Past the north gate, beyond the city’s towering walls, lay a flat terrain abundant in thatch-roofed shacks and cottages. Many flanked a river branch that shot back to cut through Ravenfall, and even more clustered around the massive river from which the other was sourced. Offering passage across was a stone bridge longer than a modern city block.

Dimitry walked across, stroking his chin. He never expected that a settlement like Ravenfall could construct a bridge this size. Why were the roads so chaotic and shoddy despite architectural capabilities to build massive structures? Were he in charge, the city planner would be the first to go.

Resting on his shoulder was Precious, whose miniature head leaned back against his neck as if it were a recliner chair. She yawned.

“You’re sure Saphiria went this way?”

“Don’t worry so much, Dumitry. I can sense human despair from far, far away.”

“That’s nothing to be proud of. You’re a lot more malicious than I thought.”

“Flatter me all you want, it won’t get you anywhere.”

Dimitry massaged his forehead, reevaluating his decision to bring along the faerie. “Are you so desperate for compliments that you’ll take pleasure in obvious flaws?”

“Desperate?!” Precious pinched his neck, but her feeble faerie hands were incapable of harming superior human epidermis. “If you want to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to try harder than that, Dumitry!”

“I don’t know about that. Sure sounds like I hit the mark.”

“Think whatever you want.”

Their silent march continued until an ox-drawn cart came into view. Crouched beside it was a young woman, whose hood blew with every passing wind to reveal hints of the raven black hair beneath. Saphiria caressed flowers jutting from the roadside.

Whether she was Delphine’s slave or magic-bound servant, Dimitry couldn’t help but think this world was fucked. And he was no better. Perhaps worse. He wouldn’t help Saphiria despite an upbringing amongst modern ‘civility’. Rash naïvety led only to tragedy.

Precious inhaled a deep, savoring breath. “Ah, the two most miserable people in Ravenfall, reunited at la—”

Dimitry swept the faerie off his shoulder.

“Hey!”

Brushing dirt from her black cloak’s bottoms, Saphiria stood. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Lingering soreness in Dimitry’s legs complicated clambering onto the cart’s front seats. He glanced back. A wooden lid covered an attached container. “What’re we hauling?”

Saphiria sat beside him. “Organs.”

Were Arnest and Samuel’s corpses inside? The ones Dimitry dismembered personally? Queasiness punched his gut, and his eyes darted away. It wasn’t his fault. He was forced into it. Why would it be his fault?

“Delicious.” Precious patted her stomach. “More of that, please.”

“Get rid of the faerie,” Saphiria whispered, “or I’ll do it.”

“Exactly what someone wearing a collar of salvation would say. Go on, suck Zera’s teat some more. Beg for forgiv—”

“I’ll kill it.”

Heaving a deep breath to recenter himself, Dimitry held out a hand. “I’m so sorry, Saphiria. Please try to ignore her. Aside from her big mouth, the faerie’s harmless.” He pointed at Precious. “And you, if you keep annoying Saphiria, I might happen to look away next time she draws her dagger. Catch my drift?”

“Loud and clear.”

Dimitry turned his gaze to the gray-glowing, steel band constricting Saphiria’s neck. The so-called collar of salvation. He saw people wearing similar ‘chokers’ around Ravenfall, but they numbered far fewer than slaves burdened by normal shackles. What was the collar’s purpose, and why was it enchanted?

Saphiria’s glare shifted from Precious to the road ahead.

“Walk.”

The cart jerked forward.

Precious landed on Dimitry’s shoulder and used his hair to polish her wings. They produced a soft jingle which meshed with the whistles of gentle breezes, each wafting away the stench of rotting carcasses and replacing it with the smells of wilting grass, oaks, and something mellow.

The moment would have been relaxing weren’t it so strange. An absurd creature flanked Dimitry from one side and a reticent young woman with indigo eyes from the other. They rode antiquated technology packed with corpses down an unpaved road in a land beyond his reckoning. He didn’t know where they were going, why they were going there, or what they would do once they arrived.

Only one thing was certain: now was an excellent opportunity to gather information. Anything helped. Dimitry glanced at Saphiria. “What’s our destination?”

“Vael.”

“What for?”

“To deliver corpses.”

“To who?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Have you been doing this a long time?”

Saphiria didn’t answer. Her eyes fixed onto the road.

“Don’t bother.” Precious yawned, raising her petite hands to a blue sky. “As long as she’s wearing that collar, she’ll never speak more than necessary.”

“Why’s that?” Dimitry asked.

