Luric had to actively keep himself from widening the distance between him and Nelle. It wasn’t easy to temper his pace when he was not only pissed, but also dogged by the very person that had pissed him off in the first place. At least Nelle got the message, and made no attempt to narrow the gap. Anyone watching them probably wouldn’t have guessed that they were technically walking together; more like complete strangers that happened to be heading in the same direction. They wouldn’t be that far off from the truth, come to think of it.

He and Nelle could barely be called ‘associates’. She was just a random, boring colleague he got paired up with for this one mission, and he would never have to deal with her again once it was over. So why should he care that she had seen through his act? True, he would’ve rather not have anyone know, but she was so irrelevant to him that it didn’t matter. The most surprising and infuriating thing, though, was that this absolutely humorless woman had tried to lampoon him. And for what? Because he’d been mean to the kindly innkeeper? Please. Let her think what she wants; that he was an ungrateful, arrogant upstart who now believed he was better than the clodhoppers he had left behind. That he thought they were all beneath him. Well, it was true; he did think that. He also despised all of them and he had every right to do so. No one would ever convince him otherwise. Being made fun of was the least they deserved.

They made their way to the main square. It was market day, so it was full of jostling people. And livestock. The whole place smelled like an unattended barn. How anyone could bring themselves to purchase fruit and vegetables that were sitting in this wretched stench was beyond him. He could have easily found a way around the market, but he wanted to see it again. From above,instead of underfoot.

And for them to see him too.

He had wondered how far the news had spread since last night. It had been very late, but most people here got up long before the break of dawn, and that’s when Runrick’s trusty rumor mill started turning too. And apparently it was working as well as ever. They all knew. The square was much smaller than those of other towns, and the numerous wooden booths placed on each side left even less space for moving around. It should have been nearly impossible to cross the market without brushing or bumping into someone at every step. Yet here Luric and Nelle were, within their own bubble of personal space in the middle of a tight crowd. They were giving both of them a wide berth, the mass of people flowing and shifting so that the girth remained gratuitous and constant even as they moved into the busiest part. It was funny how they were all trying to be inconspicuous about it. Everyone was very pointedly not looking at them. He knew that if they hadn’t known who he was, most would’ve openly gawked at him. Subtlety was not one of their strong suits nor would they bother much with politeness. If you were foreign and new, you owed them the right to be subjected to their scrutiny. The way non-locals were treated depended dearly on who you were, what you wore, and what you could pay back for their hospitality. But they would always be suspicious of you. Always remain at least a little wary of your presence, no matter how long you had stayed with them. If your grandfather hadn’t been around to drink at the ale house with their grandfathers, then you weren’t one of them. That’s why it was so easy for them to discard Mr. Carshtin. Boy, had he ever not missed this place.

They left the market and went round behind the prayhouse. Adjacent to the two-hundred-year-old stone building was a smaller one room house that was only a little older than Luric; the magistrate’s office. Before Slatrim, the leaders of the community had been content with governing the town from the comfort of their own homes, at the prayhouse, or from everyone’s favorite place, the alehouse; the most fortuitous dealings happen over a pint, the elders used to say. But Slatrim, of course, didn’t agree. The highest-ranking position in town deserved its own post. It also gave the position an added sense of importance, which was what Luric suspected Slatrim had been really after. Everything the man did, in one form or another, had the purpose of accentuating his position in Runrick. He’d likely tatoo ‘I AM IN CHARGE’ on his forehead if he could. Luric looked at the tiny, fragile-looking wooden shack and couldn’t help but think in metaphors. He’d keep the jabs light today, though. There was no way he’d risk Nelle mouthing off at him here too. But just to be safe...

“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do all the talking. No interventions.”

She blinked, and then replied in an even, unoffended tone. “Alright. I understand.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That she understood. She didn’t get the whole picture, obviously, didn’t have the whole story, but she picked up enough to not be confused by his request, which was already more than Luric had been willing to share.

