"Let him rest, Bree. Come help with breakfast."

The girl withdrew her finger, which had been about to prod the unconscious stranger's cheek. She shot her mother's back a sullen look before she crossed over to the kitchen.

"What's wrong with him, mum?"

"Malnourishment. I've seen it plenty these days."

Bree stirred the thin grain simmering above the fireplace and, as always, found herself yearning for heartier fare. Once upon a time, they'd indulged in eggs, milk, cheese, and bread almost daily. Her frequent questions about why their fortunes had steadily dwindled over recent years only yielded dismissive or evasive replies.

"Camilla wouldn't give any milk," Bree said, suddenly remembering her morning frustrations. The arrival of the stranger had cleanly swept them aside until now.

"Again? Goddess save us…" Her mother sighed as she took several wooden bowls from the shelf. "Five years and she's always had milk to spare. I don't understand it."

"It's because of that monster in the sky. It must be!"

"I'm weary of this tale." She handed her daughter a bowl, and Bree began spooning in the watery porridge.

"It's not a tale!" she protested. "Pa saw it too!"

"Pa's sleeping. Keep your voice down."

Bree pouted fiercely, but said no more.

She turned for another peek at their unexpected guest, who lay motionless on a hurriedly-placed blanket in the corner. As grimy and unkempt as he was, he somehow didn't appear to be a beggar.

Her mother took the bowl of porridge over to him. Bree eagerly trailed her, resentment immediately forgotten. "Will he wake?" she asked keenly.

"Let us hope so." She gently shook his shoulder. When there was a faint moan in reply, she brought a steaming spoonful to his mouth and tilted it in.

His large, unnaturally dark eyes opened through the next few spoonfuls.

"Thank you," he managed to croak, pushing himself up against the wall. He took the bowl and spoon to polish off the rest himself.

"I imagine you haven't had much in the way of a meal recently?" her mother said.

Their guest wiped his mouth. "Roots, berries, leaves, whatever I could find." His striking eyes shifted, perhaps in guilt. "I'd merely intended to ask about the nearest settlement in these parts."

"That would be Laetera. It's an hour's walk along the road, less by mount."

Bree took the empty bowl and spoon from his hands and rushed them to the basin, determined not to miss a word.

"I'm afraid I have no money. I wish I could repay you for your kindness," the stranger was saying.

Her mother smiled, but there was a distinctive tightness to her mouth that showed more often these days. Bree had learned to recognize it from the times that either she or Thomas asked about their dwindling food or Pa's strange affliction. "I am Freya. And this is my daughter, Bree."

"I'm Cedric." He nodded to them both. "I owe you my life, but I must leave now. If I linger…" Cedric made to rise.

"Hold on, lad," her mother said, grabbing his shoulder. He briefly flinched from the contact, but only Bree seemed to notice. "You need rest. Your body has been consuming itself for Goddess-knows how long. One meager bowl of porridge couldn't possibly set that right."

Cedric experimentally flexed his right hand, which held steady and firm. "I'm fine. I really must--"

His next words were cut off by a loud creaking above their heads. Slow, shuffling footsteps then descended the stairs.

"What's all this racket, eh?" demanded Bree's father. As always, he wore a blindfold to protect his eyes from the daylight. His arms were splayed out in front of him, pawing at the air.

Bree rushed over to lend a guiding arm down the last few steps. "Pa, we've got a guest!"

His hand was rough and dry. He brushed his calloused fingertips lightly across her face before finding her cheek to pat. "Do we, now? Freya, is this another guest of the small, slimy sort?"

"It's not a frog, I promise," Bree laughed.

"Not a toad or lizard, either?"

"I swear it!"

Her mother didn't smile. "You've been working all night. Go back to bed."

"Can't sleep," was his gruff reply. He raised his head and sniffed. "Ah, is that porridge? I wouldn't mind a spot of that."

After Bree guided him to a seat at the table, she spooned a bowl from the simmering pot. Her mother joined them in the kitchen and turned to their guest, who watched them uncertainly from his corner. "Cedric, come join us if you'd like."

