It’d been three days since Shakka had left Abadeh and its Djinn overlord behind.

Lord Tarikh had promised they’d soon encounter a real werewolf, or Gorgineh as apparently was their ancestral name, and she would finally learn the truth about her people.

Shakka didn’t understand how that was possible since she was the only one to have left her homeland in generations, but she’d come to trust that fantastical things happened around these two. Things like, for instance, the hell stags which Lord Tarikh pulled from his head—antlers and all. The horrific scene that followed wasn’t one Shakka was likely to ever forget.

On the backs of these terrible beasts, they sojourned across the desert for a land beyond the mountains to a city long-since destroyed by Frost Giants.

“Shakka?”

“Yeah, Juva?”

Shakka sat in front of the goblina, nestled between her arms like a babe, while Juva held the reins. It was—humiliating, but Shakka had stopped protesting after the second day.

“I’ve been wondering… Why do you never revert to your human form?”

Shakka had been expecting this question with some dread. “I can’t transform back without a moonstone.”

“Oh.” The goblina fell quiet, though Shakka, expecting the inevitable follow-up, could hear the gears in Juva’s mind churning. “I’ve always thought that werewolves transformed with the full Moon but then turned back to their humans form after some time.”

Shakka rolled her eyes. “I knew it. I knew you’d bring up that stupid legend.”

“Why is it stupid? Doesn’t the full Moon grant you powers?”

“That’s the problem with you savages. You’ve no understanding of the finer art of astrology or physics. You believe that just because you can’t see something, it isn’t there. Like you see half a Moon and think the other half must have magically vanished or has been nibbled off by some giant eel in the sky.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Then—why does the Moon disappear if not to be reborn?”

“It all has to do with the position of the Sun and the Moon in relationship to the world.”

“Like how the Moon and the Sun are lovers?”

Shakka sighed. “No, nothing like that. It’s a basic natural phenomenon. The Moon reflects sunlight, and depending on its orbit, different parts are in light or shadow.”

“Orbit?”

Shakka slowly turned to peer over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t you know about orbits. Like, how the Moon orbits the world as the world orbits the Sun.”

“My goodness, no. How strange. Master, is this true?”

“Hm.”

Shakka deflated with another, deeper sigh. “Just let that sink in for a moment. But suffice to say, the Moon is always there, just the side facing away from the Sun is dark, though on a clear day you might make out its shape if you look hard enough.”

“Oh…”

“You sound disappointed.”

“It’s nothing. I was just hoping something spectacular might happen.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, because it will be a Full Moon tonight, and I wanted to meet your human form.”

Shakka snorted. “I only turn back into a human when I need to blend in. I take pride in being a werewolf—eh, Gorgineh.”

“I understand,” Juva said, petting Shakka between her ears.

Shakka shook her head and swiped at Juva’s hand. “And stop treating me like a pet!”

Juva chuckled. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You’ve got such beautiful manes. So soft and silky.” And she petted her again and let the werewolf’s hair cascade through her green fingers.

Shakka grumbled but decided that the best course of action was to let Juva fiddle away until she’d found something else to fuss at or over.

Shakka raised her gaze to the hazy pale disk suspended in the cosmos. In fact, the Moon was already full, but its light barely made it through the sandy hue of the desert sky. She didn’t want to admit it, but she yearned for the power to transform with the Moon instead of relying on moonstones that could get lost, stranding her in one form or the other.

“Master?”

“Yes, Juva?”

“I-I saw on the map that we’re passing pretty close to the oasis of Shirin, and I was wondering—”

“Juva, we can’t afford any more distractions. We’re good on water, ale, and wine. There is no need for yet another time-wasting stop-over.”

“But, Master, they say that the king’s pearls come from this oasis.”

“What of it?”

“Well, they’re the biggest pearls in the whole wide world—or so they say.”

“About as big as a human head.”

Juva squeaked in excitement. “Can we go, please? Please, please, please? Shakka, you want to see the giant pearls too, right?”

“Hey, leave me out of it.”

“Imagine how such a pearl would look on a necklace.”

“It wouldn’t work. You’d keel over. Besides, the only stones worth putting on necklaces are moonstones.”

“They’re not stones, but pearls.” Juva paused, considered it, then asked, “Master, pearls aren’t stones, right?”

“No. No, they’re not Juva.”

Shakka snorted. “I still don’t care. I want to hurry and see a real werewolf as promised.”

