SPEAKING AMONG THEMSELVES, of skills and talents, but mostly of who wanted to do what, it was the same split as yesterday; Whiskey left to hunt, Jie, to the labor, and Zan for the spiritual.

  "Where are you going, boy?" Molly-Holly yelled at him as he walked back to the communal cold box.

  He turned suddenly. His eyes had a will of their own and rolled in his head like earthworms grooving in mud. "Yes?" he asked.

  "That's the cold shack. Meet people in their homes. Yeesh. did no one teach you manners?" Molly-Holly grumbled.

  "Please bring me to my first client," he told Molly, refusing to wander like a sheep any longer.

  Molly did as requested, incoherently rasping complaints as she did so. She brought him to his first (technically second, ever) client. He knew better than to try and ask Molly any questions about the client. He turned and confirmed she was already gone by the time she pointed to the client's house.

  He shouted. The curtain-door opened right away. "Come in, come in! I have been expecting you," she said.

  Zan entered her home and walked down the few stairs into the sunken interior. Multiple cribs lined the small space as did a hearth with a savory smelling pot of soup over the fire. That smells so good, but the babies smell so bad, he groaned.

  To the woman, he said, "Molly-Holly told me you would like an interview?"

  "Yes! I've been dying for one ever since you gave Soft-Belly one!"

  Soft-Belly? She had to be the hysterical woman from yesterday, he thought.

  "Absolutely. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today? Oh, and before I begin, do you have anything you wish to share with me before the session begins?" he asked, following established protocol.

  Boy, did the woman have something to say. "My name is Heart. My grandfathers passed away recently. They were my everything. And now? I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm scared all the time. I need help..."

  If he was myopic before, he wasn't any longer. He saw how the woman's heart had broken. Instantly, he found his heart filled with sympathy.

  "Ma'am. I am sorry for your loss. I can't pretend to know the pain you're feeling, but I can listen," he told her.

  For hours, the woman gushed about her grandfathers, how they died, her reaction, and life after. To say it was a journey for him would've been an understatement. Keeping to his word, he listened with all the care he could give.

  "Thank you, young man," Heart said, her session at its end.

  "You are very welcome. Now, not to rush over to the boring bits, but shall your session begin?" he asked.

  Nodding affirmatively, he asked Heart the same questions he had asked Soft-Belly. Heart's replies could be simplified to something like, "I think about the gods often. I often think about if they ever think of me. I guess not, right?"

  Zan thanked the woman for her time. He also wished her pleasant condolences.

  "Before you leave!" Heart said as Zan turned to stand. "Would you like some soup?"

  "I would love some."

  With his belly filled with soup, Zan departed the woman's dwelling. Not knowing who his next client was, however, he had to pop into the mayoral hut to ask Molly-Holly.

  "It's just across the way from the first lady. Now don't be bothering us anymore!" Molly said, drinking with the mayor. I think I'm starting to see the real problem in town, he muttered to himself.

  He shouted for his third client. Their house was of the same build as Heart's home: sunken into the ground with a protective straw-hatch covering, which formed the basis of its roof. "Come in!" a voice from inside yelled.

  Once more, he descended into the cozy abode. A fireplace with dying embers crisped. An elderly man sat near it huddled for warmth.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Stopping on the final stair, Zan announced himself, saying his name and, "I am here to help. Shall I take a seat opposite you?"

  The elderly man grunted and waved him over to sit down. Once he sat, the man rose. He walked over to a small chest nearby. He opened the chest and sneezed after some particulate entered his nose. He returned to the table with a box of matches. Striking a fire with one, he lit a candle.

  "Zan, is it? You look younger than I would've thought," the man said, sitting down. "Tell me -- did you really have to keep me waiting all day?"

  The man was hostile. From experience, Zan knew he had to calm the man, though he would have been also fine with cussing the man out. Deescalating, he said, "I am sorry. I had other clients. I wasn't told of meeting anyone today until just this morning."

  For a while, the man held his gaze. Breaking off, the man said, "Fine. Thank you for your apology."

  "You're welcome, sir. Shall we get started? Now, before I begin, is there anything you wish to tell me?"

  "Uh, I guess," the man said, clearly nervous. "I've been feeling very lonely lately. No one visits. I wonder how it all came to this..."

  Not knowing what to say, he figured a blanket response was best: "That must be hard for you. Everyone gets lonely from time to time. Not everyone feels like their empty, though."