He accepted, and moved with surprising assurance.

"Well then, Cedric, what brings you to these parts?" said Bree's father, slurping at his porridge. His aim had considerably improved in the past weeks, and he ate as easily as a seeing person nowadays.

"I'm in need of supplies," Cedric said. "I must go to Borne."

"Borne! That's quite a ways, lad." Her father took a few moments to ponder. "Laetera will have what you need, but I imagine you're not particularly flush with means?"

"I'll think of something."

"Hmm," he grunted. "You're not the first vagrant we've encountered in these parts, not to mention those of less savory character, too. These lands have been struggling for some time now. Meager harvests, hotter days…" he swept a hand over his blindfold, "… and whatever new curse this is."

"And that monster in the sky," Bree piped up.

"No, that is an entirely different matter," her father said with a strange certainty. "That creature--apparition, phantom, what have you--is beyond our kind to understand. The foolish optimist in me hopes for it to be a divine harbinger of better times." He laughed a single, harsh bark. "What are the odds of that, eh? Eris save us…"

Their guest was now blushing, his eyes glued to his clasped hands on the table. "I'm… I'm sorry about your eyes," he said. "You're not the first I've met with this… condition."

"Aye, the town physician was confounded. No word of a cure, as far as I'm aware."

"But your Enforcer, is it not his duty to look after his charges? Surely the Heirs--"

Bree's father laughed. "The Heirs? Those responsible for the Madness?" His mouth twisted. "They couldn't give a toss about us. They've made that abundantly clear."

Bree's mother grabbed her husband's upper arm and squeezed. "I'm sure our guest has no interest in such matters…" Her lips were pressed together, her posture tense and coiled.

"Aye, of course. Apologies, Cedric." He quickly returned to his porridge, perhaps fully grasping the impact of what he'd said, and an uncertain silence fell upon the table.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Bree understood the sudden tension, and was quite proud of herself for it. After all, they didn't yet know their guest well enough to be sure that he wouldn't inform on them for expressing such sentiments.

She stole another glance at Cedric. He didn't have a cruel or devious sort of face. He couldn't possibly be the sort to give them away.

"Thank you for your kindness, and your company," he said. "But I really must go."

"Nonsense!" said Bree's mother. Again, there was that tightness to her mouth. "At least stay the night. I wouldn't feel right sending you back out there so soon."

"But--"

"I'll hear no more of it."

Cedric seemed baffled, perhaps unsure of how to confront such iron finality. "I… erm… all right. Could I at least make myself useful in the meantime?"

Her mother's expression softened a little into something like relief, and Bree finally understood. She'd wanted the stranger to help them all along: a pair of strong hands to replace her ailing father's for a little while.

Her father caught on as well. He scowled. "For Eris' sake, Freya, he's not our work horse."

"I'll take what is freely offered, Goran."

"What am I, some drooling invalid? I've been breaking my back every night over those accursed logs--"

"Precisely! You're no spring buck, and our guest offered his help..."

Eventually, her father relented with much reluctance and grumbling. Her mother, more good-humored now, briskly cleaned up the dishes and began preparing a bath for their guest.

"Wash up, Cedric," she said to him. "Thomas should be returning home soon."

*

Seated in a half-filled wooden tub behind the cottage, Cedric gratefully rubbed away several days' worth of grime from his body. Ever since Alvir had introduced him to the concept, he'd greatly enjoyed the process of getting clean.

But the much-needed bath did little for the anxious gnawing in his stomach.

Kestrin's cold, impassive face flitted through his mind's eye. Even as he'd held Jana and Alvir's heads aloft, he'd been utterly detached, unfeeling, as if the act of acquiring them had been nothing more than a bothersome chore.

Your very presence draws danger. For long as you roam free, what has happened to them will continue to happen to every unfortunate soul in your proximity.