“When the church isn’t busy hunting corrupted creatures like me, they dabble in the slave trade. Of course, when they do it, they don’t call it slavery. It’s salvation.”

“And I’m guessing the collar helps them do that?”

“See, you’re capable of complex thought when you try.” Precious patted the side of his head. “They don’t dare do anything that might compromise their owner’s orders or agenda. Such nice pets.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Why doesn’t she just kill you, then?” Dimitry asked. “I doubt Delphine or anyone else would want an annoying faerie around.”

“I’m only concerned with my task,” Saphiria said coldly. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Was there a hint of sadness in her indigo eyes, or was it Dimitry’s imagination? He smiled to bring levity to an otherwise bleak atmosphere. “By the way, thanks for putting up with Precious and I. Means a lot to me.”

There was no response.

They traveled in silence until nightfall. To allow two exhausted oxen rest after a lengthy journey, Saphiria set up camp. Dimitry gathered loose twigs and stones for a fire pit.

Luminous light from a full moon illuminated dark skies. However, unlike anything Dimitry had ever seen, green sparkles twinkled midair like stars, filling the forest and roads in countless bright lights that faded in and out of existence.

Saphiria fished for something inside her cloak’s pocket and held her palm towards the fire pit.

“Ignia.”

Flames engulfed the sticks. Their brightness competed with that of the moon, dancing together a violent tango of undulating red and green hues upon the dirt and nearby oaks. The heat was a welcome reprieve from biting winds.

“Stay on your guard,” Saphiria said while stirring a pot of salted meat and grain pottage.

Sat cross-legged on the floor, elbow against his knee to support his head, Dimitry watched the young woman’s hypnotic movements. He recalled the rabid cries he heard during his initial invisall trials beyond Ravenfall’s walls. “I’m guessing the forest is dangerous at night?”

Precious, tired tears in her golden eyes, bundled inside his tunic. “Tonight’s a night of repentance, Dumitry. Don’t you know anything?” She yawned. “You should try leaving the brothel more often.”

Following the faerie’s example, Dimitry yawned as well. The threat of religious superstition did nothing to allay his constricting lethargy. He thought only of getting sleep. Maybe tonight would be the night. “Every time I hear your shrill voice, it’s like you’re drilling into my brain. Can you keep it down?”

“Not if you keep regurgitating dumb questions from your dumb mouth.”

Dimitry was too tired to flap open his tunic and send the faerie flying. Besides, she had a point. From a native’s perspective, he came across as someone with the demeanor and appearance of an adult but the knowledge of a toddler. Only time, experience, and a concerted learning effort could fix that.

He started with a question. “How often do nights of repentance occur?”

“Every full moon,” Saphiria said.

“And I’m assuming that’s bad.”

“It depends where you live,” Precious said. “Places like big, big coastal cities have it the worst. Lots of magic use makes animals and heathens really violent. Some people, too. It was pretty bad in the Gestalt Empire because they burned through so much vol all the time.”

Dropping her ladle at the words ‘Gestalt Empire’, Saphiria stood. “Food’s ready.”

“Do you have any fruit?” Precious asked. “I’m tired of only leaves and grains. It’s been ages since I last had fent.”

“No.”

Was fent the disgustingly bitter melon Dimitry bought from the market? Wondering if a faerie’s differing taste buds made the fruit palatable, he concocted a plan to keep the critter silent. “Mm…” Dimitry brought a spoonful of hot food to his mouth. “So good.”

“The—the nerve!” Precious pinched his ear. “Wipe that smirk off your face! I know you’re scheming to make me jealous.”

“No, I’m scheming to make you act politely around Saphiria and I. Show us the respect we deserve, and I’ll buy you fent when we get back.”

Precious looked up, excitement beaming from her face. “Really?”

Thinking the faerie was adorable when it wasn’t annoying, Dimitry gave her a reassuring smile. “I never make promises I don’t keep.”

Unless he made them to a patient.

----------------------------------------

Giggles that grew louder, as did the tossing of woolen blankets.

Dimitry’s tired eyelids creaked apart. Above him, Precious hovered midair, hands at her stomach, tears streaming down her red face. She choked, wheezed, struggled to breathe.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dimitry whispered. He finally managed to fall asleep, but the damn faerie woke him.

“I can’t… I can’t help it… Sa… Saphi… she is.” Hysterical laughter interrupted her speech.

He rolled over.

Saphiria, eyes closed, thrashed inside her bedroll. As if fighting a losing battle against demons only she could see, she turned one way then the other. Her long, raven black hair spilled out from her hood and covered the grass like encroaching vines.

