Quickly, Wilbur added the mixed medicine onto the ewer, swirled it around, and poured it back into the bowl. He planned to dilute it so that she wouldn’t heal instantly. He thought to still protect our identities. Lydia brought Annette’s head up so she could drink.

Wilbur gave Lydia the bowl and told her to make Annette sip until it was finished. Annette had not the strength to part her lips. She groaned and moved her head away, but Lydia forced it into her mouth. We watched her swallow. Slowly, the motion became easier after each gulp. Once she had downed all its contents, Lydia laid her head back on the pillow and we waited.

The candles burned low. Annette kept coughing, wheezing with the bile that clogged her lungs. Her brows knotted and she retreated under her blankets. Then, she began to mumble and moan and cry. Lydia was always beside her, holding her hand, comforting her. Lydia whispered in her ears as she combed her hair. She told her that they had guests and that her older brother made a fool of himself on the kitchen table. Wilbur and I were a few steps away, near the door.

“What was that? What happened with the blood?” I whispered.

“I do not know. The moment I tasted her blood, I just knew the correct medicine to give her.” Wilbur looked at me, eyes trying to contain his excitement. “Ryne… I can diagnose correctly without needing so much time in a lab! Of course, I still need my equipment to make the concoctions, but this is new! I hadn’t experienced this before.” He touched his chest. “Do you think it’s because of him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. If that’s the case, maybe all the rest of you had an awakening. A silver lining to being possessed.”

After what seemed like hours, Annette’s breathing slowed. Her eyelids fluttered open. Lydia watched as Annette looked around, her wide eyes the same color as her brother's.

“Mama, I’m in your room.” Her voice was weak, so weak. But to Lydia, it sounded as if she shouted.

Lydia’s lips quivered. Her face pinched and tears burst. She hugged her daughter and kissed her forehead and cheeks. Loud footsteps thundered up the stairs. Wilbur and I stepped away just in time for Claude to charge through the doors, eyes wide, face about to cry, only to see his mother and his younger sister smiling up at him. He flew to them, gently wrapping his arms around Annette's back. Claude did cry then, but soft tears not of anguish. Lydia reached an arm for her son, and three family members embraced each other. Claude muffled his cries onto a pillow, releasing all the weeks that he stifled his frustrations. We bowed our heads and took the ewer with us. We left them alone, closing the door behind us. They would weep for a long while yet. Wilbur’s instructions can wait.

___

“I hope that means he won’t be a soldier anymore.” I placed the ewer on the kitchen table. Five of the bowls were now empty. Woodrow must have poured theirs back inside the cooking pot, which was now covered over an extinguished fireplace. The charred logs glowed red.

“He will,” Woodrow said from the shadows. “He will spend weeks happy with his family, but the crops are still brittle. He will still need money to send his family. And he seems to be the type to keep fighting and staying alive to send money back home.”

It was not a comfortable thought. Woodrow cleaned the kitchens with a rag, then took the bowls and spoons outside to wash them in the stream. Wilbur and I went to the fields and inspected the crops.

And then I heard it: the air whispering when I passed through dried oats. It whispered decay. “Wilbur, do you hear that? Do you feel it?”

“The air?”

“Something is heavy near here. Like cold ice in the water.” I passed through the fields, closing my eyes. I went deeper into the brittle harvest, letting the stalks graze my face. Colder than ice, heavy but floating. Darker than darkness.

Ryne.

It was him. Not Blake, no. This voice was warm and strong. It was the voice that led us here. I whispered, “Who are you?”

“Ryne?” Wilbur called. He was already a few feet away from me. I raised my hands up and told him to wait.

There was no response. I closed my eyes again and felt where the cold was emanating. It was everywhere. Each time I concentrated on the feeling, I felt my strength being sapped. There was a trail there in the air, heavier than the rest, like a swordfish in the sky, writhing.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It is called miasma.

My breath low, I asked again. “Who are you? Why did you bring us here?”

Purify it, Ryne. Go beyond the dark woods. Go to Rothfield. Go to our sanctuary.

I felt the voice weaken. “Don’t go yet.”

I must rest. The connection drains us both. Heal the people. Trust your brothers.

And then he was gone, and I was left with the decay in the air. Once I had felt it, I could no longer shake the feeling off it. The miasma.

Wilbur tapped me on the shoulder. “Where on earth are you going? And why are you destroying their crops?”

