It was a profane and unsettling sight. The clouds churned above, their movement intense and angry. Not once in its long history had Pascen seen a stormfront like this. Benadora looked out over the rocky landscape that once promised so much to the hardy people who endured the environment. The gnarled ground had become even more impassable. The angular ridges of the underlying rock breaking from their confines and jutting out into the air as deadly spikes.

The city was crumbling from beneath. The formerly solid foundation was shifting – and the homes that had been built there quaked and cracked under the pressure. The people lived in constant fear that their home would be the next to disappear. It had come suddenly, without warning, and left the entire city on the brink of despair.

Dozens of bodies were laid out in front of the city walls, some torn to pieces with violent abandon. A few days after the weather turned, so did the wildlife. A variety of creatures that Benadora had never seen emerged from the mist and started to attack those foolhardy enough to venture out on their own. The gaps in the wall were getting larger, and soon the makeshift repairs wouldn’t be sufficient to keep it whole. The most vulnerable points were protected by squads of soldiers and armed citizens.

Benadora was in a grim mood. The tidings had been poor for some time, and there was no sign of them up soon. Adrian remained silent as he surveyed the damage with his own two eyes. Such rank cruelty was not a feeling he had experienced yet before. The powerful gusts of wind threatened to rip the hood from around his head and neck, sealed tight with several different layers of fabric and thread.

Even Benadora, who had a fascination with being seen as glamorous and attractive, could not withstand the wind and rain. She buried herself under a heavy woollen coat, a scarf, and a tall hat that reached down and covered her ears. She learned quickly that leaving it unsecured would result in its loss, so she tied it around her neck with a piece of ribbon.

Adrian had to yell to be heard over the howling monsoon, “What a terrible sight, can they not recover the bodies before they rot?”

Benadora wiped some of the rain from her features, “No. None have the courage to risk their lives at the present moment.” As harsh as it seemed, there was no purpose in losing more lives for their dignity alone. Even a short walk outside of the walls was dangerous. Nobody wished to add their own corpse to the pile.

“How could this have happened? Surely the gods have forsaken us.”

Benadora had her theories as to the causes of the sudden catastrophe. There was precedent, hidden deep inside of archived tomes from the apex of the Branch Church’s power. That long lost, gilded age was forgotten by most. Even the most talented scholars seldom studied records from that time. The difficulties in deciphering those old languages made it challenging reading.

She was a woman of rationality, one who was driven by evidence and reason. The extent of the carnage was such that it was easy to blame supernatural forces. Benadora’s books had not offered her the answers she sought, just more questions. In the absence of a better explanation, Benadora could only join two recent events together.

“The tree. It was because they killed the tree.”

“The tree?” Adrian repeated.

“They call them Branches, remember?”

“Oh, of course!”

Benadora’s curiosity as to the nature of the strange flora had only grown with time. Scientific accounts of their purpose were non-existent. The Church of the Branch had ensured that any and all records were controlled by them alone. Instead, she was forced to turn to their dogma for hints. Even in a religious text there were kernels of truth to be uncovered. They claimed that the Branches brought stability and splendour, a great renewal that nourished the earth and delivered bristling prosperity.

The exact truth would continue to elude her for the time being. She was determined to come out of this alive and find those answers for herself. She pulled on Adrian’s collar and marched down the rickety wooden steps that allowed access to the top of the walls. Several guardsmen were waiting at the bottom. The Captain tipped his helmet and sighed.

“How bad is it?”

Benadora shook her head solemnly, “There are no signs of it letting up. Mercifully it seems that there are no magical signatures waiting outside for us.”

“Magical creatures, I never thought I’d see the day…”

The sight of the street beyond was affecting. What once bustled with life was now mostly deserted, a great many people had taken their chances and fled for the Federation or the neighbouring duchies, but even they were feeling the impact of the crisis on their borders. The Duke had tried his hardest to protect everyone, but his efforts could only go so far. More mercenaries were flocking to the area, but now there was aught for them to protect.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Adrian hefted the detection device between his arms; “These readings have been worrying me, I can’t hope to describe them.”

“Neither can I,” Benadora admitted, “They’re even more extreme than the ones from before.”

“Benadora, Lady Benadora! Please hurry!”

A young woman pushed her way through the rabble and collapsed at her feet. Her eyes wide with fright, her breath stolen by an urgency that she could no longer convey with words. Benadora knelt before her and pushed her back onto her knees, “What’s wrong?”

“The well! Another well is infested! One of the workers collapsed after drinking from it!”

