The girl and the old man stared at each other. A soft breeze swirled the dust at their feet, while the Mauler's blood oozed its way through the gaps on the floor tiles.

“Well, it looks like my work here is done,” said Omir, and with that, he walked past Zahra towards the exit of the crumbled ruins. The force of spirituality and power that had permeated the place was gone. Zahra glanced around at the shrine that now seemed to her to be just an empty ruin. She didn’t want to stay here.

“Wait!” She ran to follow him, a hand raised to reach for the shoulder of his cloth robe when he turned back, and her arm dropped to her side. Omir looked at her with a curious expression. “Aye, lass? What else do you want from me?”

“Why,” she paused, wondering if she would anger him. He had so easily dispatched the man who had hunted her. Deadly, dangerous. Omir raised an eyebrow, waiting. She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. “Why did you help me like that?”

“It looked like you were in trouble. You weren’t going to get out of it by yourself, were you?” Omir looked half amused, a crooked smile on his wrinkled face, but something else, too. Almost like he cared. But why? She was confused.

“No, but-”

“Well then. I think I've given you enough.”

The silence stretched on between them, and Omir rubbed at his face, pulling at his neck as if the wrinkled skin wasn’t firmly attached. He frowned, and abruptly turned, ready to leave.

Breath caught in her throat and she found herself chasing after him. “Wait!”

Omir turned back. He stood there as if he was expecting something, almost as if he was waiting for her to speak.

“Can I-” she began, before losing the words in her throat.

“What?” he said, smiling wider.

“Can I come with you?” The worst he could do was say ‘no’. And that was exactly where she would be if she kept silent, anyway.

Omir tapped his foot and examined his fingernails again. Then he met her eyes. “What use would a brat like you be to me?”

Her stomach dropped. What could she do? She had no skills. Then a brilliant idea came into her mind.

“I could serve,” she faltered, trying to explain herself. “Carry your things, cook your meals-”

“Interesting,” said Omir, before she could finish. “I was under the impression that that man wanted to enslave you, turn you into nothing but a thrall, yet now you’re offering yourself to serve me?”

“It’s not the same,” she said.

“And why is that?”

"I want to… It’s my choice. I would never be a thrall..." she said the word with her mouth crinkled up in distaste, as if having taken a bite of something foul.

“Quite right, given the punishment for slave trading. The King would snap my neck.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not a thrall indeed. So, Zahra. What do you want in return?”

“What?”

“For serving me.”

“Uh..." she stammered. "Well... You just saved my life from that monster, so I kinda owe you…”

“No, sod to that. Life is a game of transactions, and you must always try to get the best deal. What do you want for your service?”

She hadn't thought that far ahead. He’d been so confident in the shrine. Tricking her hunter easily, on the fly. Dispatching him as one would vermin. “Can you teach me?”

"Teach you? Well, that would depend on what you wanted to know.” said Omir.

“How to survive out here." said the girl. "Do you work around this shrine? I could-”

“No, no. To be honest, I'm more of a traveller. Sightseeing, if you will.”

“How to travel, then.” the girl said, gaining confidence. “You said that life is about transactions. What did you mean? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Yes...” said Omir. “It's clear by your appearance that you've had little luxury in life for philosophical debate.”

She looked at him blankly. For a horrible second she thought she had missed her chance, but then the wanderer shuffled his feet as he came to a decision. “Well, that can be changed. Come along then, little Zahra.” he said, dropping his satchel from his shoulders to the ground. “It's heavy, and you’ll have to keep up.”

***

They were walking through the forest, a hilly woodland, the floor a carpet of leaves and ferns. Although there were no trails, Omir seemed to know where he was going. Every so often he stopped to pick some low-hanging fruit from the trees or shredded off some leaves and bark with his knife before secreting them away in his many-pocketed robe, the actions of a trained herbalist. Zahra watched in curiosity but had no idea how to help. Instead, she shifted the weight of the straps cutting into her shoulder. He hadn’t spoken to her since agreeing that she could travel with him. The pack was heavy, but she didn't dare to complain.

Purple fires filtered through the branches above them as the sun began to set, and the two travellers stopped at a gnarled yew tree, finches trilling on the branches high above. Omir took the pack from her and hooked it high up over one of the gnarls, protecting it from any four-legged scavengers. He knelt down and brushed his hand against the carpet of greenery and picked up a handful of the spiky leaves. "Never eat from this tree," explained Omir. "From the leaves you can brew a terrible poison."

