Iphik awoke them at dawn. When Grevail sat up in the wagon, he found Grix and his horse gone. Iphik unchained them one by one so they could relieve themselves, then gave them some food and water. The Sifter reignited the small fire from last night, again brewing himself some tea, while Grevail and his friends sat in the wagon.

After a while, Grix appeared astride his horse, further up the track near the highway. He rode down the rutted wagon road and stopped near the fire, regarding Iphik. “I’ve got something to show you.” He jerked his head toward the highway. “Tracks.”

Iphik’s brow furrowed over the steaming cup in his hands. Some unsaid information passed between them and Iphik stood, gulping down the last of his tea. “We might as well be on our way then.”

The Sifter’s harnessed the horses, and in short order the wagon was bumping down the muddy trail toward the highway. When they came to it, Iphik pulled the mounts to a stop and climbed down, Grix following him to the road. The tingling inside Grevail’s head followed the tall Sifter and the goosebumps vanished from his skin.

Grix and Iphik stood in the road together, whispering and staring at the ground. Grix pointed south while Iphik waved his arms around. Grix pointed south again, this time more forcefully. They met each other’s gaze in a wordless stand-off until Iphik spun away and returned to the driver’s seat. He snapped the reins, sending the wagon south at a quick pace. Grevail leaned over the side to study the ground as it sped by, but couldn’t spot any recognizable tracks.

As they bounced along, Grevail discovered that wherever Grix went, the itch in his head followed. If Grix were on the right, the itch was on the right. If Grix was behind, so was the itch. If Grix rode ahead, the skittering went with him. The scratching slid on the inside of Grevail’s skull, following Grix’ every movement. The smell of spoiled wine only revealed itself when Grix was ahead of him, but disappeared when he was behind. Am I going insane?

“Are you alright?” Adellus asked, watching Grevail.

Grevail realized he'd been staring at the wagon bed and mumbling under his breath. “I’m fine…” he said and jiggled the chains attached to his wrists. “Fine as I can be anyway.”

Raela watched him with tight eyes, lips compressed in a dissatisfied line. Her arms twitched, as if she wanted to wrap him in a hug…or slap him across the face, but she only looked away with a sigh.

The endless and uninhabited land, coupled with the relentless squeak of the wagon axle made for a dull journey. The scenery provided the same view it did yesterday and the only thing that seemed to change was the Parent's progression in their arc. Tessyn especially appeared bothered by the monotony. She shifted in her seat, scowling and grumbling at Iphik’s back.

“Are you going to tell us where you are taking us?” she snapped, breaking the silence.

Iphik turned with questioning eyes, searching Tessyn below the broad leather brim of his hat. “You will know soon enough.”

“When we are in Andrada?” she asked as if the words were a cudgel.

“Soon,” Iphik said.

Tessyn surged to her feet and clasped her hands together over her head, preparing to club Iphik. She wobbled forward—the chain restraining her to the wagon bed pulling tight with a metallic snap. “I’ll give you soon!”

Iphik spluttered and raised a hand to defend himself. “Sit down!”

The wagon rumbled over a bump in the road and the bed jolted upward, throwing Tessyn off balance. She teetered on unstable legs for a moment, then fell, landing hard on her rump with a smack that made Grevail wince. Iphik stared at her, open mouth poised for a shout, but then a smile crept onto his lips. He erupted into wild laughter and Grix joined him, slapping a thigh and howling from atop his horse.

Tessyn’s face flashed a furious crimson, directing a scowl at Iphik intended to stop his heart. Raela offered a hand but Tessyn brushed it away and scrambled to her feet. She feigned another strike at the Sifter, but stopped as Iphik stood, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. Tessyn met the man’s eyes, but soon wilted under Iphik’s serious gaze and sat, muttering through a clenched jaw.

“No more!” Iphik said. “Sit quietly or I will do more than laugh at you next time.” He turned his dark stare from Tessyn to the rest of them.

After much more time traveling in silence, evidence of humanity again peppered the surrounding wilderness. A man towing a cart piled with logs along the edge of the road appeared ahead. He turned and pushed up the edge of his straw hat with a wave as the wagon came near.

Iphik returned the greeting. “Where are the best beds?” he said as they came beside the woodcutter.

