《These Bloodied Bones》 1. The man in the mud Eida couldn¡¯t say how long the corpse had been there. Water always made things difficult. Water ate at the skin and bloated everything. There was a time when the mere sight of that bloat was enough to make her stomach lurch, but the years dulled the effect down to a mild twinge. Now she only saw the colors, the paleness of his face and the stiff rigor in his fingers where his hand thrust up from the mud. She didn¡¯t know this man, and not knowing him made it that much easier. Then again, his features were twisted enough that she might not have recognized him even if she had known him. ¡°How long has he been missing?¡± She asked. The alderwoman behind her squinted at her question. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was because of her tone, or because it took scrunching up those half-blind eyes to remember the answer. She was old, those eyes said as much. They¡¯d seen enough death that Eida doubted she even felt the twinge anymore. ¡°Three days or so,¡± the woman replied. She shrugged bony shoulders beneath a thick shawl, a sturdy weave made for inclement weather. ¡°Took a while to notice him missing. Liked his liquor, he did. Reckoned he¡¯d had too much of it one night and wandered into the cold.¡± She turned to stare down at the body. She didn¡¯t say it, but Eida knew what she was thinking. Only his face and that desperate, grasping arm stuck out from the mud. Gentle eddies of water rippled around him, the creek he¡¯d been sucked into merrily forking, unimpeded. Eida¡¯s boot prints were visible in the mire, mere inches from where he was planted. The ground had sucked at her feet, but it hadn¡¯t pulled her down to more than her ankles. Something had pulled him in. Forcibly. ¡°You¡¯re gonna pull him up, then,¡± the alderwoman remarked. Her lips twisted, either in disapproval or distaste. ¡°Just to see how much of him there is.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to. You¡¯re welcome to bury the rest after I¡¯m finished.¡± She lingered, shifting on her feet, moving her hands along the staff she clutched to keep her balance. ¡°It is unlikely to be a pleasant sight,¡± Eida said gently. There was a snort from her. Derisive, but with an edge of something maternal. Those rheumy eyes fixed on Eida again. ¡°Not a wrinkle on you, yet. When you have my years, dear, you get used to unpleasant things.¡± She looked back towards the man¡¯s tortured, upturned face. ¡°Didn¡¯t have any family. Someone should be here for him, some face he knew at least. Someone his spirit¡¯ll recognize.¡± She stood there, planted as stubborn as an oak, and Eida decided it was worthless to argue. So she moved in again. Closer. Clutched in her hand was a satchel, stained with the marks of her trade, the herbs and potions and poultices that aided in her craft. Her other hand gripped a stick, a long, thick and sturdy article which she immediately thrust into the mud at the shore. She thrust it deep, so she could hang on. Just in case. Just in case whatever pulled the man down yet lurked below. There was an eternal grimace locked on his expression. His eyes were wide, his tongue lolled out of his mouth. It was swollen. Grotesque. She didn¡¯t spare any time looking at it before reaching out and clutching at the collar of his tunic. It would take time, she imagined, to get him up. She was built sturdy, but he was buried deep, up to his neck, and surely weighed more than - With a loud, sickening squelch, he came free of the creek bed. She was bewildered by the ease of it until she realized that the body ended at the waist, where someone or something had sawn off the rest. Entrails glistened faintly in the dim light of dusk, where they weren¡¯t subdued by the mercy of the mud. The scent of bowels and rot hit her with enough force that she had to fight to keep from gagging. Behind her, she heard the alderwoman immediately whisper a prayer to the Mother, clutching at the crescent around her neck and bringing it to her lips to kiss. Eida ignored her. She ignored the body too, or at least what it meant. She settled into that quiet, cold place she held within herself, silencing the reflex of panic. The instinct to run. The desire to look down the hole left behind by removing the body to see whether anything stared back at her. There would be time for horror later. She had work to do, now. One look told her that he hadn¡¯t been cut. No blade did this to him. The edges of that fatal wound were far too ragged and violent for that. This was something animal, something bestial and hungry. Eida removed a knife from her satchel, a small, sharp thing, and sliced a cut across his throat, right beneath the jaw, where she knew an artery should run. There was no blood. Not a trickle. Even with his lower half missing, leaking into the stream, into the earth, something should have remained behind. Should have stayed, pooled, at his throat. ¡°Ain¡¯t natural,¡± the alderwoman was whispering. ¡°Ain¡¯t right.