“See, Master? Everyone gets what they want on this trip. Everyone but me.”

“You got Shakka.”

“But Master! I must see them! I-I want one.”

Tarikh leered over his shoulder. Even Khatereh swung his large head back, and the stag would have knocked the Demon off had Tarikh not caught his antler in time.

“It’s—it’s because of my condition,” Juva admitted, half sobbing and rubbing her upper arm.

Shakka gawked. “W-what condition? Is-is it contagious?!”

“No!”

“No,” Tarikh said. “She’s talking about her curse.”

“You’re cursed?”

Juva nodded softly. “All pureblooded monsters are.”

“I didn’t know you qualified as one. What’s your curse?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Juva sniffled, wiping genuine tears from her eyes. “Greed. I’m cursed with insatiable greed!”

“Greed?” Shakka laughed. “You’re a lot of things, Toots. Annoying, immature, impulsive, naïve—lewd. But not greedy. I remember what you did back in Abadeh. You couldn’t afford me because you’d already given all your silor to street rats.”

“Y-yeah…”

“You did what?” Tarikh said, though Juva pretended not to have heard him.

“But that’s because silor are such ugly coins. I don’t like them. And the children had such wonderful eyes. How could I not want to see them smile at me?”

Shakka and Tarikh exchanged perplexed looks.

“That’s not how money works!” Shakka exclaimed.

Juva huffed. “I don’t care how money works. I don’t like ugly coins in my satchel.”

Tarikh rubbed his temple and, like the giant stag, turned his gaze forward. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Juva pouted quietly.

“Wait. You’re actually giving in?”

“I have to. It’s no different from your Gluttony Quintessence.”

“Then let her fast! You told me to fast!”

“Can’t do that. It’s better to give her what she wants when she’s feeling greedy. Trust me, you wouldn’t like her when she’s feeling—greedy.”

~

“We’re out of pearls,” the ogre said as he nailed a wooden sign to his boarded-up shop. It read, GO AWAY, and there was a poorly drawn circle with an uneven X crossed through it.

Shakka had never seen an ogre, but it had to be an ogre. He was dark of hide, white of hair, of which he had a lot, and he was big. Not quite as big as Lord Tarikh, but close, and he smelled like something that had washed ashore because the sea couldn’t stomach something so vile in its depths.

“Pity,” Tarikh said, and he gave a tug at Khatereh’s reins. “Is there a place where we can rest up?”

“Wait, Master!”

“What?”

Juva rode up to the ogre. “Excuse me, sir?”

Shakka knew it wasn’t just her sensitive nose that told her the ogre’s smell was unbearable because Fikar, who’d occasionally snort his displeasure with a puff of sulfuric smoke, was holding his breath too.

“Hm? I’m sorry, pretty lady. But it’s like I said. We’re out of pearls. I only have a handful left, and they’re destined for the king.”

“But-but why? Are you going out of business? Is it the economy? These days many people say it’s the economy. Damned economy.”

The Ogre shook his bearded head, which looked like what Shakka imagined a head would look like after having been violently introduced to Lord Tarikh’s war hammer.

“No, business was doing fine. But, soon, there will be no more giant clams to make the pearls.”

Tarikh slowly turned back. “Why not? Sickness? Something in the water?”

“Not in the water, but from the water. A giant cancer has been pilfering my clams.”

“Why don’t you just slay it?”

The Ogre laughed ruefully. “Wish I could. You must understand; this is my livelihood. These clams are hundreds of years old. Passed down through generations. Believe me, if I had the strength to beat this monster myself, I would. But this is a vicious creature. Pincers that can cleave a man in half, a shell that no spear can penetrate, and it’s fast too.”

The Demon Lord’s lips peeled away from his pearly fanged teeth into a hungry smile. “This creature sounds like quite a challenge.”

“More than ‘quite.’ I even enlisted the Silver Knights, but—”

“The Knights?” Tarikh groaned. “Why would you bother?”

“Who else is there to turn to in these parts? And I figured I might as well have a few laughs for a going out of business party.”

The ogre suddenly farted, and Fikar staggered back. Shakka tried to breathe through her mouth, but it didn’t help. She could actually taste the putrid fetor and almost gagged. It was foul in the truest sense of the word. Even Lord Tarikh needed a moment to recompose himself.

Surprisingly, Juva, who was usually the most averse to unpleasant odors, was the only one who seemed unaffected. Her amethyst eyes bore into the Ogre, glazed, with tears streaking down her cheeks but fiercely judgmental. Though if this was because of the stench or because she’d never get her hands on a giant pearl, Shakka couldn’t tell.

