Perhaps it was a great indictment of the recent events in my life that I found resting for a week to be extremely boring. When I wasn’t being hunted down, attacked, or double-crossed, things were actually rather monotonous. Tahar and Cali were happy to have some time to themselves, though Tahar seemed to be deep in thought about something and refused to speak with me about what it was.

I tried to stop falling back into old habits. I had the money and the time to finally relax for once, so I resigned myself to sitting inside various taverns and killing time. There wasn’t much to do in a world like this. The tavern was the beginning and end of it for most. Plenty of people wished to speak with the man who was responsible for the most audacious assassination attempt in recent history. I must have told that exact same story three dozen times.

It was during one of those recantations that a familiar face pushed her way through the double doors and stood in the entryway. Benadora struck an eye-catching figure. Tall, busty, big hat. There were no less than three wolf whistles from men who didn’t have a chance of getting anywhere near her. Part of my brain knew immediately that she was looking for me. Why else would she be here?

“I guess I’ll have to cut this one short.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it – you know her?” one of my new friends inquired.

“Yeah, probably wants to talk business with me. I’ll catch you later.”

I put Benadora out of her misery and approached by pushing through the crowd. Her eyes widened in surprise when they finally spotted me. I was much harder to locate when I wasn’t wearing my full plethora of adventuring gear. Stigma was the only thing I carried; and not because I wanted to. She grabbed my arm and dragged me through the entrance, “Oh, there you are! I’ve been searching every tavern in the city looking for you.”

I shrugged her off and nodded, “What’s so urgent? You need me for another job?”

“Not exactly. I’d like to speak with you on an important matter, but not here. Let’s get some privacy first.”

“This isn’t some kind of trap or anything, is it?”

“Subterfuge is your specialty, not mine.”

I begrudgingly followed her down some side streets until we reached a small two-story house located within one of the residential areas. She retrieved an iron key from within her blouse and unlocked the front door, waving me inside. I had a lot of questions as to her purpose in being here. She was in Pascen for her research, what had forced her to move into the Federation?

“So why are you here?” I asked. The living room was sparsely decorated. A few pieces of cheap furniture could be seen buried under numerous pieces of paper and parchment. There were many notable absences from Benadora’s setup. Her large library of books was the most obvious casualty. She had clearly moved in recently.

“I didn’t intend to come to this city, but recent events forced my hand. I’m caring for an injured mercenary – and he is allowing me to use this house as payment.”

“So, this place isn’t yours then.”

“No. I’m trying to arrange a more permanent residence for us. As soon as my work here is done, we will be away again.”

I was curious as to the identity of the house’s real owner. There were very few clues to take away from the living room from my position by the door. I invited myself inside and investigated more carefully. My diligence was rewarded – leaning against the wall beside the fireplace was a sword I recognized. The curved blade and gold-leaf engraved sheath made me feel nostalgic for my home country.

“This is Ryan’s house, isn’t it?”

Benadora’s smile faded, “Yes.”

“And I suppose he told you that we know each other?”

“Between bouts of consciousness, he did.”

It was hard to elicit much sympathy or worry from a man like me. But I did feel a slight tinge of pity for the guy. I didn’t like seeing people get injured or maimed unless they were a serious variety of asshole. Benadora led me through to the backroom, where a small bed had been pushed into the corner.

Ryan was there – laying there with one of his arms missing and a bundle of white bandages wrapped around one side of his head. I had only been gone for a few weeks, and somehow the guy had managed to cripple himself while I wasn’t looking. Several bowls of water and medicine had been discarded, now empty, around the foot of the bed. Benadora had been working herself to the bone to make sure he healed properly.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I turned to Benadora in shock, “What the fuck happened to him?”

She smiled tersely, “That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. I’m sure you’ve heard some of the rumours about what happened to Pascen.”

“I am awake, you know that right?” Ryan croaked, his body shifting slightly under the sheets. His uncovered eye opened to peer up at us.

“You look like shit,” I offered bluntly.

He smirked, “Yeah, I know. Big freaking wolf jumped at me and took a chunk, clawed my face up really bad too. Next thing I knew, I was on the back of a cart with seven people trying to stop me from bleeding to death.”

“You’re lucky that we had the supplies to stop that,” Benadora sighed, “You were seconds away from being too far gone to rescue.”

It definitely gave Ryan a different kind of physical impression. His arm was gone at the elbow, and I could imagine the size of the scars that now ran down one side of his face. His eye was done for. That was the life we lived. Risking our health, our limbs, our ability to care for ourselves all for a tiny amount of spare pay. That roguish charm that he wielded so affably to make fast friends was absent now. His body was incapable of generating that kind of energy.

