After his brush with death, Oak passed the time by walking around his safe haven with Geezer. He tried to find something to eat, but there was nothing he recognized as edible, and it would take some time before he started eating bark in desperation.

If it comes to that, bark would be my last resort, anyway.

He entertained a faint hope that grass or leaves would taste better. At least they would be easier to chew. Strangely, he did not feel that hungry. Or thirsty, as he thought of it. He drank some of the water dripping from the foliage just to see how it tasted, but other than that, he felt content.

Geezer was having the time of his life, sliding and rolling in the wet grass. Looking at the goofball brought a smile to Oak’s face. If nothing else, he was not alone and there was comfort in that.

Oak waited, but dusk never came. It was pretty preposterous that sunlight was reaching a maple grove inside a giant workshop, but never-ending daylight was plenty suspicious on its own. He decided to climb one of the large trees so he could see where the sunlight was coming from. Geezer did not like this decision at all, and the dog started barking the second Oak began hauling himself up.

Geezer had always held the wise opinion that humans should stick close to the ground, and preferably move calmly without unnecessary running or loud noises. Oak was used to his dog's antics and ignored them. Getting high enough to pierce the cover of the leaves was tricky, since the branches were getting narrower and narrower, but he managed it in the end and stuck his head above the foliage.

Oak’s eye widened in shock and he almost lost his grip and fell from the tree. Above him was the roof of the giant workshop, cast in shadows. Chains descended from the darkness, dangling like the entrails of some massive carcass, dripping ichor and shrouded in mist. Above him was also a clear blue sky and a bright, blinding sun that shined upon him, enveloping him in its embrace.

It was like the memory of the sun back home on a pleasant summer day when he was little, running around in the valley with his friends, fooling about without care. The visions were both existing simultaneously, superimposing themselves upon one another in ways that made his mind lurch. Oak had to look away and shake his head. Just looking at the sight was giving him a headache.

“This is without a doubt some absolute bullshit,” Oak growled and tried to squint at the impossible twisting and layering of space above him. He was seeing two things at once, and his brain could not keep up. Blinding pain stabbed him behind the eyes and he had to abandon the effort before he suffered a stroke.

Oak climbed down slowly, a headache pulsing behind his eyes. This was all too much. He needed to think about what this all meant, but there was only white noise in his head. His ears were ringing, like church bells calling the congregation to mass. A horrifying conclusion was worming its way through his mind, but he did not dare voice the thought. As if saying it out loud would make it real.

Even more confused than before, Oak dropped to the grass and flopped on his back. Geezer licked his face for a time, and then curled up next to him, tired from all the excitement. Oak closed his eyes and thought of his homestead. He gave it even odds a group of Shaw’s men had ransacked the place and burned it to the ground. It took a long time for him to fall asleep.

***

Considering what Oak had been thinking about before sleep claimed him, it was not surprising he dreamed of home. He found himself in the house his old man had built, sitting at the table with a bowl of stew in front of him. It was so familiar it hurt. All the tools hanging on the walls, fire crackling in the oven, and a faint smell of tobacco in the air. Candles illuminated the room and cast shadows onto the walls.

His old man sat opposite him across the table, eating from his own bowl, and looking at him with inquisitive eyes. “You’ve had quite a day, haven’t you,” his father said and winked at Oak. “Not a bad overall showing though.”

Oak did not know what to say. He stared up at his old man in silence. What did you say to a dead parent, who should by all rights be ashamed of their son? In that moment, the guilt was almost too much to bear. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him and he choked up.

“Oh, none of that now, boy,“ Oak’s father said and drank the rest of his stew down in one go. “We have a limited amount of time afforded to us and much to go over. You will have questions and I will try to answer them to the best of my ability. But first you need to truly open those eyes of yours.”

Something was not right. Why was he looking up at his father? He had been taller than his old man. And on that note, was his father so handsome when he was still alive? He certainly did not have a full head of black hair like the man sitting across the table. Nor such high cheekbones.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

It felt like a haze was lifting from his mind. Oak lifted a finger, leaned down and looked under the table. The person sitting across from him had two legs. One of those legs belonged to a man. The other was the leg of a rooster. Oak lifted his gaze and leaned back in his chair, staring across the table with his mouth open in shock.

“What?” Oak asked.

“Took you long enough, dear Oak,” said Ashmadei, the Demon of Wrath. “You have questions on the tip of your tongue, and I don’t think you will be able to concentrate properly before you get an answer to them, so ask away.”

