Floumeré’s shoulder was bleeding freely and she didn’t bother putting pressure on it. Rusk put his arrow away and slung his bow across his back. Cautious still of course, but not so much as before. They’d reached an understanding. He stepped closer, hands out in a gesture of amicability.

He thought she might hiss at him. She didn’t. But she was just as hesitant. Both were testing the other.

“So you say you know of Captain Arrolg,” said Rusk.

“Yes. He is the reason so many come to Sanctuary. He is with the King of the forested lands across the sea.”

“Do you know someone named Iya Tarfell?”

“Is she not dead?”

“How’d you know she was dead?”

“I listened to the earth.” Floumeré finally put some pressure on her shoulder, wincing as she did. The blood poured between her fingers. “Or rather the sky. All three are connected. Earth, wind, sea. The natural elements.”

Rusk offered himself as a crutch.

After a moment, Floumeré took up the offer. She leaned more weight on him than he thought she would, and her breathing he realized was painstakingly level, as if she were measuring each and every breath. Counting inhalations and exhalations to keep calm. She’d been hurt bad before. No one who hadn’t ever thought of things like that.

Hurt.

What about Elena?

Rusk nearly dropped her but readjusted his grip at the final moment.

“What,” said Floumeré.

“Someone I got along with, I just realized she might be headed into trouble.” Rusk cursed in the older language.

Floumeré disentangled herself from him. She shoved him and he tripped down the side of the volcano. Didn’t fall all the way, obviously, but he did skid for a while and then when he regained his footing he spun around to look at her in confusion.

“Go,” said Floumeré. “I will meet you in Sanctuary. They have supplies there.”

With a wordless nod Rusk raced down the volcano. He heard Floumeré following after him, slow from her injuries but nonetheless there. And she kept a faster pace than he’d first expected. He focused on not tripping, on putting one foot in front of the other and being as speedy as possible without careening into anything on the way down. The obsidian made it hard to keep his footing but his time in the forests and the trip across the water had improved his balance thousand fold. He wasn’t the same clumsy kid being chased by monsters. He couldn’t afford to be now.

He skidded at the base of the volcano and was about to sprint full tilt toward the harbor when Floumeré’s hand caught his shoulder. He shrugged her off, intent on continuing despite her interference, but then he saw why she’d kept him from going any further.

The corpses strewn around the Sanctuary were twitching, and some had rose up to their feet. Rusk had checked. None had been alive. They weren’t now either, and the way they moved lacked the fluidity of true living flesh. It was too twitchy and putrid. Decay rolled off of them. Their weapons were rusted with fear and the lingering presence of death. The sound of flies went buzzing.

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“This is not natural,” said Floumeré.

“No.” Rusk readied an arrow. But where to shoot? He couldn’t reach the Elva here. Something about Sanctuary prevented his connection. At least insofar as actual weapons pulled from the Elva were concerned. He wondered again about that whole Heroes have bad luck thing. Gritted his teeth. Took aim at the closest brambling corpse. “It’s not.”

Floumeré clenched her fists. “I can ruin them. I can bring lava down and scour their bones into fiery doom.”

“Please do.”

The volcano rumbled. The earth split open. With a scream of fury and power Floumeré raised her arms and hot lava pooled out from the cracks in the earth to spread over dead ankles. It boiled flesh and bone near instantaneously, and Rusk shot one arrow before he had to put his nose in his elbow to keep out the stench. The heat seared his eyes no matter how much he blinked.

“Go,” repeated Floumeré. “I have business with this necromancer. He murdered my father. I will lay him to waste!” The lava spouted with her anger, spreading to melt more corpses.

Rusk didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted full tilt towards the harbor as he’d intended to do before. Glancing over his shoulder he saw one of the corpses come up behind Floumeré, and promptly shot an arrow through its neck before continuing full speed ahead toward the sea.

The boat was already leaving. Elena wasn’t ashore.

That stupid parrot was chirping but Rusk couldn’t tell if it was his imagination mocking him or some other trick of Captain Arrolg’s.

He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be tricked. Stupidly trusting he was. And Iya Tarfell, what if she had secrets too? He’d idolized her his entire life, but what did he really know? Only that she was a Hero of Sanctuary. That’s it, nothing more. Captain Arrolg could’ve lied about any relation, and even she herself could’ve lied about plenty.

But no. She was pure. He had to believe that much, or his whole life’s journey was meaningless.

Rusk made an obscene gesture at the retreating shadow of Captain Arrolg’s boat and then spun back around to aide Floumeré.

When he reached her, she had collapsed to a crouch, but was definitely conscious and still spitting fire if that expression was any indication. He hopped a pool of lava, feeling the heat run from the tips of his toes up his calves straight into his thighs and even higher, and took his place beside her with an arrow knocked and ready.

“So how do we kill what’s already dead?”

“You have a power inside you,” said Floumeré. “Why are you not using it?”

The hoard ambled closer. Some of them had weapons at the ready that were turning green the same as Captain Arrolg’s sword. And one actually threw a grenade in their direction. It was crude, and Rusk shot it out of the sky before it could hit. It exploded midair and showered the lava filled landscape with even more fire.

Sanctuary had gone from desolate gray to a vibrant terrifying angry red. Even some even hotter blue around the edges of the stronghold, melting as it ascended the white pillars like some godly retribution. Rusk suspected the actual necromancer himself to be nowhere on the island. He’d have to have had a remote location, which in itself was terrifying, because how could they prevent him from doing what he did if he was safely away from the range of their fire?

“I don’t know how to reach it here,” answered Rusk.

“Then you are a fool.”

“It came from the forests back home. Those forests aren’t here. I’m out of my element.” Literally.

Floumeré grunted, and a zombie sword nearly decapitated her. Rusk kicked the wielder away.

“I suggest we race back up that volcano of yours.” He offered a hand while still kicking, managing to push back three at once. “More lava more power for you, right? I bet you could rain meteors down on their heads if we make it that far.”

Floumeré took his hand, and as comrades they ascended and defended until they’d reached the precipice of the volcano, where Floumeré screamed like a dragon and raised her arms.

And then out of courtesy or friendship told Rusk to duck.

He was not one to argue.

The volcano spit lava that slid down its sides, washing their pursuers back into the earth never to arise via necromancy or anything else ever again.