Alya’s grave is humble. A simple stone sigil implanted in the ground by the house. Erot stands by, watching as Sorina and I observe the stone in silence.

  “The kids were all in tatters. Ferot and Hansel took it the worst,” he mutters.

  The oldest. The ones who would remember their mother the most.

  I touch her stone thoughtfully and remember all the food I shared at their table. Her meals. Her kindness. Her warmth. The way she talked about her lost husband, how she likened me to him. How she would never raise a hand against any of her rowdy children, but rather, Alya talked to them gently. Kindly. Like my own mother.

  “I’m so sorry Erot,” Sorina says, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  The old man shakes his head. “I thought I would lose Dandy next. But then, Lucian was able to cut off her foot—the place with the most nasty growths.”

  “That worked?”

  “Somewhat. Young Lucy boy had been working on a cure. Alya was his first subject. He failed, but he learned ‘nough to help Dandy. Nothing perfect—a ‘leper’s cure,’ he called it. He had to saw off the growths in people and give ‘em some nasty concoction—which also just ended up killing ‘em half the time.” Erot sighs. “At least it worked on my granddaughter.”

  “Did it work on those affected with the worms, or just those that were touched by the infected?” I ask.

  “There’s a difference?” Erot grunts.

  “The people that mutate—those are the ones with the worms.”

  “Then… I don’t know. Don’t think so—otherwise the damn village would still be around.”

  “I see,” I mutter. I feel bad for the doctor. No doubt, in our absence, he must’ve been running around the entire village to help.

  “I had half a mind to leave with the children, but, before I could, Takemeadow fell.”

  “How, Erot?” Sorina asks hesitantly. She knows she’s pressing, no doubt. But I agree with the sentiment.

  He takes an aged, weary sigh. One that rattles in the wind like the bony fingers of death. “I—didn’t see it. But ‘cording to one of them cowards protecting my fence, there was a flash outbreak. Multiple people at once caught the damned thing. And, one babe in particular lead the plagued to drive out most of ‘em villagers.”

  “Babe?” Sorina asks.

  “Yah. A baby who was plagued. I swear, some of the men still rave about it like it was some nightmarish spirit.”

  Erot looks between the two of us now, his silence stretched by the narrowing of his eyes and the scrutiny he beholds us with. I forget how clever this man is, despite how he talks.

  “What happened to you two?”

  We look between each other and sigh.

  “It’s a long story,” I answer simply.

  He nods—a gesture that indicates he’d like to hear said story later, but out of respect for our misery, won’t ask it now.

  “Where is Lucian, Erot?” Sorina asks.

  “Why do ye ask?”

  I look around for a moment before taking the cures out of my pouch. Erot stares at the two vials with a perplexed expression at first. Then, understanding dawns on his face.

  “I have so many people that need it. They’re all holed up in the shed—”

  “Erot. This is all I have,” I tell him.

  His face drops.

  “If Lucian was working on a plague cure, no matter how imperfect his version was, maybe he’ll understand this one. This came… directly from the source.”

  “You met that witch?” The anger in that last word is so stark. An ancient sort of rage.

  “Yes.”

  “Did ya kill her?”

  My mouth makes a thin line. His fists shake and the darkness behind his eyes seems to grow. But the old man inhales a deep breath and soon enough, the shaking subsides.

  “Lucian is still in the village. Last anyone saw of him, they were holed up in some basement.”

  Shit. “How many days ago did Takemeadow fall?” I ask.

  “Five. Was already getting an influx of refugees from Havenmarch before nearly half the village decided to move here,” Erot mutters bitterly. “Went ahead and made me mayor for nae reason as well. Brainless hooligans.” He turns to Sorina. “For once, I’m glad yer back. You can deal with this mess.”

  She affords him a cursory smile.

  “Erot,” I ask, drawing his attention back to me again. “Do you think they could’ve survived?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. We was planning on talking ‘bout a potential attack tonight to drive the plagued out and maybe find some survivors but…” he gestures to the distant smoke. “From the look of things, they want to stay and defend the farmland. I think we’re better off leaving, but they seem to have grown more attached to my land than me.”