¡± Eida still said nothing. She swam in that cold place, letting it envelope her fully. She turned the corpse over so that the man faced up at the dark, dreary sky overhead. Overcast. There would be rain soon, and she had to move quickly before whatever remained was further washed away. The chest was next. She carved into it, using the dagger she kept at her hip. She didn¡¯t dwell on the sounds it made, didn¡¯t think about how it looked to have her knelt there, looming over the dead man. She needed his heart, and she got to it, reaching in to cut it free. It all had to be done carefully, and in some distant part of her she was grateful for the gloves she wore; for the cold, distant leather that stretched up to her elbows beneath her sleeves. It was better when she didn¡¯t have to touch anything directly. Safer, too. The heart was shriveled. As bloodless as his throat. Moreso, as though it were a sponge that¡¯d been squeezed too long and too hard. Eida wrapped it carefully in lengths of cured sheep¡¯s skin and placed it into a box pulled from the satchel, turning the clasp and ensuring it was secure. When she packed it all away and stood again, she found the alderwoman staring at her, all that hint of motherly warmth vanished, those clouded eyes holding a glint of disdain. ¡°Ain¡¯t right,¡± she repeated, and this time Eida knew she meant the words for her. ¡°You called me,¡± she answered, calmly. ¡°Been through enough, he has.¡± ¡°Yes. And there will be many more like him if we don¡¯t learn what did it.¡± She fell silent, her lips twisting again, downturned at the corners. ¡°We can take him now, then? Take him back, find a place to bury his bones?¡± Eida shrugged the satchel across her shoulders. It felt so much heavier now than it had before. She knew that the heart didn¡¯t weigh much, but the burden of such things was always weighted. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Yes. Stay away from this place until I can figure out what we¡¯re dealing with. Do not let anyone come here, not for water, not for anything. It¡¯s likely tainted.¡± There was a sharp, tight nod. The ire hadn¡¯t left her eyes, but she complied. Out of necessity, Eida knew. Out of need, and nothing more. She turned, peering at what remained of the hole beneath the softly running water. It was closing already, forming over itself, caving in on itself, erasing whatever passage might have run beneath. Eida marched away from the alderwoman and the corpse, feeling both sets of eyes boring into her back as she left. ~~~ She let the heat soak into her to chase the chill out again. The hearth was large, roaring, a work of rough stone shoved together. There wasn¡¯t anything fanciful about it. All function, like the tavern around her, its sturdy walls made of rough-hewn wood that had only a bare suggestion of sanding. Functionality was the point, which was common in Blightwatch. Most of the buildings weren¡¯t that old, but whatever got newly erected was made to last. Made to weather. She tended to approve of it. It made sense in a place like this. ¡°They¡¯re looking at you.¡± The voice was gruff, low, male. She grunted noncommittally in response. ¡°Doubt it¡¯s because you¡¯re a looker.¡± Eida blinked, but didn¡¯t tear her gaze away from the book in front of her. It was thick, leather-bound and old enough to have cracked along the spine from the number of times it¡¯d been opened. She turned another page, remarking dryly, ¡°Maybe they have more taste than you do.¡± Tadrin laughed at that, a low, rumbling sound that rolled through him like some overly large cat. ¡°What do you know about my tastes?¡± ¡°I¡¯d be the wrong person to ask,¡± she replied, her tone still wry. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to one of the barmaids. I¡¯m sure one of them can answer.