I looked around Old Town, recognizing the street Flint and I were walking down. I'd come here often with my mother when I was younger, before the blight hit. We’d buy grain from the miller and on the way home she’d buy me a hard candy from a little shop on the corner. The candies were nothing like what we had on Earth, they were made of honey and herbs, and tasted more medicinal than anything.

But, the best thing about coming here was that on the way home, we'd always stop by the blacksmith. I loved watching the master work. His name was Garth, and he was a mountain of a man.

Back on Earth, I'd been a graphic designer, so as an odd kid in the Tower I'd spend my days alone drawing. Garth would give me the scraps of wood and old pencils that he had lying around, and I'd spend hours drawing anime characters and monsters from movies. He'd even paid me for a portrait of his wife. But that was all before the Night of Sorrows. After that night, nobody gave a damn about art. If you couldn't eat it or drink it, it was worthless.

It was amazing how quickly things could change.

Now swarms of flies hung from every window ledge and doorpost. They crawled over the carcasses of bloated blight birds that had flown into the barrier and snapped their necks in the process. But apart from the insects, the streets were deserted, and the only noise came from the cries of the birds that circled above.

Fortunately for us, the birds have no interest in eating us alive, I thought dryly. Unfortunately, though, circling above means they think we’ll be dead soon.

"If we are going to do this," I said. "Then the best score would be the miller's house."

"Why?" Flint asked, slowing his pace and turning to look at me.

"The miller was famous for two things," I said. "His twin daughters."

Flint snorted as he laughed.

"And his collection of fine wines," I continued.

"Those bottles would have been the first things that smashed during the earth tremors." Flint said.

I eyed the ruined houses scattered about. "Maybe, but I doubt it. Those earth tremors weren't natural, they were caused by a spell card."

Flint shrugged, "So?"

"Well, the spell didn't originate deep in the earth like a natural tremor. It's just moved along the surface."

Flint considered it for a moment, "And the wine cellar is below ground."

I smiled, "Exactly."

***

It didn't take us long to reach the millers' house. It stood abandoned like every other building, but it was in better condition than most. Half of the roof had caved in, probably from a spell that had gone awry, but the walls still stood.

A washing line stretched from the house to the neighbor's roof, and the windows and doors were boarded up with a giant red X painted over them.

"Blight infected," Flint breathed.

It was strange that even in the Tower, people used an X to signify plague. The same thing had happened back on Earth during the great plague. I'd also noticed the same thing with certain words people used in the Tower, words like 'hell' and 'damn'.

If my suspicion was right and all the humans here were originally from Earth, then it was possible that there were some residual memories that still lingered in their souls.

Did it mean something? Were the memories of people's past lives truly gone, or were they laying dormant waiting for someone to unlock them. Or was I the only one who’d come from Earth? I had no idea.

In the early days, before I was labeled as a nut job and shunned, I would sit with a notepad and just write. I'd write about the history of Earth, the big events, and I'd show them to people, hoping it would bring something to the surface.

Nothing.

Of course, I told everybody that I'd made it all up. That the stories of Earth had been nothing but a dream. That hadn't helped my public image much, either.

"What is it?" Flint asked.

I shook my head, focusing on the job.

"We need to go around back," I whispered, "There's a cellar door that leads down to the miller's wine cellar. If there is any wine left, it will be in there."

Flint nodded, and followed after.

For a moment I thought that I saw movement inside.

"What?" Flint asked, as I stopped walking.

I shook my head and crept forward, peering around the corner, but thankfully it was empty.

I glanced into the kitchen and saw the stairs leading down.

"This way," I whispered.

I don't know why I was whispering, but speaking in a normal voice felt wrong in that place, like I was disturbing the dead.

The door was still intact, and the hinges were rusty, but a single kick was enough to open them.

"You sure you want to go underground?" Flint asked, peering down the dark stairs.

I nodded, trying to appear more confident than I felt.

He glanced at me, "It's just we’d be trapped, is what I'm saying."

I shook my head, "You could have mentioned your fear of the dark earlier."

"It's not the dark," Flint scowled. "It's the tight spaces."

I looked back at him, "We're not turning back now, not after you’ve dragged me through this cesspool."

Flint cursed under his breath, "Just hurry up."

I stepped down onto the first step, the wood creaking softly beneath me. A second later, I heard Flint following. I walked slowly, each footfall causing the stairs to groan louder.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and I pushed the door open. The room was dark. I reached out to find a light switch, cursing when my fingers touched nothing.

"Shit!" I moaned. "I don't have a light."

Sparks flashed across the walls, as Flint lit a lantern.

"Always be prepared," he said, raising the lantern up high.

"Where did you find that?" I asked.