Cedric wanted to hate the man, his unflinching mask of a face, his calm, indifferent cruelty. He'd uncaringly slaughtered the first people who'd shown him kindness in many years. There was that mysterious woman from his earliest memories, but she was no more substantial than a phantom, a dream, a singular flat image. Jana and Alvir had been real, and Kestrin had taken their lives as easily as swatting a couple of insects. Yet no hatred or vengeance burned in Cedric's heart. Not when he'd been the one to expose them in the first place.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry…

His eyes filled with hot tears, and he hurriedly brushed them away before they could spill over. His most pressing concerns at the moment were compensating his generous hosts however he could, then leaving by first light tomorrow.

He splashed his face with the darkened water and made to rise from the tub, then belatedly realized that he hadn't been provided with anything to dry himself off with. That was promptly addressed by the little girl, Bree, who'd materialized from nowhere bearing a large, worn cloth and a beet-red face.

"Mum told me to bring this to you," she stammered, averting her eyes.

Cedric couldn't imagine why she would be embarrassed, but he stood up, shedding sheets of dirty water, and briskly dried himself with the cloth. Bree didn't dare look at him until he pulled the tattered remains of his clothes back on.

"Where do you hail from?" she blurted out.

Cedric swept his sopping hair back from his face. "Methodosia."

"Why did you leave?"

"I… must go to Borne."

"Why?"

He looked at her, and she shrank a little from his gaze. Perhaps she was intimidated by him; that could help to deter her inconvenient questions. "I can't tell you that," he said, lacing his tone with as much authority as possible.

To his chagrin, she perked up instead. "I knew it. You're a noble, aren't you? You've run away from your family. No, your carriage was besieged by bandits and you were separated!"

Her wide eyes shone with possibility, and Cedric almost regretted having to quash it. But as he opened his mouth to do so, the sound of approaching hooves and trundling wheels cut him off. Someone had come by the cottage.

"That must be Thomas," Bree exclaimed, her attention now fully devoted to the newcomer. She dashed around the house toward the front. Cedric followed behind her.

Thomas seemed about Cedric's age, but of a broader build. His brown hair was tighly cropped, his clothes faded and well-worn. Though he practically radiated exhaustion, he still managed a tired smile when his sister ran up to him.

"How'd it go, Tom?" she asked, her little arms clamped tightly around his middle.

"Take a gander yourself," he said.

Behind him stood a cart piled high with felled trees, cut crosswise into sections and trimmed of extraneous branches. The wizened donkey at the head of the load was as spent as its master, and weakly tossed its head with a faint bray.

"You gathered all of this in two days?" Bree marveled.

"We still need to dry and split 'em," Thomas said, rubbing his eyes. "But we'll be able to afford some decent food soon. Maybe even a bit of bacon, eh?" His gaze rose and met Cedric's, and his warm expression faded. "Bree, who's this?"

"This is Cedric. He offered to help us!"

"Not much meat on this one. You reckon he could even lift an axe?" He was still addressing his sister, as if Cedric weren't there.

"Of course I can," he said, taking a few indignant steps forward. Thomas's answering smirk was even more vexing.

"Very well," he said. "I'll head inside for a quick bite. You could unload this cargo into the shed, if it'd please you. There's also a good bunch in there ready for splitting." Something about his tone seemed mocking, insincere. Regardless, Cedric did as he was asked. Thomas entered the cottage, his little sister trailing him like a shadow.

*

Crack.

The wood burst apart, flying several feet in opposite directions. Cedric gathered up the logs and dropped them onto a rapidly growing pile. He balanced another section on the stump and swung, relishing the exertion.

Crack.

Thomas emerged from the back of the cottage. He appeared more lucid and physically assured than before, but a bone-deep fatigue still lingered in his eyes.

He appraised Cedric's progress, unimpressed.

Crack.

Thomas motioned for the axe. "Have a rest, stranger. Allow me."

Cedric complied with some reluctance and stepped back to watch Thomas work--the rolling line of his back, his heaving shoulders, that final, essential burst of force. Though his logs did not rupture as violently as Cedric's, he worked faster and produced better-shaped pieces.

