“I hate the weather this time of thaw,” Mertle complained. “It’s so cold at night. Chilly in the morning. Stifling by midday. And freezing again by evening.”

“It comes with the mountains. Can’t be helped,” Quistis grumbled. Every other step from her squelched. “I’d like the rains to stop.”

“May you be heard by whatever sadistic spirit thrives here. It’s warmer when it snows.”

They were walking abreast several paces ahead of the main group, trudging up a smooth incline, on what was a muddy, runny cart road. It wound among the trees, heading away from the mountain, just barely visible in the thick thaw growths. Gaps in the canopy showed a beautiful blue sky above, as clear as glass, with the promise of an evening chill that would rattle their bones.

“Is that smoke?” Mertle asked as the road took another bend and widened. A thin, white column rose into the air and drifted on the gentle wind.

“Looks to be. I’d expect we’re close to some of the villages of the area.”

“Which are those?”

“Only the goddess knows.” Quistis shrugged. She leaned on her staff to get past a particularly deep rut in the road. Squelch went her boot. “There are many of these places scattered about. Some of these are only named for the locals.”

“Don’t they come to the cities?”

“Not all of them. We live where we can. And once a village is established by some twist of luck, people don’t like to travel anymore. That’s how Vas is.”

Mertle walked on in silence, listening to the sucking sounds of mud dragging at their boots, and the fresh rustle of the trees. The men behind weren’t speaking. She felt the commander’s gaze on the back of her head as if he were right behind her, reaching out. She’d made a mistake somehow, she knew… but how?

It hadn’t been the talk of criminals. He was already guarded around her and Tummy from before, though she was certain they’d not done anything suspicious aside from being there.

Quistis at her side remained cold and distant, the professional she had known before, quite different from Sil. If they were sisters, the resemblance was skin-deep at best… and not even that much. Sil had a way of smiling that made the world seem better. Quistis cracking a smile put Mertle on guard for a knife in the back. It likely wasn’t intentional, but she had an unpleasant aura of violence about her.

Must be normal for someone serving in the guard.

Or it must be that you know less than you believe, Sarrinare’s voice chided her. You know you’ve made a mistake. Learn what it is before it is too late.

Well, that was maddeningly unhelpful on part of her overactive sense of danger. This was exactly what she meant to achieve, if only she could get the blasted healer alone for a heartbeat. Step by step, they got closer to the village, and it was all Mertle could do not to rush ahead so she’d have an excuse to be alone with Quistis.

They would speak with the villagers. The sight of two giants like Barlo and Tummy, a soldier with two swords, and a scary-looking man with a warhammer on his shoulder was likely to get the people hiding in their homes rather than coming to talk.

So Mertle and Quistis would go ahead and see what they could learn of the state of things in the area, the dangers of the road, and if there was some sortie for the Guild that had been requested. Commander Falor had suggested that they could waste at least a day to hunt down any larger beasts that may be inconveniencing the villages in the area, even if only to drive them off.

And Mertle would get a chance to talk to Quistis.

Squelch.

“Bugger.”

She reached out and caught Quistis before she toppled.

“Boot’s come loose,” the healer complained, hopping on one foot. She looked as if she was reviewing every curse she could think of. “I spent a good quarter of my pay on these blasted things. When I get back to Valen, I will find that cobbler and skin him alive.” She made a face when she tried slipping her foot back into the offending footwear. “Oh, that’s just grand. It’s filled up with mud.”

“I could have a look at those, if you’d like,” Mertle offered. “I have some tools on me.”

The look of utter gratitude she got back, the hopeful glint in Quistis’s eyes, finally showed some real resemblance to Sil.

“I would pay you in a season’s stock of accelerants if you’d fix this blasted thing.” The healer thought better of it. “A full cycle’s stock even. I just want dry feet.”

Mertle restrained herself from laughing.

“Won’t be necessary,” she said. “Just keep your promises to me. It’s all I need.”

It was said loud enough to carry back to the group behind. Falor rushed ahead and helped Quistis stand up while Mertle properly fished her boot from the mud, dumping out the muck.

“This is horrendous quality,” she mused. “You got ripped off.”

“They looked good when new.”

Mertle put a hand on Falor’s shoulder and leaned aside, testing the boot’s sole to her own. “You’re about the same size I am. Tummy, can you get out my spares please?”

The commander vibrated slightly under her touch. He wore leather armour beneath his cloak and travelling clothes. There was tension in his stance, and a slight tightening of his shoulders when she touched him.