The man’s lips split in a smile, revealing missing teeth. “The Epikhos’ Coat I’d say! Just ahead and take a left at the Little Leaf! Can’t miss it!” His last words were shouted as they left him behind.

Grix muttered under his breath, twisting his lips at Iphik’s back from where he trotted behind the wagon.

Beds? Grevail wondered. His friend’s faces took on curious looks, tinged with worry.

Iphik thanked the woodcutter with a wave over the heads of his prisoners. He gave the horses pulling the wagon some motivation with the reins and they picked up the pace, bouncing toward the buildings ahead. This village was much larger than the one yesterday. Two story buildings loomed over the highway and crowds wandered the streets between them. It was still small, especially when compared to the capital, but Grevail felt more at ease with so many people around.

The village thickened around them, homes turning to shops and hawker’s stands. Shady dirt avenues lined with trees crossed the highway. A group of women watched the wagon pass, while at the hems of their dresses a gaggle of children chased each other with playful shouts.

The Little Leaf, a hunched stone building beneath a dirty slate roof soon rose on the left. A brick chimney poured thick gray smoke into the air and a handful of men on benches outside talked loudly with sloshing mugs. A round woman in a stained apron grimaced at the men before turning her attention to the wagon to watch it pass. Iphik pulled the reins and the horses veered off the highway.

The Epikhos’ Coat was just where the woodcutter said it would be. A well-kept three story building—the painting of a man in a luxurious fur coat with a crown on his head occupied an entire wall facing the street. The smell of manure wafted from an adjoining yard surrounded by a tall fence.

Iphik pulled the wagon to a stop. Without a word, he hopped down and strode up wide stone steps to a pair of red double doors. Grix again remained mounted, dividing his attention between the people in the street and his charges.

“Are we sleeping in the back again?” Raela wondered aloud.

“They’ll want to keep an eye on us, so unless they want to sleep in the stables with us, I doubt it,” Grevail said.

Tessyn twisted in her seat, casting a wary eye at the villagers around them. “They won’t take us inside,” she said doubtfully. “Why would they do that?”

Adellus turned worried eyes to the Epikhos’ Coat. “Maybe we are about to meet whoever paid them.”

Adellus’ premonition was met with silence. Gnawing worry ate away at Grevail the longer they waited and the possible employers of the Sifters grew worse in his imagination with each moment that passed. By the time Iphik reappeared, Grevail convinced himself that the Sifters had been contracted by none other than Amphid, but instead, Iphik was accompanied by a young boy.

Iphik came to stand at the back of the wagon. “Everybody out.”

“Are you sure about this?” Grix muttered from atop his horse.

Iphik scoffed and motioned at the wagon. “Yes, Grix, I am sure. Unchain them.”

With a shake of his head for Iphik, Grix dismounted and climbed into the wagon, unlocking the clasps that kept them chained to the bed.

When they were all out, Iphik grabbed his burlap bag from the seat and turned to the boy. “It is all yours. These horses have been a long way, I expect them to be well taken care of.”

The young boy nodded and snatched the reins off the ground. “Of course, sir,” he squeaked and stared up at the Sifter adoringly, as if Iphik were Otash in the flesh.

“Don’t forget my mount here too,” Grix said, wrapping his reins around a post. He straightened and tossed the boy an ess. The child caught the gold coin against his chest and an unbelieving smile broke over his face. Clutching his prize, the boy led the horses and the wagon toward a gap in the high fence beside the inn, casting curious glances over his shoulder at Iphik and Grix as he went.

“Follow me,” Iphik said to Grevail.

Grevail exchanged worried looks with his friends until Grix commanded them to move. Grevail searched Grix’ face for clues about what was happening, but found little information in the man’s stony gaze. Grevail trudged up the steps after Iphik and shuffled inside. The ceiling hung high above, held aloft by four very large and round whole timbers. At a number of tables scattered around an empty fireplace at one wall, the few patrons watched Grevail and his fettered friends enter with mild alarm.

A slim, bald-headed man in a high collared coat stood speaking with Iphik. He took in the four of them with a distasteful twist of his lips, then spoke to the Sifter with concern in his voice. “As we agreed then. Any damage and you pay, no questions.”

Iphik gave the man an impatient nod, as if he’d said this all before. “Of course, of course. You will have no problems, my good man. Everything will be just as it was.” Iphik waved at them to follow. Grevail glanced over his shoulder at his friends. Grix stood a pace behind and a head above, watching as if expecting an escape attempt. Grix nodded after Iphik, commanding Grevail to move. The sickly sweet smell was back and in full force, as if a mug of day old wine were under his nose.

