Jonah trudged through the desert at dawn, squinting into the wind. Sand got into his eyes, nose, and mouth, making him sputter and curse between gasps.
"This… is the worst holy mission in history," he said. "Pretty sure even Moses got better travel conditions."
"Stop whining," Val drawled from his hip. "You'll dehydrate faster."
Jonah stopped and glared at the sword. "I'm sorry, did you just give me survival advice?"
"You're no use dead."
He resumed walking, mumbling. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said."
After hours of miserable progress, he found a scraggly tree clinging to life in the sand. Beneath it was the tiniest spring he'd ever seen—a thin trickle of muddy water pooling in a cracked basin.
Jonah fell to his knees. "Oh thank God."
"Thank Him louder," Val suggested. "Maybe He'll install a spa."
Jonah ignored him, cupping water in his hands and slurping it greedily. It tasted like dirt and iron, but it was wet, and he nearly cried with relief.
He splashed his face and sat back, breathing hard. For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
But of course, peace didn't last.
He heard distant hooves.
Jonah froze.
A plume of dust approached on the horizon.
He tried to get up too fast and fell on his butt.
"Smooth," Val sighed. "Maybe they're friendly."
Jonah squinted. Five riders. Black armor. Swords.
He gulped. "They don't look friendly."
He stood, shaking, and drew Val. The blade lit up with a ghostly blue flame, casting weird shadows across the sand.
"Try to act like you know what you're doing," Val whispered.
"Ha," Jonah muttered. "Good one."
The riders circled the spring, blocking any escape.
Their leader, a scarred man with one dead eye, laughed.
"Well, look what we have here. A lost little priest playing soldier."
Jonah cleared his throat.
"I… I'm a holy warrior," he said, trying to sound confident.
The men laughed even harder.
The leader spat in the sand. "Give us the sword and we might let you crawl away alive."
Jonah swallowed.
Val hummed threateningly.
"Don't you dare."
Jonah took a breath. "I… can't give it to you."
The men drew their own swords.
Jonah's knees wobbled.
"Steady."
"I'm trying!"
The leader spurred forward, blade raised.
Jonah shrieked and swung wildly.
Val flared brilliantly, shrieking holy flame.
The leader's sword shattered on impact.
He screamed, clutching his burning hand.
The other men hesitated.
Jonah panted, eyes wide.
Val's voice was cold.
"Next?"
The others turned and fled, dragging their injured leader with them.
Jonah fell to his knees, hyperventilating.
"Get up," Val ordered. "They'll regroup."
Jonah shook his head. "I'm going to vomit first."
He dry-heaved until he tasted bile.
Minutes passed.
Finally, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"God," he whispered. "I almost died."
"Yes," Val said bluntly. "And you'll do it again tomorrow."
Jonah didn't reply. He didn't have the energy.
He forced himself to refill his waterskin.
He washed blood off Val's blade with shaking hands.
The sword watched him silently.
"Was this… what you did with the others?" Jonah asked finally.
"Yes."
"Did they all… survive?"
A pause.
"Some."
Jonah exhaled shakily. "Great. Inspirational."
"Jonah. You didn't run."
Jonah blinked at that.
He sniffed, wiped his nose.
"Yeah," he croaked. "I guess I didn't."
As the sun lowered, he knew he couldn't stay at the spring. He had to keep moving.
He turned one last time, watching the water sparkle.
It felt like leaving safety behind.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
"Jonah. It's just a puddle."
"Shut up, Val. Let me have my moment."
He set his jaw, turned south, and walked away.
The desert seemed endless.
Jonah talked to Val to keep from going mad.
"So, you know, God didn't give me much of an orientation. Is there, like, an employee handbook?"
"You're holding it."
Jonah looked at the sword. "You're the handbook?"
"In a manner of speaking. I was forged to guide you."
"Your guidance so far has been 'kill them' and 'stop crying.'"
"Effective, wasn't it?"
Jonah snorted. "I hate you."
"The feeling is mutual."
They walked in silence a while.
Eventually, Jonah asked softly, "Val… do you think I'll make it?"
Val didn't answer immediately.
"Not if you keep asking questions instead of paying attention."
Jonah cracked a smile despite himself.
"Fair enough."
As night fell, he found a patch of flat ground to camp.
He lit a small fire, the last scraps of kindling from his pack.
He sat there, watching the flames dance.
Val rested across his knees, blade catching the firelight.
Jonah swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry I keep complaining."
"I'm used to worse."
Jonah laughed weakly.
He wiped his eyes.
"I just… didn't want this. Any of it. I wanted to stay home. Sell cabbages. Maybe get married one day."
Val didn't speak.
Jonah sniffed.
"But I guess that's gone now."
Val's voice was surprisingly gentle.
"You can still be you, Jonah. Even doing this. That's the point."
Jonah blinked at the sword.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Jonah nodded slowly.
He stretched out on the sand, Val beside him.
He stared up at the stars.
"Goodnight, Val."
"Sleep. You'll need it."
Jonah fell asleep listening to the wind.
For once, no nightmares came.
End of Chapter 4: The Farewell