  “How many people were left behind?”

  Erot shakes his head sadly. Sorina answers in his stead. “A lot by the look of it, Raiten. A whole lot.”

  Silence reigns for a long while as the sounds of conversation carry over from the other side of the house. It seems as though some campfire talks are occurring. People are eating. Trying their best to live a normal life in horrifying circumstances.

  One step at a time.

  You need to go to Takemeadow. Find Lucian. If he’s not alive, find another doctor. Do whatever it takes—replicate this damn cure.

  Then, you can tell Erot of your sins and have him relay his punishment.

  I feel like I’m cheating by putting it off. But this takes priority.

  However, before I can tell Erot of my plan for the village, the old man claps his hands together and nudges his head.

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  “You two hungry? You look like you haven’t had a real meal in days.”

  At the mention of food, my stomach rumbles.

  I sigh. One step at a time.

  No matter how small the step is, I guess.

  …

  “You’re pretty,” Dandy says in awe as she looks at Sorina. “Raiten, isn’t she pretty?”

  I’m too busy gazing at the fat, juicy slices of braised beef being cut over a flame. Erot’s farm thankfully has plenty of livestock and vegetables to eat. But there are 50 people to feed, so although the vegetables go out in droves, the meat is portioned properly. A plump cook lady—wearing a white hair apron—doles out the meat with a careful eye to fairness. When a young boy tries swiping away more of the food, she swats his hand with a wooden spoon.

  “You can get seconds later! First, let the others eat!”

  “She’s pretty alright,” I mutter, mouth drooling over the sight of the beef.

  An elbow jabs into my flank—twisting up a sharp pain through my body. I turn to protest, but find Sorina walking past me with an indifferent gait.

  Dandy giggles atop the large lizard. Daughter of the deceased shepherd lizard, Lizzy, this beast now carries Erot’s granddaughter everywhere. The two have grown inseparable.

  “What’s that one’s name?” I ask Dandy.

  “Lizzy Two!”

  “That’s uh… very creative.”

  “I know!”

  I simply smile and ruffle Dandy’s hair, before grabbing a plate and waiting in line. Some of the men and women afford me with wary glances. They knew of me vaguely during my time here at the village. But now? Seeing me come back with their former mayor, with her so injured and me so haggard—well, it creates an impression. Not one that I’m taking a liking to.

  I try not to think of them, but my mind only conceives of worse. Will I dream tonight? Will Thraevirula resume her nightmares, or am I out of her range? Shouldn’t I be going out there right now to save Lucian? What does any of this paltry shit matter—I’ve fought with worse conditions before, I can fight the plagued and—

  And then what?

  What is your next course of action? I shake my head. Whether Lucian is alive or dead, whether the cure is replicated or not, none of it matters. Not with Sorayvlad still at large, not with the witch still moving West, and not with Masaru still preying the lands like a greedy conqueror.

  His very name brings anger. Rapist. Murderer.

  But anger does not often make for good planning.

  And right now, I’m out of ideas.

  “Just put one foot in front of the other,” I mutter, clinging onto that adage like a guiding light.

  When the lady gets around to serving me, she drops a fat heaping of beef and vegetables onto my plate. Far more than everyone else.

  There’s some muttering and whining from the children. Some dark looks from the men, who already regarded me with suspicion.

  “Take some back,” I hiss to her.

  “Can’t. Mayor told me.”

  “Sorina didn’t tell you—”

  “Old Erot did. And I’m thinking he’s right, ya know? You look like you could use some food.”

  Ah. I forgot this aspect of life: Politicking. Gossiping. The small woes of village-life.

  I almost prefer the simplicity of the briars. Eat, shit, fight, kill, repeat. No judgement save for the mutual dislike of each other’s company—all except Kiren.

  I shake my head and hurry off after Sorina. The plate is shaking in her three-fingered grip, forcing her to stumble along at a slow pace. Some of the people give her pitying looks, but none move to help. I grab the plate from her hand—ignore the glare of protest she gives me—and head to a lonesome log at the corner of the encampment.