As Grevail moved to follow Iphik, his eyes were drawn to a man wearing a maroon hat twice as big as his head. The Thavan stood at the landing of a staircase, staring at Iphik with surprise…or recognition. A Thavan! I knew it, Grevail thought.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The Thavan’s maroon robes, hemmed with gold at the bottom and cuffs, scraped along the floorboards as he made his way toward them. Embroidered on the breast of the robe in gold thread was a single flame inside a lantern, the symbol of the Thava. Below that, the letter ‘R’, stitched three times and separated by dots. A thin gold wire spiraled around the Thavan’s round hat from the bottom all the way to the top, separated from itself by a finger-width gap. The man’s eyes consumed the strange group before him, wiggling the large brown mustache hunched over his lips.

The Thavan raised his hand in greeting, stopping Iphik in his tracks. “Sifter, perhaps you would like a drink? I adore conversation with interesting people and I know a man such as yourself would have news to share. I assure you, I can return the favor. I am Joszi.” The man’s beady chestnut eyes slid to Grevail and paused on his chains. “Is this one of your captures?” he asked with a hint of incredulity.

Iphik cleared his throat and threw on a hasty smile. “Yes…ah…Joszi. Do not worry, you will be safe. I am Iphik.”

“Odd you would bring prisoners inside, Iphik, is it not? Is something the matter?” Joszi asked, centering a questioning gaze on the Sifter.

Iphik shrugged, shifting his feet. “We have spent many days in the wilderness after our marks, Thavak. Surely you cannot begrudge me for spending a night in a bed after a successful hunt.”

“Thavak? I do not belong to this village, Sifter, only passing through like yourself. Where are you going?”

Iphik paused with his mouth open, as if unsure of how to reply. “I apologize, Arbiter,” he said, regaining some of his composure. “North. North to Eudan. We will get a nice prize for this one here.” Iphik jabbed an elbow at Grevail.

Joszi chuckled, returning his gaze to Grevail. “Yes, I’m sure you will.” His eyes landed on Grevail’s merit and tightened. “A rogue from Lowtown? What must he have done to warrant your services?”

“Gold is what warrants my services, not the nature of the crime.”

“Ah,” Joszi said with an understanding nod. “Occasionally I forget that a Sifter’s business is like any other, though I have employed your kind in the past.” He waved toward the common room with a wolfish smile. “I know you are busy, but I would encourage you to come by my table when you are free.”

“I’m afraid we need all the rest we can get, Arbiter. The ride has been long and tomorrow will be no different.”

Joszi nodded, the fake smile slipping from his face. “A shame. I would urge you to reconsider.” The Thavan’s eyes locked with the Sifter’s in a way that Grevail deemed purposeful. Silent tension built, until Joszi brushed past Iphik and walked to a table where he joined another man, whose bald head swiveled in their direction. Joszi’s companion studied them with piercing blue eyes, but he wore not a speck of Thavan maroon or gold. A bronze sallet helmet hung from a strap on the man’s waist, dangling beside his chair.

It can’t be then, Grevail thought. A wave of relief spread over him. He turned to look at his friends. Raela’s eyes were big as they could get and Tessyn looked sick to her stomach.

Iphik met Grix’ eyes with an odd look on his face, then without a word, waved for them to follow and walked toward the stairway the Thavan emerged from. In silence, they ascended to a second story and went down a hallway, stopping at a door near the end. Iphik flung open the door and they followed him through.

The room was sparsely furnished with two beds separated by a large window. Iphik threw his bag onto a bed, mumbling under his breath, then motioned at Grix. “May I have a word with you?” He jerked his head toward the hallway.

Grix nodded and the Sifters left, closing the door behind them.

In a torrent of groans and rattling chains, Tessyn, Raela, and Adellus collapsed to the floor.

Grevail wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the floor too after being in the wagon all day, but the sound of Iphik’s voice murmuring through the door pulled at him. He gathered up his chains in an attempt to quiet them and cautiously crept forward.

“What are you doing?” Raela whispered at him.

He knelt and lowered his head to the crack at the bottom of the door frame.

“…you are sure?” Grix whispered.

