“Poe, what did you do!?” Kel was screaming.

The question was pointless: what Poe had done was more than apparent. Blood was pouring out of a large gash on the upper right-hand side of the girl’s torso, torn open by obsidian claws. Her eyes were wide and her face, pale. gasping as she went into shock.

Kel applied pressure with her cloak, but blood was running through his hands and puddling on the floor. In his panic, he cast around for something else he could use, hands slipping over blood soaked toys that were almost unrecognizable. His mind turned slowly: the satchel. He clumsily searched for the bag, slipping in the growing pool of crimson as Poe looked impassively on.

After what felt like an eternity, he found it - it had been thrown to the side, the strap severed by the same blow that had cut her so deep. He rummaged around inside until his hand closed around something soft - cattails.

The girl whimpered as he stuffed the wound. Her eyes were closed now and her breathing was labored. She was alive, at least.

He wrapped a tight bandage around, slowing the bleeding to a trickle through the gauze, but from her pulse and the amount of blood that had been spilled, things didn’t look good for the young thief. With a heave, Kel lifted her and began to carry her. She was surprisingly heavy.

Poe followed behind him, floating just out of reach. “Why are you carrying?”

“We have to get her to one of the Elders. She’s lost too much blood.”

“Why? She stole. Now we steal.” It stopped just short of cackling. Kel silently wished he had a free hand to strike him with.

“We can’t just kill someone for stealing from me. What were you thinking?”

“This is how we do.” It looked confused.

“Maybe you, but not me. Not humans.” This is horrible, he thought to himself as he paused to balance himself and continued carrying the girl back down the alley. Beverly was only the next tree over. He could get there, but he wondered how fast he would really be. He began muttering his fortification spell. At least it would make it easier to carry her.

Poe huffed, annoyed. “Fine. Think. Where go?”

“Beverly, the Elder - she’ll know what to do.”

Poe sighed. “Think,” it hissed. Kel didn’t have time to be annoyed or perplexed; he kept walking, picturing Beverly's home with it’s beautiful glass window. A clawed hand brushed his leg and, before he knew what had happened, he and the girl were in Beverly’s home. The vertigo from the jump made Kel immediately collapse under the girl’s weight. Thankfully, her head landed on Poe, who gave a shrill, affronted cry.

Startled by the noise, the elder wandered into the room “What is -” she started, until she comprehended what was in front of her. Her eyes took on a steely look, narrowed at the prone, blood-soaked couple and the dark, spectral thing with them. “You don’t belong here,” she said in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

Poe hissed something in a language Kel had never heard before, but the feeling it gave him was like cold iron prickling inside his head. Beverly waved her hand in a series of motions, like a star, and gestured at the stunted figure. Before Kel could blink, Poe was gone.

She strode over to the shivering girl and knelt beside her. “What happened?” she asked without looking at Kel. “She was attacked.”

“That thing that was with you?” she said it with such disdain. Had she seen something like Poe before? Kel chose to nod rather than speak. The mood Beverly was emanating was scary. It felt like the less he talked, the better.

“You’ve used cattails. Crude, but effective. That’s all we can do for her right now.” She rose and procured a bottle from the shelf, then emptied it into the poor girl’s gasping mouth. Within moments, she was asleep, breathing deeply and slowly.

A young woman with long, golden hair stood in the doorway in her nightgown, yawning. “What is it, grandmother?” Her eyes widened when she saw the blood.

“Go, get Stavish,” Beverly commanded. “He is much better than I am with medicine and this wound will need tending..” The woman bowed slightly and rushed from the room.

When she had gone, the Elder turned to Kel. “While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me exactly how you met that thing.”

Reluctantly, Kel explained. He told her about the ritual and their travels together, the black book and the trial. When he was done, Beverly sighed deeply. “So do you have any doubts about what your companion, this Poe, is?”

“I never wanted to ask.”

“That’s because deep inside, you knew. We all know, when we encounter true evil.”

“I never let myself think about it. He helped me so I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure things are just very different where he’s from.”

“Well of course: It brought a young girl within an inch of her life. That slash - it wasn’t meant to kill. Your companion was going to take something. Something from inside.”

Stealing, the hobgoblin had said. Kel shuddered. “So you know what…it is?” He couldn’t say the name. He didn’t want to risk calling Poe back.

“As closely as something like him can be classified, yes. He is a demon, at the very least. From another plane of existence where acts like this are the norm. There is also the chance that he is a larval stage of something greater. Something worse.”

“Larval stage?”

“Like a child. It is learning, growing, and transforming. Or, and this is less likely, that is the version of this thing that it chooses to show you. The tip of a twisted, corrupt tree whose roots dig deep and cruelly into the soil of reality.”

“But the lanterns and the luminaries didn’t affect him. At all. He just ignored them completely.”

