“Come, come!” hissed the hooded figure. It was a woman’s voice, a very young one. To his surprise, it was one Jere recognized. As the trio entered the rather large and open-spaced building, the hooded woman closed a thick teak door and shut it behind her. Only a select few in Ash could afford such a luxury.

“Nami?” Jere asked as the hooded figure shut the door. He wrinkled his nose as a dizzying metallic smell overwhelmed his senses.

“Surprised you recall.” The woman removed her hood. It was indeed Nami, still as youthful looking as ever, if somewhat paler by the passing time. As the granddaughter of Namshi, one of the Nine Heads of Ash, Nami had often been relegated to the side regarding any issues that never required her father’s vote. She was useful in establishing a majority, reliably siding with the Okkan worshippers. But she never exuded confidence and rarely sought attention. The idea she had survived for as long as she had seemed ludicrous to Jere.

“Our many thanks,” said Adok, still catching his breath.

“Halt!” commanded Nami, snapping her fingers. As she did so, three men Corps uniforms came out from the hall. They each held short daggers, holding them against their thighs. “Weapons stay at the door. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Fucking try,” spat Eevi.

“Then you can leave,” Nami said. The timid girl Jere knew was nowhere to be found.

“We don’t have a choice,” Jere whispered. He understood the precaution, as Nami could’ve easily let them die.

Eevi sneered, clutching her crossbow like a child.

“We’ll get it back. A jammed crossbow is of little use to us here.”

After a moment of pouting, Eevi threw her crossbow to the ground. Jere and Adok likewise offered their weapons to the guards. Whether by circumstance or loyalty, it seemed not all the Corps defected to Boah in the weeks prior.

“Careful,” warned Jere, as he handed over his scimitar. “Killed one on the way in.”

Nami nodded. “We saw. Clean kill, though unsurprising coming from you.” As the guards collected the weapons, a loud uncoordinated pounding erupted behind the door. Nami ignored it. “A few screamers saw you, it seems. They’ll go away in an hour or two.”

Jere repressed a shudder. He knew firsthand how motivated screamers could be. He instead focused on the building they had just entered. Although a simple mud-brick, it was spacious. Several barrels of half dried paint lined the parameter of the walls, which themselves served as a canvas for many colorful murals. It reminded Jere of the manor courtyard, before he remembered that the same person painted both.

“Can’t do much about the smell, I’m sorry to say,” said Nami. “Painters by trade, after all. Namshi did these before he lost his mind.” Jere remembered seeing Nami’s grandfather at many of the council meetings. Namshi was a feeble and mute man, akin to an untrimmed and filthy skeleton for as long as Jere could remember. He vaguely recalled that he had once been a celebrated artist, and made a modest fortune concocting paint from the minerals around Ash and selling them in larger cities. His fame faded with age, but his fortune from selling the paint allowed him a seat amongst the Heads long after he ceased to be useful.

“Are you from the Manor too?” asked Nami. “Did you escape with the others?”

“Others?”

“You’re not the only ones who made it.” Nami led the group through a long hallway. There were at least six men and women within, all shuddering and crouched on the floor between the barrels of paint. They must have had gotten inside right before Jere and the others did, for they were still shivering from fear.

Jere recognized only one of them: Kyösti, though judging by his putrid tunic and matted beard, he had not been doing well. It was strange seeing him here in Namshi’s home.

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“What happened at the Manor?” asked Adok.

“C-C-chaos, my boy,” said Kyösti. His voice quivered as he spoke. “Chaos and m-m-madness.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Kyösti,” said Nami in a soothing voice. “What’s important is that you’re safe.” She turned to Jere and the others. “You can rest as well. We have space and stored meats if you need food. We also have water pouches. They’re a little dirty but untainted by curses.”

“Thanks,” said Jere. As skeptical as he was to drink any water offered by a stranger, he was so thirsty it was a risk he was willing to make. “We’ll move on when we can. No need to take up space.”

“And go where? Here we have everything you need. There is nowhere else safe in Ash, I promise you. If you attempt to leave, you will most assuredly meet your doom.”

