The old woman knelt in front of the statue. A peaceful expression graced her weathered face while her wrinkled hands clasped gently in prayer. That statue. He had seen it too. Many, in fact, lined the common roadways every so often and he assumed like so many that they were distance markers. Or was that all it was?

As his stomach tightened in protests in hunger and he quietly eyed the offering of grilled corn placed in the bowl that the statue held, he was still deciding what to do once she left. He didn’t think he would even find this. The faulty map was supposed to lead to a safe patch of food, safe in the sense of no killer animals nearby, unless one accounted for the dragon snoring some feet back in the woods. If only he could have stomached a meat bun yesterday. 

His stomach growled. The old lady opened her eyes. He turned away.

“Wait, take this,” she called. 

Keenin turned back to see the corn on her palms and this was held out in offering to him now. “It’s fresh.” 

“But that's…”

“The gods won't be eating it. They aren't here anymore. Besides, god Baytu protects travelers so this can also represent my worship.”

“Not here you say… Then why pray?”

“It gives me courage. Come. Take it.” 

Keenin finally approached and accepted the food. He sat himself comfortably alongside the old woman and the statue and bit into the golden corn. The kernels crunched and burst deliciously. He thought of the rows of corn fields in his hometown, of the river that wound beside them, the energetic dogs and children who ran through, and the small patch he and Lester had lain in.  

“Do you know where you're going?” the woman asked. 

“I… well I wanted to go home, but I need to do something first.” 

“Indeed. Young men must find themselves. We cannot rely on our parents forever.”

“Is that what people say? Not to make you feel bad, but I don’t have parents. I thought I wanted them, parents I mean. I wanted to be normal, but… how do I say it? Things didn't get better the way I imagined.”

“Then please forgive my words.” 

“Forget it. Before all this strangers hardly ever spoke to me. How can I blame someone for trying to help?”

He held the eaten corn cob between his fingers before deciding and placing it in that upheld bowl in the statues hands. 

“These actions, our mistakes might seem rude or useless, but regretting and never knowing is more terrifying.” 

Like…what would have happened if he followed his mother? Would he be experiencing this moment if Lester had not taken him as a friend? Would Lester be angry now? He truly didn’t want his friend to suffer because of him even though the distance between them had become so much more. 

 He felt the distance in the way the wind blew. He felt alone in the way that baby birds trailed their mothers. And yet he felt so much more himself in the way that when he was left alone he raised a hand near his face and watched flames flicker across his skin without feeling fear or guilt. Soon he was going to get what he wanted. 

***

Those morning events replayed in his mind as Keenin absently scrubbed a small dusty stone alcove. Then he paused and leaned forward to blow at the dust settled in the wooden carving nestled there. 

Dust poofed and sprinkled his eyes which he furiously rubbed. When his vision cleared Clide had shuffled over and blew an innocent cold gust onto his face. 

“Hey,” Keenin again rubbed as the dragon chuckled.

“Arnt these carvings unrealistic?” Dia asked while picking one up. 

This one showed animalistic people lounging in the forest, others of human children playing in a field, and still others of fish-tailed girls. 

“So you think so too,” a different boy said. “I think the priest just bought what was on sale.”

That was Rupert. He worked at this temple which was dedicated to the goddess of life Diana. And now so did they, temporary of course. You see they needed money because apparently token promises went accepted to hire transportation.

“I thought you worked here, it's an awful lot of dust.”

“I have school and house chores. You're lucky I hadn't hired anyone yet. We only do a big clean once a year.”

“Then why were you hanging out near the city entrance?"

“Some herbs grow there. Saves on cost to use those.”

“Why keep a temple no one visits? Aren't there so many for the same god?”

“How should I know?” 

“Clide, don't be rude.”

“My turn,” Rupert announced. “What are your hobbies?”

“Sleeping.”

“Ghost extermination.”

“Fishing.”

They glanced at each other awkwardly. We're they all so weird? But fishing was normal right? 

“Interesting. And favorite foods?”

“Pie.” 

“Apples.”

“Does this have a point?” Clide asked. 

“Tommorow is a festival. We might be able to win prizes.” 

