If there were traces of human or camel footprints, they were nowhere to be found. Eshikel couldn't track any footsteps for the desert wind blew it away. He chose to go north anyway because he heard from merchants that there was a great city lying in the savannah. And slavers usually want a big market.

He looked into the setting sun and saw the wind brush against the two brothers.

Must be getting cold for them.

He dropped off his enormous bag. If one could call it a bag. In truth, it was only a big cloth, smartly folded to carry as much as possible. Bringing it was an easy feat for him.

He shuffled through their supplies and prepared a makeshift tent for them. He also brought the wood they scavenged in the village, making a fire pit that they could cook the snake he hunted a while ago.

"Your parents marked?" he asked the two brothers while prepping things.

They didn't answer. They have been quiet the whole journey. He would tend to their needs and they would eat what he provided, but other than that they remained silent.

He tended the kindling campfire. It was the only source of warmth in this cold desert night. The two were huddled closely.

He tried again. "I asked you a question. I need you to answer me."

Still no answer.

Stubborn aren't we?

Eshikel began gutting and skinning the snake. After a while, the crackle of an emperor viper roasting could be heard. With it comes the growling sound of the stomach of the two brothers. They both eyed the meat with intensity.

"Swallow your spit boys, this one's mine," Eshikel said with a smile

He then took the meat and examined if it's done.

"We haven't eaten yet."

"Is thas so?"

Eshikel took the first bite, ripping off a chunk of tough meat. He chewed vigorously, making sure to express how delicious the food is through his face.

It tastes like air. No, air has more flavor than this.

He knew that the undead had no longer the sense of taste because of their dead tongue but he was hoping that he'd be an exception.

The growling sound of the stomach of the two brothers decided to butt in.

"Tell you what, I'll give you food if you answer my questions," he said while waving the snake meat in front of them. "How about it?"

"Ask your question," said the eldest

"Were your parents marked?"

"Both of them were."

Parents are marked. That means they'll definitely be taken as slaves. So it's to the great city after all.

"Really? What's your name?"

"Zilloh."

"And you", he said while pointing to the youngest. "What's your name?"

He didn't answer, instead, he made some hand gestures that Eshikel wasn't able to understand.

"He said that his name's Herod and that he's mute. He also thanked you for taking care of us", Zilloh said, interpreting Herod's sign language.

A mute huh.

"Here", Eshikel replied, tossing them their food.

Zilloh caught it and immediately divided it into two. Together they mercilessly attacked the meat.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"What about you? Do you still remember your name?" Zilloh asked while chewing.

"Yes, yes I do. I just turned for over a week. Still a long way to go before I go hollow. Hopefully."

He continued stroking the fire, reflecting on his most likely fate. There was only one path for the undead and that path is to go senile and eventually become hollow. All of his memories, gone.

"You can call me Eshikel."

"Eshikel?" Zilloh's eyes widened. "Are you perhaps the Eshi—"

"No, I'm not that Eshikel. I'm no king. Just another slave of the desert," he mumbled.

There were no more questions after that. Eshikel let them eat in silence and bask in the warmth of the firepit.

"You should get some sleep, don't worry I'll keep watch," he said after a while.

Zilloh lifted the resting head of his little brother from his lap. He carried him inside the tent, grunting because of his full stomach. Today was full of hardships. If there was one thing he was looking forward to, it was the bliss of escaping reality through sleep.

***

It had been at least a week since they left the ransacked village. The supplies they gathered in the village was long gone. Good thing Eshikel knew how to hunt. He set up traps that would yield scorpions or salamanders. But those weren't enough. The desert could only provide so much.

Zilloh lifted his canteen, shaking it in an attempt to wet his dry tongue. Only a few droplets of water made it in his mouth. He tapped it, hoping that there was more water hiding in it.

"No matter how hard you choke that canteen, it not going to magically piss water."

Eshikel continued walking.

"Then what do you suppose I fucking do?"

"Drop the profanities and bear with it in the meantime."

Eshikel observed the state of the two. They were no better. Compared to when he first saw them, they were far skinnier now. Sunken cheeks, defined collarbones, and a thinner frame doesn't suit them.

They'll last only until today. If this keeps going, they'll die of thirst and there's nothing I can do. This desert's drier than old Jenson's wife.

Eshikel realized that they'll just have to continue, blindly hoping for a miracle.

It all changed for the better when Eshikel began seeing some grass. When there's grass, there's water and when there's water, there's life. That was the ironclad rule of farming. One that Eshikel firmly lived by. He kept on the lookout for any possible source of water. Anything was welcome whether it be trees or an oasis.

Hell, even a pool of horse piss would do.

They kept on persevering. They had no choice but to keep on walking forward. It was either that or to drop dead. Zilloh understood the situation and decided to save his energy instead.

If he can run his mouth then he can still walk. Herod is the one I'm worried about.

Soon after, they saw some signs of civilization. There were some remains of what seemed to be an old tent. It was blown by strong gusts of wind and only the wooden frames were left. They went to check it and came upon an old well nearby. It was a sheltered one at that, with a makeshift wooden roof covering it from the sun rays. Realizing what it was, the two brothers ran towards it.

The well was very deep, so deep that they can't see the bottom of it. Despite the heat, the stone was cool and the darkness inside spreads a sense of freshness, as if it was left untouched by the desert itself. Herod hurriedly tapped his brother, urging him to drop the bucket hanging at some kind of pulley mechanism attached to the top. Zilloh dropped the bucket and after a few clanks, pulled it back again. Inside the bucket was— nothing. Disappointment showed in their faces. Herod was about to cry when Eshikel stepped in. He patted Herod's head.

"You can't afford to cry. Save that tear, its precious water."

He then eyed the well, examining if he could fit in it.

"What are you doing?", Zilloh asked.

"What else but to get water?"

"It's obviously dry."

"Then I'll magick it."

"Don't kid me, there's no such thing."

"Wait and see."

Eshikel went inside the hole, extending both his arms and feet to prevent himself from falling. He let himself slide downward, slowly scraping his limbs until he reached the bottom. Just like what he expected, the well was pitch black, to the point that he couldn't even see his own hands. He crouched down and felt up the sand, checking for any moisture.

"Please be damp," he whispered to the sand.

Yes! Its—

He began digging as fast as he could, using only his hands to scoop up the sand. Like a dog playing, he dug up a hole, at least one foot deep. Soon enough, that hole began filling up with muddy water.

He let out a deep sigh, he has been holding his breath for a long time, exactly two weeks, and this was the first time he let out a breath.

"Hey toss me that bucket!" he shouted to them.

No magick needed at all.

He smiled to himself, they've found water at last. It was a rare occurrence, a miracle of the desert maybe, but these things never happened to him when he was still alive. Even in his travels, some sick God would play tricks on him, often fooling him around with mirages.

Well, that can't be Father Death then.

He deduced that if Death can create mirages, he damn sure could kill some random fake God in the middle realm. Otherwise, he wouldn't be needing his help.

Or he might just like a little challenge, an entertainment perhaps. Who knows how pretty boring the life of a God is?

"Hey that bucket!" he shouted again, louder this time.

There wasn't any response except for the echoes of his voice.

They can hear me for sure. Then why? Maybe they...

He quickly started climbing up, fingers clawing the old clumped sand that was untouched just a few moments ago. He continued, drawing the light closer and closer.

They might've passed out.

Finally at the top, he hauled his body one last time before getting out. He was expecting to see them lying in the shade of the well. What surprised him the most was that he saw no one.