“I am. I think...”

“I told you we shouldn’t have come here, fool,” Grix grumbled, “but you were worried and wanted a bed. Now he is here…and you call him a Thavak? Did you not see the gigantic hat he is wearing? This is the…” his voice drifted from earshot before Grevail could pick up anything else. “…followed us.”

“…he can’t do anything here, if he could, he would have already,” Grevail heard Iphik say, but the Sifter went silent as footsteps thumped toward them, continuing when they faded. “Erphele will have our heads if we mess this up. We won’t have the money to pay Dufiphon if that happens. Watch what you say around him.”

Grix scoffed. “I should watch what I say? Maybe we should leave now?”

Iphik said something inaudible before raising his voice. “What good will that do? We will leave tomorrow morning, but not too early, they’ll expect that if they have any plans for us.”

A silence stretched. Grevail strained his ears, listening for anything else. The squeal of the door handle turning caught him by surprise and he rolled away, pulling his chains tight to silence them. He managed to strike a comfortable pose just as Grix opened the door. The tall Sifter furrowed his brow at Grevail and his friends, but after a moment, shook his head and walked to the window.

Grevail didn’t know much, if anything about the relationship between Sifters and Thava, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Joszi wouldn’t do as he pleased if he even so much as suspected the Sifters had the relic. Sifters signed contracts with kings, mayors, and village elders to conduct business, usually to bring a criminal to justice or solve some other sort of crime. Perhaps Joszi’s apprehension had something to do with that, if the Thavan suspected anything at all. Erphele and Dufiphon. Neither name meant anything to Grevail, but it could be who hired the Sifters.

Grix shed his sword, followed by the little crossbow on a bed. He sat beside his weapons and leaned to dig through Iphik’s burlap bag. The itch in Grevail’s head followed the Sifter just as surely as his eyes did. Grix’ hand eventually emerged wrapped around a blue bottle. “I knew it,” Grix said with chuckle. He reached into his coat pocket and removed a clenched fist. Grevail glimpsed the golden swirls of the cube glittering between Grix’ fingers before he dropped it in the bag.

After taking a drink from the bottle, Grix set it on the floor beside the bed. The tingling in Grevail’s skull now pointed at the bag. He rubbed at his nose, wishing he could wipe the smell of wine from it, a smell that filled the room.

A knock at the door brought Grix to it. The innkeep shoved a bundle of blankets and pillows into his arms, sparing another glower for Grevail and the others before Grix shut the door in his face. Grix dropped the bedding on the floor, gesturing for his prisoners to help themselves, and strode back to the bed.

Raela hugged a pillow to her chest, watching the Sifter with a frown. “Will you take these off?” she asked, raising an arm to jangle her chains. “They are starting to hurt.”

“No,” Grix said without turning from the window filling with twilight.

“Are you from Eudan, Grix?” Grevail asked.

Grix turned to smirk at him. “I am.”

“And Iphik? Is he from Eudan?”

“No.”

“Where is he from? He sounds like he has an accent but I can’t quite place—”

“Wherever Iphik is from, it doesn’t concern you.” Grix took a swig from the bottle, giving Grevail another hard eyed stare, and returned his attention to the window.

Raela raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Grevail, as if to ask him what he was up to.

With a tired sigh, Grevail laid down, shoving a pillow under his head. It was too early for sleep, though he was exhausted. Grix gave them more food, only a few bits of bread and some dried meat from Iphik’s bag. Whenever Grevail heard footsteps in the hallway, he expected the Thavan to step through the door, or maybe whoever Erphele was.

Eventually, Iphik returned and Grix left. Iphik went to his bed and laid down, twisting about in an attempt to get comfortable. He set his bag on the floor between the beds and reached inside to pull out a book. He smiled wryly at the bottle Grix left out and put his head against the dark oak headboard to flip through the pages.

The night deepened, and after some time Grix returned. He locked the door and made his way between the lumps on the floor in the dark room like a cat on a roof, then laid down, and the room once more descended into pure silence.

Grevail lay in the darkness, conjuring one plan of escape after another and then rejecting them. There was no scenario he devised in which all of them could escape…or even one. A terrible feeling settled over him at the realization there may be no way out of this. They were caught, by Sifters, and there was no getting away. A warm, soft hand wrapped around his. He almost shouted, but instead looked down to find Raela peering back at him. Her big and round eyes glittered in the faint light. She gave his hand a squeeze and he returned it.