He was wary of her. Mertle pretended not to notice the sparks between her fingers when she pulled away.

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t want to fall while I checked.”

“No worries.” Commander Falor dropped his hammer in the mud, handle sticking out, and lifted Quistis in his arms. He took her across the muddier path. Barlo picked up and carried the hammer.

“Can I also get a ride, commander?” Vial called from behind. “I’m up to my knees in this shite.”

Barlo put a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “Can arrange it,” he said. “Can’t promise I ain’t dropping ya.”

“Think I’ll walk.”

“Think ye’ll do just that.”

“Why do we always, always end up in nasty places, up to our knees in soft shit that want to swallow us?” Vial went on, sullenly trudging after the vanadal. Barlo’s footprints quickly filled with water. “Why are we even here? The iron road’s running again.”

“We ain’t paid t’ ask. We ain’t askin’.”

“Still, man.”

“Shut it.” Barlo’s tone was definite. “Commander knows where we’s going. Make sure ye can swing a sword when we get there.”

Mertle didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as Tummy reached her and offered a hand. She gratefully accepted it. The trek was murder on her calves.

“He suspects something,” she said quietly as they lagged behind, making a small show of looking through the bag.

“Aye,” Tummy answered in his usual monotone. “Can’t be ‘elped.”

“About our shadowy friend, you think?”

“No. Something different.”

She signed for him to be careful and got an affirmative answer back. She’d seen openings in commander Falor’s defence, noticed the loose way in which he carried his hammer and the complete lack of care for his back. However, Barlo was always there. She’d felt the weight of his gaze on her when she’d leaned against the commander, like a beast protecting its young. She wasn’t certain she and Tummy could take the vanadal down if need be, not before Falor could strike them both dead.

Her tongue flicked over her hollow tooth. If all else failed, she could just use the Dragon’s Soul. But killing’s Quistis wasn’t something she felt she could stomach.

For now, patience and a light step. That was the way to go.

She handed Quistis her spare pair of boots. They were slightly smaller than the healer’s, but judging by the look of relief on her face when they swapped, Mertle could be sure size wasn’t an issue.

The sigh of pleasure from Quistis almost made her blush. Yes, she and Sil were sisters indeed.

The track kept on. The column of smoke in the sky proved deceptive as the village only appeared into sight late in the afternoon, still far enough down a muddy slope that it would be fully dark before they’d reach the first houses. Instead of attempting one more exhausting march for the day, they made camp.

Falor kept Mertle company as they took the first watch. Barlo would be with Tummy. Quistis with Vial on the third one. The commander had changed the routine and did not bother to explain why. Mertle did not question his authority.

The forest rustled with the coming of night. Things strode by, dug the soft earth, peered into their clearing. Rain threatened above, obstructing the Mother moon and promising another unpleasant day. Mertle was coming to regret agreeing with joining this group, even if on the trail nothing had disturbed them. It was the subtle yet undeniable pressure of commander Falor’s gaze upon her that made the endeavour unbearable.

“Who did you serve?” he asked suddenly.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The night had reached the point where Mertle struggled to keep her eyes open. “Pardon?” She stifled a yawn in the crook of her elbow. “What do you mean?”

“On Nen. Which house did you serve?”

“That is none of your business,” she protested without much energy left for proper anger. “No offence, Your Majesty.”

“Some taken. Won’t prod.”

His eyes told a different story, one that didn’t quite accept her dismissal. Still, she ignored the growing sense of unease blossoming in her chest. He reminded her of Tallah on some of her bad days. Or Sil, when she got the terrible headaches.

Everything about him set her on edge. His silence, especially. What had he gleamed from her that he’d be so wary and gloomy?

She slept on the idea. Woke with it in mind. Walked with the shade of his gaze looming just behind her head.

When the village came into view, she found it the most wondrous sight imaginable. Excitement quickly turned to horror as distance decreased and details emerged.

Ruins rose from the thick vegetation. The hollowed out corpses of dirt brick homes dotted the land as the trees cleared, some still smouldering. The stench of rot hung in the air, sweet decay mixed in with wet soot and overturned privies.

Dogs milled about in the middle of the road, growling as they approached, scattering when threatened. Mertle spied some farmyard animals laying dead in enclosures, skin taught over bones, flies buzzing noisily over the bloated corpses.

It hadn’t happened now, but it had happened recently.

“Vial, Barlo, scout out,” the commander said. His tone was as solid as granite. “Take the northern side, work your way outward, see if you can locate survivors. Anything more threatening than a rat, kill on sight.”