Inside, Slatrim and Santr were already waiting; Santr standing at the corner furthest away from the door and Slatrim sitting behind his sorry excuse for an office table. There were no chairs on the other side. Luric doubted Slatrim had taken them away as a slight to him, but rather never had any put in his office from the start- to discourage visitors from staying more than they needed to. He was also certain that those who came in would be asked to stand a little further away from the table, as vassals used to do when visiting the feudal lord’s manor. The man was old-fashioned like that. Luric strode right up to Slatrim’s table, the proximity forcing Slatrim to look up at Luric from his sitting position and he looked very unhappy about that. Bet you wish you had those chairs now, don’t you? Wordlessly, Slatrim pushed a stack of papers towards Luric. He picked them up and glossed over the first few pages. “These are death records. I need statements, descriptions, list of witnesses. When did it first appear? Where was it most often sighted? What does it look like? How big is it? Useful information.”

The magistrate looked over to Santr, who just shook his head. “We don’t have anythin’ like that.”

“Of course, you don’t. I should've known better than to expect any sort of functioning administration in Runrick. Well then, what can you tell me about the thing?”

“It’s an ugly piece shit with claws - what does it matter? Can’t ya just go and kill it? Hunters don’t wander around askin’ stupid questions like this, they just go and do their job.” There was a vein showing on Slatrim’s temple, pulsating angrily; his lower jaw was quivering lightly with barely restrained ire. Luric had no doubt he would’ve slammed his fist against the table had he been facing anyone else. The slip of patience he used to have must have eroded down to nothing over the past ten years, and it was physically paining him to keep his temper at bay. Symptoms of lifelong exposure to deference, he supposed. The people of Runrick had spoiled him like that. Slatrim never answered to anybody and he never needed to explain his decisions and orders; people just did what he told them, no questions asked. Dealing with Luric was going to kill him. Looking forward to that!

“And did your hunters succeed in either finding or killing it?”

He was met with befuddled silence.

“Then you realize it's a pointless analogy.” Luric was almost certain Slatrim didn’t understand what an analogy was. “While I can see why one would want to compare it to an animal, I assure you that it is far from one. Using common hunting tactics won’t help.” That was a lie. Often enough, these creatures tended to be fairly similar to other predators in intelligence and behavior, it was just their skill set and sheer power that overwhelmed the untrained and unprepared. But they didn’t need to know that. The more invulnerable the monster seemed, the better he would look after taking it down.

“It’s black, has white eyes, and is about the size of a bear.” Luric turned to the priest, and Santrtensed under his gaze. He obviously hated the attention but had jumped in to keep things from escalating. Damage control. Luric despised Santr about as much as Slatrim, but there was no doubt that he was the more reasonable of the two. “And the only place it hasn’t appeared yet is the middle of town. It wouldn’t come so close to Baar’s house.”

Luric was debating whether or not he should tell Santr about the time they found a creeper in the tower of Kasarita’s largest prayhouse, one of the oldest and holiest places in Alcsania. It had killed over ten people in there. He decided to let them have this one piece of comfort. For now.

“It sounds like we are dealing with a lusrae,” he said matter-of-factly.

“A what?”

“A lusrae. It’s the official term given to your average man-eating monster by the Academy. They start off as shadow critters, little spindly creatures that prey on smaller animals and usually avoid humans. If left unchecked for too long, they grow and develop into larger, blood-thirstier beasts that for some reason seem to prefer humans over any other animal. They don’t have a single, common appearance and can vary so greatly in shape that they’d otherwise be classified as different species. There are some common traits, tough. They’re color scheme tends to lean towards darker tones, usually plain black, but I’ve never heard of one with white eyes.” He had rattled off his lecture in the most bored, dead-pan tone he could manage, absentmindedly playing with the bejeweled cufflinks all the while. He wanted to show, to make it absolutely clear, he was the specialist here, that dealing with monsters was nothing more than a banality to him.

Slatrim and Santr stared at him for several seconds.

“Red eyes,”grumbled Slatrim. “It has red eyes, not white. And it’s smaller than a bear. It’s closer to a wolf.”