Dimitry’s eyes sank to the dirt floor. What trauma had Saphiria undergone to evoke such violent nightmares? It didn’t matter. Thoughtless intervention only led to misery. The young woman was Delphine’s property, and to disrupt their relationship would result in punishment. Helping might have been possible in his past life, but now, he couldn’t even help a dying old man.

He grit his teeth and ignored it.

And ignored it.

And ignored it.

Then, distant groans.

They came from the bushes encircling their camping spot.

Although unseen, Dimitry felt gazes burning with insatiable hunger. Something hunted them, and a recovering bum couldn’t handle the threat on his own!

“Ther… there—” Precious’s laughter continued to disrupt her speech despite terrified golden eyes. “The… three—”

He crawled slowly from his bedroll and shook Saphiria’s shoulder. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Her indigo eyes shot open, face illuminated by ephemeral green sparkles that burst all around. She rolled into a crouch, reaching into her pocket.

“Hastia.” Momentary green light coalesced around Saphiria’s arms and legs. She glared at the faerie. “Shut it up.”

Dimitry restrained Precious with one hand and silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips. She squirmed before relaxing.

It did nothing to appease the ravenous cries. They intensified instead.

Saphiria thrust back her cloak and slid one of three daggers from the sheath strapped to her leg. The moonlight dyed its glint a pistachio color.

A bush rustled.

“It comes,” Saphiria whispered.

Uncertain of what to expect, Dimitry held his breath. What could he possibly do in a fight whilst armed with only bare fists? He needed a weapon.

An agile paw with razor claws emerged from the foliage before the rest of the wolf-beast jumped out, lowered its body to the ground and galloped towards Dimitry. Two tongues rolled from between sharp teeth and dragged across the dirt.

Dimitry’s arms instinctively rose to shield his face.

The beast lunged forward with front paws outstretched. A flying dagger bore its neck, silencing the animal with a muffled thud and pained whimpers. Wheezing squeals accompanied every labored breath.

“Fyrhounds,” Saphiria said. “Don’t turn your back to them. Even the dying ones.”

Dimitry released Precious and dashed towards the felled beast. He crushed its head beneath his boot while pulling out the dagger embedded in a bloody throat.

The sound of furious paws drifting across the grass came from behind.

He looked back.

“Propelia!”

A rock shot forth from Saphiria’s palm, piercing through the second fyrhound’s abdomen, ejecting ruptured entrails upon exit. The beast curled into a fetal position and looked on with lifeless eyes.

Dimitry turned to thank Saphiria for saving his life not once, but twice that night. Instead, he spotted another figure dash from behind an oak stump. “Over there!”

Saphiria glanced back, but she was too late. The beast pounced at her shoulder, knocking the slender girl to the ground. It aimed its jaws at her neck.

“Illumina!” Precious chanted.

A flash of light erupted from within the fyrhound’s eye sockets.

Target’s balance disrupted, Dimitry dug his soiled dagger into the beast’s upper chest. He dragged the blade across both carotid arteries, then stabbed dozens of holes into where the lungs should be.

Discolored blood flooded grass as the third fyrhound collapsed onto Saphiria.

Heaving through heavy lungs, dread consumed Dimitry as he pulled the beast off of Saphiria’s back, praying he could resuscitate her. What if he killed another person? This time, a slave girl that couldn’t even control her fucking actions! “Saphiria!”

Precious’s head titled. “Think she’ll die?”

Not waiting to find out, Dimitry dashed for his tool bag. “Precious, find where she’s bleeding most and press down as hard as—”

“Stop worrying so much. She’s fine.”

His head darted back.

Sitting upright, Saphiria held out her arm, across which a long laceration sliced through a blood-drenched cloak and the skin beneath.

Dimitry confirmed that the wound’s location made severe vascular trauma unlikely. Relief flooded his body, but it was too early for comfort. “Does anything else hurt? Did you hit your head? Anything like that?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Saphiria said. “It won’t happen again.”

The reticent girl’s judgment couldn’t be trusted. She probably wanted Dimitry to leave her alone. “It’s not just a scratch. Wounds from wild animals have a high chance of infection, and there might be other injuries, too. Will you let me take a look? I promise I do stuff other than butcher corpses.”

Saphiria’s gaze met his, and she stared as if digging into his soul, hesitating for an extended moment before she spoke. “Okay.”

He squeezed her upper arm to stem the bleeding. “Try to relax, and I’ll handle the rest.”