  Small tents have been drawn at the fringes of the house. Fires in the front, where most of the men and women eat. The children are the ones who eat inside—saved from the chill of the night. Their raucous noise is a comforting one.

  When Dandy follows us, yelling “HIYAAH” and slapping the scaled flanks of Lizzy The Second with a fervent passion that even a horse-rider might envy, I find myself gesturing to the house.

  “Don’t you want to eat with the others?”

  “No,” she huffs, as if such a suggestion is preposterous. I shrug and place Sorina’s plate back down. She snatches it up and stares bleakly at me.

  “You don’t need to do that. I need to get used to it, you know? And that won’t happen if you baby me throughout the—”

  “Sorry. I know. I just…” I sigh. “Can’t help it, Sorina. I’m sorry.”

  Her expression softens and she shakes her head. “It’s fine Raiten. I’m just hungry.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” I grumble, before digging into the food unceremoniously.

  Erot is going around and checking in on the others. The villagers seem to have formed little cliques: the ones who guard the barricade, the younger washwomen who attend the long stretch of clothes-lines, the dirt-scuffed men and women who probably helped Erot with some of the harvest, and the cooks. Old occupations and trades hold no more purpose. This is their new order. Their new life.

  All thanks to one person.

  ‘Did ya kill her?’ Erot had asked. That question rings through my head.

  Dandy hums a song now—some old tune that her mother used to carry while cleaning the dishes. I look for any signs of grief in the girl, but if there are any, she does well to mask them. Even the missing foot is something she seems to have adapted to cheerfully.

  She observes Sorina’s injuries and smiles, waving her stump of a foot. “We’re twins!”

  “Dandy,” I lament, but Sorina just laughs.

  “Yes. We’re twins indeed, little one.”

  “Do you feel it? Sometimes I feel my foot. I think it's out there, crawling around in the mud.”

  Sorina purses her lips. “I feel my hand a lot. The fingers less often.”

  “Wowwww,” Dandy says, not in mockery or any sort of sarcasm, but genuine awe. “They cut mine off! One swipe and bang. I didn’t cry though. Granda cried, but I didn’t.”

  “You’re a very brave girl,” Sorina says, affording Dandy a tight smile. Then, she sighs and actually turns to the girl, placing the food down. “You want to know how I lost mine?”

  I almost spit out my food at that query—I never expected Sorina to be so open about it. But when she tells the story to Dandy, she makes it an adventure. She speaks of a fat duke, a plot with a queen, and a terrible eldritch beast, weaving together a story like one of those old books I used to read at the tower. She’s entertaining Dandy, I realize as I ease back into my seat, licking fat off my fingers now.

  I can’t tell if it’s helping Sorina, but she certainly seems to be enjoying making fun of Baroth and dramatizing the tale.

  “So Raiten saved you?”

  “Yes he saved me, like a charming prince on his white stallion.”

  At that, I actually choke on a piece of meat. I didn’t save her at all. I left her alone—abandoned her. If anything, she saved me from going insane from Thraevirula’s torments. And yet, Sorina is grinning at my reaction as Dandy stammers out more questions. It's a genuine smile. She’s not trying to insult me with this, but rather, her intention is something else. Something kinder.

  That lightens my heart a little.

  “Oooh! Ooh! What happened next?”

  Sorina hesitates, realizing that she’s reached the end of her tale. The present moment.

  And all of its questions linger forth—like rope stretching against our necks.

  Waiting for the lever to be pulled.

  That proverbial lever is yanked when Erot claps his hands together, drawing the villager’s attention to him.

  “This is a good time to talk about some eh, important matters yah?” he starts, clearing his throat. “I believe tomorrow morning, at the crack of light, we should leave—”

  Before he can utter another word, the whole village erupts into argument.

  And I sigh as the calm, almost pleasant dinner devolves into another stark reminder of the witch’s cruel reality.