The guards allow them through with a warning to keep their eyes on the sky. Monsters abound in the region, they were informed, with half a dozen spotted at locations as near as Moonfelled River. Fortunately, it seems that the explosion has no effect here whatsoever.
The stone walls loom above their heads, brick white and sturdy towers sprouting along it. The strong scent of sawdust fills the air as horse-drawn wagons of felled trees are brought through the giant gates, the horses snorting and trotting and kicking up dirt. A crowd gathers at the waymarket where the main street opens up into a clearing, among them Dwarves, Varyaeyi, Yosetians and Men alike. Stalls are stood up tightly, selling an assortment of victuals and trinkets and tools. Somewhere far away, a bell tolls for the afternoon. In all certainty, Evaeba is no town; Evaeba is a bustling city.
“Did I say town? I did? Well, forgive me, it was a small one two centuries ago.” Iacy’s eyes are wide with wonder as she looks around, though she stays close to the knight to avoid losing herself. “Do you recall being here before? Well, that’s expected. Let us search for an inn. I spotted a large chimney when we came in; perhaps that’s our stay for the night. Oh? Hm…It’s not a good idea to summon a bonfire here. We should try to blend in; we can obtain more information that way.”
The building the chimney belongs to is a manor with elegantly-carved window frames and elaborate sculptures of birds-in-flight ornamenting its rooftops. Between the archgate and the maindoors is a splendidly-maintained garden, and a signpost that sticks out from one of the flower bushes reads: ‘The Half-Emptied Cup Inn’. The grandeur of it all reminds them that they have no means by which to make any kind of payment. Before they could address it, however, a boy shoves past them, pushing the startled goddess into the knight’s arms.
“Coming through! I’m sorry!” And the boy rushes into the manor, flinging the doors wide open. Some sort of clamour then proceeds to kick off inside. After a while of waiting to see what might happen, a burly man clothed in expensive-looking garments bursts out, his face stricken with panic and confusion. The pair watches on as he sprints past them and out the gates before three others – this time fitted with shining armour – follow after him. At the door, the boy limps out with ragged breathing, his face in his palms. “This…No. How could this…?”
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Iacy walks to him. “Forgive my intruding, may I ask what exactly happened?”
Crying and panting, he tells them of how his elder sister was lured to an abandoned well by a singing he himself could not hear. On approaching the well to investigate the source of the song, she was suddenly rendered paralysed when a deep spine-chilling wail shrilled out from within the waterhole. Convulsing in a spasm, she collapsed to the ground and started wailing herself. Several onlookers and guards had come to the scene, and that was when the boy was ordered to hurry home to bring his guardian.
“Shade,” declares Iacy, “Come, Knight Diastre, we’ll see if we can help in any way.” And so, they run to the scene themselves with the boy leading the way. The situation being at the opposite side of the city, the likelihood of it being too late enters both their minds, though they keep that to themselves and focus on keeping track of the boy amidst the people that walk the streets and corners. Arriving at the commotion, they observe a teenage girl wildly twisting and howling on the ground as four pairs of arms try to restrain her, one of them the burly man’s.
“Girl! Cease your futile resistance! I will take this body that I have fairly claimed!” It is a sky-shatteringly loud wail indeed. From deep within the well emanates a menacing aura, invisible but conscious, its presence tearing a cold sweat into everyone that has gathered around in witness. “Girl!” It screeches.
“So much for not standing out.” Iacy quickly moves to the girl curling and stretching in pain. Putting both palms on the girl’s chest, Iacy mouths a silent prayer. Without delay, the girl stops struggling and relaxes into unconsciousness, the burly man cradling her in his arms.
The well screams. A mix of echoes ripples through the air as if the world is not big enough to contain such an agonising cry. Then everything falls silent save for the humming and ringing left in the air, and after a while even those empty noises disappear. The crowd surrounding the scene is deadly still, filled with collective hesitation. The burly man trembles as tears of relief roll down his cheeks, his forehead pressed onto the girl’s as he rocks her back and forth.
No one other than the pair can sense the vibration of otherworldly anger and sorrow, they conclude from the faces around them. The knight stares at the well, deciding if he should inspect whatever is lurking below, but the goddess shakes her head. More guards have arrived – probably having heard that inhuman scream – and the crowd starts to disperse, each person with an additional bloodcurdling story to tell for the evening.