“Aye, commander,” Vial saluted.

Barlo sauntered off, swords not drawn, but large palms resting on their hilts.

“Mertle, Tummy, you will stay at my back. Unless you see movement, please keep quiet. We will consider this a hostile area until proven otherwise.”

Mertle wanted to protest but a look from Quistis had her holding her tongue. The commander was as serious as a heart attack, his warhammer held in both hands now, sparks cracking across its jagged head.

Crows took off in murders as the two groups made their careful way deeper within. Choruses of irate cawing accompanied their approach.

What’s happened here? Her earlier outburst about criminals needing leniency now rang in her head, hollow of meaning. Why kill people you rely on to survive? She cast a glance at the many dead animals laying bloated where they’d been struck down. Throats cut. Some had their brains bashed out. This doesn’t make sense.

Smoke billowed out from some buildings, the sign of fires burning underground. Stores of food that had caught flame, been half-extinguished by the rain, then catching again as the weather cleared. There were many smoking ruins.

She couldn’t see the villagers. Or, rather, their corpses. That made an unpleasant lump in her throat. Where were the people?

“Commander,” she began.

Falor raised a fist for silence. He strode to one of the houses. Things cracked underfoot as he walked, like pottery hidden by the mud.

While he peered into the derelict home, Mertle dug out his foot steps. A dark-brown beetle, about the size of her palm, lay in the mud, carapace cracked. Now that she saw it, she could find more. They were everywhere, all just as dead. She turned this one in her hands. Wicked-looking mandibles shone in the diffuse light. They looked like they could cut through bone if needed.

Tummy also stared at the thing.

“It’s a little like those things the drackir keep around,” she whispered. “Right?”

He took the dead beetle and squeezed it his hand. It broke apart into dust.

“No,” Tummy rumbled. “Those were finger-sized. This ain’t natural.”

Quistis was making her own inspection of the things in the mud when Falor emerged again.

“Empty,” he said. “Stand back, please.”

He put his hammer down, placed both hands on the pommel, and closed his eyes. A pulse of electricity cut through Mertle, like the buzzing of an insect passing through her chest. It made her hair stand up. Just as it went out, it returned through her back.

Falor opened his eyes.

“Five strong heartbeats. Several smaller. Dogs, it seems. Lots of birds. Nothing bigger.” He set out to investigate another building. “Tummy and Mertle, please assist if willing. Search homes. Seek bodies or signs of struggle. I need a picture of what happened here. Quistis, with them.”

They split up with him heading into the next home and the three of them making for the smouldering ruin next to it. It had been a large family home at some point. It now lay open like a gutted animal, the roof burned off, its supports left as blackened stumps stabbing at the sky. Remains of furniture dotted the hollow rooms. Mertle stepped gingerly around the half-devoured carcass of a cat.

Bloody hand prints marred whatever pieces of wall had survived the devastation. An axe was embedded into a bed, the straw brown with congealed blood.

Dead beetles were everywhere.

“What happened here?” she wondered aloud. “Where are the bodies?”

“This isn’t the work of bandits,” Quistis said as they huddled beneath a surviving eaves in the depths of the ruin. Tummy waited outside. “Why are you here, Mertle?” The healer wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to talk, even in these circumstances.

Mertle pricked up at the words. “You were supposed to be in Aztroa,” she whispered angrily. “Why are you here?”

“Long story that I don’t know yet. Did Deidra bring you to us?”

“No. We were trying to avoid the main roads. Head to Aztroa quietly. Give you time to get things set up there.”

“Where’s the staff.”

“With Deidra.”

“And where’s she?” They whispered urgently, both aware that Falor might appear at any time. “I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you, and was sure Falor would find her.”

“I don’t know. She disappeared in the commotion. Why is the commander so suspicious of me? What did I do wrong?”

Quistis spoke quickly, words tumbling out as if in a panic. “Don’t touch him. Whatever you do, never touch him again. He feels things about you on contact.”

Mertle felt her face growing cold, thinking back at the handshake and the casual way she’d leaned on him. Bugger.

“He reads minds?” A different thought occurred to her, even more devastating. “You sleep with him!”

Quistis blushed to the very tips of her ears as if she’d been accused of some immorality. Aliana had mentioned her relationship in passing. Mertle had found the idea cute.

“I know how to protect against that. Something we’re taught at the School. Long story. Doesn’t matter.” She took one more long look at the ruins, chewing on her lower lip. “If Deidra gets in touch somehow, tell her to be wary. Falor said he felt someone else in the woods. She needs to keep her distance. We don’t need them clashing.”

