“Yuze?” Marek asked. “Who’s Yuze?”

The not-blind man thrust both hands in the air. “Yuze is me! Ironwoods, you say… Well, I know enough. I know at least a little.” Yuze’s excitement waned, and he deflated. “I know… something." His hands trembled, and the rag he'd used to hide his eyes fell from his grip and drifted into the fire. As the cloth burned, his expression brightened again. "It’s a fact, oath sworn and witnessed by the western gods. Marek, you must trust me, for I was trusted! A heavy burden and a task worthy of a legend! Most important and pressing, it was. It is!"

"Old man!" Ashurai said, anger coloring his words. "How long have you been able to see?"

"Ever since I was born," came the answer. “Was it not the same with you?”

The Basari clenched his jaw and stood. "Why lie to us? You do little enough as it is but gather a bit of wood and ramble nonsense. Now you show us your true self, not blind at all! Why did you cover your eyes?”

Yuze stared at the Basari as if he’d been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Blind men don’t need to cover their eyes. I was blinding myself so that I could see all the better with my other senses. I’ve been searching a long time, you know.”

Ashurai’s confusion only deepened. He threw up his hands and said, “Fine! Then what is this of Yuze? Do you suddenly remember your name as well?"

The man in question blinked a few times and cupped his chin. Nodding, he said, "I am Yuze. That much I know for certain, though I've been called many other names over the years. Traveler, as you have called me. Drifter and beggar suited some. Those that admired me preferred Wandering Sage. Oh, but none of this matters… What was it we were talking about?"

Before anyone could answer, Yuze crouched and reached his bony hands toward Mags. "You! I see you, Marigold Strongtower, smallest of champions! Your heart is as fair as your tongue is foul! I've observed closely, and do you want to know something?"

Silence stretched uncomfortably, and Mags could scarcely answer. When she did, her voice sounded hollow in her ears. "How do you know my full name?"

Yuze threw back his head and cackled so loudly his voice echoed off a canyon wall in the distance. “Right to the heart of things. Even our stony friend here had yet to walk the Coherent Realm when I began this journey. I’ve searched endlessly! The traits were indisputable!” He thrust a finger into the sky like a dagger. “Strong he must be! Determined and stubborn as stone will she! A cold core stacked high with tinder waiting to receive its flame! Other characteristics as well, but none mattered so much as one.”

Pointing to her chest, eyes alight in a fit of mania, Yuze said, “That, young one, is all that truly matters. Answer me a single question. Your friend has bathed in darkness and even now converses with one not of this world. Untethered and drifting toward madness, his true nature horrifies you. Violent and cold and unforgiving. And yet…”

Yuze paused, and Mags looked to Marek. Her friend’s eyes were filled with sadness, but he didn’t raise a single objection.

Yuze calmed, and when he spoke again, his voice was solemn. “Knowing all this, would you consider leaving his side? Would you abandon Marek if his wits were lost? Will you leave the Remnant Mage?”

Mags swallowed. The stranger's rambling was no longer novel to any of them, yet this was the first time Yuze had focused on her. She opened her mouth, not sure what she might say. In the end, only a simple truth would do. “No. Marek is my brother, closer to me than anyone. I’m with him until the end—even if it means our deaths.”

Her cheeks flushed. The pressure of everyone’s gaze resting on her became nearly overwhelming. Ashurai most of all seemed to consider Mags anew. The warrior’s dark eyes reflected the firelight as he studied her. She wished Ashurai wasn’t so damn stoic, for in that moment she couldn’t tell if he thought her daft or admirable in her loyalty.

“Precisely,” the old man whispered. “Precisely what I thought.” Then, as suddenly as he had revealed himself, the old man withdrew. He recoiled from the fire and scrutinized the people around him, his features twisting with anger and confusion. Yuze snarled and spat into the fire. “Wasting my time, all of you,” he said, all levity gone from his voice. “The fire won't feed itself. If I neglect my task, the flames will die out completely. And then who will provide the spark? Do not bother me again!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Yuze trudged ten steps from the campfire, each seeming to cost him dearly. Collapsing with a sigh that betrayed a century of weariness, he closed his eyes. His breathing soon settled, leaving only the faint hiss of inhalation. Yuze filled his lungs until his bony chest protruded.

Mags stared at the man as he exhaled. Her emotions were turbulent, her mind racing. “The hell was all that about?” she asked. “Principalities, how am I supposed to sleep tonight?”