Several minutes later, Thomas straightened up in sudden irritation. "All right, what's your play?"

Cedric blinked. "What?"

"You're not one of us. Whoever you are, don't take me for a fool."

The ease and suddenness of his exposure struck him dumb. He needed to lie, perhaps laugh at the absurdity of such an accusation, but no sound left his mouth.

Thomas tossed the axe aside and marched up to Cedric. He poked his chest. "What do you want with my family?"

Cedric clenched his jaw. "To repay you for your kindness, that's all. I'll be on my way tomorrow."

Thomas seized Cedric's shirt, and a wave of revulsion and terror immediately rose up within him. Don't touch, get away-- he shoved Thomas hard, breaking his grip and sending him staggering backwards. They glared at each other, chests heaving.

Finally, Thomas grunted and retrieved the axe. "We'll alternate," was all he said for the rest of the morning.

*

Lunch consisted of thin turnip soup and hard, dense bread. Cedric, Bree, and Freya lightly conversed as they ate, while Thomas kept to a subdued silence. Goran had retreated upstairs to catch what rest he could.

Cedric finished his portion first and repressed an instinctual request for more. Instead, he closely watched his hosts to distract from the dissatisfied yearning of his stomach.

"The yield should be enough for a month," Thomas said.

"What of the dried batch?" Freya said.

"Cedric and I should have it all finished within a few hours. We'll take it into town tomorrow." Thomas shot him a look, but it wasn't an unkind one. Ever since their minor tussle, he'd thawed somewhat.

Bree lovingly slurped away the last of her soup. "I want more," she said plaintively.

"Hush, Bree," Freya chided. "We must be grateful for what we have."

"But why do we have so much less than before?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We have all the nourishment we need."

Bree's face pinched as she crossed her arms.

Thomas finished his meal and stared hard into his empty bowl. "I'm going to Astyria," he said.

Freya froze mid-bite. "What did you say?"

Thomas took a deep breath. "We need the money."

"No. I forbid it." Freya's tone was identical to the one she'd taken when asserting that Cedric would stay, though it did not faze her son at all.

"Mum, we can't go on like this forever. You think I'd let the three of you starve when I could do something about it?"

"You're already doing something about it. More than your due, Eris knows!"

"But it's not enough!" Thomas braced his knuckles on the table and stood up, briefly towering over his mother before she rose as well.

Bree's wide eyes swiveled between them.

Freya's cheeks were pale with anger. "You know old Caffrey in town? The stooped little man always hacking his lungs out?"

Thomas's brows met in confusion. "Aye. Some of the crueler townie brats like to torment him."

"Wasn't much older than you when he went to the Astyrian mines. That horrid place sank its claws into him. Twisted his joints, clouded his eyes, corrupted his flesh beyond any hope of remedy. He's been a broken old man for most of his life. Is that what you want for yourself? Is it?"

"This isn't about what I want." Thomas' cheeks flared red in stark contrast to his mother's. "Just one diamond, mum, and we could feast like Apostles for years!"

Freya laughed humorlessly. "Caffrey dug around longer than that. You know how many he found?" She leaned forward. "Not a single, bloody thing. Not even a lesser stone. Common folk have been turning over the dirt for a thousand years, all for a meager scrap of the Divine Heirs' favor. You think you'll somehow find what all those generations missed?"

"Perhaps the Goddess will favor me," he spat.

"Don't you dare. I will not lose another--" Freya choked off.

Thomas then stalked out of the cottage, slamming the door with a potent crash.

Freya didn't follow him. After a moment, she swept a hand across her eyes and sat back down.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," she said to Cedric. Her tone was light, conciliatory, as if the heated quarrel had not happened at all.

Cedric stayed silent, unsure of what he could possibly say in the aftermath of such a scene.

A few seconds later, the characteristic thunk of splitting logs resumed outside, laced with an underlying aggravation.