“You can’t let your family business fail,” she said firmly.

“What else am I to do?” the ogre said, spreading his arms, which opened up his bristly, mold-ridden armpits.

“For the hate of Demon King Hamun, lower your arms, man!” Tarikh commanded.

The ogre made a face. “I don’t smell as bad as all that.” But he did lower them and spat something green and sticky onto the ground. “You city folk just can’t appreciate the smell of a hardworking farmer.”

“Are you sure the clams aren’t dying from that foul stink of yours?” Shakka muttered, holding her nose pinched.

Now the ogre was getting really offended. “I’ll have you know that ogres have tended to this farm for hundreds of years, and never once did any of us take a bath. Not my father, nor his father, or his father before him. Besides, the clams live underwater where there is only bubbly air that comes up, never down. Makes you wonder how it gets there in the first place…”

“Never showered?!” Shakka exclaimed.

“Wait, how do you farm pearls without getting into the water?” Tarikh asked.

“With a boat and a—miss?”

Shakka found it increasingly harder not to retch, but then suddenly, Juva’s hold on the reins slacked and her warmth fell away. There was a dull thud, and by the time Shakka looked behind her, Juva was out cold on the ground.

Tarikh dismounted. “Juva, Juva, what’s wrong?”

Shakka leaped off of Fikar and rushed to her side. “She fainted. No doubt it’s that ogre’s smell that did it.” And she pointed an accusing finger at the dark, hairy giant.

“Nonsense,” the ogre protested. “It’s just the heat. Look at what she’s been riding. What in darnation even is that?”

Tarikh snarled and was on the ogre so fast that, had she blinked, Shakka would have missed it.

“Don’t hurt me!” cried the ogre, but he was helpless against the Demon Lord, who dragged him by the hem of his shirt toward the oasis shimmering behind the wooden shack.

It took a few seconds before the ogre realized that the Demon Lord wasn’t beating him to a pulp. Instead, he was being hauled into the water.

“No! Please, don’t drown me!” He thrashed wildly, but Tarikh didn’t even slow a little. “A clam farmer shouldn’t be drowned! Hey, it’s not right! It’s not a good way to go!”

But Tarikh kept going until the water reached well above his knees, and he pushed the ogre down.

“By the furies,” he growled, “even the bubbles stink.”

The Demon Lord kept the ogre under for a long time before allowing him to catch a breath. Then, he pushed the ogre down again and kept him there for a while longer. The ogre was barely conscious by the fourth time, his ugly head lulling from side to side.

Meanwhile, Juva still lay motionless. Fikar and Khatereh stood by her, sniffing and looking very concerned.

“He still stinks,” Tarikh said in disbelief.

“That won’t do. You’ll need soap,” Shakka said helpfully. “Lots and lots of soap.”

Tarikh shook the ogre a few times, slapping his cheeks until some sense of presence returned to his dull eyes. The ogre coughed water from his lungs and mouthed inaudible words of mercy.

Tarikh leaned in, baring his teeth. “You’re going to stay here until I don’t smell you anymore.”

The ogre nodded and said in a grasping way, “Please don’t—”

“I won’t if you stay. But if I smell you again, if I even catch a whiff of unpleasantness, your business isn’t the only thing going under.”

The ogre nodded fearfully. He coughed, and flecks of spittle landed on Tarikh’s red face. The Demon Lord appeared a second away from committing murder.

“Lord Tarikh?”

“Yes, Shakka?”

“I don’t think Juva is doing so well.”

Conflicting wants battled on Tarikh’s brow, but he contained his violent temperament. “Ogre-man, is there a healer nearby?”

“Just a bit further up the road. It’s where the Knights are staying.”

“Fortune pisses on me again…” Tarikh muttered, finally letting the ogre go.

He walked back to Juva, inspected her condition, and took her in his arms.

Shakka got out of the way to give him some space. “Is she hurt?”

“Not sure. Nothing’s broken. Her body went limp, which made her absorb the fall—” He grinned slyly at her. “Shakka, I didn’t know you cared.”

Shakka glanced away. “I don’t. Just making sure my meal ticket is safe-ish.”

“That’s how it starts,” Tarikh said, and his tone dropped low, his eyes which were like orange flames, fixed on the verdant beauty in his arms. “That’s how it always starts.”