"The kitchen," he said with a grin. "Doesn't have much oil in it, though, so we better be quick about it."

***

The cellar was filled with boxes and barrels stacked haphazardly against the wall. The shelves were empty.

Flint turned towards me, "Where's the wine?"

I stepped forward towards the light and kicked something underfoot. Glass rolled noisily across the floor.

I picked it up, "An empty wine bottle."

Flint used his broomstick to push a box out of the way, and then jumped back, letting out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.

"Found the miller," he said.

The dried husk of a body was slumped over in a chair, empty bottles surrounding him.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I frowned, "He drank himself to death."

At least he died doing what he loved.

Flint bent over the dead body, holding his lantern up close.

"Not exactly," he muttered, "His throat has been cut."

I blinked, seeing the rusty knife clenched in the dead man's skeleton hand.

"That's a nasty way to go," I said.

Flint nodded, "His neighbors must have boarded up the doors and windows when the family caught the blight."

He turned and looked up at me, "The miller must have locked himself down here, while the blight ravaged the rest of his family."

"Shit, that's harsh," I said, peering closer. "I guess when the wine dried up, there was no reason left for him to live."

The lamp light reflected off of something metallic in the man’s hand. I bent down and pried open his hand, revealing a gold wedding ring.

"Sorry about this," I muttered as I pulled the ring out of the dead man's hand.

Flint nodded, "Alright then, let's get out of here before we attract the wrong kind of attention."

He stepped back, tripping over a wine bottle and crashing into a barrel. Flint and I stared at each other in panic as the sound echoed around the room.

"Maybe nobody heard it," he whispered.

A howl sounded from the outside of the building.

"You bloody jinxed it," I said, glancing around nervously.

Flint handed me the lantern and then gripped his staff in both hands.

"Don't fight unless we have to," he said. "If they get too close, just run."

A second howl echoed through the house, and I heard the sound of claws scraping against stone.

I nodded, holding the lantern up. "Let's get the hell out of here."

We ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

I reached the top and through the cracks in the wall, I could see the glowing blue eyes of the deformed blight hounds. Drool dripped out of their half skeleton faces and splattered on the cold rock below.

When they saw us, they began to growl and claw at the door, trying to get in. A large undead hound with bony stumps for back legs spotted us and began barking. It lumbered towards the hole in the wall, dragging its rear legs behind it.

"Upstairs!" Flint shouted, "Get to the roof! We'll circle around!"

I nodded, turning to run.

The large dog snapped at me through the hole, but I swung the lantern at its head, and it pulled back from the light.

I darted up the stairs, avoiding the missing steps, and leapt onto the roof of the mill. I looked around, trying to find a way down.

Flint gestured at the old washing line that hung suspended between the miller's house and the next building.

I winced, "In and out job my ass!"

Flint ignored my comment and rushed up to the washing line, and without a moments' hesitation he jumped. He caught the wire with both arms, his broomstick held between his teeth, and hauled himself up like a monkey.

I grinned, "Screw becoming a card mage, you should join the circus."

Flint laughed, but a second later the laughter changed to a shout.

Roof tiles smashed onto the floor as a huge hound scrambled onto the roof. It was terrifying. It had four muscular limbs, two heads and four eyes that glowed like sapphires. It opened both of its mouths and rows of sharp teeth glistened.

I backed away.

Flint was yelling something, but the staff in his mouth was muffling his words.

At that moment, the only thing that mattered was avoiding those teeth.

I raised the lantern as a shield, and held my knife in the other hand, there was no way I was going down without a fight.

The creature bellowed, its howl sending a shiver down my spine. It pounced, kicking up more tiles in the process.

I watched its body arc through the air, and at the last moment I slashed at its exposed leg and dropped and rolled to the left.

The impact of the hound knocked me further back than I’d expected. I landed on the edge of the roof, my feet dangling over the edge.

The lantern crashed to the ground beneath me, and flames spread out in a carpet of fire.

The hound whimpered, blood dripping from its torn flesh. It tried to stand, but one of its legs collapsed under it, and it fell back.

Flint had crossed the washing line and waved his staff at me from an adjacent rooftop.

"Run!" I shouted, "We will meet back up at home."

He hesitated a moment, I knew he wasn't happy to just leave me.

"Go!" I shouted.

He nodded, there was nothing he could do, and I watched him sprint across the rooftop.

I turned to look at the blight hound. It had staggered to its feet and was standing now, watching me. A low growl came from its throat, and it started towards me.

I looked down, seeing the fire had died down.

"This is going to hurt," I groaned as I let go of the ledge and fell.

