Lenny looked up at the stars and tried to plot them. He knew there was one that supposedly never moved, but it pointed him in a direction Rufus had warned to never follow. It didn’t matter, the caravan of raiders had gone too close to the twin suns and the green glow was choking the stars from the sky. Still, he stared, hoping that just as there was a devil on earth in the form of Jackmaw Yapyap, there was a god in heaven to deliver him from this madness.

  They stopped for the night in a patch of sand that had long green grass poking from it. It reminded Lenny of Rufus’s thinning hair as it swayed in the wind. He wished he could bend down and touch it, but the Gordo clan had shackled him to a strange beast’s backside.

  He had never seen anything like it, never even heard stories of such a creature. It was a towering beast, easily three times Lenny’s size. It had leathery grey skin that sagged over its bulky body. It was slow, but persistent, setting the pace of the long journey for the caravan. He had barely seen its head, but it looked like it had a large trunk snaking from its face, and large flapping ears often waved and caused a breeze for the boy to enjoy as he cooked in the sun, his skin burning against his metal bindings. Shi-Toh had called it Great Sire Bantu, but the other raiders just called it the elephant.

  Bantu was laying in the grass, its trunk snaking through the sand in search of something. When it became excited with a find, it reared itself up, the chains tightening against Lenny until he couldn’t breathe. The shackles wrapped his chest, and he wheezed as he begged for someone to release him. Then the elephant stopped, returned to its resting position, and began to dig again.

  “You hanging in there?” It was Shi-Toh. He had come around Bantu, leaving behind the camp of raiders just out of Lenny’s sight. “Great Sire Bantu isn’t bothering you with his hunt for food, is he?”

  Lenny didn’t speak. He had learned over the past day that anything he said could be interpreted as an insult to Jackmaw and the Gordo clan. His pleading for water and food had earned him only punches, kicks, and taunts from the raiders. They all enjoyed treating him like a punching bag, but Shi-Toh was different. The way he always moved like a drunk on a raft made Lenny feel uneasy. The feathered man always spoke in a calm, smooth tone, but Lenny knew he was capable of being just as terrible as the others. He just hid it better.

  After a long moment of no answers, Shi-Toh frowned beneath his onyx glasses. “I could let you down, you know. We’re far enough away from any town that your best chances for survival are to stay with us. You wouldn’t want to die in the desert, would you? You’re worth so much more to us than the scavenging beasts of the wastes.” His voice was even, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

  “N-no,” Lenny said. He braced himself for a strike. Instead, he heard Shi-Toh humming a tune as he played with the locks on the shackles. Bantu stirred, trying to kick him off, but the feathered man was quick, and Lenny was free of the chains before the elephant could choke him again. They rattled to the sand, and Lenny collapsed with them. He was lying in a pile of himself, struggling to get up. The joints in his hips and knees felt like they had calcified into solid bone, and his entire torso throbbed with an overwhelming ache. The boy coughed and sucked in air. Shi-Toh stood over him, waiting.

  “Blessed be the lamb who chooses life. Jackmaw has agreed to a reading from you. I will make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

  Shi-Toh offered Lenny a hand. The boy didn’t take it. He wondered what Krav or Rufus would do. They would have told the raider to fuck off, but Lenny was afraid, so instead he protested Shi-Toh’s attempts at kindness by ignoring them all together. Still, he worried even that might earn him a palm across the face or a knee to his chest.

  But the raider continued to demonstrate his mercy. He waited until Lenny was to his feet and said, “That isn’t a request.”

  Shi-Toh led him through the raider camp, hanging the boy from his arm like they were on a date. To call it a camp was akin to calling the grassy sand by Bantu an oasis. There were no standard tents or campfires. They had them packed to their beasts, but they had forgone them for the evening. Instead, multicolored beasts of men and women dressed in furs and paint gathered around a bonfire smoking strange drugs. They sat on tattered carpets and passed smoldering cigarettes, hypodermic needles, and salt licks around. Lenny hated having to hold onto Shi-Toh to walk, but the hungry, intoxicated glare of the others was enough to make him cower into the feathery robes.

  The only structure in the camp was a tent that was best described as a silken palace. The canvas wasn’t thick and matted by the sun, but flowing and soft to the touch. Instead of being shaped like a cone the way Lenny was used to, it was rectangular and long. Shi-Toh pulled one of the curtains aside and beckoned the boy inside. Something in his gut begged him not to, but he followed the command he was given and entered. There were eyes all over him as he stood in the high ceilinged tent. Jackmaw’s personal retinue was gathered around a golden firepit. They looked like they were mid conversation when the boy interrupted them. The tension only subsided when Shi-Toh stepped in after him and bowed.