Santr objected. “But Bramber said-”

“Forget what that imbecile said. The coward ran away before it even showed itself prop’ly. A rotten pissboy, that Bramber. We’re better off without his useless kind around here.” He slid his eyes over back to Luric? Come on, old man, you ca do better than that. Luric didn’t deem that pathetic attempt at a jab worthy of a retort.

“‘Blind eyes to rob you of your soul,’ “ the priest insisted, “ as the fourth song of Barabesiateaches us. That is what happened to poor Nad. It matches the scriptures. The eyes have to be white.”

“But they’re not. I’d trust my men over Bramber any day. Nad was just weak o’ spirit. I bet he’s fakin’ it for pity.”

“Perhaps there are two?” Every eye in the room turned to Nelle. Luric had to keep himself from clicking his tongue in annoyance. It hadn’t even been ten minutes. At least she had the decency to look abashed when their eyes met.

“Great Baar, that would be horrible,” cried the priest. “Is it possible?”

“No!” Luric’s voice was firm and resolute, as if to dismiss any potential argument on the matter. He kept his eyes on Nelle as he said it, and she lowered hers in remorse. And stay like that, dammit! “Lusrae are highly territorial,” he said firmly, turning back to the magistrate and the priest, “they wouldn’t tolerate another one of their own kind around what they consider their prey.” This was his profession; he was the one with hands-on experience. She didn’t get jump in and steal the attention with an amateurish assumption.

“Who’s the woman?”

Dammit!

Slatrim’s judicious eyes were now set on Nelle, and he didn’t seem pleased with what he was seeing. Luric had hoped they’d ignore her; Slatrim usually didn’t care much for the fairer gender unless she was attached to a man. The old coot gave her a very pointed up and down look, and his frown deepened. Ah, the pants! Or maybe the short haircut? It was probably faster to identify what about Nelle’s appearance didn’t bother Slatrim. The guy was a shameless misanthrope. Women were only allowed to be active members of their community once they fulfilled their god given and communal duty of getting married producing offspring. And even then, he only ever listened to what one had to say if it came out of the mouth of her husband. And that was his disposition ten years ago. Luric suspected it had gotten much worse over time. His encounter with Lady Archvel also must have left some scars on his pride. Nelle, a modern city woman of the South, was rubbing him the wrong way simply for being in his town

He scrambled to answer before Nelle could. “She is my assistant!” He didn’t turn around to see how Nelle took that. It would’ve made the lie less convincing. For her part, Nelle didn’t refute his claim, and Luric wanted to think she was simply going along with his designs. She had seemed contrite enough about her misstep earlier, but whatever shame she might have felt, it must’ve gotten promptly stubbed out now. He could practically feel the frigidness emanating from her grazing his back. He was going to pay for that.

The discussion was running the risk of taking an unnecessary detour, and Luric forced it back on track. “Are there any survivors? People who have come close to the creature, and lived?”

“There are,” Santr started,” but they’re not really in any condition to speak. A couple of weeks ago a few of our men tried- ”

“He doesn’t need to know the friggin’ details. We’ve got three, but only Egbrim can still talk. Just need ta convince his parents ta let ya in, though I’m assumin’ ya don’t bother with pleasantries when it comes to us.”

Luric raised an eyebrow at him. He sure had balls thinking Luric owned anyone here any sort of respect. The fact that Luric hadn’t reached across the table to grab Slatrim by the neck and smash his face against the wooden surface should tell the old man he willing to play nice. There weren’t enough hours in the day for Luric to say what he wanted to say to this bastard, let alone for all that he wanted to do to him. Mr. Carshtin died of wounds inflicted by men Luric was certain had been sent by the magistrate and while Luric was bound by an oath to never harm a human being, he’d find another way to avenge his guardian. In the meantime - “Well, this has been a complete waste of our time. I was foolish to expect decent help from either of you.”

“We gave you a name.”

