We move upstream and spend the rest of the night near a small river. People wash the blood and sweat off their faces and clean up as best they can, but they can’t wash away their weariness. Vas and Jade seem completely untouched by the whole thing. Steel digs into his bag and takes out some bread and a flask. He shoves the bread into his mouth and washes it down with whatever is in the flask.

“We’ll take care of them in the morning,” he nods at the loaded cart.

“Take care?” Jaro asks. “What do you mean?”

“We only need talons and beaks. That’s what we’re paid to deliver. There is no need to carry a cart full of bird corpses around.”

“Oh…” Jaro looks down, at his hands. “Of course.”

“You saw what we trade, didn’t you, boy?” he chuckles. “They aren’t much in terms of meat. I mean I’ve eaten my share, but really, the only value they carry is their claws and beaks and that’s that.”

What about their songs? I’ve never heard anything so… ethereally beautiful.

“It seems such a waste,” mutters Jaro.

“Did you say something, lad?” asks Vas as he takes care of the donkey, making it comfortable for the night.

“No. I was just wondering… are we staying here or moving tomorrow? Are those birds coming back to this grove?”

“Not for some time,” Steel answers. “They will eventually. Meanwhile, we move forward. There are other places where birds nest.”

They prepare their bedrolls and sleep.

Jaro and Anya don’t sleep. They sit with their backs to the cart, not paying any heed to the awful smell that radiates from it.

I resume my night watch, too, looking out for wolves or bandits or monsters, who might take revenge after today’s carnage. And as I watch, I listen to the quiet voices.

“Are you okay?” Jaro asks. “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I am fine. A few scratches. I’ve had worse.”

“Two days down,” Jaro says. “Eight to go.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Anya’s voice sounds hollow. The fire that burned inside of her while she hunted is suddenly all gone and in its place—nothing but pale cold ashes.

She turns her face towards the sky, and there’s an expression in her eyes that I can find no word for.

“Well, at least…” starts Jaro, and then he shakes his head without finishing the sentence.

“What are you thinking of?” Anya asks, following a short and fragile silence.

“I’m thinking… that I don’t like to do this kind of job.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“Well, you were right.”

“Me neither,” she says after a while.

He looks at her.

“What?”

She is silent for a very long time, but it isn’t a quiet silence. Unspoken words are welling up on her lips. They are like angry tears you desperately try to stop from spilling, but they gather behind your eyelids, more and more until you just can’t.

Stolen story; please report.

“I don’t like doing this kind of job either. Do you see what my life is like? This… this violence. Maybe we deserve the Lady’s wrath. Maybe eventually we’ll end up just like those poor souls at the Lonely Water.”

“The Lonely Water?”

“It’s the name of the place where that hunting expedition was killed.”

“Oh.”

The Lonely Water… Why does this name sound familiar?

“You should get some sleep,” Jaro says to Anya.

She nods, curls up on the ground next to him and closes her eyes. Within seconds, she is asleep.

And then it hits me.

“This name she said!” I tell Jaro. “The Lonely Water! I’ve heard it before!”

“You have?”

“Yes!”

I grasp at the memory that floats past me like a tiny bubble.

“Nora and I used to play there when we were kids. It’s just an hour’s walk on foot from My Little Wanderer.”

“So we’re close!” Jaro almost jumps to his feet, but Anya stirs and he remembers to sit still, not to disturb her sleep. “We’re close, Kara!” he whispers. “We are.”

“Yes.”

I can’t believe it.

“I thought it would be hard to locate the town, but now, all we have to do is find this Lonely Water place—and from there we will be able to find our missing town.”

“Yes!”

I can barely contain my glee. I can’t wait for the morning to come. For us to finish with this bloody mess of a hunt, and continue with our true mission—to find My Little Wanderer.

But when the morning comes, the danger comes with it. The danger I, in my excitement, totally miss.

*

We weren’t exactly unfamiliar with dust storms. We had a few of them every year, but nothing too bad. I’d heard stories that they could be dangerous, but we were kids and “danger” wasn’t exactly the word kids understand. When you’re a child, a boogie-man is scarier than any kind of weather.

“Don’t play too far,” Alma, my brother’s young wife, used to call to me, standing on the porch of their house, pressing her hands to her heart. She was always afraid something would happen to me if I wandered off too far. She didn’t worry about the other kids—not even Nora. But then, no one but me ever ventured too far. I was the wild one. I was the one always looking for trouble. But at the end of the day, it was the trouble that found me and not the other way around.

Anyway, Alma always had a few scary Steppe stories up her sleeve. She used them hoping to dissuade me from running so wild. She told me of a demon who could control water, named Kolzhutar. She said he was waiting for children, hiding just under the surface of a quiet lake, and when they swam too far from shore, he’d seize them and pull them under and eat them in one huge gulp. She told me of another demon who traveled with wind and caused dust storms to blind and choke those who step too far from home. Zhelayak—a wind-foot. Or Tausogar, who moved mountains and could tear the earth apart.

I had never heard stories like that, so I asked grandmother if she knew any of them. She replied she had never heard these legends told in that fashion.

“Kolzhutar, Zhelayak, and Tausogar are benevolent spirits in the Steppe. They are not demons. They help heroes and remove obstacles from their way. They don’t eat children.”

“Why would Alma make up such stories then?”

Grandmother sighed—she often sighed when she talked about Alma.

“That girl simply has a very vivid imagination.”

But I think that wasn’t exactly true, only partially. I think it was that Alma simply understood the dangers of the Steppe better than anyone else in My Little Wanderer.

The thing with dust storms is that they happen suddenly. No warning. The sky gets dark and within a couple of minutes, the calamity is upon us. It lifts the dust and sand and soil into the air and carries it, twisting and turning and howling like a wild beast.

We haven’t seen it coming. I haven’t seen it coming. It all happens too fast. And when it hits, we aren't ready.

“Cover the cart!” Steel cries. “Quick, cover the cart! And keep close! Jaro! Put that damn scarf on unless you want to choke on the dust!”

Jaro follows the order, covering his mouth and nose with the scarf, following the example of the more experienced members of the team.

“Prepare yourself,” mutters Jaro. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or Anya or us both. And then the storm hits and it turns out that I really should have listened and prepared myself. Although how? What can a ghost do?

The gust of wind sends the grey-brown sand into the air and covers everything, so I’m completely blinded. I no longer see Jaro. I don’t see the bloody cart. I don’t see other members of the hunt. Everything is covered in dust.

If I were alive, I’d probably choke on it. As it is, I just glide on a strong current, allowing it to carry me further and further away from Jaro, and I can’t do anything about it. Vision is the main sense for those who don’t possess a corporal body. Through the vision, I can lock myself upon an object, and sort of hold on to it. Without my eyes, I’m pretty much screwed. By the Eternal Sky! I’m so completely and utterly screwed!