For an instant, Oak saw a grand hall made of giant skulls with broken crowns on their heads, and Ashmadei sitting on top of a melted throne, a lance in hand. He had three heads; the first like a bull, the second like a man, and the third like a ram. Liquid flame dripped from his lips, and his breath was cinder and smoke. The tail of a serpent stretched behind him and vanished into the eye socket of a gigantic skull wearing an iron crown.

The visage vanished, and just the tall and handsome man with a rooster’s leg remained.

Oak swallowed. “Where did the ritual you recommended transport us?” he asked.

Ashmadei looked apologetic. “Oak, you know that already. You just fear the answer. Now, in my defense, I must say that I could not find another way to keep you and your lovely dog in one piece,” he replied. “You are very lucky to be alive at all, since in normal circumstances I would not have noticed the dormant drop of God’s blood on that shroud inside the old church. The passing of so many souls in the vicinity must have stirred it up.”

Ashmadei crossed his fingers under his chin and looked Oak straight in the eye. “You are in Ma'aseh Merkavah, or as it is known in common parlance, the City of God.”

Oak closed his eyes for a moment as his fears were realized and let out a tired laugh. “Figures. I am inside the Doom of the Old Empire.” He gave Ashmedai a pleading look. “Please tell me the dragon is asleep?”

“Yam-Nahar slumbers still. The dragon has gorged himself on God’s dead flesh and is now digesting his meal. Bit by bit he consumes all that he, and the Elven Empress Aoibheann, called to creation from the highest heaven over three hundred years ago,” Ashmedai said.

“Is there a way out of this place?” Oak asked. “I’ve heard it said that the entire city twists upon itself, forming a sphere.”

“Indeed. There are many ways out of the city for someone as small as you, but you won’t find them without help, no matter what aid I give you. Luckily for you, I have a proposition in mind,” Ashmedai said. “I think you will find it agreeable.”

Oak beckoned him to continue and said, “Let's hear it then.”

Ashmedai spread his hands. “How would you like to help me fulfill an oath by saving a soul from centuries of torment so you can escape Ma'aseh Merkavah together? After that little adventure is done with, you can begin the long and arduous journey to save the continent from a dragon’s folly.”

“Well, that is a lot to take in,” Oak said. “Is the dragon whose folly I would be stopping called Yam-Nahar?”

Ashmedai just smiled and winked at him.

“This is one of those things where you need the answer now, isn't it?” Oak asked.

Ashmedai nodded. “I will naturally make you into my Warlock and install an infernal engine into your soul. It’s the least I can do, considering the circumstances.”

Oak was once again shocked, speechless. The past day had already been a trying experience and the shocks just kept coming, one after the other. Finally he spoke with a wavering voice: “You would make me a warlock? Why? I forsook you; I fought for a king with no noble reason or justification.” Oak lowered his head in shame. “You would honor me so, even though I shamed myself?”

Ashmedai looked at Oak with a mix of sadness and anger on his face. The demon’s eyes burned like hot coals, piercing Oak with their gaze. “I will admit you roused my anger, Oak. But you were seventeen and had just lost your father. I try my best to reserve most of my wrath for my enemies, not my followers,” he said. “But your feelings are half right. You have not yet earned this honor. That just happens to be irrelevant, since whether or not someone has earned it is not the only reason I would make a warlock. The right man in the right place can change the course of history, Oak, and you are very much in the right place at the moment. And you also have some potential.”

Ashmedai leaned forward. “Have you ever considered that you might sell yourself short? The man before me is no meager lamb who believes in the divine rights of kings.”

Oak tried to steady the wild beating of his heart. “Then you know my acceptance was never in doubt either,” he said. “I will say it again. You honor me beyond words.”

“Excellent,” Ashmadei said, and a smile graced his face. “Our time is limited. Let me give you some instructions, so you can fulfill my oath, and escape the deathtrap you are currently in. Then we can figure out what kind of warlock you want to be together.

“The bigger picture will have to wait, since time is of the essence and contacting you is currently difficult and dangerous for both of us. It will be even more so when you leave the grove behind,” the demon said. “Unless you find more safe havens like it, it is likely that you will be without my help from here on out, until you walk under the open sky once more.”

Oak gave his assent, and in return Ashmedai gave him a set of directions to one of Empress Aoibheann’s favorite summer palaces on the outskirts of the center of Ma'aseh Merkavah. The directions were based on a map that was over four hundred years old. That did not make Oak feel terribly confident, but Ashmedai assured him there was nothing to worry about.

Then it was time to get down to brass tacks.