Jonah didn't get to enjoy the hero worship for long.
Within an hour, the villagers had pressed stale bread, onions, and one live chicken into his arms as offerings.
"Please, blessed warrior, stay and protect us!" the elder pleaded.
Jonah shifted uncomfortably, the chicken pecking at his shirt. "Listen. Uh. I appreciate the poultry, truly. But I'm kind of… on a mission."
"Liar," Val muttered from his hip. "You don't even know what the mission is."
Jonah tried to elbow the sword discreetly. "Shush. I'm improvising here."
The elder wiped his nose with his sleeve. "But they'll come back with more men. You have a holy sword! You're chosen!"
Jonah tried not to look at the burned-out hut from the last raid. He clenched his jaw.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking just a little. "I can't stay. I need to find someone. A prophet. South of the desert."
The elder's shoulders slumped.
Jonah felt like the worst person alive.
He left before he could change his mind, the chicken still clucking under one arm.
He walked for hours under the hot sun.
The bread went stale. The onions made his pack smell. The chicken pecked his ear until he finally set it free.
"Fly! Be free!" he yelled, watching it waddle away at top speed.
"That was the smartest thing you've done all day," Val sniffed.
Jonah glared at the hilt. "I'm so glad my murder sword is also my life coach."
"Murder is coaching, in a sense."
Jonah trudged on.
As dusk fell, the sky turned a bruised purple. He found a half-collapsed shrine beside the road. It offered some shelter from the wind.
He set down his pack, unsheathed Val, and set him on the cracked altar.
"Don't move," Jonah said.
"I'm a sword."
"Right."
He gathered some dry grass and sticks, trying to make a fire.
After twenty minutes, he had three splinters, a lot of smoke, and zero flame.
He sat back, coughing. "You'd think God would have given me basic survival training."
"You'd think you'd have common sense."
Jonah rubbed his face. "Can you, I dunno, light the fire? Holy flames or something?"
Val sighed theatrically. Then his blade glowed red-hot for a second.
The sticks ignited instantly.
Jonah yelped and patted the grass to stop it spreading.
"Warn me next time!"
"Consider yourself warned."
He ate stale bread in silence, listening to the wind howl.
"Why me?" he asked finally.
Val didn't answer.
Jonah stared into the flames.
"I'm not holy. I'm not even good half the time. I've stolen. Lied. Run away from every fight I could."
Val's voice was softer, somehow.
"You're still here."
Jonah blinked. "What?"
"You didn't leave that woman to be cut down. Even though you're terrified."
Jonah scoffed weakly. "I tripped over a chicken."
"Heroism comes in many forms."
Jonah chuckled despite himself.
He lay down, using his pack as a pillow. The fire cracked.
"Goodnight, Val."
"Don't snore."
He fell asleep quickly, exhausted.
And immediately dreamed of fire.
The world was burning. Screams echoed. Black smoke rose to blot out the stars.
Demons with red eyes laughed as they slaughtered the innocent.
At the center stood Jonah, covered in blood, sword in hand, eyes wild.
"RISE, MY WARRIOR."
Jonah shook his head. "I can't."
"FIGHT."
He dropped the sword.
It burned his hands.
"THEY WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOTHING."
He looked up to see Tomas—his oldest friend—burning alive, screaming his name.
Jonah woke with a shout.
He sat up, shaking, sweat cold on his back.
Val glowed softly.
"Nightmares?"
Jonah wiped his face. "Visions. God's idea of pep talks."
"He has a… dramatic flair."
Jonah chuckled bitterly. "You think?"
He curled his knees up, hugging them.
Val went quiet.
Jonah watched the fire burn low.
"I don't want to be a killer."
"Then don't be."
Jonah sniffed. "That's not helpful."
"It's all I've got."
He slept again, this time without dreams.
At dawn, he woke to a sound like paper tearing.
A small demon crouched by the dying fire, poking his pack with a claw.
It was the size of a large dog, with too many teeth and the world's worst breath.
Jonah froze.
Val's voice was gleeful.
"Finally. Something to kill."
Jonah hissed, "Shut up!"
The demon turned its head, eyes glowing like coals. It sniffed.
Jonah tried to smile. "Nice… doggy?"
It lunged.
Jonah shrieked and swung Val wildly.
The sword roared with blue fire, cleaving the demon in half in one stroke.
The corpse crumbled into ash.
Jonah stared at the pile, panting.
Val sounded smug.
"Good swing."
Jonah dropped to his knees.
He felt sick.
He wiped his mouth, shaking.
"God…" he whispered.
"Technically, yes."
Jonah glared at the sword. "Not. Now."
"Understood."
He sat there for a long time.
The wind blew the ashes away.
He watched them drift on the breeze.
Finally he stood.
Packed his things.
Sheathed Val.
And began walking south again.
He didn't look back.
End of Chapter 2: Sword of Sass and Suffering