¡± Another laugh, and a fist against the table. Tadrin was large, broad-shouldered, and that extended to his hands. He had the kinds of fingers that could easily wrap around a man¡¯s throat without really trying. It was good for his profession. He looked every bit the sellsword, right down to his sun-tanned complexion and the dark, steely eyes peering out from his unkempt mop of a beard. It was black, though in recent years it¡¯d start peppering with hints of grey. ¡°They don¡¯t like your book,¡± he said, after a brief silence. The words were sober again. Eida sighed. Her gaze lifted up from the pages with reluctance. The room wasn¡¯t big, because the village wasn¡¯t big. Coniston was the sort of place you only passed through, and only when you had to. The people knew that, and it resulted in a kind of collective, mutually assured bitterness. They were the only ones who could really see their slice of heaven for what it was, after all, right down to the cracked cobblestones and the way the tavern¡¯s chimney leaned slightly to the left. Travelers were tolerated. Oddities were abhorred. And Eida was certainly an oddity. It had nothing to do with her appearance. She knew that much. She was perhaps a bit stout for a woman, maybe just a bit too much bulk in her that denoted an amount of wanderlust considered unhealthy in a woman, but that was where her physical strangeness ended. Her eyes were blue, but touched with enough dullness to stop them shy of pretty. Her hair was brown, straight, and generally unkempt, thrust up in a bun at the back of her head just to keep it out of her way. There were days she considered shaving it all off, like she¡¯d seen Tadrin doing to his own scalp most mornings with his hunting knife. She¡¯d certainly get plenty of odd looks then. It was little things that made her stand out. It was the stains on her fingertips, like she¡¯d dipped them over and over again in too much ink and couldn¡¯t scrub it off. It was the supplies she carried with her, the vellum hanging from the back of that satchel by thin leather straps, the empty vials that wouldn¡¯t fit in with the rest of her things and were at less risk of shattering if she simply left them dangling there. She carried around the tools for cutting and sampling and testing, and she smelled of the herbal, wild things one crushes in a mortar and pestle. These things in and of themselves were no indication of alchemy, but it bore the kiss of it to people in Coniston, people who¡¯d likely never held a book in their hands. Her watchers consisted of three men. Seated in a corner of the tavern¡¯s main hall, they¡¯d sequestered themselves away from the fire. Two of them were young, probably just barely coming up out of their teenage years with the gangling remnants still clinging to their limbs. The third was older, harder looking - their father, most likely, and his glare was the most brazen. It didn¡¯t shift or flinch away when Eida met it. They held, for a while, simply matching stares across the room. Eventually, he looked towards Tadrin, studied him in his ensemble of chainmail and cloth, eyed the broadsword at his side, and reluctantly looked away again. ¡°This is why you pay me,¡± Tadrin said. The smugness leaked into his voice. ¡°To sit there?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Sit and look pretty.¡± ¡°You¡¯re fired. I¡¯m hiring the barmaid.¡± He laughed, that great guffaw of his, and in spite of herself, Eida smiled. Most of her sellswords didn¡¯t last as long as Tadrin. The stares eventually got to them, even if they always gave some other excuse. Tadrin¡¯s broad shoulders were evidently made for shrugging things off. He¡¯d never indicated he cared at all, not in the three years they¡¯d known each other, not once. She was grateful for that. ¡°Should probably get back to the room, though,¡± he said, his voice softening slightly. She could feel him looking at her, even though she¡¯d turned her attention back down to the book again. ¡°Be easier to read for you there anyway, yeah? Gonna get loud here soon, with sundown.¡± ¡°I found it,¡± she replied, simply. Tadrin immediately leaned over her, loomed over her, casting her smaller frame in his shadow. His dark eyes couldn¡¯t read the words - she¡¯d offered to teach him, and he always insisted he had no need of it - but he could see the image there, etched in ink long ago, stark in contrast to aged and yellowed parchment. It was a worm. A massive worm, the width of a man standing and six meters long. Its head was a bulbous, eyeless mass intended to sense vibrations trembling down into the earth. It had a mouth, though, and the mouth had teeth: a void of teeth, sharp, impossibly sharp teeth, meant for exsanguination and churning through dirt. The lower half of its body was shown coiled around a shriveled organ. A heart. ¡°Shit,¡± Tadrin muttered under his breath. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Smoke, actually. And fire. Smoke to get it to slither out of the lair. Fire to burn it. The flesh is like paper, once you expose it enough. Dry off the mucus¡­¡± He pulled a face and squinted at her. ¡°Just tell me how to kill it. I don¡¯t need the why¡¯s, just the how¡¯s.