Benadora looked offended when I spoke again; “It’ll make for a good tavern story, that’s for sure.”

“Are you sure that’s appropriate?”

Ryan held up his remaining hand and stopped her, “We all know what we’re risking when we go out there. It’s a mighty challenge finding a fella’ in the taverns who still has all of his fingers. Losing a little something shows that you’re a guy who puts everything into what he does.”

Ryan had lost more than ‘a little something,’ this was the type of injury that put your average mercenary out of work for good. Only by the grace of his legendary weapon did I see him continuing to earn a living fighting and performing odd jobs. It was enough to compensate. Even when he was half-dead and half-bodied, Ryan still tried to strike an optimistic tone.

“And anyway, it all worked out in the end – think about all the people we rescued!”

“Rescued?” I repeated, “Why did they need to be rescued?”

Benadora paused. It was the kind of pause that usually occurred before someone offered a plate of bad news. Without a word, she put her hand on my shoulder and guided me back out of the room as Ryan watched on in confusion. When we were out of earshot, she finally decided to speak with me about the original topic of my visit.

“Pascen is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Devastated. Earthquakes, ungodly storms that never end, and terrible mutated creatures that are more vicious than our worst nightmares. Those who did not flee when it began became trapped inside the city walls. Forced to drink contaminated water and go without food for days on end. The Duke ordered a complete evacuation of every remaining citizen. Ryan was one of the men who answered the call and came to assist us.”

“I heard a few things, but nothing on that scale.”

“Most prefer not to speak of it in detail. While I was there, I became painfully aware of several oddities. The contaminated water did initially beset the victims with symptoms of poisoning. Though in a matter of days they had recovered to a better state than they had been before. I was reminded of you and what we did when you last visited.”

“The Branch,” I concluded, “Are you trying to tell me that killing the Branch did all of this?”

“I am uncertain. Never in recorded history has a Branch been destroyed, but it was as if its former roots had ordained to rip the ground asunder and destroy all that remained. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Again, and again, pounding on my head like a drum.”

I looked down at my feet and considered my next words carefully. If this was all true, then I couldn’t pretend to be a hapless bystander in this situation. It was my decision to destroy the Branch - even if Stigma had lied to be by omission. Ridding Pascen of the giants had brought an even greater calamity to them. What could I say in the face of that? The callous man that lived in this world wanted to disavow his own involvement, but the modern me from Japan knew that ignorance was no defence.

“What do you want me to do?” I said, “Neither of us knew what would happen.”

“Yet the guilt remains all the same. This shame I feel cannot be wished away, and I know that to even admit to this crime will only result in incredulity. There is no punishment to be offered to us.” I cast a paranoid glance to the door as her voice picked up in volume. If she wasn’t careful the whole city was going to know about it soon enough.

“Anything to say, Stigma?”

Nothing. Complete silence.

I scowled and sat down at the table. Her methods had worked to some extent, but what good was it when the consequences were so dire. I was so deep in thought that I didn’t even notice as Benadora strolled up behind me and ran the tips of her fingers down the side of my head. I jumped up with a start and looked back at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking you for something.”

Her hands were away before I could remove them by force. To say that Benadora looked worried was an understatement – there was a profound and unsettling dread etched into her features. Curious as to what she had discovered, I did the same. I placed both palms on the sides of my head and felt around for what had interested her. When that failed to turn up any results, I turned them upwards and used the tips of my fingers. I exhaled as a small pair of bumps on both sides of my head mustered my notice.

“What the hell is this?” I asked. Benadora was remiss to tell me anything – she shook her head and backed away from me. “You can’t just feel me up and then zip your mouth when I ask you,” I demanded.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, “I had a theory; it was a long shot, all related to the history of that sword you use. Records from that time are utterly hopeless, many of them haven’t been preserved and those that have are translated poorly from the old tongues. I don’t even have a copy of them in front of me to confirm it.”

“Out with it already,” I said firmly, “You want to stop anything like this from happening again. I need to know.”

She sighed and removed her hat, “Let me remind you that this is merely conjecture. But I believe that the ‘corrupting’ effect of Stigma is not as negative as it seems. The changes to your body, and some of the testimony I recall from the great libraries have sparked an idea in my mind. Pale skin, blackened veins, and a sudden increase in strength beyond human means. That is no mere poison – it is the genesis of a new species, or rather, the return of one that has long since been rendered extinct on this continent.”

“A new species…”

“The Blackbloods. The former arbiters of the West coast of Sull.”