“Of course the festival luminaries didn’t work.” Beverly seemed exasperated. “The lanterns are for the spirits of this earth, baneful and benevolent. That thing is infernal, you dingbat.” She rapped his knuckles lightly with her cane. It hurt more than it should have. “It is beholden to very little on this plane.”

“But that’s what bothers me - it helped me. This is the first time it ever did something like this. And even then, it seemed to think it was helping.”

“Probably because you are its window to the world. It sees you as an ally, or at least a useful pawn. This bond is not easily broken. I don’t know how you did it, but you must not call that thing back to our world. Never again. The more you let it in, the more power it will have. And it will leave scars on your life and your world. Believe me.”

The girl muttered in her sleep, arresting their conversation momentarily.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Kel said after a few minutes had passed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I don’t believe that you did.” The elderly woman looked at him with pity, but there was something else there too. Was it loathing? “Go get some rest. Stavish will be here soon to sew up the wound. You can come back here tomorrow to check on her, if you’d like.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

It was well past witching when he trudged through the door, still covered in blood.There was a sizable crowd; murmurs, laughs, and lively conversations all blending together Jasper came tearing up to meet him at the stairs, huffing the whole way. He looked like he would throttle the boy until his eyes settled on the red stains slowly turning to brown on his traveling clothes.

“What happened to you? I’ve played half the set already. Did you get robbed again?” He began to reach out to touch his clothes before seeming to think better of it.

“Accident. Had to make it right,” he muttered, his face downcast.

“You sure you didn’t kill anyone? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He eyed Kel warily. After such a long day, all the boy wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for days. “Look, you look like you’ve been through a lot tonight” he seemed to be weighing his annoyance with Kel’s obvious distress, “ but do you think you can do at least a song with me? Just The Ballad of Hazier? Like we practiced.” He spoke calmly, pleadingly.

Valir was eying them from the bar, but she said nothing.

Kel nodded, reluctantly.

“Great. Let’s go on in 10 minutes. The regulars had a row after one of my earlier songs; some disagreement as to the historical accuracy of the ballad," he said, delicately. "It’s kept them occupied but they’re getting restless.”

The crowd looked fairly affable to Kel - there were plenty of drunken smiles and friendly faces - but he thought it better to just agree.

“And you may want to get changed. Just a suggestion.”

Ten minutes later, Kel was standing beside the makeshift stage by the great fireplace. It had been pleasant the other day, when the chill from the rain and the cool underground atmosphere had been strong. Now, though, he found it a bit too hot with all of those faces watching him, most of them red from either drink or the heat.

Jasper smiled his big, glistening smile at the audience and winked at Kel. Thank you, he mouthed to the boy. Then, he began to sing in a high, clear voice:

Brave Hestians all said they’d suffer no more

The Soldiers of Solaris breaking down the doors

Of villagers’ villages, pillaging all

Sepherians and Levilanders caught in their thrall.

As shaken as he was, Kel began to feel a bit better. The simple act of having something to do was taking his mind off of the events of the night. Jasper sang and played beautifully, it was true. Kel wondered if there would be a debate about the historical accuracy of this ballad.

Valir looked on, her face impassive as she polished bottles. She had probably heard this song a thousand times.

Prince Hazier of Hestia, the heir to his name

Called forth to the Sultan, of Solar, who came

And battle they did for a day and a night

Surrounded by nobles, all witness to the fight.

Floating above the crowd, the soldiers slashed at each other just as they had during rehearsal. Despite his mood, Kel was fairly pleased with his handiwork. Blood splattered both of them as the “battle” intensified. Intrusive thoughts began to run through Kel’s head. The thief. Poe. His guilt for causing her harm just to get back his things.

One of the faces shifted for a moment, blurred between a bird mask and the bearded soldier’s handsome face.

Jasper shot him a warning glance as he continued singing:

The brave Hazier struck true and the Sultan was cut:

A sword to his neck and a dagger to his gut!

The crowd cheered, apparently pleased with the representation. Kel wasn’t entirely sure the war had ended this way. Or was this the fight that had started it in earnest? It was hard to remember, when Caaron had made him memorize so many dates at once. He watched as the blood seeped from the “Sultan’s” wound, his own creation. Would the girl truly be okay? He couldn’t shake that look Beverly had given him: as if he was a bug or a demon himself. The illusion blurred, faces becoming shadowy while the blood remained crystal clear. The figures glared, judging him above the crowd.

Jasper’s voice faltered for a moment, fingers slipping on the strings.

And then the illusion wasn’t two soldiers at all. There was a dark hobgoblin creature, brandishing razor sharp claws as the other figure ran away, terrified, before falling to a heavy visceral blow. Her face was frozen, pale with terror, as the illusion faded away and the song abruptly ended. There was a shriek from the back, towards the bar, and Jasper leapt from the stage and pressed through the crowd.