¡± Eida chuckled. ¡°Squeamish? After all this time?¡± He just looked at her, puckering up his lips and splaying the whiskers of his beard in a way that said he was displeased. She rolled her eyes. ¡°It moves through damp, loose soil. The teeth aren¡¯t strong enough to bore otherwise. That means it¡¯ll be sticking to the creek-bed, most likely, or that there¡¯s some reservoir beneath it we can¡¯t see. That¡¯ll narrow down our search.¡± ¡°Search for what?¡± Eida lifted a brow at him. ¡°For where it comes up to hunt.¡± Tadrin groaned. ¡°This one¡¯s gonna be a bugger, isn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°The ones who go for blood always are.¡± He made another face, this one grim. ¡°True enough.¡± Blood. Flesh. Bone. The foundations of what contained the essence of a living thing. The components that held the power to change, to twist and alter. She didn¡¯t know how it worked, she didn¡¯t want to know, and even if she did, she¡¯d never risk studying it to learn more. Alchemy, true alchemy, was best left untouched. She would remain forever at the fringes, only taking what she needed to undo what had been done. Eida closed the book with a muted thump. The trio was looking at them again, especially the father, his position changed so that his gangling boys had to lean around him to peer at her. At Tadrin. She decided she¡¯d had quite enough of staring for one day. Of eyes. The dead man¡¯s eyes, the alderwoman¡¯s, whose name she couldn¡¯t remember. They made her skin itch. ¡°I¡¯ll see you upstairs, Tadrin,¡± she said quietly, before standing up and heading towards the room they¡¯d rented for the night. 2. The worm ¡°We¡¯ll need more of this when we¡¯re done here.¡± Tadrin didn¡¯t look up as he spoke, though he did lift a newly emptied vial, giving it an indicative wiggle. He was focused on his sword, a double-edged blade sat horizontally across his lap. He sat on a log, his back to a line of trees, his front a good yard away from the creek Eida had led him to. Now and then, she could see him glance up towards the mud and water. They were quick flashes, interspersed between rubbing a cloth over the weapon¡¯s length, but she caught them all the same. ¡°Likely. That¡¯s the last of that particular oil. I¡¯ll need more sear and hawksbane first, though.¡± He held the sword up, twisting and turning it in the light. The oil made it glisten, catching the sun even if the rays were having a hard time peeking through the grey clouds. Grey. It was always grey in Coniston. Sometimes Eida felt like that was the case throughout all of Blightwatch, the whole county just cursed to be eternally dour. Sodden. It wasn¡¯t true, of course - it was just spring. ¡°I wish I¡¯d known you back in the day,¡± he said. ¡°What day? There are a lot of them, Tadrin. You¡¯re old.¡± He squinted at her, feigning offense. ¡°Back when I served in that scuffle at the border. The one between us and Goldenwall.¡± Eida wrinkled her nose. ¡°Pretentious name. I can¡¯t say I know much about any scuffle, though.¡± He gave her a disbelieving look. ¡°You didn¡¯t know there was a border skirmish? Wasn¡¯t that long ago. I don¡¯t know. Fifteen...fifteen years, I think.¡± ¡°That¡¯s half my lifetime, Tadrin.¡± ¡°Sure, but even a kid would have heard about it.¡± He paused, before his face broke with a grin. ¡°Especially a kid like you probably were.¡± Eida stood from where she was crouching nearby. She¡¯d been scanning that riverbed, trying to see where the earth was churned up near the surface. She glanced over at the sellsword and just arched a brow at him, waiting. ¡°You seem like the kind of person who¡¯s always been sticking her nose in trouble.¡± ¡°Whereas I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been a saint all your life,¡± she replied. There was humor in her voice, and she was sure he could hear it, though she turned away again and started pressing her feet more firmly against the ground. It was stable here, but she was certain to find some give. Some hint of tunneling below. ¡°No matter. Why would you have needed a flaming sword in a fight against the men of Goldenwall?¡± He laughed. ¡°To scare the piss out of them.¡± ¡°Terrible for the metal after a few tries.¡± ¡°Sometimes, Eida, it¡¯s worth it just to see the look on someone¡¯s face.¡± She took another step forward - and the ground gave way. She felt it with a violent lunge forward, a lunge she hadn¡¯t taken. Not intentionally. Then more of her, her shin, her thigh, her hip, all sinking under. She let out a sound like a strangled chicken, squawking, reaching out and grasping her fingers into the grass and the topsoil. Tadrin was standing, his eyes wide, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other holding the flint he¡¯d strike against the steel to set it alight. Eida barked out: ¡°No! No, not yet!