Andrei

Strange days in the village of Oskari.

Not long after our return from Istok, the last of the missing villagers turned up miraculously and physically unscathed, although their minds were addled. They couldn’t remember where they’d been, or how they’d be coerced from their homes, only that their rescue was facilitated by a mouthy blonde woman. Furthermore, Captain Lobodin found the body of an old mustached man outside the garrison. The cause of his death was obvious—stab wounds at the flanks. Witnesses confirmed the identify of the elderly man as the one who’d been offering his services for the winter.

For all intents and purposes, the case was cracked and closed.

Although I would eventually learn the truth, I was under the impression Sinclair had a busy night rescuing people without us, and was most likely sleeping in. Commander Reider and Helena Varis hadn’t left their room at the Peak since our return from Istok, and I had no burning desire to interrupt. So, after tying up some loose ends with the Father and Captain Lobodin, I traveled to the farmlands to deliver the good news to Rose and check on Ivan.

I knocked several times on the door, but there was no answer. When I peered in through the window, an oil lantern was still burning on the kitchen table, so I knocked again, and again, and again until I let myself in.

Nobody seemed to be home, and I couldn’t imagine where they would have gone with Ivan in such a state. I climbed the stairs, and checked the first room at the top—empty. I checked the room next door. Sure enough, Ivan lay in his bed, but he hadn’t survived the night. This was devastating, albeit unsurprising.

I’d expected to find Rose in the third room, but when she wasn’t there either, I wondered if she’d gone to the church to make arrangements for her nephew. When I returned to the church, however, it was the first Father Belaia had heard of Ivan’s passing, and there was no sign of Rose.

As I was on my way to the mortuary to gather some effects I’d be needing later, I passed by my office and spotted the Commander who, incidentally, had commandeered my chair. When I approached the desk, he handed me a sealed envelope that had been left with Ivana at the Widow's Peak.

While in confinement at Palisade, I was often overloaded with busy-work. It was a method Councilwoman Faust employed to keep my hyperactive mind focused. It was not uncommon to be asked to translate or interpret all manners of materials. These jobs had been challenging at times, tedious at others, and sometimes even enjoyable. But of all the translations I’ve made through the years, none had been especially heartbreaking until the contents of that envelope.

got te go

strauss am sore

mikul mykel be gud luv ye bro

-s

“Strauss, I’m sore?” Michael asked. “What have you two been doing?”

“Not sore,” I said. “She means to say she’s sorry.”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never heard Rhian say that.”

On the bottom of the page, Sinclair had sketched a charcoal portrait. The portrait was of a young Amali woman whose hair had been cropped at the chin and trimmed shorter around the forehead. There was no mistaking a near perfect likeness to Rose, and along the bottom she added a decapitated stick figure, an arrow, and big crooked letters: BAD.

It was a lot to digest, and there was a lot to subsequently unpack. The expression on Michael’s face confirmed he was feeling as uncertain and helpless as I was in the moment.

“So, I guess Ivan’s aunt Rose isn’t Ivan’s aunt Rose,” he said. “He didn’t react oddly when you brought him home to her?”

“He wasn’t lucid enough to know where he was let alone who he was with, unfortunately. I… had no way of knowing, and now he’s dead. I found him this morning.”

“That’s not your fault, Strauss. It was only a matter of time.”

I nodded, taking a seat across from the Commander. “And where could Sinclair have gone?”

“Do you think Rose took her?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “The note doesn’t seem to have been written under duress, and I can’t imagine she’d have given Sinclair the opportunity to draw a portrait as well as provide a warning. It does make me wonder, though—what did I miss?”

“You’re the one who told us there’s no physical way to tell these Givers apart from any Barren, so that’s not your fault, either.”

“I know, but I just feel so… stupid. The girl isn’t even blind!”

“Maybe she is,” Reider said. “Maybe… I mean, maybe just not at night. If they’re the same as we are, then they’d also have a sensitivity to light. And if they’re more powerful than we are, then maybe their weaknesses are more potent, too.”

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The Commander had a good point, and I made sure to let him know before it hit me. “Do you remember when Finlay and Sinclair lost their memories? The night of the murder in front of the Widow’s Peak?” They were rhetorical questions, so I didn’t pause for a reply. “Finlay mentioned he saw a woman walking about a league away.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now that you mention it, it’s strange considering it was the middle of the night.”

I nodded. “Exactly, and when I think back to my conversation with Rose, she mentioned there were five Partisans in town. You, me, Sinclair, and of course Varis had just arrived. How would she have known about Finlay? He never made himself visible while in Oskari. Even the night of the murder, he said he fell asleep in the trees.”

“Good work, my friend. Safe to say we know who’s been behind everything.”

“Yes, but why?” I asked. “Why are these Givers so volatile?”