“We need to figure out what’s happening here,” Mertle said, gesturing around. “We should learn what’s happened to the people here. Then we can worry about Deidra and the commander.”

“No. Falor and the rest us need to do this. It’s our job. You need to get to Garet and head to Aztroa before Cinder emerges.” She looked over her shoulder. “You need to be there with the staff for Cinder. If you’re here with us, she’ll be isolated from her disguise. Rumi would sniff her out.”

“But—”

“No.” Quistis was resolute. “I am going to propose we send the two of you away, for your safety. You are going to agree. There will be no discussion. Am I clear?”

Mertle’s gorge rose at this. “You don’t decide where I go and what I do, lady healer. I am not your people. You do not command me.”

“I do when it’s about my sister’s safety. Your lover, I might remind you.”

“She’d want me to help if I could.”

Quistis scoffed. “No, she wouldn’t. You don’t know Dreea like I do.”

“You don’t know Sil. You’ve never even met her.”

They stared at one another, both aware they were breathing fast, blood pumping into their faces. Tummy coughed politely from the doorway.

“Commander Falor’s moving on to the next house. You two might wanna finish pecking and get on with things,” he said in a low, even tone. “Place looks dead and empty. Move on.”

Well, this isn’t going the way I’d have wished it to, Mertle reflected as they stepped out. At least the healer looked as flustered as she was. They’d got into a silly argument while their concern should have been on the ghost village.

None of the other homes provided any clue as to what had happened. There were signs of violence. There were the dead animals, the blood on the walls, the churned mud.

But there weren’t any bodies that they could find. When Barlo and Vial rejoined them, they brought the same news.

“If I was t’ guess,” Barlo said, “then I’d say they’ve killed one another.”

They met in the centre of the village, by a stone wall. Part of its wall had been smashed. A dead pig floated in the water below, its stench wafting out with each breeze that caught in the well.

Night encroached.

“Why?” Quistis asked as she raised a sprite in the air to light the ruins. “How is that even possible?”

“No tracks in or out of the village,” Vial answered. “I checked. Nothing at all aside from ours.”

“Where are the bodies then?” Falor asked. “They can’t have flown off.” Lightning played down his arm, pulsing in a steady rhythm as if of a heartbeat. “Illum tastes wrong here. There was a lot of killing pooling here, and not just animals.”

“Wish we had Rumi right about now,” Quistis said. Both Mertle and Falor shot her a black glare. “A manipulator could have flown the bodies away. And could have arrived unannounced. Rumi could have seen the remains of the weave.”

Falor scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Manipulators aren’t known for wanton slaughter. Rare to even see one of them killing.”

Mertle looked down at the churned earth, and the beetles half-buried in it. There were many more around the centre than throughout the rest of the village.

Something about the churned earth set her teeth on edge.

“Where do the bugs fit in?” Mertle asked. “I’ve never seen any like these.”

Someone screamed in the forest. They all turned towards the noise.

“Is that singing?” Mertle asked. It sounded like someone singing at the top of their lungs, the voice high and shrill.

A man appeared on the road heading out of the village. Or, Mertle assumed it to be a man. Flowing robes obscured the figure as it made its way down the road. Its head was bare, the face painted in two colours.

“Gold and red,” Quistis muttered. “It’s a priest of Ort.”

“What’s he doing out here?” Mertle asked.

Falor gripped the shaft of his hammer tighter and took a step towards the coming man. If he was surprised by the appearance, he didn’t show it.

“How far did he check for heartbeats?” Mertle asked Quistis in a whisper.

“These guys don’t have heartbeats,” the healer answered, her tone cold. “They’re immortal.”

The approaching man waved a censer about and sang a loud hymn, face turned towards the sky, eyes wide. Light slipped into the dimness of early evening, the sun already slipping behind the mountains. Shadows lengthened, helped by Quistis’s sprite.

“Hail, traveller,” Falor called out.

He was ignored. The song became louder and the censer swung aggressively from side to side. Blue smoke rose from the burning embers.

Was it getting darker? Something intermingled with the song, like a rustle of leaves. Or…

One of the beetles stirred. Then more. Mertle caught sight of movement and felt something shifting underfoot. She raised her boot just as one of the insects dug itself out of the soft earth. They let out soft chirps as more emerged.

And there was something else. The mud boiled and churned behind the priest as he advanced towards them.

Hands rose from the soft earth. They dragged bodies up.

The song rose higher, the man screaming his veneration to the sky. An army of corpses rose in his wake.