¡± It was enough to make him hesitate, mercifully. She really didn¡¯t have any more of that oil on her. Her heart was hammering madly in her chest, but nothing was dragging her down there, and she felt no sudden, tearing pain in her legs. If it¡¯d been the creature, she was certain she¡¯d be dead already. The ground below her was just hollowed out. It caved beneath her weight. With a grunt, she crawled back out of the hole, hand over hand. She was soaked and filthy. A passing breeze sent a chill through her, but she ignored it, instead turning around to face what she¡¯d just uncovered. The book mentioned that the creature, the Rakisha, tended to build off of a single tunnel, one that it persistently returned to and bored out in order to keep from becoming trapped. It only dug in other directions when prey was near or when it was desperate enough to take the risk. The tunnel before her now was larger, built to last. She could see the way her own body had cleaved through it, a sorry dip in the rich earth, globs of muck splattering downwards from where she¡¯d broken the sanctity of its burrow. She crouched, slowly, with Tadrin still watching her, moving to poke her head low enough to see where it led. The scent of something fetid filled her nose, and she pulled back again to gulp down air and hold her breath before trying again. Left and right. Not large enough to stand in. Only large enough to crawl through. The sides of that tunnel glistened in a way that sickened her in a dull, muted sort of way. They marked the passage of the Rakisha, marked its hungry back and forth slipping through the soil. ¡°You¡¯re doubling my pay if I have to go in there.¡± Eida looked up at Tadrin, her expression flat. ¡°Tripling.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not going in. We just have to find the exit points, block one off, and flood the tunnel with smoke.¡± ¡°Right,¡± he said. His voice was more gruff than usual, which always meant he was worried. ¡°And I¡¯ll be standing at the unblocked end, yes?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan." ¡°I¡¯m getting half the mark this time.¡± ¡°You always get half the mark, Tadrin,¡± Eida said. ¡°Come on. We¡¯ll follow this side. North.¡± She lifted her arm and pointed, standing again and starting to walk. ¡°Block it off, then double back the other way.¡± He fell in line beside her, moving with her down the creek¡¯s side. The tunnel ran parallel with it - no great surprise. Eida¡¯d assumed as much once she figured out what the creature was. The man who¡¯d died was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, unlucky enough to cross it. His body was gone already. Taken off to be buried, as though somehow some prayers and a crescent moon drawn onto his forehead would wipe away the memory of his final moments. If spirits were real and they could remember, Eida could think of few who would be more haunted. The same could be said for anyone who encountered the beasts who crawled from the blighted places. ¡°How do you think it got this far?¡± Tadrin asked. ¡°With what you said the other night. About not being able to get through-¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. We¡¯re far enough from that border that it doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± ¡°...You¡¯re sure it¡¯s the right creature, then?¡± That gave her a pause. Tadrin rarely questioned her judgement. She figured by now he¡¯d learned that this was what she was good at. She had enough books and enough learning that she was generally reliable. If he was questioning it, it meant it was worth reconsidering. The silence stretched. They continued walking, and he simply waited. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± she said. She¡¯d turned it over in her head, all the images she¡¯d seen between the pages of that book, and none of them aligned so well as the Rakisha. Not with the details she¡¯d gathered. ¡°So you think there¡¯s any weight to the rumors then? That they¡¯re - they¡¯re changing?¡± Even gruffer now, that voice. Tadrin may not have been able to read, but he was sharp. Smart, in an instinctive way. It was a question she¡¯d been considering herself for quite some while. She hadn¡¯t run into any beasts that varied greatly from what was scribed in those books, but the books were also old, and alchemy was, at its core, the power to change. Could these creatures do it on their own? That was the question, and she didn¡¯t have an answer for it. She hated not having the answer. ¡°So you don¡¯t know,¡± he surmised from her silence. ¡°Well enough. Guess we just have to do our best with what we¡¯ve got.