"Make a poison?" asked Zahra. "But how?"

"There will be time to learn that later, little Zahra. First, we'll need a fire, so why don't you gather us some firewood while I find us something for supper?” She nodded. That was at least something she could do right.

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

She wandered only a short distance from the camp—the forest was all around, and branches crumbled underfoot. To her dismay, the branches were damp and soft with rot, streaked across the sides with yellowish fungus. The birds began to hoot their good-night tunes as she looked for drier branches strewn about the floor. A handful of twigs and clumps of soft moss would serve as tinder. She laid them in a pile back near the camp before venturing out again, this time grabbing some larger chunks of wood that came from a broken tree, damaged in the recent storm. They would do nicely for the fire.

Omir was back at the camp, sat on a tree root nearby the pile of branches she had gathered. He was skinning some kind of small creature, maybe rabbit. Her stomach churned. Flesh-eating was taboo to most people, though she knew even the nobles bought wild meats at the black markets of Vesper. She had eaten meat herself—her brother frequently caught pigeon—preferable to alternative that was gritty bread and sour milk. Everyone knew that flesh-eaters became tainted, the meat bringing diseases of both body and mind, but when you were hungry it was hard to care.

Omir looked up at her approach, and Zahra wondered how he had caught the rabbit. They were quick little buggers, and dashed away at the smallest sound. As if he had heard her thoughts, Omir produced a miniature crossbow from his cloak. It was the same weapon that had killed the Mauler. It wouldn't have the stopping power of a true recurved crossbow, but at close range it proved deadly. The bolts were extremely sharp, and quick, perfect for hunting small creatures.

Zahra went to work setting the fire as she had back in Vesper many times. The largest pieces were stacked in the middle, topped with smaller branches to form a cone. Twigs were added as if building a mouse's hut. As she finished its construction and scrunched a clump of moss between her fingers, she realised a problem. Back in Vesper, fire was plentiful. Lanterns and torches were everywhere—to make a new fire, one merely had to carry the flame from somewhere else and light it. Here, in the shadowed woods, she was at a loss. Travellers usually carried a glittering firestone with a scrap of steel to make the sparks for a fire. It didn’t occur to her to ask Omir for help. She had relied on herself for too long, and wanted to look useful. The girl thought about the other method she had heard. With a stick and a corner of wood, she could make flame. By rubbing them together or something, she wasn’t quite sure. She attempted the old technique, but nothing happened except an ache in her shoulders and a splinter in the palm as the twigs snapped in two. Omir saw her and couldn’t help the peal of laughter that flowed from his moustached lips. "My, my," he said. “You haven't been out of the city much, have you?”

She felt her face growing red with embarrassment and was glad for the lack of light. “Shift over, Zahra.” The girl scrambled out of the way and Omir knelt beside the wood-pile and touched the branches with a bare hand. “Just as I thought," he grumbled. "Don’t feel bad, lass. It’d be difficult to light this pile of mulch even if you knew what you were doing. Difficult to find anything that isn't slime-coated in this damn forest,” he took a flask from his jacket, a small silver one with an embossed label. He poured its contents over the wood, a thick, amber liquid. Oil. Then he snapped his fingers towards the fire and sparks shot out of them. The wood caught into a heated blaze almost immediately.

Zahra yelped in surprise, causing Omir to laugh even harder. When she’d calmed down, she asked, “How'd you do that?” she looked at him in awe.

“I’ve just learned a few tricks in my time, kid.”

“Can you teach me how to do it?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No. You have to have a certain kind of blood to wield magic. I can light a fire, but I'm no real talent. It would be a waste of time, unless..." Omir trailed off.

"Unless what?" asked Zahra.

Omir teased at his moustache. "Your parents weren’t related to any of the noble families, were they?”

Zahra gave him a truly incredulous expression. She barely remembered her mother, who had died of illness long ago. They had stayed in a tavern, one of the cheapest, and often she and her brother weren't even allowed inside. Her mother was no one important. A bar wench, or worse. Her father? She didn’t have the faintest clue who he was.

Omir's eyes crinkled in a way that was becoming familiar to her, he was trying to hold back laughter. She narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t worry, little Zahra." he said. "There’s lots more I can teach you.”