“I’ll leave the psychoanalyzing to you.” Michael raised his hands, conceding. He then started for the door, and turned before leaving. “I have to get back to Helena for now, and so you know, I haven’t shared any of this Giver information with her, and I don’t plan to. She’ll only get in the way. Let’s get together tomorrow, okay? We’ll see what we can do about tracking our runaway Strachan if she hasn’t come back by then.”

It was agreed upon, but there was something else that dawned on me during our conversation. After I’d spent roughly an hour with Rose, I started feeling ill later that day. Although I’d recovered quickly enough, Ivan and Father Keller spent extended periods of time in the company of Givers. If the species were at least one thousand years old, it stood to reason there were more, and that they’d been lurking among the Barrens all this time. It was equally possible that Ivan’s mother, and sister, and numerous other villagers throughout the years, had also come into contact with them.

It was altogether possible the Waste wasn't a disease at all.

I recalled the Celestian healers back at Palisade. They were rare, because in order to heal another, they would sacrifice their own life force—a transfer of energy from one source to another. Those healers would then go on to display symptoms nearly identical to those observed in patients of the Waste.

Rushing back to my room for the Vonsinfonie book, I flipped through the pages until I arrived at the passage about living two lives. If looked at another way, it could just as easily mean they were living a second life, or another life.

I thought back again to Ivan’s mother. Had she died, been buried, and come back to life as one of these Givers? How else would she have clawed herself out of a coffin and dug herself out of a grave before dying of suffocation, if not for a newfound preternatural strength? Who was responsible for the decapitation? Was there someone else out there who knew what we knew? Did these Givers rely on the life force of others to sustain themselves?

It seemed Commander Reider made the correct choice with Father Keller in Istok.

There was so much to consider, but for the time being, I had a funeral to prepare.

----------------------------------------

The Father and I began the service at dawn with the whole of Oskari gathered to witness. “And let it be known, as our Mother once preached, ‘For all who pass upon my land, all shall be received and a greater purpose found.’”

I’d never spoken those words with such a bitter taste in my mouth before.

In keeping with tradition, Ivan’s remains were brought home and buried in the family plot. Later that night, the Commander I exhumed another grave. Judge if you are so inclined, but we understood better then. We did what had to be done.

By mid-afternoon, preparations for our second ceremony were underway. The ritual burning of the old man’s corpse. The people of Amalia believed evil was denied a connection to the cosmos if their ashes were sealed away in an urn. But if our theories were correct, how many good people had been buried out of love, only to then rise an abomination?

It was a trying day for all those involved, and it was made no better by the arrival of an unexpected guest. The stench of burning flesh still lingering, Councilwoman Faust swept through the crowd—prideful and stone-faced. Feargus Finlay tailed at her rear.

At first, I thought, it made sense she’d show up. After the event at the schoolhouse, Reider and Sinclair sent word back to Palisade about the numerous dead Partisans. It stood to reason she was there to address that, but also saw an opportunity to engage in some diplomacy with the villagers.

The podium we’d erected for the day’s event was crowded. Father Belaia and I stood at the head, and the Commander at our flank. But when the Councilwoman of Amalia approached, we relinquished our positions and gathered behind her, and Feargus Finlay squeezed in back with the rest of us.

“I won’t consume more time than is necessary, but a formal address is in due order,” the Councilwoman said. “We have suffered losses, but we have found peace. Your children are free to be children, and your wives and husbands are free to be productive and feeling secure once again.”

She must be joking, I thought. Either the Councilwoman had no idea about the Givers, or she was playing some sick game. I was inclined to think the latter. After all, she was the one who encouraged me to learn Symphonic, and she was the one who led me to the Vonsinfonie book.

“What good is freedom if we can’t afford to eat?” shouted one of the attendees.

“We’re not paying taxes so you Partisans can live in luxury!”

Luxury? I thought. Hardly.

The Councilwoman carried on undeterred. “For a result worthy of celebration, we have three to thank. Andrei Strauss, a man whom you’ve come to embrace as one of your own for his services at the church…”

Silence.

“…and First Commander Michael Reider and Enforcer Rhian Sinclair, hand picked and delivered to you with Oskari’s best interests in mind.”

“Best interests?” one man shouted.

“Why do we go hungry while Partisans sleep on silk?” added another.

Evidently, I was missing out on those sheets.

“Rest assured, their presence will be felt in the coming months,” the Councilwoman continued without pause. “People of Oskari—we are aware your concerns do not end here and now, and so I extend to you these hands of Palisade indefinitely. Tonight, you may return to your homes knowing tomorrow holds more promise than yesterday.”

When the Councilwoman concluded, she and her unlikely sidekick worked their way around the crowd—a crowd which had grown aggressive in light of their frustration. Rather than target Faust or Finlay, they shook their fists at those who were moments ago promised to them. The Commander and I—not without ample questions for our Councilwoman—could do nothing but watch as our answers disappeared into the distance.