“Which I could have probably also gotten from half the people I saw today on my way here.” He turned away from them, a bit brusquely, a bit dramatically, and walked loudly towards the door. He passed Nelle, who had gone from looking abashed to stern. She was not going to let this go. Fine. As long as she waited until they were outside.

He was almost out of the door when Santr spoke up again. “Oh, and Buck. He was there too.”

Luric froze. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected to hear of Buck while he was in Runrick, had even hoped to cross paths with him at some point, but it had been such a faraway thought, muddled in together with all the other faces he expected to see during his stay. Just one of the many peoplehe had a bone to pick with. Nothing special about him. Not anymore. Yet mentioning his name alone had brought his existence back to the forefront of Luric’s consciousness with a vengeance. It summoned bits and pieces of memories that swarmed his mind like incessant flies, images of a loud, brash, whirlwind of a boy that Luric had both hated and admired, popping up with surprising intensity.

He had wanted to be mature about this (at least, a little) and be more forgiving towards those that had been children too back then. None of them had actually done anything to him after he ran away. It had been the grownups that had beaten and abandoned Mr. Carshtin. It had been the grownups that had beaten and tortured Luric. And Buck. He had thrown a rock at this head. And the pain had stayed with Luric long after the bump had healed. Buck, as always, was the exception. He’d be the exception now, too. His skin started pricking with anticipation. Let’s see you look down on me now, little hero.

“Bah, he’d be no more help than that coward, Bramber. What a chicken ass he turned out ta be.” Disgust was practically dripping off of Slatrim’s voice.

Luric blinked, and then looked back at them. Were they talking about the same Buck? Buck, the champion? Buck, Runrick’s little rambunctious darling? The one with the brightest future out of all this crummy town’s rascals? That Buck? A chicken ass, Slatrim had called him. Slatrim had liked Buck, and Slatrim had even less patience for children than he had with women. He gathered that there had been a collective attempt to go after the monster themselves and that it had ended with more deaths than survivors, but he couldn’t imagine Buck being among those who turned tail and ran. Could he have changed so much? Could he have ended up a completely different adult than what everyone had expected? A coward?

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

And why not?! I changed. I’m nothing like what I was back then.

It was only fitting that things had gone the opposite way for Buck as well. He tried to picture him as a round, shabby man, unkempt hair and long beard, clothes caked in dried mud as he went about his daily, mundane chores in a filthy farmyard, indistinguishable from the hundreds of thousands of other land workers in the area. He thought the image would cheer him up, make him laugh. Instead -

How disappointing.

Nelle wasn’t keeping her distance this time. When he widened his steps, she quickened hers. Not enough to end up walking next to him, though. He had a feeling she was deliberately staying behind so that he couldn’t see her. Just hear her, and her brisk, petulant little steps. It was a challenge, he thought. Frustrate him into saying something. To have him be the first to capitulate and address the issue. Well, good luck with that. She could stomp and huff all she wanted, if this meant she would stay quiet out of sheer stubbornness, then Luric was more than happy to let her stew in her own asperity.

If I don’t have to listen to your self-righteous preachy jokes, all I can say is good riddan-

“Assistant?”

Alright, so he might have indulged in a little bit of wishful thinking by hoping that Nelle would stay quiet out of childish stubbornness. Guess she had just wanted to give him a chance to explain himself, start the argument on his own terms. Maybe he was the one being childish here. The thought bothered him only a little. “Did that upset you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Isn’t that what you technically are? At the Institute, I mean. Or is it simply because I said you are my assistant.”

“Technically, I am your superior.”

“Wrong there. A real supervisor, yes, would outrank me. But you are not a supervisor, are you now? You were called in as a last-minute replacement because no actual supervisor was interested. Aren’t you from a paper-pushing department?”

“I was instructed before the mission- “

“To do what? Follow me around and write down everything I do. That is what assistants do. And by the way, I don’t see a pen and notebook on you. Or are you so confident you’ll remember everything to write down later? Then be sure to commit this to memory as well: It’s not up to you to judge whether I’m acting appropriately or not. You write an objective report and then submit it. Others - real supervisors - they’ll do the assessing. Not you.”