"Much of his mind has been lost," Gorb said gently. “Or, more accurately, displaced. Yuze has traveled with me a great many years. Do not worry, Mags—he meant no harm. And Ashurai, do not bother the man, for the Wandering Sage needs not be explained.”

Nobody seemed capable of speaking after that. The lightheartedness of their gathering was gone, and Mags felt overcome with a need for sleep. Nothing made sense—not since Rauld had intruded on her life and Marek had usurped her very purpose.

She was just about to excuse herself when Marek stood. “I’ll be leaving tonight," he said firmly. "I found Graysoul tracks leading into the forest. I intend to hunt down and kill them while they’re far from the road—or worse, before they strike us in our sleep."

"If you seek battle with those horrors, I will come with you," Ashurai said, resting a hand on his sword.

Niamh buzzed nervously above the fire. “No! None shall go! Stay with the caravan! Only I can dispel the gray-touched curse. What if one of them infects you? Leave those monsters alone! I don't want to go near them, so please don’t ask me to come!”

Marek held up a hand. His demeanor changed subtly, and he wielded an authority Mags didn't know he possessed. "Neither of you will come. Be calm, Niamh. My familiar is capable of curing me. He can devour the taint directly along with their dark souls. All I’d ask of you is to explain what you know of them. How did the Graysouls come to be? What are they?”

The feyling shook her tiny fists on either side of her head, whimpering and trembling, her distress evident to all. Finally, Niamh alighted on Gorb’s head before growing in size. Her delicate features were easier to see like this: her sharp chin and angular face, wide-set eyes and a head topped with messy bronze hair. “I’ll tell you everything. Then maybe you’ll be smart and change your mind.”

Marek awaited the explanation, his expression so flat and withdrawn Mags wanted to box his ears. Why didn’t he tell me first? Aren’t we friends? Damn you, Marek—if you don’t die out there, I’ll kill you myself!

Niamh’s child-like voice lifted Mags from her spiraling thoughts. “The Irinai, what the humans call Greater Fey, created most of the races. They woke the first Durvhalem, the golemite lords, and crafted the Yalfan to shepherd the trees. Irinfallas, the fey capable of shifting forms, came next, followed by my kind. I am of the Irinhess—a sprite, you may call me, or simply a feyling. I cannot truly change form but am master of illusions. All of us lived in peace until the beast kin, the kobolds, and the humans came along.”

The sprite folded her arms and frowned. “That was when it all went bad. Wars upon wars. So much bloodshed that the lesser fey creatures retreated to Aiel. Humans claimed the eastern lands, but the beast kin remained close to those that made them. Long ago, the ambitious Haikini decided they wanted to rule the world over. They lacked the power, so they made a pact with the beings of the underworld. Trapped beyond the veil, the demons could only give the Haikini knowledge.”

Niamh shivered, and a plume of fog emerged from her lips. “The Culling Blade was forged. None recall how, for the smith who crafted it died when he quenched the sword, his very soul absorbed to fuel his creation. The Culling Blade is a hungry and terrible thing. Each life it takes births a Graysoul. Empty, a perfect vessel for an underling demon to possess. This is why you cannot control them, Remnant Mage. Perhaps your pet can eat them, and some strong mages can banish them… but otherwise they endure death after death.”

Pointing to the forest, she shouted, “Each of the souls that escaped will find a new host! They can animate corpses as well as living vessels. The Irinai themselves had to step in and banish the Graysouls during the Haikini Uprising. When it was finished, the Haikini High Priestess vowed to stand watch over the Culling Blade, made a blood oath never to use it again. I thought maybe, just maybe the story was only just a story, but…”

The sprite whimpered and flew down to a crook in Gorb’s shoulder to hide. The golemite finished for her. “But it appears someone has stolen the sword and begun the cycle all over again.”

Marek nodded, undoubtedly storing the information for later use as he always did. Mags perceived him then from a different angle. She staggered at how much he’d changed. Grown half a foot, face thin and hard, muscles broadening his shoulders and chest. Long gone was the sickly young man she’d grown up with.

He’s still my friend, she said stubbornly. He just also happens to be the Remnant Mage. I won’t forget that.

“Thank you,” Marek said, bowing at the waist. “I hope this cursed sword can be destroyed, or whoever took it can be stopped. All I can promise is that the Graysouls that ambushed us won’t be a threat any longer.”

Ashurai balled his fists. “It’s foolish to go alone. I must come.”

“No,” Marek said. “Do not follow, Ashurai, or I will be forced to leave you behind in the forest. This is my task, and I do it gladly. I need to gain power, and Allon must feed. I’ll see you all in the morning.”