lips.

“It shouldn’t. That’s why I’m not going to kill you.”

Hari’s smirk fell away, fear taking its place. “You don’t have it in you to torture me. I’ve travelled with you long enough to know that.”

“You would be right. However, I have no problem dropping you in the hands of someone who enjoys that work.”

Jak’s arm extended to its full length, a right angle with his torso. Using his black-tipped fingers, he drew a perfect circle in the air. At the same time, a circle was drawn under Hari. The man, seeming to realize his position, scrambled to leave the circle. Unfortunately for him, he slammed into a barrier. He clawed at it, yet his nails didn’t make a scratch.

Jak asked, “Where were we going, and who sent you?”

“I can’t tell you!”

Jak made slashing motions in the air, the lines appearing in the circle. “Yes, you can.”

“He’ll find me,” Hari cried, “And when he does, anything you’ve done to me will pale in comparison to what he’ll do.”

“I’ll give you one more chance. Answer my questions.” Jak wrote something in the middle of the circle and lines that looked like gibberish to Erik.

Hari looked defeated. “I won’t.”

Jak smiled and snapped his fingers, “That’s too bad.”

Hari disappeared with a loud pop. He gasped, which was heard in the sudden quiet that followed Hari’s disappearance. Jak spun to face him; his hand poised in front of him. However, when Jak got a good look at him, the hand lowered. He knew what the man saw: sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. He wasn’t a threat.

Jak walked toward him, an intrigued expression on his face. “A new wanderer?”

“How could you tell?” he rasped.

“Your clothes. And the fact I can’t imagine an experienced traveler would venture into the middle of nowhere with not a single canteen in sight.”

His clothes were different from Jak’s. His business attire was nothing like the wrist- and ankle-length tan fabric that Jak wore. The material looked light, probably to combat the sweltering heat. The man’s head was uncovered, but a long piece of cloth hung around Jak’s neck.

“I see.”

Jak laughed, “Don’t take it personally. I had a few death cycles before I got the hang of life here too. It helped that I made some friends.”

“Offering?” Though few, the words he spoke irritated the fragile skin of his lips. They split open further, blood dripping down his face and into his mouth.

Pity entered the man’s eyes, and Jak shook his head. “I’m afraid that I have to say no. It’ll do me no good to have a friend like you.”

He understood, but that didn’t stop the twinge of hurt. “Water?”

“I’m afraid I can’t spare that either. Though, I suppose I can offer you some mercy.” Black flames returned to the tips of the man’s fingers, and Jak crouched in front of him.

“You’re going to kill me?”

Jak smiled, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing permanent.”

Before he could respond, Jak plunged his flaming hand into his chest. A scream was caught in his throat, and convulsions wracked his body. Jak shushed him, pushing his hand deeper. He was torn between unimaginable pain and absolutely nothing. In the end, absolutely nothing won.

He opened his eyes for the hundredth time, not dead. The same sky and immovable sun greeted him. Covering his face with his hands, he took deep breaths. He didn’t know what to say. Within a span of days or weeks, he had died twice, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where he was, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to get home. A burning began in the back of his eyes as he fought the urge to cry. It could be worse. The damage thirst had done to his body looked to be reversed, his lips and throat normal. Having skin that felt smooth instead of like reptile leather was another definite plus.

“Are you okay?” a voice asked, surprisingly sincere.

He shot up from where he laid, whipping his head to the voice’s direction. A woman that looked about his age was crouched near him, his compass dangling between the fingers of one hand. A gun was in the other. The metal gleamed in the harsh light. And while he could see an inscription on its side, he wasn’t close enough to read it. The woman flicked the gun upward, so it was pointed at him.

She said, “I wouldn’t want to kill you when you’re feeling down.”

He stared at her silently, not knowing what to do or say. He wasn’t sure if he should take her threat seriously considering what Jak had told him. Hari didn’t seem to be scared of death either. However, he had no way to find out how long he had been gone. Was it the same as a good’s night rest, or has months of his consciousness been taken away from him?

He finally croaked, “Why should I be afraid?”

Her thumb clicked a switch on the back of the gun, and she smiled, “Because I have your compass, and without it, you’re nothing.”