It was past midday by the time Oak climbed out of bed. Hunger and Geezer's relentless whining drove him down the stairs to the inn's hazy dining hall, where he secured himself a table and two bowls of stew; one for him and one for Geezer.

He received his share of looks from the handful of other patrons eating their lunch. It was hard to blend in to the scenery when you were a seven foot tall giant. A gaunt, older fellow hiding inside so many layers of clothing it was a wonder the heat had not cooked him to death, swallowed beer down the wrong pipe and coughed it out onto his beard when Oak walked past.

Vjolca, their innkeeper, stared daggers at Oak and wiped down her counter with such force it was a miracle the wood didn't catch on fire. This time, he deserved it. Oak had made a racket in the early morning when they returned to the inn. In his defence, the door frames in this place were made for midgets.

During their short stay at the inn, he and Vjolca had devised a simple, but effective, system of communication to bridge the language barrier separating them.

Oak grunted at the woman and pointed at things, while Vjolca mostly scowled at him and threatened him with a broom handle. The two of them got along like a house on fire.

Since the dining hall was less than full, he got a long table all for himself. Geezer laid at his feet and wolfed down his stew like he hadn't eaten in days. Oak just sat there, leaning against the table and stared at his hands, wondering what on earth he should do. His palms looked clean, but he knew better.

Right until Zef had carried Behar's corpse out of the Carcani manor, Oak had thought the night had gone about as well as it could have. Then his castle of delusions had come crashing down. He had lost control during the battle and hadn't even realized it.

Control. What a fucking joke.

In the course of their desperate escape from the City of God, Oak had leaned on the Butcher to survive. Necessity had left him with little choice, but to welcome the monstrous aspect of himself with open arms, lest he perish in the gloom of Ma'aseh Merkavah.

Actions had consequences.

Now, when the blades came out and blood flowed, he hanged above the darkness by a thread while the Butcher salivated below him. Slipping under the threshold of madness was seamless. As easy as breathing, which should have been no surprise. How could being yourself be anything else but instinctual?

Geezer scraped his leg with a paw and huffed.

"Yeah, yeah. I will eat, don't you worry." Oak gulped down a mouthful of food, remembered he was devilishly hungry, and shoveled the contents of his bowl inside his stomach in record time.

Stewing in misery could wait. He needed more stew and a mug of cold beer.

***

Sadia took her lazing about a step further than Oak by missing lunch entirely. The little spellsinger grabbed herself a chair and sat down next to him, yawning so wide she was a hair's breadth away from dislocating her jaw.

"By the Ophanim, I am starving." Sadia rubbed sleep from her eyes like an old miser digging for a pot of gold. "What is on offer?"

"Nothing." Oak took a swig of beer and let the taste settle before he swallowed it down.

So good. By the Corpse-God, I missed civilization.

"Nothing?"

"Lunch came and went while you slept, little princess."

"You can't be serious, Oak." Sadia buried her narrow face in her hands. "I'm a growing girl! If I don't eat, I will shrivel away!"

"True. You are too skinny as it is."

"Hey!"

"Don't fret. Today is your lucky day." Oak leaned back in his chair and pushed a bowl over to the girl. "I saved some stew for you. Get to eating."

"Thank you!" Sadia snatched the bowl and lopped a spoonful of food into her mouth. Her expression soured. "It is cold," she whined, voice dripping with misery.

"Yeah, it is."

Despite her lamentations, Sadia emptied the entire bowl. Oak was pretty sure if she had been alone, the girl would have licked the bowl clean and went sniffing for more.

Maybe I need to throw her a bone. She said it herself, a growing girl needs to eat.

"Sadia?"

"What?" Sadia asked, looking forlornly at the empty bowl in front of her.

"Vjolca is still over in the kitchen, washing dishes. I am sure you could get a loaf of bread if you asked nicely." Oak glanced down at the hellhound laying at his feet. Geezer perked up. "Take the dog with you. Geezer has a wealth of experience when it comes to begging for table scraps."

"Really? You think bringing the mutt will help?" Sadia looked at Geezer from the corner of her eye, doubt written across her features.

Geezer looked back at Sadia, big red eyes wide as dinner plates and his long tongue hanging out of his mouth. He wagged his tail at the girl in a clear sign of excitement.

"I guarantee it." Oak took a sip of beer and sighed. "Somehow, he has wrapped Vjolca around his little finger. Quite a feat, considering he doesn't even have fingers."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Well, I guess it is worth a shot." Sadia got up and headed towards the kitchen. "Come on, Geezer. Let's see if we can squeeze water from stone."

Not long after Sadia and Geezer went on their quest for bread, the front door of the inn creaked open and Ur-Namma stepped inside. The old elf took off his hood, noticed Oak and walked over. A thin sheen of sweat covered his wrinkly skin.

"Good, you are awake. Has Sadia deigned to join the land of the living, or is she still sleeping like a corpse?" Ur-Namma asked and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Oh, she is up all right. Missed lunch, but I saved her a bowl."

"Splendid."

"Have you eaten anything, skeleton?" Oak narrowed his eyes. "Your cheekbones still look like they are about to pierce your face and stab me in the eyes every time I look at your ugly mug."

"Very funny, barbarian. No need to worry, I have taken care of my dietary needs," Ur-Namma replied. "I ate lunch with Halit and Nadire."

"What for?"