Nami had a point, but being around this many people in close quarters wasn’t ideal. Jere barely trusted Eevi and Adok, and now there were many unfamiliar faces.

“In any case, help yourselves,” continued Nami. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

Jere nodded. As Nami left with her guards, Eevi replaced her spot. She did little to hide her taciturn expression. “I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like?”

“Nami’s… different. I’m getting a bad feeling.”

“Bad or not, we can’t leave with screamers outside.”

“Yes, but… think about it. Why help us? She takes our weapons but didn’t check for scratches. Why risk her life to save all these people? It makes little sense.”

“Maybe she was lonely,” Jere said, though he could see where Eevi was coming from. Being alive in the plague certainly didn’t make one friendlier. But out of all the Heads, Jere found Nami to be one of the kinder ones, often being the first to donate coin to what few projects the town prepared. She now spoke pointedly, sure, but times had changed and everyone changed with it. That in itself wasn’t suspicious.

One thing did concern Jere, though: her grandfather was nowhere to be seen. As long as Jere knew Nami, she hovered over Namshi, taking care of his every need and doing whatever she could to convey his wishes. She hadn’t even mentioned him.

Jere brushed aside the thought. Antagonizing these people was the last thing she needed to do.

Adok returned with a water pouch. “Here, it’s unopened. Tastes like sand, but it’s better than nothing.” Jere lifted the pouch to his lips, holding back a grimace as the water scrapped against his tongue. He might as well have been drinking from a puddle. He forced down a gulp before passing it to Eevi.

“You two can stay if you want,” Eevi said, sneering as she sipped the pouch. “I’m out of here once the screamers leave. Whether she says so or not… I’m getting my bow back.” She then turned away, back to the front of the building.

Adok and Jere stood next to each other. Just as Adok opened his mouth to speak, Jere walked away. He still wasn’t comfortable getting chummy with Adok just yet.

Jere wandered through the house. His eyes glazed over the murals as they seemed to fade into and over each other. Namshi hadn’t left a single drop of paint to waste. Jere saw images of the sun, mixes of crude and detailed figures, and a landscape recreation of Ash itself. Some of them were beautiful, masterfully displaying intricate details of praying crowds and the splashing of water. As Jere walked on, though, the murals became abstract and disjointed. The crowds morphed into faces, shifting into overlapping eyes and elongated fingers and toes. It was the work of an eccentric mind.

All this meant little to Jere, though. He just needed was somewhere to piss.

Jere peeked his head through a few curtains. He was certain there would be a latrine in a home of this size. There were a couple of ramshackle storage rooms full of barrels and yak hair brushes. There were also a few bedrooms, and maybe an area that was once a kitchen. Most in Ash would find public holes or alleyways if they were desperate to relieve themselves, but Jere was certain that if he searched long enough, he would find the fanciful bathrooms all the Heads seemed to have in duplicate. He figured he earned that much of a privilege.

Tucked away in the back of the home, Jere eventually found it: the latrine comprised a square stone slab with three individual holes on each end, the room alit by a small square window. He figured it belonged to the guards. Heads wouldn’t dare build themselves a room where they’d have to look at someone while taking a shit.

As Jere relieved himself, he heard a rattling noise outside the latrine. Something was scraping along the ground. Someone else was back here with him.

Jere couldn’t help it. He looked around the latrine, finding a room blocked by another wooden door. He pressed his ear against it. The scraping was barely audible, but someone was on the other side of the door.

“I’m going to regret this,” Jere thought. He had to know. He pushed open the door.

Through the darkness, Jere could just barely make out the figure attached to a chair, tied down in the middle of the room. It felt wrong. Very wrong. Jere shut the door after only a second, closing the latch behind it.

He pondered what he just witnessed; the image coming together in his mind as his eyes burrowed into the wooden door. The figure’s arms and legs bound tightly to the chair. Its mouth gagged. Its ancient and skeletal head thrashing against the confines. A torso lopsided. Arms slanted at thin angles.

It was a screamer. More than that, it looked to be Nami’s grandfather. Jere was sure of it.