Nelle was silent.

“Besides, no one actually gives a damn if I’m rude or anything like that. What they care about - the Institute as well as the town - is that I kill the thing. That’s what it all comes down to. You can mention my shitty attitude towards you and the poor people of Runrick all you want, I won’t get so much as a slap on the wrist for it.”

That was another lie. Luric knew that the Institute was keen on keeping track of every one of its Blighted, in every way possible. Including behavioral patterns. They feared a Blighted becoming too strong, becoming too unstable. It was a new organization, after all, and it wasn’t regarded with much trust by the other high-ranking state officials. It couldn’t afford a dangerous, rogue Blighted ruining its budding reputation. They would take note of any little mention of his attitude. They did this so they could nip a possible disciplinary nuisance in the bud before it became an actual problem. It’s why most other Blighted chose to be so docile and polite, and not only around outsiders.

He hated that. He opted long ago to never act like that. In his eyes, it made them even more unapproachable, and even less human. And in the end, only served to draw the attention they all wanted to avoid. No one ever tried to be that obedient, that disarming, without trying to hide something they were afraid or ashamed of. Luric was neither afraid of anyone, nor ashamed of what he was. The duchess had taught him that. True, he knew his Lady Archvel had a soft spot for him, and that gave him more courage with his affront. But regardless, he would not play the role of the docile dog!

He just hoped Nelle wouldn’t see through this bluff as well. If he projected his bravado with enough confidence, it might dissuade her from being overly detailed about his behavior. Make her feel like she was being unprofessionally emotional by adding trivialities in her report. Subject was a pompous ass during the entire mission. The thought made him snigger. The snigger seemed to annoy Nelle, but she continued to say nothing.

She was slowing down now, her steps softening, and Luric no longer felt like she was breathing down his neck. In the quietness he noticed a strange rhythm to her footfalls. It sounded like she was limping, and he suddenly remembered their exhausting trek from yesterday. Nelle had probably never walked so long in her entire life, and her boots were very obviously inadequate. They must have chafed her feet raw. She was too prideful to say anything about it - tried to hide it instead, keeping up with his brisk pace both earlier as well as now.

He slowed down, thought it over, made a decision, then changed direction. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to show her some good-will. He did want that report to put him in a favorable light after all.

“Mind if we make a quick stop somewhere?”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Instead of heading back to the market, he led her down the main street. It was filled with small, broken-down shops on both sides; some old, others recently established, but just as rickety. He was testing his memory, wondering if he would be able to locate what he was looking for on his own. He used to go there quite often as a child. And it seemed the more he walked around town, the more colorful and tangible his memories became. He remembered the alley they had just now passed, an old short-cut he used to take to get to the market faster. He remembered Lurger’sstore, always empty aside from a few jars of pickled vegetables and cans with puree that no one ever bought and that been sitting on those shelves since time immemorial. There was Mrs. Dioleen’s bakery, built right across from Mrs. Tamra’s bakery, the sight of an ancient feud aboutwhich one of them could make the best sweet cheese pies in Runrick (it was neither of them, but no one ever dared to tell them that.) They walked past a pottery shop (were the Salbins still alive?), a closed cutlery shop (Lidenkrin and his idea to sell cutlery in a place where most still ate with their hands), a wood shop (that was old Umkrik throwing him the evil eye), two more abandoned shops, and there it was. The apothecary. Sort of. The only thing you could find there where the herb potions Mr. Erd made himself. Modern medicine rarely found its way to Runrick, and it wasn’t just because there were no suppliers for such a remote area. People were just mistrustful and preferred their good ol’ goat spit balm and radish syrup over strange pills and liquids in phials. Mr. Carshtin had often tried to convince his fellow town’s people of the benefits of antibiotics and vaccines, but to no avail. Even saving Gulver and his family didn’t manage to sway them in the right direction. But there were plenty of locally made concoctions that did their job well enough.