The scholar’s face was grim. She pulled the woman to her feet and followed her through the alleyway. One the other side of the block was one of the few remaining water sources that was drinkable, but that was no longer the case. A bevy of men and women had gathered around it with worry on their faces. An unconscious body had been propped up against the stone construction.

“Another one?”

“Yes ma’am,” the woman explained, “It happened suddenly, he is the only one who has been afflicted. Thankfully everyone else is unharmed.”

Benadora inspected the man carefully and discovered all of the tell-tale signs of infection. Benadora knew that the impact of the contamination wasn’t as harmful as people thought – though the sight of the afflicted individual was terrifying enough for most. Pale skin, black veins. It had started to spread through the water system circulating underground. The wells which supported the city with clean water had become increasingly hazardous. At first, she believed it to be ‘Miner’s Black,’ a condition caused by exposure to various contaminants one would encounter while working underground.

That theory was soon disproven. The onset of this new affliction was rapid and violent, and targeted anyone regardless of background or location. She had it on good authority that it couldn’t be developed just through drinking water. It got into the lungs too. She had seen no indication that the patients were suffering from laboured breathing.

In fact – none of them were suffering from any side effects.

Depending on the constitution of the person, they would awaken two to three days after passing out. They would then claim that they felt nothing wrong, even as their complexion paled and their veins pulsated with a black taint. Even the ill with naturally darker skin looked like they had lost a large quantity of blood. Still, Benadora saw no reason to doubt their first-hand accounts. They continued to go about their business as usual.

That wasn’t enough to dissipate their worry. Severe consequences could be on the horizon. Patient zero appeared two months ago. The wells were closed and people were directed to alternate sources of water. The torrential, non-stop downpour from the skies above had prevented the most serious impact of a sudden water shortage. Watertight barrels and buckets were being used to collect it, some even cupping it into their hands and drinking it directly.

Benadora told them the same thing that she had told dozens of others; “Give him some bed rest, and make sure to feed and hydrate him while he is unconscious.” The family of the man bowed respectfully, gathering their scattered things and carrying him away by his arms and legs. The guards arrived in haste and quickly nailed another wooden sign to the well.

Closed.

Whatever was causing the problem was underground. The shifting earth had unsettled something and it had slipped into the water. Benadora returned to her feet and started the long walk back to her home, moving through piles of rubble and timber that blocked the way. She was one of the lucky few to be located away from a fault line, but that could change at any time with how unpredictable the condition of the ground was.

She was happy to finally remove the stifling outfit. Her body was awash with sweat and rainwater. Adrian placed the box down onto the main table and disrobed as well. “Another one infected, I have to wonder what manner of affliction it is.”

“It has elicited curiosity from me as well. It looks serious, yet the people claim to feel fine, and it spreads through our water supply…”

There was a momentary silence between the two researchers – an unspoken statement hanging in the air between them. It was impossible for them to ignore. Adrian was thinking the same thing that his Master was. Cause and effect was a simple principle, an unknown phenomena beset an unusual event. This had all happened because of their work to locate and destroy the Branch.

It was a heavy realisation of Benadora’s shoulders. For all her flair and confidence, she was also a woman who took her personal responsibilities very seriously. Her attempts to escape from an unfair punishment had potentially wrought an incredible level of death and destruction. Cranston was laughing at her from his ivory tower somewhere, she imagined bitterly.

“What should we do?” Adrian asked. He unlatched the side of the box and retrieved the transparent glass slides that stained themselves with the colour of the magic in the air. He laid them out on the table in a careful arrangement. Despite their culpability they had never once stopped in their mission to understand. The data they were gathering had formed a disturbing pattern, one which stood in direct opposition to the one that signalled the arrival of the Branch.

“There’s little chance of us being allowed to leave safely. I’m afraid that the ship has sailed.”

Ironically though, no ships were sailing in the present. The seas raged with the same fury as the land. Benadora moved over to the front window and looked out onto the street. A huge crevice had opened up on the other side and swallowed three houses whole. Benadora had engraved the image of that hole into her mind’s eye. Deep and hungry, delving down into blackness – with only a hint of what lay within. Roots. Huge, powerful, they had twisted their way through dirt and stone. Those were the roots of the Branch. The Branch which had allegedly been withered into nothing by a legendary sword.

“Stigma.”

Even naming the thing caused her to shiver. It made her hair stand on end. What wrought malice was contained within? And what deeds had it driven Ren to do? None of them could have predicted that using Stigma would cause such destruction, yet that wasn’t enough to avoid the responsibility of what they had done collectively. She was the one who pointed the sharp end. It had found flesh and more to spare.

“Did you say something?”

“No. I was just thinking.”

Thinking. She was doing a lot of thinking as of late; perhaps it was time for action.