Tadrin paced the room, faster and faster, and every time he reached one of its walls Eida felt he grew more frustrated with how small the space was. He was completely silent, his hands laced behind his back at first, then swinging off to his sides and forming into impotent fists, over and over again. He’d started the moment they shut the door behind them, not even bothering to grab food or drink when they got back to the inn.The small window behind him showed the sun climbing up towards noon-time, but he showed no signs of slowing, no signs of looking towards where she sat over a washbasin trying to get the grime out of her clothing.

And the blood. Her blood, the creature’s blood. There wasn’t much of the former, gratefully. The glass had been easy to pluck out of her leg, the cuts easy to bandage. Nothing deep. Nothing that would leave a scar.

It felt half a miracle to her, every time she thought about those jaws coming to bear, cavernous and hungry.

“This changes everything.” He broke his silence at last. Eida looked up from the muddy water, waiting. He didn’t look back at her - he was staring forward, staring at nothing, just the blank air in front of his face. “You know that. I know that. If we can’t be prepared for these things…”

“I know,” she said. Her voice came out softer than she’d intended. The knowing sat like lead in her gut, churning and roiling. She couldn’t digest it, not fully. She still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“There aren’t many like us left around,” Tadrin said. “I’m starting to understand why. These jobs are going to start moving from dangerous to suicidal. I’m willing to take the risks of my trade, you know that, Eida, but I’m just a sellsword. I could make my living fighting off bandits and guarding caravans. Wouldn’t make as much, but it would be steady. It would be enough.”

The air between them grew tense. Eida lifted her hands out of the water, watching it drip off the tips of her fingers. She suddenly found it hard to look up at him.

“If that’s what you want, I’d understand. You know I would.”

He looked at her. She could feel him staring at her even if she could only see the murky outline of him in the corner of her vision. She’d known him long enough to be able to imagine that look: his lips would be pursed, his brows furrowed. He’d look like he’d bitten off something unpleasant, but didn’t have anywhere convenient to spit it out.

“You’d keep on with it, wouldn’t you.”

She sighed. Standing, she adjusted herself, stretching her stiff legs. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been crouched there. The washing was soothing, in its own way. She always found it better to do something with her hands when she let her thoughts run. They flowed smoother that way, kept themselves from meandering too far and missing their mark. Eida did look towards him then, looked up at him. He was a good head and shoulders taller, not uncommon for one of her height, but even with all the bulk of him and the hints of scars running up and down his arms, she could see the softness of worry in his eyes.

“Someone has to, Tadrin. You said it yourself. There aren’t many like us left. There aren’t many sellswords willing to take up this work - and there’s a reason for that. As for folk like me…” She shrugged. “There are some universities left. Some. They’re limping on. You know that most folk don’t put stock in learning anymore, and you know why.”

He scowled at her. “Because they’re fools.”

“Tadrin-”

“No,” he cut in. “When you get an infection in your hand you can’t fix, you cut off the hand, not the whole blasted arm. What’s going to happen when nobody knows anymore? What’s going to happen when all they have is their little legend? We’re always going to need people like you, Eida. If there aren’t any left, we’ll be fucked. They’re all blind if they don’t see it.”

She drew in a breath and held it. He wasn’t wrong. Wasn’t off the mark. The fear of what made the beasts in the first place was an infection in and of itself, and it hadn’t stuck to the original wound. It bled out so badly that some actively spat on the idea of an education at all. In anything. What Eida did treaded the line far too closely for most. She distilled things, purified them. She extracted components of metals and plants and made useful compounds from it. She took what was already there and brought it to the surface. It wasn’t alchemy, not really, but that was what those who knew no better saw.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

An affront to the mother. She’d heard the line many times, either to her face or whispered behind her back. She supposed that at one time those like her were common. If there had ever been a true genesis of the blight, it would have made sense for her profession to grow up out of it in response. She couldn’t say she knew the origins, precisely. Like the appearance of the blighted places, there were likely multiple iterations, all different, all changing depending on where one learned it from, where they learned their trade.