“Is this a pharmacy?” he heard Nelle ask.

“Not quite, but close.”

“What are we doing here?”

“We’re here for marigold ointment.”

“I-Is that something that you need?”

“No, it’s something you need.”

Nelle looked back at him in affronted puzzlement, so he pointed at her feet. “It’s the best treatment you’ll find around here for scrapes and lacerations. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with infection in this place. Also, I can’t have you constantly waddling behind me when we need to move fast.” He tried not to smirk as her confusion changed to surprise. She blinked and opened her mouth, but taken aback so suddenly by what he hoped she interpreted as an unexpected gesture of kindness, she couldn’t string together any words. He would like a thank you at some point, but would settle for her embarrassed stupor for now.

He entered the shop expecting to find Erd’s rat nest hair peaking from behind large cracked jars thrown haphazardly on the counter. The shop had always resembled a severely disorganized storage room rather than an actual store, and Erd had never made any attempt of changing that. He would always get annoyed when anyone suggested it might help to keep his products in a more presentable fashion, or maybe even clean a bit before he started picking mushrooms of his own walls. But apparently, someone had eventually gotten to him after Luric left, because the room he stepped in now was not the messy, dusty shop of his childhood, but the organized and cataloged arrangement of a respectable establishment. Proper shelves adorned painted walls, clean jars were labeled and meticulously aligned, lids tightly closed. No boxes or sacks laying around half or fully opened, no thick layer of dust and dry earth matting everything. Even the familiar smell that had been deemed unidentifiable due to so many aromas mixing together was gone. Luric looked around and admitted that he was a little disappointed. He had liked this shop and its wild, jungle-like appearance. And Erd was nowhere to be found. There was movement behind the counter, with someone’s back bopping up and down and the sound of glass jars being arranged in a lower drawer. Luric grinned and dared.

“Who forced a broom in your hand, old man? Don’t tell me you finally found yourself a wife?”

He startled him into bumping his head on the top board, and a disheveled face - not Erd’s face - rose up from behind the jars. It continued rising well past the point of where you’d generally expect a face to stop and Luric wondered if it was going to hit the ceiling. The man was that tall. Maybe as tall as Mr. Visloc.

“Uhm,” started the new shopkeeper.

“I’m.... looking for Mr. Erd.”

“Oh,” the man had a soft, meek voice. “I’m afraid he passed away a couple of years ago. I'm sorry.”

Luric had been so caught up in his desire to see one of the few friendly faces of his childhood that he hadn’t even entertained the possibility that he might no longer be around. The one person that had opposed Luric’s execution, the one grown-up left in Runrick that Luric still liked, dead. Figures.

“I see…Then maybe you, Sir, can help us. Do you happen to have marigold ointment? Preferably made from Erd’s recipes. If not, something for shallow wounds and blisters. And dressing.” Luric looked around the room, disappointed and almost offended by the presence of this new man standing in Erd’s place. The cleanliness of the shop pissed him off even more now.

A few seconds, and the man didn’t move, nor say something in return. He was just silently staring at Luric. Luric felt his hackles rise. He didn’t have the patience to deal with another boor and his prejudice. If he thought he could throw them out of his shop - Erd’s shop - because he believed Luric was contaminating it with his presence alone or something, then he could -

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Luric blinked. Well, that was unexpected. He looked up at the tall man; really looked this time. He wasn’t just tall, but also really thin. And he was probably taller than he appeared, because the man was slightly hunched, almost like he was apologizing for his height. The face was familiar, however. Not the long, limp hair, not the small round glasses, and not the light fuzz around his mouth, but the gentle, timid smile and the large, hazel eyes. Wait. “Si-Sivale?”

The smile widened. “Yes.”

