Deep within Ash Manor, ten mercenaries shared space within an isolated bedroom. Three stood on guard outside the thick wooden door and two stood within, allowing the others to sleep in small cots against the walls. Their beneficiary, Zaman Urash, sat half naked upon a large maroon mattress. Stuffed with wool and yak hair, it was a comfort that few desertfolk could even fathom.

Despite his luxuries, Urash sat uneasy as ever. He held his head in his hands, still exhausted despite the late waking hour. He hadn’t left his room since the screaming began. The wall torches were a feeble substitute for sunlight, and he felt his already poor vision had worsened. Despite all this, he had no inclination to move. He was where he needed to be.

Still, Urash couldn’t sleep. He continued to dream of Malefica and her black eyes.

A knock interrupted Urash’s slow rise from bed. The mercenaries reflexively reached for their swords before Urash waved them off.

“You’d react the same to a fart,” Urash croaked. He turned to the door. “Caregiver, I presume?”

“It is!” a voice answered.

“Very good. Come in!”

One of the mercenaries unlocked the door and Eanna let herself through. She appeared ragged, though she had for as long as Urash had known of her. If anything, she seemed more radiant than usual.

“You wish to speak with me, sir?” Eanna spoke with a meek voice, bowing her head and holding her arms across her belly.

Urash laughed at the courtesy. “No need for ‘sir’ bullshit. Don’t let my accommodations fool you, I’m very much a prisoner.”

“No more than the rest of us,” Eanna replied. “Boah has said repeatedly that you are free to go if you wish.”

Urash waved the comment off. No need to debate what was obvious to him. “In any case, I have a personal matter that I believe you can help with. My health has not been great as of late.”

“You’re stressed, of course,” Eanna said. “It is more than reasonable-”

“You don’t understand,” Urash cut her off. “It’s these dreams. I lie awake dreading the moment my eyelids fall upon me. It’s running me mad.”

Eanna looked away. Her already docile gaze met the ground. “I-I don’t believe I can be of assistance to you in this matter.”

“Please spare me the act, shaman” Urash groaned. “I know you were the one that shut Juddken’s wound, and I know you didn’t do it with leeches. I don’t care what you do or how you do it I just want to sleep again!”

Eanna swung her head upward. The whites of her eyes formed glossy rings around her irises. She was looking past his face, her gaze almost burying into his skull. “Tell me what you dream of, Zaman of Urash.”

“I dream of… of the witch. The one they now call the Accurser. She sits in the room with me on my lap as if she were a child. Those black eyes, like empty wells… She has been staring at me for many moons.”

“Ah. You dream of Malefica. This began the night of her exile, no?”

“You know what ails me?”

“You are experiencing what is called ‘Ostroprojectral Aura.’ I have seen this curse before.”

“‘Curse?’ How many more must Ash suffer!”

Eanna laughed. “Suffer? It is barely irritable. Many lesser Gods have the ability to project images into the minds of others. This one is hardly convincing. Not even a single fool has even gone mad.”

“You mean to tell me my nightmares are the result of Godwill?”

“Less a creation and more a… fabrication. To your eyes at least. You should be thankful. Whoever created this aura is but a vermin in the grand scheme.

“You speak of an aura… you say others experience this as well?”

Eanna smiled. “Everyone alive in the city of Ash, Zaman. Few speak of little else.”

Urash turned his crooked gaze to his mercenaries. “You mean to tell me you fuckers have been watching me toss in my sleep, only to have known the cause this whole time?” The mercenaries said nothing, as usual.

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“Perhaps you are not the only one who has suffered during these trying times. If you would have thought to ask...” Eanna smiled, showing her perfect opal teeth. Few in Ash had that many teeth at her age. Not only that, her face became smoother almost. Her hair had regained some of its lost color. It was as if she was replenished by his internal torment.

“The mercenaries don’t know our language. Good thing I’m fluent in one they can speak.” Urash jiggled his garment and coins clattered, answering his point. “They sleep well with lined pockets. Just like I’m certain you will.”

“Perhaps, Head.” Eanna mocked Urash with his former title. “But spend your gold while you can. It’ll buy little once the food is gone.” She approached Urash, observing his hairy ears and uneven gaze. He knew he looked half broken, weathered by tens of thousands of moons. “The nightmares will linger, but they have already started to fade. Soon, the affirmation that Malefica ever existed will be gone forever.”

Urash laughed, betraying his obvious nervousness. “You speak like you know what a witch is capable of... Do I speak to another?”