  Jackmaw Yapyap smiled beneath his gimp mask. He met Lenny’s curious gaze with his blood red eyes. The warlord was on the far end of the tent, laying on his side and taking up most of the floor with his massive body. He took a long drag of his cigarette, pulling the burning cherry down to his fingers, then flicked it into the fire. When he spoke, he wasn't addressing Lenny, but he didnt take his eyes off the boy. “Out.”

  An old woman with swirls of tattoos covering her whole body frowned and accentuated her sunken cheeks. “We need to finish plotting a course for-”

  “Figure it out with captain killjoy,” Jackmaw growled and shooed her towards Shi-Toh. “I need a word with the seer boy.”

  Lenny noted how calm the warlord seemed compared to Agua Fria. He wondered if it was due to something the clan took before combat. The retinue of strangers heeded their master’s words and exited the tent. The old woman looked like she wanted to spit on Lenny as she passed him, but decided against it at the last moment. Instead, she shook her wild grey hair in disapproval and left without a word.

  “I’d like to sit in, lord,” Shi -Toh said. “You have a habit of being displeased with your readings. Perhaps I could be of use interpreting the seer boy’s visions.”

  “Get the fuck out of my tent before I throw you out.”

  The feathered man’s brow creased, and he frowned for a split second. Lenny noticed, and if Jackmaw did as well, he didn’t show that he cared either way. Shi-Toh quickly straightened his face out and complied with his master, leaving the young boy to the whims of his master. Lenny saw through the silky curtains that he didn’t go far. His shadow danced on the wall of the tent.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Sit,” Jackmaw grunted. He sat up. Even sitting, he was almost the boy’s full height. The warlord poked around a wicker basket near the fire pit and produced a fat brown root. Mock root. He didn’t cut it up or pick it apart so that it was a decent size. He simply tossed it into the flames and smiled as the smoke rose.

  Lenny swallowed hard and took his place opposite the fire. He had never smoked a root this large before, and he was afraid his shortcomings would prove to be a strain on Jackmaw’s patience. They sat for a while, staring at each other through the smoke. Once Lenny felt the pull of the veil, he licked his lips. “This is the veil of the soul. It is the barrier between this world and the spirit-”

  “Bullshit.”

  Lenny winced. When he opened his eyes, Jackmaw was still smiling. The devil was amused with the customs of shamans. All of a sudden, all of Lenny’s training felt like child’s play. He felt unserious and immature with the warlord laughing at him so easily. “I call this getting high. I do it all the time. I never see any spirits.”

  “For a spirit guide, it’s a conduit. We let the smoke guide us.”

  Jackmaw laughed. “What a load. I bet you my fucking elephant could predict the future better with his clumpy shit than you can with your magic tricks.”

  What elephant? What is that?

  Bantu, Lenny thought. The side effects of mock root were taking hold of his mind, blocking out his memories. He barely remembered who the shadow on the wall belonged to. There was a rasping cough, and Lenny realized he was clearing is throat automatically. “Allow me to show you the depths of your soul.”

  “I don’t have a soul.”

  Lenny tried not to show his fear. The warlord was trying to trip him up, to force him into a mistake. He had to focus and stay on track, but he didn’t know why anymore. Rufus would be back soon and he could help calm down this customer. Who was he again?

  “It doesn’t work if you don’t cooperate,” Lenny said. He closed his eyes. “Follow my lead, and you’ll find what you seek.”

  Jackmaw’s smile grew, stretching his leather mask. “That’s what I’m talking about. Do you know what I seek, scab head?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Lenny snapped. He was sick of Krav calling him that. But that wasn’t Krav, was it? He opened one eye and caught Jackmaw’s blood red gaze. His heart beat like a kick drum in his chest. He appeared even more monstrous under the effects of mock root. Where other customers had spent their time in the tent relaxed and free of negativity, this one was actively antagonistic. He had to stay on track. Lenny quelled his out of control heart, calmed the rush of blood in his veins, and focused on his patron… Jackmaw Yapyap, that was his name. His mind bent and crinkled at the memories that tried to bubble their way up through the smoky haze. “What could the king of the world seek?”

  Jackmaw leaned close, his face alight with the brazier beneath his chin. He cast a shadow over the whole half of his side of the tent, and his red eyes gleamed like a reptile's within the firelight. “I’m looking for the Emerald Expanse. I’ve killed eighteen sages prior to you after they gave me answers I didn’t like. Choose your next words carefully, boy.”