And before he could catch himself, Luric smiled back. He couldn’t help it, there was a surge of relief flowing through him. His old friend was alive. Back when he had been too busy with fearing for his own life, he hadn’t spared much thought to what would happen to the other orphans in Mr. Carshtin’s care. They hadn’t been there anymore when he snuck in to stay with his caretaker as he was dying, and he had been forced to run for his life again before he could go looking for them. It had only occurred to him that a similar grim fate might be in store for the other children that had lived with him only after he was safe with the duchess. He had then asked her to send a letter requesting that the other orphans be spared and left alone. He had always wondered if that letter had made it back in time, but he also never had the courage to verify if it did. But it had, apparently. He was glad.

“So,” Luric stared a little sheepishly, “guess you’ve landed your dream job, after all.”

This time it was Sivale’s turn to be surprised, but then seemed pleased. “You remember.”

Yes, Luric remembered. Sivale had been a studious and curious boy, even more so than Luric. Luric had looked for solace in his books, but Sivale had been legitimately curious and thirsty for knowledge. He had often walked with Sivale through the woods holding one biology book or another, trying to identify different species of plants and insects. The other kids had games of tag and hide-and-seek, Sivale and him had that. Suddenly the state of the shop made sense, and though he still missed the old one, Sivale’s version was just as welcoming now. Especially since it seemed that the kind, gentle boy had grown into a kind, gentle man; there was no fear or animosity coming from Sivale’s expression or posture, just a little uncertainty. It had been years, after all. Friends would’ve kept in touch.

The lukewarm moment was broken when Sivale sent a quizzical look at Nelle, who had been standing behind Luric. Ah, right.

“Yes, this is – uhm -” Damn, what should he say?

“I’m his assistant. Nelle Penfir. A pleasure to meet you. I am sorry, but could you please hurry? We are in the middle of important business and can’t afford to waste any more time. Lives are at stake, I’m sure you understand.”

Just like he used to do as a child, Sivale immediately cowered before any show of assertiveness, and complied. “Y-Yes, ma’am. One moment, please. I need to go look for it,” and hurried to the back room.

This time, it was Luric’s turn to be peeved. “What the hell? Who’s being rude now!?”

“Being rude wasn’t my intention. I am glad to see there is at least one person from your home town you don’t seem to despise, but we cannot lose the little daylight we have left to idle chit-chat.”

“I don’t depend on daylight.”

“I do, and you know that.”

“You know, you could show a little appreciation. I was trying to help you.”

“I do appreciate it, but I would rather not have someone else get hurt while I'm occupied with tending to my sore feet.”

“Is that what you need the ointment for?” Luric and Nelle turned to see Sivale standing squeamishly in the doorway, holding a small jar with the marigold and a roll of bandages. “Y-You should also sterilize the area before you apply the ointment. I-I have medicinal alcohol too. Or - I could treat the wounds myself. You really shouldn’t walk around with open sores on your feet. There’s animals manure everywhere on the streets.”

Nelle looked a little pained and she squirmed for a few seconds before she sighed and gave in. “Fine, but please hurry up.”

It took some effort to convince her to take off her boots and socks right there in the store, the room in the back apparently too packed to use, but once Luric promised to turn around and not peek at her bare feet as she allowed Sivale to treat her.

For a few seconds, the room was quiet as Sivale dipped a cloth in sterilized water and gently wiped Nelle’s feet clean. But the stillness was loaded, and Luric knew it was because of everything that went unspoken between him and Sivale. Just as he was contemplating how to smoothly break the silence, Sivale beat him to it.

“Do you want to go see him?”

“Who?”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t word it right. I meant, do you want to go visit Mr. Carshtin’s grave?”

“...I thought they burned his body.”

“They did. But I went back to our school afterward, t-took some of his old clothes and his favorite book and buried them underneath the beech tree in the yard. No one but me, Chipi, and Didrin know of it.”

They were quiet again, and Luric could feel Nelle’s eyes on him. He ignored her, focused strictly on Sivale’s voice. He dreaded asking this question, but he had to know.

“What happened? After I left. To you and the others.”

He was grateful now that Nelle had told him to turn around. It was easier to talk to Sivale when he wasn’t looking at him.

“They - they rounded us up and kept us locked in a shed. They thought we might be… different too. Tried to get us to change, like you did with Izver.”

