Penzer, the leader of the Guard Corps, was exhausted. At his age, this wasn’t a surprise. It had only been hours since he received his onslaught of orders from Mendalla, but he had been diligent in following them through. He had sent the guards to work, and within an hour they had closed off Main Street and cleaned up the bloody corpses. The stands had been up and running since high noon. None were the wiser.

Most of the guards in the city worked under the Guard Corps, which tended to serve the Heads with the most coin to spare. As Mendalla had been very generous to the Corps over the years, those under her command were quickest to respond to her. Penzer had not only worked for Mendalla her entire life but also for her father before her. He was familiar with her style. Like her, Penzer was a stern and uncompromising man, but he inspired what little loyalty that could be mustered from the Corps.

Still, with all his organizational ability it wasn’t easy to build a cordon from thin air. As the cells were at capacity, Penzer had gone to work establishing a new holding center for the diseased. An abandoned stable on the west side of town, called West Shell by the locals, had been located and quickly renovated into a shelter for the wounded. Osijek, the trader with the broken arm, was the cordon's first inhabitant. He was given a bed and water, but he refused the latter and tossed and turned in the former. Penzer had tracked down Eanna the caregiver, as she had the most experience with the diseased so far. He had asked her to support Osijek however she could. Instead, she demonstrated to Penzer and the other guards how to tie the most effective restraints for the hands, feet, and neck. As she had done before with the others, Eanna asked Osijek whether he wished to forfeit his life. Osijek was unable to respond, for he had grown sicker by the moment. The injuries to his arm were extensive, and Eanna predicted that he would be screaming before moonrise. She advised the guards how to gag their guests as well.

It was a lot for an old man to take in. At the slight of the trader being gagged, Penzer felt his chest become heavy. It was like he was a scrawny child all over again. He left the cordon to get some air. He couldn’t let his men see him like this. Upon exiting, he pressed his head against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

Someone was calling for him. It was Juddken, Boah’s son and Penzer’s protege, though Penzer didn’t like him much. It wasn’t just because he was forced to take him under his wing, though that certainly didn’t help. He was too nosy. Juddken didn’t react to things the way a boy his age should. When the other guards told a joke, Juddken always needed a few extra moments to laugh. He was stiff and unnatural.

Penzer gathered his composure. He coughed, speaking with a slight huff. “I’m fine, I’m fine… Can’t handle the heat at this age, son.” Penzer was sure he couldn’t have fooled the kid, but if Juddken was concerned he didn’t show it.

“Sure, boss. Just letting you know that we have three more men who were attacked earlier. Minor injuries, but they’re secured.”

Penzer gave a thumbs up. He coughed again, still struggling to catch his breath.

Juddken continued. “They're all from the steppe. Argued with us the whole way, demanding to see my father. I told them that if they wanted to talk to my father they could talk to me, and I hit them with my club. That shut them up. When I asked them if they wanted any water, they all shook their heads. I think I saw one of them hold his stomach. They’re cursed, I’m sure of it. They’ll be screaming soon.” Juddken made no expression as he told his story.

“Strange boy,” Penzer thought. “Dad must’ve kept all the personality.”

Despite his apprehensions with Juddken, Penzer was at least glad he knew someone who could recognize the signs. He had been working closely with the guards and made sure they knew what to look out for. Juddken had been at the hut the last few moons, so he knew better than anybody else.

“Thanks. Do we have guards checking people at the gates? Don’t want anyone slipping by.”

“They’re checking legs, arms, and necks for scratches. Some are mad that we’re getting in their business, and it’s hard to tell which scratches are fresh, but we’re checking everyone. Traders don’t like it though, most have moved outside the walls.”

“Surprised they’re still in the city at all... Any news from the mercenary? Are we quarantining him as well?”

“I wanted to, but he had no scratches. Mendalla thought about it and told him to stay home for the next few moons. She sent Adok to guard him for the time being.”

“Good to hear.” Penzer was relieved. He liked Jere. Both were men of few words and fewer emotions. The cordon wasn’t meant for a person who was sane. It also reminded him why he respected Mendalla so much. Penzer wasn’t a particularly thoughtful man, but he trusted her judgment. Adok wouldn’t have been his first choice to watch him; he was too young for someone as rough as Jere. He would have preferred Heikk or Ipa, but he’d do just fine.