The girl pouted, playing the image of flames darting from his fingers over and over in her mind. It was impressive... powerful. If only she hadn’t been born usef, of common blood. But that was always the problem for her and her brother, wasn’t it?

When the flames died down to a soft glow, Omir spitted the rabbit over the fire. He had found some sort of starchy roots, similar to potatoes, and wrapped them in thick leaves before placing them among the hot ashes. They talked quietly for awhile about hunting and magic, and when the smells of roasting meat filled the air Omir shared out the food and they ate, both realising how hungry they were. The night was warm, and unusually for Vesper, free of rain, so there was no need for a tent.

“Little Zahra,” the voice came just as she was about to drift off into sleep. “Do you know how to use a blade?”

She thought of her brother's corpse and the shiv clutched in his hand. “No. Not really. I can gut a fish.” She remembered the times spent fishing in the Vesper rivers, of her brother chopping into the fat pike-perch, its eyes bulging in fear. She had felt nothing for it. A chill went down her. “Why?" She turned to Omir.

“It's good to know how, that's why." he said. "You're Vesper-born, aren't you? We're not safe in the nice city any more, kid."

Zahra opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her. "You need to be able to defend yourself in this world. What if you were out getting that firewood and some other wretch saw you and decided to hunt you down? You'd be worm food and I'd have no one to make the fire.”

“What chance do I have against someone like that? They're always going to be bigger and stronger than me.” In the darkness, she found it easier to speak. Probably because she couldn’t see how Omir would react to her words, nor he see her discomfort.

"The size of a man doesn't matter. With a blade in them, everyone bleeds and dies the same.” Omir poked at the sizzling fire with a stick. “You're smaller, but that just means you can be faster, harder to hit.” he paused.

When his voice spoke again, it startled her. “Have you heard of the best places to stab someone?” His voice had on taken an odd, hard quality.

Zahra paled. She itched at the midge bite on her wrist, avoiding the question. Omir’s gaze didn’t waver for a second. “I... don't want to kill anyone.” she mumbled.

“Well, that's good. Noble. But what if someone is trying to kill you? Unless you fight back you'll be dead and that's no way to be. Gutting a fish, killing a man. It's more similar than you'd think."

She bit her lip at the thought of it. Killing someone? A person, just like her? It sounded too horrible. She saw the pike-perch in her mind, lying in the river mud. It had fought at the beginning, but then it had given up, just waiting for the blade.

"If we lived in more civilised times, maybe it wouldn't be necessary to teach you this, but we don't, and I can. You'll have to decide. Are you going to be the fisherman, or the fish?"

Omir nodded to himself as if deciding something. “Get some sleep, Zahra. Get used to what I have told you. We'll talk more tomorrow.”

***

Omir and Zahra travelled far in the woods each day, stopping in the evening to make camp. While they travelled, Omir would point out to her the types of plants that one could eat, the ones that grew their storage roots under the ground, and vines that could be peeled and roasted like fresh pea pods. Other plants had uses too, like the thick, leathery leaves that could be used as plates, wound bindings, or even to wrap food in as it cooked. She learned of plants—the flowers, barks and greenery that eased pain and repelled biting insects. She was grateful for the latter, and filled her pockets with the citrus-scented leaves. A red sore had risen on her arm, and wouldn’t stop its blasted itching, driving her to distraction.

Sometimes they would camp in the same area for a few days, setting snares for rabbits and winged voles. After the first few times, Zahra grew a taste for animal flesh, and the edicts of the civilised world became forgotten to her. Omir's reserve seemed to soften now that he had taken her under his wing, and he even taught her how to fight, the pair of them using short sticks to spar with. It was no refined swordplay by any stretch of the imagination - she knew she would never have the body strength for fair combat, but Omir relied on the black methods, tricks and feints, leading the opponent into doing most of the work. By focusing on the weak points of the body—the head, throat, groin, the underside of the arms—One could defeat an opponent twice their size.

Zahra found herself getting stronger day by day. Where at first the pack she carried made her back ache terribly by night, blisters forming on her shoulders, hands and feet, in the weeks that followed they had finally gone, replaced by tough callus. The cough that plagued her while kicking around Vesper's slum, in Old Town, had cleared, allowing her to taste the cool air of the forest. Maybe her luck was finally changing.