  Tears fell from the man's eyes. Silently, he cried. Minutes between them eroded by as Zan attempted to show the man the sympathy he clearly needed.

  Eventually, after more minutes of quiet relief, the man wiped his eyes. He said, "Sorry about all that, lad. Kids shouldn't see their betters in such a vulnerable state. You have some questions to ask me about the gods?"

  With marble in hand, he injected the trivial sum of magic into it. He said, "I do. The first question I need to ask is 'What role do the gods play in your life?'"

  "For a while, I based my life around their worship. Made it my identity. Today? I do my own thing. I wish I could say more, but that is about the gist of it," he said. "Oh, and my name is Rufus."

  Zan thanked the man for telling his name. "Next question: how often do you worship?"

  Rufus considered but replied curtly. "Once a week? I know, I know! I need to worship more."

  "I am not judging you. I don't worship myself. But I guess I should, right?" he said to Rufus.

  "You're young. I was older than you are now when I began my spiritual journey. It will come in time."

  "Absolutely. And my final question: 'What service do you provide to the gods?'" he asked, curious if the answer was going to be what he thought it was going to be.

  When Rufus answered, he said, "None. I provide no service. Not sure I even know what that means."

  Thinking about it himself, he had no clue what was meant by 'service.' "Devotionals, I think? Building temples, maybe?" Was all he could venture as guesses.

  They continued to chit-chat for several minutes. Though, it was mostly the lonely man making partial-hearted attempts to convince him to stay. 'For only a little longer,' the man said several times. To which, he obliged. Until such a point where he really had to leave.

  "If you would like, I will say 'goodbye' before my party and I leave," he said to Rufus, knowing offering as much was not something he had to do.

  "Thank you, lad. If you remember, that's fine. Party? Are you with other Initiates?"

  He explained to the man the situation. Quickly and with broad strokes.

  "That old rock? Huh. Never would have guessed that was actually a bunker. I guess it makes sense, though. No other rock that big is around for, well, many miles. Best of luck in buying it. The mayor's an ass," Rufus replied.

  Not wanting to get dragged into another side-diversion, he told the man he "would be on guard!" against the mayor's contemptuous behavior.

  Back on the street, Zan let loose some relief. He passed gas he had been holding in for the duration of the session. Feeling lighter, he walked aways from his client's home. That guy at least gave me an actual answer, he thought.

  "Ready when you are, guys," he spoke into his echo-beetle which, as always, floated close to him.

  Forced to wait several dozen minutes, he took this period as his rest. He leaned against a tree, eventually he found himself sitting against its mighty form. His gaze drifted upward. Bark. Tree. Branches. How funny to think a tree like this, a completely ordinary thing, might be used for evil if the Woodland Expanse gets their way, he thought.

  "Where are you? Zan!" a voice -- Whiskey -- boomed, snapping him out of his fancies.

  "Here!" he shouted.

  His friends joined him near their camp. A quick meal later of bread, cheese, and fruits, and the time had come to talk about the next step.

  Jiehong spoke first. "I saw Whiskey with the hunters. They came back with a mighty haul. Far more than this village needs. And I was working all day in the field. Using my exo-suit arms to clear the heaviest timber and stone from the fields they wished to claim. I know you, Zan, have been busy with your interviews. I say, our service has been rendered."

  Whiskey shook her head, nodding in agreement, while Jiehong spoke. "I concur. Should the mayor demand a tiny sum of services more, that will be fine -- I can stomach doing a bit more community service. No matter what, though. By tonight, he will sign over that land."

  Not finding anything wrong with his teammates plan, Zan said, "Shall we go and see the mayor, then? I don't know about you, but I am ready to leave this place."

  "We wouldn't really be leaving though, right?" Whiskey said.

  "I mean," Zan replied. "We would be leaving the relationship with the town which we now have. Which is 'us performing services.' I just don't want to be under that woman's foot anymore!"

  "Molly-Holly? Yeah. I know what you mean. She's a viper. We are going to still be seeing her, though. Even if it is only 'here' or 'there.' Remember to remain cordial with her, Zan. Even if you really don't want to."

  Not wanting to argue with his teammates about the finer points of socializing, something they clearly knew more about than he, Zan gave the conversation it's end when he doused the campfire and led the way toward the mayoral hut.