"I wanted to go over the fine details of our compensation with Halit and get a sense of how the town is reacting to last night's events."

"Hmm. Panic in the streets?" Oak asked, scratching his beard. It would be terribly inconvenient for them if the townspeople viewed everyone involved in last night's hostilities with fear and doubt.

"No, things are surprisingly calm." Ur-Namma examined his nails and smiled, showing off his razor-sharp teeth. "Looks like Halit bringing down the hammer scared the stupid out of everyone."

Oak laughed. "I bet."

Last night should have provided enough gossip to sate even the most curious busybody for months on end.

"But, there is another matter that concerns the three of us." Ur-Namma leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. "A ceremonial obligation which we sadly cannot avoid. The town is holding a vigil for the fallen. Tonight."

"A vigil?"

"What's this about a vigil?" Sadia asked, chewing on a piece of bread. She held a loaf in the crook of her arm. Geezer followed at her heels, licking his chops. The fur around the hellhound's snout had breadcrumbs in it.

Heh. Looks like you can indeed squeeze water from stone.

"Yes. A vigil for the fallen. Tonight," Ur-Namma said. "The Ensi expects our attendance."

"All right, I guess we will attend. Not like we have anything pressing on our schedule at the moment." Oak finished his beer and let out a mighty burb. "I am heading upstairs to work on my theurgy. Got a lot of work ahead of me if I want to replicate that thought-plague of mine."

Sadia nodded at Oak and headed for the inn's front door, munching on her bread.

"Hey, where exactly do you think you are going?" Oak asked.

"O–outside?"

"Think again. You are coming upstairs to study that grimoire of yours." Oak wagged his finger at the girl. "How do you expect to ever summon devils or infernal spirits if you don't practice your diabolism? Or do you think your first pact with a demon is going to just fall into your lap?"

"Oh, come on!"

***

Smoke from braziers and burning incense sticks saturated the evening air. It was not a bad smell, but Oak didn't find it pleasant either. It just was. He felt uncomfortable. Oak had attended enough funerals for one lifetime. He understood the necessity of remembering those who were gone, but going through the motions of it had lost all its luster a long time ago.

Not to mention the fact that he still had no idea what to do about Behar's death. Should I come clean? Or not? What purpose would it even serve to tell the truth? It's not like it would bring the man back to life.

Wracked by self doubt and anxiety, Oak followed Ur-Namma and Sadia to the hustle and bustle of grieving people filling the market square. The atmosphere differed from the vigils and funerals he had attended in the Northlands.

In the lands of snow and ice, the purpose of a vigil was to let everyone share their stories of the fallen and drink themselves to stupor. It was a somber event, yet filled with riotous energy. As if everyone could feel the presence of the reaper, and only tall tales and loud laughter could keep the scythe at bay.

Here, the atmosphere was calm. A soft murmur of a dozen soft spoken conversations reached Oak's ears and people held each other close, standing and sitting in small groups. By the scent of it, everyone drank spiced wine, but they did so in moderation. Hells, Oak couldn't see a single person passed out from drinking too much and the vigil was already in full swing.

This ain't normal. Downright weird, these foreign customs.

Ur-Namma saw Halit talking with a group of town elders and went to say hello. Oak and Sadia both grabbed mugs of spiced wine from one of the many stands littered around the square and headed towards the center, where a crowd had formed around a larger fire.

Crying relatives of the dead held wooden plaques with names written on them, heads bowed in silent prayer. Once finished, the mourners threw the plaque into the flames, one after the other. A gentle south-wind carried away what remained of their goodbyes.

"So many dead, and for what?" Sadia sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. "Hard to believe all this came about because of one man's greed."

"Yeah."

Oak watched the smoke rise towards the Heavens. It brought to mind the sacking of Spoke and he wondered if his own homestead in the hills had burned just like the town, becoming cinders and smoke in the wind.

Fuck Jarl Shaw.

From the corner of his eye, Oak spied how Sadia buried her face in her mug of wine. The girl looked absolutely miserable.

Aw, crap.

"Thinking about your mother?" Oak asked. He doubted the fate of strangers would bring about such a strong reaction, but you never knew.

"Yes." This time Sadia didn't hide her tears. "I never got to say a proper goodbye."

"What was her name?" Oak shuffled his feet, feeling like an untactful oaf. "I realized I never asked. Forgive me."

"Don't sweat it. She wouldn't mind." Sadia waved away his concerns. "Her name was Fariha. Fariha Al-Sharekh."

"Hmm. A beautiful name."

Sadia nodded. "She wasn't perfect, but she got pretty close." She snorted, the sound a mixture of a laugh and a sob. "Mother went hungry so I would have enough to eat when I was little. Thought nothing of it."

"My mom…she died giving birth to me. I don't really talk about it much because I miss her and I don't at the same time. How can you miss something you never had?" Oak shrugged. People rarely understood that more than anything else, he regretted not missing her as much as he should have.

Another family finished their prayers, and a man in his fifties threw a plaque into the fire. The flames devoured the wood hungrily, blackening and cracking the plaque in mere moments.

An idea formed, and he couldn't let it go.

"Wait right here. I'm sure Halit knows where we could get our hands on a wooden plaque and some ink." Oak clapped Sadia carefully on the shoulder. There was no need to send the girl stumbling in front of everybody. "Your mother is getting a vigil, and she is getting it tonight."

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