Painfully aware of the eyes on him, Kel awkwardly stepped down and made his way to the back. The room was deadly silent and painfully still. When he reached the bar, he realized that it was Valir who had screamed. She crouched behind the bar, sobbing, while Jasper held her up.

“How...how do you know that girl!?” Valir was shaking. She grabbed Kel’s wrist, tugging him down.

“She was a thief, the one who took my bag. She got hurt. I….I was there, but it wasn’t my fault.

“Is she okay? Do you know where she is!?” She was holding his wrist tightly. Too tightly.

“I do. She’s with the Elder, Beverly. Why?”

Valir didn't answer. She sniffed, taking a deep breath and collecting herself. Then she rose to her feet and gently patted Jasper, who was still holding her. Numbly and without a word, she staggered off, up the stairs and into the night. No one in the tavern made a sound or moved to stop her.

After a moment, Jasper rose to his feet again. “Looks like I’m tending bar now,” he murmured, “great.” He addressed the crowd with his loud, clear voice. “Sorry for the interruption, gentle folk. Family emergency. The next round of drinks is on the house!” As worried as he had seemed just a moment ago, his winning smile betrayed none of it.

Concerned looks and quiet mutterings quickly gave way to laughs and cheers. A few patrons rushed up to the bar, apparently impatient to cash in on this good will. As Jasper filled pitchers and pints, Kel rushed about to help him. In a way, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for what had happened to the girl. And ultimately, he felt responsible for how it had affected others too. They wouldn’t be short staffed if it hadn’t been for him. Valir would have been happy. The girl, whoever she was, would have been out at the festival still, smiling and chatting with vendors.

As he and Jasper filled endless steins and mugs with beer and ale, soaked from sloshing vessels, Kel ventured a question to fulfil his curiosity. “What was that about a family emergency? Who is that girl to Valir?”

Jasper glanced over his shoulder. “That girl is Lienna: her sister.” Then he turned to pour another ale for the next customer.

They continued working in silence, long into the night.

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Grel sighed and spat on the road. Nothing but cow pies and carrion in the field so far. Ferryton had turned up nothing, besides plain millet and a night of drinking. The boy hadn’t gone south, that was for sure. Now he had his men checking over the encampment, the one his scouts told him would be there. Hardly his business, what foreign royals were doing in Sepheria, but it was still fishy that their camp was a few miles down the road from where the road from Fellow’s Glen and the valley towns met the trade route from Ferryton to the Capital.

Trampled grass and ashes from fires. A few lost items scattered across the ground - a die from a friendly drinking game, a boot, human waste in a hastily dug latrine. Typical of a camp. Grel was thankful he hadn’t ever been assigned to guard duty during the war. Babysitting royals wasn’t his speed. Oftentimes, they were spoiled adults who had never actually grown up. Never been told no. Of course there were exceptions: he had fought alongside a Hestian noble who had insisted on joining the ranger divisions at a time when that was the roughest gig to join. Hadn’t been a bad shot either. Silent as the wind when he needed to be. Still, the temptation to slit his throat had come up from time to time when he complained about rations. No one was perfect, Grel mused.

A call came from the woods, interrupting Grel’s reverie. “Here! Wolves!”

Twenty paces back into the woods from the clearing, they had found them: the rotting corpses of wolves, clouds of flies buzzing around them.There were four of them, each with an arrow protruding from its half-exposed skull. “Did they mention wolves?” he asked the scout who had crossed paths with the poncy noble boy, whoever that had been.

“They said they heard howling.”

“No mention of shooting them, then?”

The man shook his head.

“These arrows - The fletching is exquisite. You see this? Eagle feathers.” Grel ran his fingers over the feathers. In a time long past, he had found those embedded in the bodies of many a foe.“These are Zephyrian. Elite guard. You say that brat had a ranger guard?”

“Had the look about him. The kid was a “marquess,” ’parently.”

“But why would his guard shoot a bunch of wolves?”

“Sport? He didn’t want their pelts, that’s for sure.” The fur had already been ripped away by scavengers, ruined by the recent rain and general putrescence.

Just then something rustled in the bushes, startling the troup. Grel’s hand shot to his sword as his men drew their bows. From the brush emerged a wolf. It didn’t seem to fear the men but it approached warily, crossing over to the largest of the corpses, a rotting tangle of fur that was still immense even in death. It pressed its head to the corpse and whined.

Grel took a step forward and the wolf instantly rounded on him, baring its teeth. It growled low, snapping its jaws. Curiously, rather than backing down, Grel growled back long and low. The wolf pondered him for a moment, yipped and growled in a strange succession, then ran off into the forest.

Grel turned away and strode off toward the treeline. “It wasn’t for sport,” he called back to his astonished underlings. “We’re going back after that caravan: the little shit lied to you.”