My feet hit the ground first and my knees buckled. I fell backwards, slamming my head against the hard ground. A sharp pain spread up from my stomach area. I lay there flat on my back, staring up at the sky as I gasped for breath.

The two-headed dog was looking down at me from the top of the roof. A pathetic whimper coming from both its mouths. I don't know if it was the adrenaline, but from this distance, the giant heads looked comical rather than terrifying.

I tried to stand up, but the pain forced me to drop back down again.

"Son of a bitch!" I gasped, looking at the red spreading through my shirt.

My hands fumbled along my chest and down, feeling the glass protruding through my stomach. The blood that spilled from the wound felt warm and sticky in my fingers.

The hounds were coming, I could hear their footsteps echoing off the surrounding buildings.

A yelp filled the air and all went still.

***

I lay in silence, staring up at the sky. A crow cawed, flapping its wings and flying up to perch on the washing line. A second crow joined in. Then another. Soon dozens of the black birds were lining the rooftops. They squawked and screeched, and they stared down at me with their bright blue eyes.

I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable end.

I hope they wait for me to die before eating me. The thought was funny at that moment, and I couldn't help but smile.

"What do we have here?" a raspy voice asked.

My eyes fluttered open, and I squinted up and saw a man, his hair was long and greasy, hanging around his face in dirty, tangled strands. He wore a tattered multicolored robe sewn together with patches of different colored cloth. But it was his eyes that held my attention, blue as sapphires, piercing right into mine.

I raised a trembling hand, the knife clutched in my blood fist.

A crow descended from the sky, landing on the man's shoulder.

The man cocked his head to one side, as though listening to the bird. He nodded slightly. "Call me Patches," he said. "You are?"

"Bastion," I muttered between gasping for breath.

Patches cocked his head to the other side and regarded me with those wide, flat eyes. "You are dying, Bastion."

I looked down at the pool of blood gathering underneath me.

Patches grinned, showing a set of small, pointed teeth, "Come boy, why so glum? Patches has the cure for what ails you."

I tried to speak, but my lungs wouldn't work.

He continued to grin, "I’ll give you a choice, nod your head if you want to live."

I nodded, and my vision blurred.

The crow hopped off of his shoulder and Patches reached down and pulled the glass from my stomach. The pain was immediate and intense. Spots flickered across my vision and finally my screaming died down.

Blood gushed from the wound, soaking my shirt.

"There is a card for every desire of the human heart," he said, turning away from me to examine the shard of bloody glass.

"Why!" I wheezed, trying to sit up. "Why help me."

Patches tossed the glass into the gutter, and it shattered on the ground, "Someone precious to me once said, oftentimes all we have in this world is the kindness of strangers."

He grinned, pulling a small metal box out of the tangles of his robe. "The trick, she said, is remembering that sometimes you are the stranger."

I coughed and spat blood. My chest heaved and I gasped for breath.

Patches opened the box and flipped through the cards until he found one that caught his eye. He slid the card out of the box.

Why the hell does he have so many cards, and none of them in his soul deck?

"Here," he said, handing the card to me. "Take it."

This couldn't be happening, I was about to receive a card moments before my death.

Was he toying with me?

Did it matter?

I hesitated and raised a shaky hand.

Patches placed the card in the palm of my hand and closed my bloody fingers over it.

"Do you know how to use it?" he asked.

My head nodded just a fraction of an inch.

"Good. Then place it in your soul, you don't have much time left."

He guided my hand, placing the card over my heart.

"That's it," he said, giving me a gentle push, "Release it."

Warning bells went off in the back of my head, something was clearly wrong here. Patches had the blight, he should be dead, not saving a stranger bleeding in the streets.

But what choice did I have, I could die, or I could trust this man that reeked of deception.

It was an easy decision to make.

The card touched my skin, and searing pain radiated from my heart. My vision darkened as I tried to scream, but all that came out was a terrible moan. At that moment, I felt a surge of energy flow from the card into my body.

The crows took off, their wings beating furiously, their feathers falling from the sky like black rain.

My hand slumped at my side and saw that the card had vanished. In its place a black tattoo, like a ring of ivy, formed around my heart.

"It's the good kind of pain," Patches said, "One you will learn to enjoy."

I coughed up more blood and lay back on the ground, staring up at the sky.

It hadn't worked.

I was still dying.

Patches stroked my hair and whispered to me. "Now, it's time to be reborn."

With a sudden burst of speed, his dirty hands were at my neck, strangling me, his nails digging into my skin.

I could taste the iron in his breath when he spoke, "We'll meet again, soon."

I tried to struggle, my arms flailing weakly at my side.

The world went black and all that remained was Patches’ blue eyes boring into my soul.

No! No, please no!

But it was too late.

***