“Good work, Juddken. Very good work. I’ll make sure to let your father know that you’ve been useful today.” Juddken didn’t respond.

In truth, Penzer knew that Boah had no idea what to do with his son. He didn’t care about school, even though Boah had the coin to send him to the most prestigious institutions in Ostior. He had no heart for trading and he was by all accounts a terrible salesperson. The only thing Juddken enjoyed was frisking traders and arresting beggars.

Penzer corrected himself. A year ago, he saw Juddken kill a stray dog. That may have been the only time he ever saw him smile.

The two were interrupted by an arriving guard. His tone was urgent. “Sir! We found another victim!” Penzer sized up the guard. He was a fresh-faced fellow; Penzer recognized him as a recent recruit. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, though the fear in his eyes made him look much younger.

“A victim? When was he bitten?”

The guard floundered. “I, um… I don’t know. He’s tied up in a bed in West Shell. Looks like he’s been there for some time.” He paused. “To be honest, we’re not sure how he’s alive.”

This caught Penzer’s attention. No one had lived in West Shell for years. That was why the cordon was specifically built there. It warranted a look. “Take us there immediately,” Penzer ordered.

As the three pressed through the city, Penzer wondered what he would find. As far as he knew, everyone who had been scratched earlier was accounted for. As he walked, he thought back to the morning. He witnessed the woman, Mena, get slain by Jere, but only after losing both of her arms with little reaction. He saw Duncic - one of his finest men - effortlessly take his own life upon discovering that he was scratched. Both of their bodies were in the temple now, where they were to be blessed by the priest Enlil and given a full burial procession. He knew this was mostly due to the woman’s relation with Mendalla, but he wasn’t about to complain about Duncic receiving a proper burial. Most Ashfolk would never receive such an honor.

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The three were greeted by more guards as they approached the house. They each shared the same morose look. Penzer asked what the issue was, but none gave a straight answer. They explained how a few traders noticed a woman walking alone in the abandoned part of the city for the past few nights. That was how they found the house.

Penzer turned to Juddken. “You have the most experience with the accursed. Come with me.” Juddken nodded, seemingly excited at the prospect.

The house smelled of some abhorrent mixture of death and shit. It was the worst thing Penzer had ever smelled in his life. The smell grew stronger as the two passed through the parlor and pulled aside the curtain to the bedroom.

“Oh, Okkan," whispered Penzer, "Amaren.”

Penzer remembered working with Mendalla years ago. He remembered how he would teach the younger children the ways of the scimitar. He wasn’t a master by any means, but he was more than proficient. He remembered how Mendalla had asked Penzer to give her son lessons, but the lad could never even lift the scimitar above his shoulders. Penzer remembered the look of frustration her son had as he threw the scimitar on the ground, proclaiming that he would never be big enough to kill anything. This was long before Amaren had been disowned by the family for trying to break into the spice trade. Before he grew a backbone.

Penzer wasn’t sure why he thought of that just now. He wasn’t even sure how he recognized him. What he saw was a gaunt, twisted distortion of a human being. Amaren Ealamassi was long gone. What lay in front of Penzer, tied to a bed, was a skinny corpse. His hips were entirely scraped away, and Penzer was sure he could see bony protrusions. Pounds of putrid flesh lay between his legs. His head was bending off the side of the bed, pounding against the end. He was gagged, but it looked as though it was tearing through his cheeks. Whoever tied him up had done a great job, perhaps too great. It was a revolting sight.

Juddken approached the body, enthralled at the sight. “Amaren? This is Mendalla's seed? What’s he doing here? Last I heard he lived in the Eivetta.”

“That’s a good question,” Penzer replied truthfully.

“Do you think she knows?”

Penzer didn’t need a second’s extra thought. “No. She’s not going to.” He unsheathed his scimitar, walked over to Amaren, and brought the sword down through his neck. The squeaking of the bed came to a sudden stop.

“What?!” Juddken roared. “Why did you do that?!”

Penzer glared at his protege’s insolence. In truth, he didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t thinking. It was a reflex, like putting a dying dog out of his misery. He looked down and saw that his slice wasn’t clean. He cut through most of the neck, but the scimitar was stuck in the spine. Amaren’s bloodshot eyes looked towards the ground as his nearly decapitated head gently swung off the side of the bed like a pendulum.