Her breathing deepened and after some time her hand fell away from his. Despite the night carrying on, and the aching in his body from the wagon, he could not sleep. The buzzing in his skull kept him awake—pulling him toward that cube.

Grevail turned to stare at where Iphik’s bag lay, only a few paces away, illuminated by the purple tinged light of Lusin pouring through the window. He was sure the relic was inside, as if he had put it there himself. I’ve lost my mind.

He tried to keep the tingling scratch from his thoughts. What if I tell Joszi the Sifters have the cube? Would he know what happened in Eudan? Would he arrest them all? Would I just shout it to him tomorrow morning when we leave? Would that be any better? These questions tossed back and forth in his mind like the angry waves of a turmoiled ocean. Sleep pulled at his eyelids, and though he tried to fight it off, slumber rolled over him.

He floated in darkness. Below, he saw only endless, impossible black, and above, the same thing. There was no source of light that he could see, yet when he looked down at his body, he was perfectly lit. He extended his arms in front of himself but felt nothing. He moved his legs and the result was no different. A dream, he supposed. He blinked. The darkness was now white. A chair, suddenly beneath him, felt smooth and metallic. There was something under his feet, though he couldn’t see anything there. He moved to stand.

“Please, stay seated,” said a thin, piercing voice.

Grevail found the speaker standing in front of him. He was surprised to recognize the man—the face he saw that night in the tomb. The face he saw for only a moment, but he was sure it was this man’s face. A barren scalp stretched tightly over his skull. Eyes that were too far apart and a shocking white studied him in return. Disturbing gray skin like ash, crisscrossed with unnatural dark veins, covered his body. The man was very tall…and very thin. Impossibly thin. Unnervingly long and wiry limbs poked from his body like the legs of a spider, as though they’d been stretched.

Grevail waited for him to speak, but when he did not, spoke himself, heart beating against his chest. “Who are you?”

The man smiled. “I am Vidian. Who are you?”

Grevail shuddered. The man’s teeth were small, smaller than any teeth a man should have. Vidian blinked and Grevail noticed that his pupils nearly filled his entire iris.

Vidian exposed his small teeth again. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

“Where are we?” Grevail swiveled his head, but the act made him lightheaded. White in every direction…yet he knew there was a distance to this space, though he couldn’t say why. The man, nor himself cast a shadow.

“I wish you would tell me,” Vidian said, stepping forward. His long and thin legs reminded Grevail of an insect. He stopped beside the chair and studied Grevail through slitted eyes. “Are you newly raised?”

Grevail recoiled, staring at him open-mouthed. “This isn’t real,” he stammered.

“Of course not,” Vidian said with a scoff, gesturing at the whiteness surrounding them. He turned to walk away, but stopped and twisted to eye Grevail again—this time with disdain. “Have they really let the blood fall this low?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about! This is a dream.” Grevail said again, reminding himself.

Vidian smirked. “Newly raised then…which must be why you haven’t coupled. If only I could find you in here,” he spun in a circle before again facing Grevail, “then I’d know everything you do.”

Grevail shivered at the way he said that. “I don’t know anything.” He willed himself to wake.

Vidian slapped his hands together. “Where is it!”

Grevail pushed himself to his feet, swallowing the lump in his throat. Vidian was at least four hands taller. “Where is what? Where are we?”

Vidian lurched forward, long appendages swinging at his sides. “Have they taught you nothing? Did you steal it? I’ll teach you to talk to me that way, Tameling!”

Grevail snarled and steeled himself for whatever was about to happen.

The darkness of the room surrounded him. The smooth wood floor was once again beneath him. His arm was extended above his head, covered in goosebumps but slick with sweat. It disappeared inside Iphik’s bag where his hand wrapped around the cube. An unearthly blue glow illuminated the sack, and as he released his grip, it blinked from existence. Grix’ heavy breathing and Iphik’s gentle snore were loud in his ears, but no more so than the thumping of his heart. Grevail turned to look down at his feet. His friends were silent lumps beyond the pool of purple moonlight he laid in.

Slowly, he crawled back to where he’d fallen asleep. The slithering itch filled the back of his head as he did so, calling him toward the cube, but he pushed it away. Burying his face into the pillow, he released a long breath. What is happening to me?