An Oath

Nyell didn't show up at breakfast, skipping it altogether. He was a morning person, but not today. His night hadn't been restful, and getting out of bed meant the day would start. He didn't want to run into Allen first thing in the morning, so he chose to pretend to sleep like a log when his sister came to wake him up. As long as he wasn't late for the meeting, who cared if he slept a little longer than usual?

If only he could play dead all day, it'd be a good day.

.

.

Nyell dragged his feet to the center of the village. People had already started to gather near the bonfire, and he had to navigate through the crowd to meet with his father and the White Moon tribe's delegation.

A surprising sight was waiting for him. His sister, who stood beside their father, was conversing with Myrven. Even from a distance, he could see stars twinkling in her green eyes. He felt his mouth twitch. That traitor!

"That disgusted look on your face is almost charming."

The amused voice made Nyell sneer. He glared at Allen, sizing him up in passing. The man had tied his hair into a loose bun, leaving two long strands to fall on each side of his face. The hairstyle suited him, enhancing his long neck. He wore white robes over white pants and leather boots. They were exotic clothes for Nyell's tribe, who were used to wearing leather or fur and walking around bare feet. In other words, Allen stood out like a sore thumb.

Nyell noticed a few women shyly glancing over. Some were quite bold and openly gawked at the man beside him, squealing when Allen peered at them.

 'Are good-looking enemies not enemies anymore…?' Nyell couldn't help but wonder.

Women's way of thinking escaped him. Take his sister, for example. How could she act so bashful toward Myrven when she was cursing his tribe to death the day before? Did she have no shame? Look at her laugh like an idiot! Nyell cringed just by watching her, so he couldn't imagine how Myrven felt. He had to give it to the man: if Isa's behavior repulsed him, he didn't show it and patiently answered the string of questions pouring out of her mouth. He was patient. Then again, he had to be to deal with his chief.

"Thank you, everyone, for gathering here today," Corriel clapped, bringing his people's attention to him. "As you can see, we have three special guests today. They will be staying with us for a while. The White Moon tribe has agreed to help us solve the disappearance cases. As such, I expected each and every one of you to answer their questions truthfully. They will be meeting with the family and friends of the missing persons, and if any of you think they might have information of notice, please share it with them."

Behind Corriel, the elders were nodding in approval. They hadn't participated in the negotiation yesterday for fear of getting whipped by the White Moon tribe, yet they acted as though they had. The mighty look on their faces was getting on Nyell's nerves, so he averted his eyes.

'These goddamn geezers,' he silently clicked his tongue. They didn't know the price Allen had asked for his tribe's help—Nyell had begged his father to keep it a secret and tell others that he had left of his own volition to explore the world if, by any chance, he had to follow Allen back to his tribe—but Nyell would bet his head that the elders wouldn't give a damn. Rather, they'd be happy as Allen hadn't asked for anything substantial like hunting territory rights. His father thought everyone in the tribe would go through thick and thin for each other, but Nyell knew better. The elders were trash, cowards.

"Nyell will be working with them, so don't feel shy," His father's voice brought Nyell back to the present. "I'll let our guests introduce themselves."

Allen stepped forward and waved a hand, "Hi, my name is Allen. I'm the chief of the White Moon tribe, and these two are my aides, Myrven and Layla."

Whispers spread in the crowd. They hadn't expected such an important figure to come to their tribe, and some even doubted their ears.

"I'll be meeting with the family and friends of the missing persons later today. For now, I want to better understand the layout of your village and its surroundings. Otherwise, I won't grasp everything you tell me, nor will I be able to track the path the missing persons took when they left. So, don't be surprised to see me and my aides wander around."

People grumped. No one liked the idea of a rival tribe's chief studying the layout of their village and its surroundings. He might as well walk through the front door if he ever wanted to invade them. But before anyone could protest aloud, Nyell spoke.

"It's unsettling, I know. But we don't have much choice. If this continues, our whole tribe will disappear into smoke. So, who cares if those guys learn a little about our village? They're here to help. For once."

"So what?" One man said. "We can't trust them!"

"He's right!"

"They're opportunists!"

"They're monsters in human skin!"

"Isn't that going a little too far…?"

"I'd rather disappear than live up to see my village ransacked by his tribe!"

"I think—"

"If you want," Allen interrupted, his voice calm and unhurried, "I can make an oath to the goddess of vows that we won't use the information we learn during our stay against your tribe in any way. That should quell your worries, and we'll be able to get things done. I'm a busy man, after all."

Silence befell the crowd. Such oaths were rarely spoken of, and even less often were they made. A shaman was needed to connect one's spirit with the gods for the oath to occur. It was like a contract between one's soul and a god. As such, breaking an oath would bring about irreversible damage to the soul. It'd be akin to tearing it into pieces. The offender wouldn't die, but they would go mad.

"Your suggestion is appreciated," Corriel coughed, feeling awkward, "but our shaman can't reach gods, so your oath would be void. Sorry."

"I don't need the help of your shaman," Allen smiled.

Then, he brought a hand over his chest, just in front of his heart, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

"I pledge to Miria, the goddess of vows, that my aides and I shall never use the information we learn during our stay to cause the Black Moon tribe harm in any way. That is our oath, and we shall uphold it."

As the man's last words left his mouth, a bright, white light surrounded his hand, and reddish marks appeared on top of it. They spread and converged, taking the shape of a fern and a snake biting its tail. The light diminished, turning into dust before vanishing, and the red darkened. An identical mark appeared on Myrven's and Layla's left hands.

"Satisfied?"

A dumbfounded silence answered Allen.