Still, it was good enough. Amaren was unmoving, like the corpse he appeared to be.

The other guards rushed into the room and stopped at the doorway, looking over the scene. Penzer let go of the scimitar, still lodged in Amaren’s neck.

“Fools,” Penzer began, “why wasn’t this done earlier?” He approached the guards, staring them down. “You realize what could have happened if he escaped?”

The fresh-faced guard, the one that brought him here, responded. “Sir, we were told to come to you with any victims. We didn’t know how to deal with it-”

Penzer slapped the boy before he could finish. “Use your fucking head. When they look like this, don’t call for help. You don’t move them. You kill them. I didn’t think I’d have to explain, but when they look like that, put them in the ground.”

The boy held his cheek. He was fine, but shocked. Penzer was known to get frustrated, but he was never physical with the other guards.

“I’m sorry sir. I’ll remember next time, sir.”

“No fucking shit. Get someone to bury the body.” The guards didn’t need to be reminded. They left the room as fast as they could. As soon as they did, Penzer dropped his posture, letting out a couple of light coughs.

Juddken, standing awkwardly in the corner, spoke up. “Why did you tell them that? They did exactly what was asked.”

Penzer shook his head. He paced back towards the body, trying to look past Amaren’s bloodshot eyes. “I know what it’s like to look inside a man. I’ve seen men gradually lose themselves, losing pieces of themselves in the stream of time.” He paused, trying to gather his words. “This man had no soul. No mother should have to see that.”

Juddken nodded after a delay. Penzer knew the lad couldn’t understand. He doubted whether the heir to the Awil-Ishtar family had a soul himself. Still, Penzer knew he made the right decision and would have done it again.

Suddenly, Juddken’s eyes widened. He pulled out his club and approached the foot of the bed. Before Penzer could react, Juddken was thrusting the club toward the floor. Penzer thought he saw a small foot.

“There’s another one!” Juddken yelled. “I got this one!”

Penzer grabbed Juddken’s hand and forced him back. Juddken struggled, before falling in order. Penzer looked under the bed, coming face to face with a small boy. He was dirty and covered in beige rags too big for him. How Penzer failed to notice anything before was completely lost on him.

Penzer stared directly into bright green fearful eyes. Again, he was reminded of when he trained with Amaren all those years ago. He noticed a fresh gash crossing the boy's eyelid, blood trickling down the side of his face.

“Oh, please no.”

The boy must have been horrified. How much he understood what was going on, Penzer had no clue. He hoped very little. His mother was long dead. What was left of his father was now gone too. If the curse traveled the way the healer said that it did, the boy was destined to become like his parents before him.

That being said, Penzer could still see a soul behind those green eyes.

“I can take care of it if you want.”

Penzer looked back to Juddken’s dumb face. No expression. Penzer was overcome with fury. He wanted to punch him, and would have if were he not the son of the most powerful man in the city. How could anyone be so callous with the fate of a child?

Even Juddken could make sense of the hatred Penzer was projecting. “Don’t make me the bad guy. It doesn’t take much thinking to figure out who this boy is. His parents are dead. He’s likely cursed. We have to act fast, just like you said.”

Never before had Penzer wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill Juddken at that moment. But he was right. He saw the gash. He could only imagine how much pain this boy had experienced, and how much pain he still had left to go through. And at this point, Penzer had already gone too far - he killed Mendalla’s only heir, even if they were estranged. He would have to do the same to the grandson.

He couldn’t bring himself to remove this boy from this plane. Not as he was.

“Take the boy to the cordon.” Penzer sighed. “The witch is set to be exiled tomorrow. There’s a chance this curse will actually leave with her as everyone says. I choose to believe that his soul will remain intact.”

Juddken reached for the child. It took some grappling, but he managed to pull the boy out. He appeared to be in shock, which was unsurprising.

Penzer fell into another coughing fit, before catching himself. “I will tell Mendalla’s men that the accursed have been accounted for. The boy will go to the cordon and be given his own accommodations. I hope I don’t need to remind you that this all stays between us.”

Juddken nodded. He was still struggling with the boy.

Penzer sighed. “Let's hope Mendalla doesn’t ask too many questions.”

By the time the three left the house, Juddken had already made plans. He needed to see his father.