I did not know I was holding on to their harvest until I looked at my hands. “I didn’t mean to.” I opened my hands, intending for the dried grains to fall. But there, on my hand, was dried barley and oats stained with black sludge. It moved, the black sludge vaulting away from my skin and turning into vapor, scattering like ash falling onto the other crops. The bits of barley in my hand were starting to change, as if pulling moisture from the air. It turned plump and bright. While those that were afflicted with the miasma withered.

I felt weak. Wilbur had to help me out back into the field where Woodrow was waiting.

We explained to him what happened. Woodrow’s response was only to nod. “Of course. Miasma, was it? About an explanation as any.”

“You’re just taking everything as it comes, aren’t you?” The weakness had passed. I tested my weight on the ground.

“Until there is no official explanation. Yes. yes, I shall.” He stretched. I placed the grains on the clean wooden bowl he was carrying. “If only that voice had told you all, but we know by now we aren’t that lucky. You sure he was a friend?”

“No, not sure. But it isn’t Blake. It feels warm. He told us to go through the dark forest.” To the sanctuary, he had said. I still felt wobbly. “He mentioned something about purification. I don’t know if I did that a while ago, but it weakens me.” I stared at my empty hand.

“I imagine purifying an invisible poison from the air would take a toll on such a young novice who keeps hearing voices in his head. Feeling the pull of all his dark brothers as well.”

Wilbur said nothing, only looked at me as if I was an odd experiment. His lips were trying to form words. He was breathing unevenly. “Is this what you did to Abbott Blake? Don’t you know what this means? Ryne… you have powers. You do have abilities.” And then he stopped abruptly and shook his head.

“What?”

“We never really talked about it, but something about you hurt him, Ryne. Something about you made him stop his control over us. I think perhaps that you can banish his influence like you did the miasma with the crops.” We all looked at each other, digesting his words. “It’s a working theory. I’m not certain what the point was of keeping you when you could stop him from controlling us in the first place, but,” Wilbur shook his head and smiled. “Whatever the reason, I knew that you have something special in you.”

A shadow crept over the doorframe. It was Claude, puffy-eyed and red-faced. “Annette has fallen asleep again. She’s coughing still but her breathing is better. Ma’s going to be staying with her tonight.” He walked closer to us and thanked us all, eyes looking up at Wilbur. “We could have lost her tonight. If it wasn’t for you. For all of you…” And then he reached for my hands, spider-veined against his healthy brown. “Thank you.”

I nodded at him. He dropped my hands and scratched the back of his head. It felt like I touched warm candles. “If there’s anything we can do for you. Anything at all.”

“What you could do is make sure to give her the leftover soup with the one glass from that ewer there,” Wilbur started his instructions. He took Claude by the shoulder and back inside the house.

Woodrow tapped me. “I like him. He seems like a good lad. Tough, too. And he has not once looked at you as if you were going to turn into a draconic creature from the depths of despair.”

“I like him too.”

“Must be hard to run a farm this size with just his mother and an ailing sibling to attend to. Hope he fares well.” We looked at him and I repeated what he said to me.

“I want to help him somehow.”

“You’ll find a way. Maybe you can ask the voice in your head once it awakens.”

I rolled my eyes at him. Then I noticed Claude inviting us back to the farmhouse. “You can sleep in my brother’s room. Or we can arrange for something else. I can’t just let you go especially now that it’s dark.”

Wilbur was already reaching inside his satchel. He brought out the sleeping powder and dabbed one finger on it. He pretended to look inside and sprinkled a few directly onto Claude’s eyes. As Claude began to yawn, Wilbur made him sit in one of the chairs. I supported Claude’s head as he fought the urge to sleep. Wilbur picked a few blankets from the living room and placed them near the heat of the fireplace.

“Maybe tomorrow, I can take you to the pond and into town. Show you around first before you... leave…” he yawned and closed his eyes.

“I’d like nothing more, Claude.”

“...Ryne,” Claude whispered, his head falling onto his arms on the table. Woodrow scooped him up and placed him gently on the mattress.

“Heavy for his age. Maybe he’ll grow up big.”

We took one last look at the charming setting; the soft furniture, the soft candlelight above. I blew out the remaining candles here. I noticed that there was a bucket of rainwater on the porch. I carried it inside and placed it on top of the kitchen table, the bowlful of grains near it. We closed the door behind us, Woodrow managing to lock it from inside.