¡± ¡°I doubt it could eat you anyway. It would try, just couldn¡¯t. Maybe take an arm, at most.¡± ¡°That¡¯s very reassuring, Eida. Mother knows I only really need one of them.¡± She opened her mouth to reply, but as she did, the ground beneath her began to rumble. It was faint, at first. So much so that she held up a hand to Tadrin to silence him, listening as much as feeling through her feet. It was there, the faint reverberation, tremors sent through the soil. She¡¯d be able to see it coming - it wouldn¡¯t be that far below the surface. She turned. Searched. Her eyes scanned the area around them as her lips pursed in a line. She should be able to see it. The tunnel wasn¡¯t that deep, and its size - The ground behind Tadrin abruptly puckered inwards. She saw it just in time to cry out a warning, and the sellsword, more spry than his large frame belied, leapt to the side. She felt him grasp her and shove her in the process. It knocked her back, sent her tumbling off her feet. Rather than struggle, she rolled with the motion, grimacing as she heard the sound of some of her vials shattering. Glass pierced her leg. Minor. She¡¯d deal with it later. Because there were more pressing matters to attend to. The Rakisha was upon them. ~~~ She knew immediately that something wasn¡¯t right. Even as the thing loomed over Tadrin, turning that eyeless, bulbous head this way and that, she stared right into its jaws. Those teeth were thick. Strong. Powerful. She watched as they slowly retracted into the damp, fleshy lining of its mouth - and was horrified when another set appeared immediately after. Sharper. Glinting in the paltry light of dawn. It took the legs. The thought chilled her blood. It took the bones, the flesh, the blood. It hadn¡¯t occurred to her how strange that was. Hadn¡¯t occurred to her it was an abnormality. There hadn¡¯t been any images showing markings of how it fed - ¡°...Eida,¡± Tadrin whispered. He clutched his sword tightly. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± The Rakisha lingered from where it¡¯d emerged. Shot upwards, straight upwards, as though it¡¯d burrowed directly down into the ground. Deep. Far beyond the creek and its bed and the tunnel alongside it. It didn¡¯t move. It simply froze in place, like some kind of pale, macabre pillar. ¡°What do we do?¡± ¡°Its only sense is through movement,¡± she said. She whispered it, even if she didn¡¯t need to. ¡°We¡¯re invisible to it so long as we¡¯re still.¡± ¡°Right.¡± He looked towards the place its head poked out of. The place where our traitorous footsteps had been not moments before. ¡°And how are we supposed to kill it if we can¡¯t move?¡± She was silent for precisely thirty seconds before she heard him swear under his breath. ¡°Give me a moment to think.¡± Oil. If only she had more of it. She could have thrown a vial at the creature. It would ignite at a touch of Tadrin¡¯s sword then, catch flame. The skin was still damp, but not enough, she suspected, to protect it. This thing was made for cool, wet ground. It couldn¡¯t stand the heat. It began to move. Slowly, gradually, it pressed its head to the ground and swiveled it, this way and that. The body wasn¡¯t long enough to go far. The range was paltry - but Tadrin also hadn¡¯t managed to throw them out of reach by more than a few inches. ¡°...Eida,¡± he said, his voice strained. He clutched the flint in his hand, ready to strike the blade. She could see the thing¡¯s jaw moving. Undulating, as though the beast couldn¡¯t decide which set of teeth to use in this situation. Why would anyone make something like this? Why would anyone want to twist and contort themselves a monster? She shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind. Later. Not now. It halted perhaps a foot away from the sellsword. To his credit, Tadrin stood firm, unyielding, but she knew his heart was doubtlessly pounding out of his chest. ¡°I¡¯m going to draw its attention,¡± she said. The decision slipped into place, spread out over her shoulders, and with that, she was set in it. ¡°No.¡± Low. Firm. She ignored him. ¡°I¡¯m going to run, Tadrin. And you¡¯re going to stab it before it can kill me. Go for the head.¡± ¡°Eida, I swear to the Mother and her womb¡­¡± ¡°Three.¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Two.