  The Emerald Expanse. It was hard to remember if Rufus had ever taught him about that. Lenny felt like the words were familiar, but he knew them like a child knows a bedtime story. The place was incorporeal, a collective dream made up by the wasteland. But Lenny understood something that the previous eighteen sages didn’t know. Jackmaw Yapyap wasn’t looking for a serious answer. If he told him that there was no actual Emerald Expanse the same way there’s not really a land of milk and honey, the warlord would kill him. This man needed to be placated, not educated. “The Emerald Expanse is a noble goal. But is your spirit up to the task? Do your reasons for seeking such a prize align with fate? What do you seek in the Emerald Expanse?”

  Jackmaw read him for a moment, just a single second. It ticked by so slowly, Lenny thought he might not make it out of the tent tonight. But then the warlord surprised him by dropping his smile and relaxing. He scratched his mask, and it slipped around his face like a second skin. “Maybe I should have let Shi-Toh stay. You talk a lot.”

  “Another patron could interfere with the reading. I’m here to guide you, not him.” It slipped out so easily. It wasn’t exactly a lie, the connection established between spirit guides and their customers could be muddled by more people, but he was not worried about being outnumbered in the tent. Right now, he had the warlord’s full attention, and as much as he hated being beneath his gaze, he knew the only way to survive was to feed him answers that couldn’t be interpreted.

  The warlord seemed to ponder his answer for a moment, then said, “Use your words better or I’m going to rip your head off and feed it to the damn elephant.”

  Lenny swallowed hard. “O-okay.”

  “I want the Emerald Expanse. I know it’s real. I’ve seen it.”

  Lenny perked up when he heard that. Emerald Expanse or not, Jackmaw had seen something he wished to return to. That was something Lenny could help him with. There were litanies and rituals he had in his mental toolbelt that could help people find missing items or reestablish lost paths home. He patted himself, realizing he didn’t have any of the physical tools necessary. “I can help you if you’ve seen it before. Do you have something I can write with?”

  “Reading and writing? You must be the real deal.” Jackmaw reached over to where the old woman had been sitting. There was another wicker basket that presumably belonged to her. It rested on the sand near a finely woven carpet. The warlord dug around and produced a sheet of thick parchment and a stick of charcoal. He handed it over to the boy, but he put his hand up to stop him.

  “I need you to draw for this to work,” Lenny said. He managed to look him in the eye long enough to seem brave.

  “I don’t draw.”

  “Then you don’t find what you were looking for.” It was a ballsy thing to say to the warlord. Something so easily misconstrued as insubordination was apt to get him killed. As the realization of what he just said was dawning on Lenny, he saw Jackmaw nod and place the paper in front of him

  “So, what do I draw?”

  “Close your eyes and place the pencil anywhere on the paper. From here, we’ll retrace your steps together.”

  They were there for hours. The tent had almost completely filled with mock root smoke. Jackmaw had filled out pages upon pages of maps that led all over the wasteland. Lenny’s head pounded, his eyes ached, and his stomach howled with hunger. Too much mock root was taking its toll on him.

  He had managed to trick the warlord into providing him with a map of the wasteland, a way to navigate back to Agua Fria and try to find Krav. Unfortunately, by the time Jackmaw handed over his work, Lenny was too high to understand it. That, or the warlord’s uncanny handwriting was completely illegible. It was possible it was a little bit of both. Lenny watched the zig zagging lines, the crude drawings of towns and settlements. They danced in the firelight, crawling across the pages like writhing black worms. After sleeping off the mock root, he might have a chance of escape. He tapped the parchment together and stuffed them in his robes.

  “I can read over these for you. We’ll pick it up next session.”

  Jackmaw was on his backside by the end of the night. The overwhelming cloud of mock root smoke had finally gotten to him as well. He was half asleep on the desert floor, and his only answer to Lenny was a thumbs up that quickly fell limp to the floor. The warlord grumbled something about telling Shi-Toh to bring a meal and a slave girl, then he dismissed Lenny.

  The night was giving way to the dawn as the cold blue of the sky welcomed him back from the tent. All the raiders were passed out, their bonfire smoldering. Lenny didn’t have a spot to sleep that didn’t involve being strapped to the elephant, so he rubbed his eyes and rejoined the beast. He collapsed to the grassy sand and closed his eyes. The hunger in his empty stomach was almost overbearing, but the call of sleep was far more intense. He closed his heavy eyes and immediately fell asleep. He only managed to achieve peace for a couple hours. By the time Jackmaw rose, he was back in chains on Bantu, and the journey was continued.