As Edwin stepped toward the entrance of the trading post, a calm voice cut through the noise.
"Edwin! I have an assignment for you."
He turned. A tall, slim man in his late twenties smiled at him. The crowd fell silent the moment they saw Elder Routh — the founding head of the Amala Trading Post.
"Greetings, Elder Routh," Edwin said, falling in step behind him.
Heads turned as Routh walked straight into the center of the gathering. The two muscular men dragging Merchant Griford froze.
"Elder!" Griford began, but Routh raised a hand.
"No need, Merchant Griford." He turned to Granny Mo. "Both of you are members of the trading post. I will settle this matter here."
Routh took out three pieces of Nash Silver and pressed them into Granny Mo's palm. She tried to refuse.
"Elder, I'm not stone-hearted. I already have my money back—"
He insisted with a gentle smile. After some convincing she accepted.
[Why would anyone carry that much Nash Silver on them in the first place?] Edwin wondered as Granny Mo and her attendant left.
"Edwin, please escort Merchant Griford to the shrine," Routh ordered. Then he looked at the merchant. "Your situation is understandable, but you have still disgraced our ancestors and the Venerable's teachings. That can't be overlooked."
The muscular men untied Griford's wrists. Griford regained freedom.
"Go and repent. With the information you've given me, I will handle this personally and make sure your wife and child are returned safely."
With that, Edwin and Merchant Griford left the trading post and headed toward the shrine that sat atop a gentle hill at the northeastern edge of Amala.
Edwin walked beside the older man, feeling painfully awkward.
[I'm only fifteen. How am I supposed to comfort a grown man who just ruined his life?]
By the time they reached the shrine hill, dusk had settled. Two figures were descending the stone steps — an elderly man and a young man. They were both dressed in white robes, each had a black belt coiling around the waist.
The young man's gaze reminded Edwin of something. [Oh no… I forgot to buy lamp oil.] The empty jar hung upside-down in his arms.
"Oh, little brother, did you forget something?" The young man asked, but Edwin knew the question was just a reminder.
"Brat, greet the guest first," the elderly man said. He looked at Griford. "Merchant Griford? You don't look well. Edwin, what happened?"
Edwin quickly explained everything, of course he skipped the bulling part, it was embarrassing. Even rats had some sense of pride enough to avoid saying somethings.
"That's why I forgot the lamp oil." Edwin said as he finished recounting the event at the trading post.
The elderly man — Shaman Zu, the only blood relative Edwin still had — nodded and turned to the young man. "Zara, it's getting dark. Go to the trading post and buy the oil. Be quick — you know how dangerous the night roads are."
He looked at Edwin. "Tell Jefferson to prepare a newborn lamb for the offering."
"After that, please do prepare the altar, Mr. Owa has left for Olivill, it will be your job before he returns."
Mr. Owa was the shrine's keeper, having handled all its affairs for years before Shaman Zu returned from his pilgrimage five years ago.
After Zara and Edwin left, Shaman Zu guided Merchant Griford up the hill. The shrine sat atop the gentle slope, visible from every path through the surrounding fields. Its pavilion-like structure was simple yet elegant: woven bamboo walls forming a perfect square, topped by a four-cornered clay-tiled roof that rose to a sharp peak at the center.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest between Amala and Norai…
"This should be the location. They might not be hiding far from here."
A tall, well-built man with heavy iron chains coiled around his upper body spoke calmly. Elder Routh walked just behind him, flanked by two archers and a scout mate.
A huge wolf sniffed the ground near the remains of a ransacked caravan, then trotted toward the treeline.
"Follow the wolf," the chained man ordered.
The team slipped into the forest.
"Let's be quick. I don't want to be here when it gets fully dark," the man said.
"Swish!" A rabbit burst from the bushes. Everyone's hands flew to their weapons.
"Hah — it's just a rabbit," one archer muttered.
"Do not attack. It's my scout," the scout mate said. The rabbit leapt onto his arm and climbed to his shoulder, whispering in his ear.
"Tribe Leader," the scout mate reported, "the bandits are fifty steps northeast."
"Quite smart, Rafael," the chained man praised with a grin. "So you had another scout ahead of us."
Rafael blushed at the compliment.
Back at the shrine
The altar stood at the heart of the pavilion on a raised platform. The scent of fresh lamb blood filled the air. Fire flickered in the chamber beneath the altar.
Two figures knelt before five stone sculptures. At the center stood the tallest one — an elderly man with a long beard, heavy robes, and a closed scroll in one hand. The four smaller figures beside him were hooded and mysterious.
"I, Zulon Mathias, a lowly and humble descendant, kneel before Venerable Mola and the Ancestors," Shaman Zu intoned. He dipped his fingers in the bowl of blood and flicked it across the stone figures, then passed the bowl to Merchant Griford.
Soon the smell of burning blood rose. Thin smoky vapor curled upward from the wet stone.
"Praise be to Venerable Mola. Praise be to the Ancestors," Shaman Zu said, his voice full of joy. "This lowly son of yours will do great deeds."
The blood had burned away completely — a clear sign of forgiveness.
Merchant Griford bowed deeply.
After the ritual, Shaman Zu gave him the last of the blood. "Smear this on your wife and child before you sleep, while thanking the Venerable and our ancestors. They have already extended their protection."
Merchant Griford took the bowl with trembling hands, eyes bright with hope.