Izver had been assaulting him at the time. His body had reacted to aggression. Had they beaten them too? Even Chipi? She couldn’t have been older than eight back then.

“Priest Santr kept asking if we had known about you,” Sivale continued, “if Mr. Carshtin had told us to keep it a secret, if we knew where you were hiding, stuff like that. But they weren’t that concerned with us. It was you they feared most. And when they captured you, they practically forgot about us. But then you left with the duchess. Chief Slatrim was furious. Said we had no place in Runrick. There was surely something wrong with us too. Even wanted to take us somewhere far into the woods and leave us there. But then the letter from the duchess cameand they let us go. But the duchess couldn’t have known about us. It was you that told her, wasn’t it? It saved our lives. I’ve always wanted to thank you for that.”

Luric didn’t reply. Wouldn’t even know how to. No words that came to mind seemed fitting for the genuine gratitude in Sivale’s voice. Especially since he didn’t think he deserved any of it. What had he done in the end? Ask someone to write a letter, then went off to live the high life and never look back.

Mr. Carshtin had always told them to look out for each other. Even though he never allowed any of the orphans to view him as anything other than a guardian, a caretaker, and a teacher, even though he always refused the role of a father, which had always irked and hurt Luric quite a bit, he still insisted that the children never forget or abandon one another.

“Yes, I want to go see him.”

“Luric, we can’t -”

“Yes, we can!” he interrupted Nelle. “We can spare a few more moments for me to go visit the grave of the man that took me in and practically died because of me.” He hadn’t meant to sound so severe, or be so honest with her, but at least the raw emotion behind this small outburst had stopped Nelle’s objection in her throat, and she said nothing else as they made their way to the school. His former home.

The old building was in shambles. It had never been a completely sound structure; an abandoned barn refitted as a one-room school. There was another smaller house annexed to the barn, newly built, with a small corridor connecting the two buildings. That was where Mr. Carshtin and the orphans used to live. And everything, the reconstruction of the barn, the new house, the school desks, the black board, the books, had been paid with Mr. Carshtin’s own money. It was more than most could've afforded to pay alone. He often wondered who he had been before he came to Runrick, and why he had cared so much about the children of this godforsaken place.

Luric stared at the small and meager make-shift head stone. Mr. Carshtin had been a humble, practical man, and he had never cared much for adornments or customs, but Luric still felt his throat constrict with fury and anguish. Beaten, abandoned, and now a random rock with his initials carved into it to mark his grave, hidden away from the rest of the world, like something to be ashamed of. He hadn’t deserved this.

“I know it’s not much,” Sivale whispered solemnly, “but I was afraid they’d destroy even this if anyone found out about it. They still say he knew what you are, or even that he made you. That he was a conjurer, or something.”

“He was a good man, that’s all he was.”

“…I know.”

He swiftly turned away from the grave and Sivale before he’d lose any more of his composure, but in doing so he came to face-to-face with Nelle. She had been standing a little further away from them, obviously mindful not to disrupt the intimate moment. He wondered if he had managed to put on his mask of indifference fast enough before their eyes met or if she caught another glimpse of him that he had not wanted her to see. Either way, her face showed nothing. Neither disdain, nor sympathy.

And then a slight breeze blew across the hilltop they were on, and it carried with it a scent, a specific type of odor, that brought Luric up short. He knew what this was and where it was coming from. He felt another wave of anger come over him, and this one burned.

Behind him, he heard Sivale approach. “You should head back to your shop,” he told him, “better not have too many people see you walk around with me.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m sort of the only doctor left in town now, so there’s not much they would do to me. But I do need to get back. A lot of folks stocking up on medicine these days.” And then a little reluctantly, “Do you think you’ll have time to talk? Later, I mean. When you’re not working.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

He waited for Sivale to be out of earshot, and then spoke to Nelle. She was not going to like this.

“We need to make another stop.”

“Another personal matter, I assume?” she asked dispassionately.

“Oh, yes. Very much so.”