It was said that great, powerful men once began to resent the Mother’s ability to transform the world around them. They coveted the way she changed the seasons, the way she made the sun rise in the morning and the moon at night. Every living thing was connected to her, born out of her, and even the ground they walked on itself bore the essence of her power. Those men began to tamper with parts of it: green and growing things, at first, to find that source, that essence. They grew greedy, lustful for more, and soon enough they realized that the strongest, most potent forces existed in that which thought and breathed and moved, that which held a beating heart.

They carved and twisted animals at first. It did not take them long to set in on carving and twisting man.

Horrific, she thought. She thought it louder, to drown the quiet voice in the back of her mind that whispered: Fascinating.

“Do you want out?”

Tadrin had drifted from her as she stood there, saying nothing. They understood each other enough to have those comfortable lapses of silence, to let each other think. He reached up and ran his fingers through his beard, then over the plane of his bald head, jaw working, teeth gritting.

“I don’t,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t just leave you like that.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Tadrin. This is a job. I’m your employer.”

He laughed. The sound was almost bitter. “You know full well you’re more than that to me, Eida. We’ve been traveling together for years. You’re one of the few people who puts up with my shit. You’re as close as I’ve ever had to a friend.”

The confession, said aloud like that, startled her. Tadrin wasn’t one for displays of that nature, for saying something that raw so openly. She stared at him, unsure what to say.

He shrugged. “Truth is, I hate the idea of you going out there alone. You’re fast, Eida. You’re smart, but you’re not much of a fighter. We make a good team precisely because of that. You do what I can’t. I do the same for you.”

“You know I can’t stop,” she replied. “You know I can’t do that. You said it yourself - our numbers are dwindling. The last time we saw another enquirer was a month ago, and he’d given up hunting beasts in exchange for solving murders. The kind that happen between men. Just men.”

“I know that,” he said quietly. For just a moment, he sagged, like something heavy was planted on his shoulders. His brows knitted together, before with one shudder he seemed to shrug off whatever thought pressed him down in the first place. “So what do we do about it? Where do we go from here? We need a better plan than just flying in the face of surprise. It’ll kill us eventually, and we’re no good to anyone dead.”

She thought. She fell silent, and he gave her that space to think. Her eyes tracked over towards the table in the corner of that room. Worn, rickety, but it was enough to pile her books and scrolls upon. Some of the latter were new, but the former were old. So very old. So much so that she doubted even the university was certain when they’d been penned and transcribed and copied. She couldn’t remember the last time new volumes were written. Partly because they hadn’t found it necessary. Partly because they didn’t have the resources for it.

“There’s a university in Blackstone,” she replied. “Four days’ ride from here. If we’ve made note of the changes, others will have as well. I say we go there and try to find out if anyone’s learned more. We may be able to construct a general map if we meet with other enquirers. Maybe we can get a sense of where it’s happening most. Figure out if it’s stemming from one of the blighted places in particular. Coniston’s close enough to a pocket of blight to be uncomfortable.”

Tadrin grunted. “If they were smart, they’d leave.”

“They won’t. People don’t leave. Rare enough they move towns, let alone abandon Blightwatch itself. We could warn them all we want, and they’d stay.”

“Stubborn,” he muttered, but she could hear a thread of admiration in his voice even if he’d intended to criticize. “What do we do, even if that’s the case? We can’t enter those places. You know we can’t. You’ve read about it. Even if you survive…”

He trailed off, but she finished the sentence in her head. Even if you survive, you come back changed.

“We’ll handle that when we get there,” Eida said. “We have to take this one step at a time. One foot forward, then the other. We’ll deal with this. We’ll figure it out.”

He stared at her, his brows knitting together again, doubtful. But he didn’t argue. He just nodded once, squaring those broad shoulders again.

“Right, then. I’ll get the horses ready.”