0.19
Malok quickened his pace in the direction of the cremation ground.
Hiyan limped silently behind him. Wet mud splashed all over the blankets wrapped around their bodies. The closer they got to the cremation ground, the swampier the terrain became. A thick natural wall of reeds and bushes separated the land of the dead from the land of the living. Malok and Hiyan pushed through the narrow clearing in the reeds and bushes, made for people to enter and exit the area.
This was the place where Lavalthon drained into the coconut pond, the connection point between the lake and the shallow river feeding the pond. The ground here was wetter and swampier than ever. Over naturally raised mounds of earth, which were less waterlogged than the surrounding land, ashes and charred remains from bodies burned in previous days mixed with rainwater, pooling in the lower ground. The entire area resembled an earthly hell.
A few ruined houses, built long ago with mud and stone, were scattered across the landscape, their haunting presence adding to the grim atmosphere. Malok had been told his ancestors had lived here, building stone houses on what they believed to be solid ground. Then the lake had risen, flooding their homes and forcing them to abandon the area. The floodwaters carved a shallow river through the settlement, rendering it uninhabitable.
The survivors had moved to higher ground, just as some farmers had done in recent years when Lavalthon encroached upon their fields. Stone houses were no longer built; wooden huts had become the norm because they were easier to dismantle and relocate if the lake rose again. For almost a hundred years, the waters had stayed back, but the memory of the flood lingered, keeping the old ways alive.
After moving to the higher lands, the stone houses had decayed into ruins, becoming home to wild barn owls and dead trees that haunted the landscape. The space now served as the cremation ground since it was useless for anything else and located conveniently near the water for rituals.
They often burned the bodies on the open, raised mounds of earth during dry seasons. But in seasons like this, when rain flooded the land, they moved the pyres to the ruins, where the floor remained elevated and less swampy.
As Malok and Hiyan crossed the desolate ground, scattered bones and skulls from incomplete cremations caught their eyes. The rain had washed the ashes away, leaving the bones and skulls yellowed with decay. Kelp clung to the remains, giving them a creepy appearance as if flesh and tissue were regenerating. The occasional flash of lightning only intensified the illusion.
Crickets chirped in a steady hum, filling the silence. Owls hooted, their calls cutting through the stillness. In the distance, the river’s soft rustle grew louder.
"Why are we here at this hour?" Hiyan trembled, struggling to keep pace with Malok but reluctant to be left alone.
Malok smirked without looking back. "To set up pyres."
Hiyan frowned, pulling his blanket tighter around him as he scanned the shadows. "But why? I haven’t heard of anyone dying. Even that hundred-year-old hag, Calla, is still going strong."
Not in the village, you fool," Malok glanced at him, his feet crunching over bones and twigs. "But on the lake." He paused. "And beyond."
"How can you be so sure they'll turn up dead?" Hiyan asked, his ears twitching at the distant slosh of water. He felt himself drawn toward the river.
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"How can you be sure they'll turn back alive?" Malok mocked.
Hiyan fell silent. Lavalthon was uncharted territory, and the land leading to the Maverielle Mountains was forbidden—possibly cursed. For all he knew, curses required blood sacrifices to be lifted. But what if those were just superstitions? Old wives' tales? "Are you seriously betting your plan on the cursed land?" he asked, doubt spilling out.
Malok laughed, startling the owls. They flapped their wings, then settled back into the ruins. "Betting? I've been plotting for months. You think I’d gamble? I know my plan’s working. Now there’s just one last thing to do."
"Which is?"
Malok turned on him, disgust curling his lip. "Digging one for Nox." He sneered. "You really are a dimwit. How do you think I’ll get the title if he’s still alive?"
"But how are you going to do that?" Hiyan asked.
"Watch me," Malok said, falling silent.
Hiyan limped behind him, his pace uneven. The strain of the long journey weighed heavily on his leg, making each step more awkward than the last.
The growth around them became taller and denser as they approached the river. When they reached the rock-strewn, swampy riverbed, they veered off their path and turned northeast, following the riverbank toward the dock where the rafts were stored when not in use.
As they got closer to the dock, Malok abandoned the idea of taking the openings and instead moved quietly through the dense woods. He gestured for Hiyan to do the same. Hiyan regretted ever following Malok. His legs ached, desperate for relief. He longed to return home, fall into bed, and never walk again. But having come this far, he had no choice but to press on.
When the dock finally came into view, Malok quickly ducked behind a thick bush and pulled Hiyan down beside him. The dock was already lit by torches. "Shoot!" Malok muttered under his breath. "We're late."
"For what?" Hiyan wanted to ask but decided against it.
Malok carefully scanned the area ahead. The dock was only a few feet away, a small wooden structure with roofs for occasional storage and stumps for tying the rafts while they were in the water. From where they hid, he could see young men busy crafting paddles instead of using their usual bamboo trunks to push off the riverbed. He could even hear muffled voices, but the sound was too low to make out. Malok strained to listen, but the chirping of crickets and Hiyan's loud panting drowned out the distant conversation. Malok motioned for Hiyan to stay silent, but Hiyan, as usual, mirrored his action and panted even louder. Malok feared the noise might reveal their hiding spot. Worse, it was blocking him from hearing the conversation. After a moment of frustration, Malok clamped Hiyan's nose shut with his thumb and forefinger, signaling him to stay quiet.
Hiyan's eyes widened in shock and confusion.
But Malok could hear a bit better now.
“The bamboo trunks we normally use to push against the ground won’t be much help in the lake if the lakebed is too far below. And that’s the problem—” Hiyan's attempt to pry Malok's fingers off his nose distracted him from what was happening at the dock.
Malok’s grip was slipping, and Hiyan was starting to panic. In response, Malok wrapped one arm around his neck and arms to keep him still and used his other hand to clamp his nose and mouth shut to prevent any noise.
“—just like her, we too might need a paddle to push through the water—” Hiyan struggled in Malok's hold, squirming and thrashing. Malok tightened his grip like an anaconda wrapping around its prey. Hiyan couldn’t move or fight for air, but his chest heaved in painful desperation.
“—tie these together like this, we need three more paddles. It'll give us more speed to make up for the time we lost—” Hiyan’s face turned red, his eyes swollen as if they might burst. He pressed both his good leg and the weaker one into the ground, pushing Malok back as best as he could to relieve himself. The wet vegetation masked any sound from their fall, but Malok's grip remained steady, his ears focused on the conversation ahead.
“—if the storm picks up again, the torches will be blown out in no time. We can't rely on the lightning to search for them. Let’s take these storm lanterns instead. They’ll last until dawn, even if—” Malok had heard enough. They were still preparing for their sail, meaning he still had plenty of time to complete his task as long as he stayed hidden.
Hiyan's chest heaved violently, as if it might be his last breath. Malok released his hold just in time for him to gulp in more air than his lungs could handle.
Hiyan started to cough and choke uncontrollably on the sudden rush of air.