Keenin paused. He wasn’t certain he deserved such an experience. He was meant to be returning home as soon as possible, but they couldn’t even afford to do that yet. 

“Which god is it for? I’m not celebrating something weird,” Dis mumbled. 

“Don’t be so serious,” Rupert responded. “They are all super fun, but tomorrow is for the goddess of fate.” 

“Fate?” How come this sounded worse than death. 

“They have games like find your fated partner, lucky draws, fortune telling. You know… fate stuff. Even the food is made to find little surprises and freebies in it. I heard an orphan got adopted into a noble house once because they received a fortune to become a famous artist.” 

 Keenin sighed and tried to move away from the conversation, purposely moving along the wall wiping candlesticks until he reached a door handle. He turned it lightly when Dia grabbed his wrist a little too hard. 

“Keenin you don’t have to clean in there,” Rupert’s voice soon followed.

Keenin relaxed his grip. “The festival. I’ll think about it.”

***

He picked a random chair and sat. Up on a corner stage patrons were performing various talents like sword drills, dance, singing, and even wood carving. They weren’t particularly talented, but it was easy to understand why they were up there once you noticed the sign that performers received a discount at this particular bar and inn.  

At the check-in desk Clide and Dia were trying to arrange a room and had insisted he not be involved since he didn’t understand rates, but he bet she was just preventing them from being so frugal as renting the wood shed. 

Watching others try their best brought a feeling of cozy familiarity. It was akin to watching the orphans at his hometown play games with stones and music with sticks. 

A weight leaned against the back of his chair.

“Hey, are you coming up?” Clide asked.

Keenin rubbed the back of his neck where the cold breath hit. He just watched the performers. 

“Kid are you alright?” Clide asked. 

“Ya, ya I’m fine. You go ahead.”

“Room 11. Don’t forget.” 

His hair was ruffled. He swatted at the hand, but Clide had already walked away. Keenin brought his hand near his face wondering if he shouldn’t have done that. “I’m just tired, that's all.”

He hadn’t particularly wanted to come here, after all. He would rather have been home. The smallest glow akin to a firefly came to rest on his palm, a new familiar companion that proved he was no longer powerless.

A drinking mug entered his vision. He blinked, closed his palm, and looked over to a darkly dressed young woman with nearly white hair who was offering the mug. Not dark in the sense of mourning, but in that trendy cult fashion.

“It’s beer. I haven't touched it yet.” 

It wasn’t just her. There was a similarly dressed man that seemed to pay no attention to the exchange. Glancing down he saw several mugs near her feet.

“Yes. People keep gifting it,” she explained. 

“Do I look like I need it?” Keenin asked. 

“Try it.”

“Is it poisoned?”

The woman took a sip from the mug, then chugged a few more gulps before innocently offering it. He reached out and gently took hold of the mug, careful to avoid touching hands, because you never do know what offends people. He took the smallest sip and held it to preserve the taste, bitter with a nutty aftertaste.

“Honestly. It tastes awful.”

“Still a kid. They don’t drink for the taste.”

He set it on the empty chair beside him. “They can have it.”

“I was wondering if you were headed to the capital. The roads are quite busy with refugees. Most just haven't travelled this far.”
“What’s your point?” 

“Your white knight was worried.”

“Who?”

“Regardo.”

Keenin lifted the beer and took another drink. “Oh him.”

“Don’t get him wrong. We weren't specifically looking for you. He just sent out a general notice to help you out. I’m Vindice, by the way.” 

“The last I checked, it hasn’t been over two months since I left.” And he had checked. 

“I’m surprised that you seem to be fine. I mean what I said about the roads though. There's a high chance you’ll get robbed.”

“But you're letting me go. I’m surprised this drink’s not drugged.”

“The Lotus Guild doesn’t work for nothing. But if you cherish freedom you might consider joining our group instead of those knights. Be it criminals or those with difficult pasts, we can give you a different name and face. You can even train to make potions although it seems like a waste with your acquired gift. You just have to pay back with a few commissions a year.”

“I’ll think about it,” Keenin said. 

“You do that. Ru and I will only be at this inn until the morning after the festival. The war being as it is, they need all the potions we can smuggle over.”

He had to stop himself from muttering that he hoped they didn’t buy from Bodwin.