Eanna curled her fingers around Urash’s chin. One by one, her fingers pushed Urash’s face towards her own. He could see how smooth her skin was now. There was no doubt about it: she looked years younger. Her wide eyes mimicked Malefica’s, though hers threatened to become a bright white. “You are humbled by even the weakest of shaman prayers. It is true, I and Malefica are very much the same. You desertfolk are foolish, not even to know of the power the word ‘Witch’ appraises. Your 'clever' mind is but clay to them, to be molded into whatever they desire. Their abilities are a Great Lion mane, I am but a split hair.”

Urash sat transfixed by her gaze. “You mean to say… This plague really was brought upon by a Witch?”

Eanna’s smile grew wider. “That’s what is scary, Zaman: I don’t know where this plague comes from. I’ve seen witches turn men into swine, but even swine need to be fed. Whatever caused this plague has dominion over death. Even the most powerful are subservient to death.”

“Eanna!” A voice called from near the door. It was Boah, the only other person who could have entered this room without Urash’s permission. “You are needed at the infirmary.”

Eanna backed away from Urash, lowering her head back to the floor. “Yes sir, of course.” To Urash’s surprise, she had returned to her normal middle-aged self. She trotted out of the room and Boah quickly replaced her spot at Urash’s side.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Boah said. “Shamans pray their lives away seeking favor from weak godlins. All those abilities yet so little power. You believe she is powerful, don’t you? Amazing how many perfumes make men see mountains.”

“Bah,” Urash hated Boah’s pompousness. He spoke as if built the Manor with his own two hands. Urash himself could barely claim what his family name already bestowed him. “‘Conduit of Okkan,’ my ass. You can only claim to have the will of the Gods for so long.”

“Even without the will of the Gods, I have the will of the people. I would much rather have that.” Boah paced behind Urash, absorbing the length of the bed. “I wish we speak alone.”

“My guards didn’t even tell me we’ve been sharing wet dreams of the same woman. They will say nothing.”

“This is not a matter that pertains to them.”

“I believe it does.” Urash creaked his body around, finally letting his legs rest on the ground. He would need his cane before long. “Whatever you tell me I will eventually inform them, but in Ati’s name, they will not tell anyone else. Okkan's too, if you wish. You can say whatever you want, but your lies and boasts affect me little. We both know I would already be dead if I didn’t have something you need.”

“Is that so?” Boah laughed. “What makes you think I would need the help of a blasphemer?”

Urash smiled. He reached down to the side of his bed and pulled up his sturdy cane. It took a moment, but he eventually got to his feet. “Mendalla surely told you, no? How to open the tunnel?”

Boah tried to laugh, but his furrowed eyebrows betrayed what he had tried to keep secret. “I had planned to ask you how.”

“Your mask slips easily,” Urash said. “How have you gotten this far playing politics?”

“I overheard Mendalla speaking of it with Shimsusa.” Boah was speaking truthfully now, strangely vulnerable. “It is how she got brown ash to the temple. I also know one can travel from the Manor to the outside completely underground. Mendalla would've told me eventually.”

“You could still ask her,” noted Urash. “Unless you know you can’t.”

Boah didn’t respond to the provocation. Urash laughed at the silence.

“We call it the ‘crawl space’,” Urash continued. “An unfortunately literal name. My family may have built this manor, but not its foundation. Below us is a route that leads past the outer gates. In case escape ever became necessary... If you knew what escape from here really meant, you would look elsewhere. You’d know how unscrupulous it would be to escape alone.”

Boah smiled. “You must be having an understandable lapse in judgment. You forget that the Corps outnumber you four to one. You know some of them are even willing to torture to satisfy Okkan's will.”

“Oh, I suppose you always can. But then you’d be without your ‘tunnel.’ I’ve lived a long, satisfied life. I've made more coin than you can count, and I’ve fucked more women than you’ve ever seen. I doubt I could endure much torture anyway, my body is so frail. If this is how I go, so be it. It’d be worth it just to see the look on your face.”

Boah approached Urash, towering over the old man. “If you must know, allowing my mask to slip is what put me here instead of Mendalla. It’s what separates me from my son.” Before Boah could act on his threat further, he turned abruptly. The mercenaries moved out of his way as he marched out of the room.

“Do tell me, sir,” Urash mocked. “Which way do you intend on taking the tunnel? If you plan on taking it to the temple you should be okay, you can pray to Okkan with ease there. But if you wish to make your way to the desert, you may have to bring a shovel!”

Boah left the room without another word. Urash laughed as he did so.