¡± ¡°Eida¡­¡± She bolted. She hit the ground hard, making sure that her first leap would be like a thunderclap to the Rakisha, that it would feel like a slap to the face. Instantly, the wild, churning teeth within its mouth began to rove and spin themselves, becoming a gnashing, eviscerating force that let it bore forward. Towards her. Half-submerged, above and below, its swiftness sent a surge of panic down through to her gut. It shot after her, and she stopped looking as she powered forward, trying to put impossible distance between it and her, the mud clinging at her boots, clawing to hold her back long enough - There was a splitting sound, the sound of harsh heat ripping at cold air. She didn¡¯t glance back to see the sword ignite. The sound was enough, and the scent of it, the acrid smell of that oil burning. She hurled herself forward bodily, putting all of her weight into the movement, letting herself hit the ground with the finality of a gong. Tadrin would be there. Tadrin was right behind her. Come on, Tadrin. She skidded, and the sellsword let out a cry. When she was able to orient her sight again, all she saw was the Rakisha¡¯s maw not two feet away from her, eternally open, the teeth half-transitioned from breaking to bleeding. Her heart plunged, and a strangely panicked thought ran through her head. Will there be anything left of me to bury? But it didn¡¯t move forward. It didn¡¯t close that infinitesimal distance. It didn¡¯t, because smoke was billowing out of the side of its head. There was a smell like rancid fat, burning. Tadrin¡¯s sword was plunged hilt-deep, and the fire licking up the blade persisted even when thrust into all that soft, gelatinous gore. The flames were already eagerly making their way back down the creature¡¯s body, blackening it as they went. It gave a single, shuddering jolt, but nothing more. Tadrin breathed raggedly. Slowly, he pulled the broadsword free, and then plunged it in again. Then once more. They were precise, methodical movements. Not panic. Simply making sure the job was done. He turned to face Eida, and she could see he was furious at her. She¡¯d doubtlessly hear about it, later. For the moment, though, he just held the sword at his side, letting the flames tumble and writhe and burn themselves to extinction. ¡°I suppose that answers it, then,¡± he said, quietly. He never said anything quietly. Eida stood. In spite of herself, she knew her hands were shaking. ¡°Mother above and below,¡± she whispered. ¡°They¡¯re changing.¡± 3. Plotting and planning 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. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. 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.¡± 4. The vultures circle The alderwoman¡¯s name was Edith, and she paid them with reluctance. It wasn¡¯t communicated in so many words, though. It was written in her actions, in the way she entered the inn before the sun had fully risen, trying to get the business done before anyone else was stirring, before the innkeeper even took up his post and saw her lingering in the main hall. She didn¡¯t want it witnessed that she¡¯d brought in an enquirer. She didn¡¯t want it known, but after losing three villagers to ¡®strange circumstances,¡¯ she¡¯d taken matters into her own hands. There was meant to be a council meeting about those sorts of decisions, she told Eida, her voice low, but she knew by the time the last man came up dead that they had to move quickly. Eida admired her, even if she could tell she was eager to have both she and Tadrin gone. She was polite throughout the transaction, but their last words to one another showed her feelings well enough. ¡°You¡¯ll be leaving, then?¡± A searching look from those rheumy, half-blind eyes. ¡°Yes. We have business elsewhere.¡± ¡°Good. Mother keep you on your travels.¡± The words came out in a rush and she scuttled out the door without waiting for a reply. Eida didn¡¯t let it get to her. Compared to other encounters she¡¯d had, Edith¡¯s farewell may as well have been a smile and a hug. She decided to make an effort to actually remember her name. Tadrin was quiet as they took to the road. He kept that silence until the sun was well up in the sky, brooding. Some part of Eida enjoyed it, enjoyed the solace of it. Blightwatch itself was not a terrain most would call beautiful: the road they traveled from the town began with cobbles, but the further they went, they became more and more cracked and in need of repair. Two miles out, and they¡¯d disappeared entirely, bleeding into nothing but earth packed down by the passage of other travelers. The landscape stretching out around them showed hills rolling with browning, sagging grass, patches of tenacious green only just starting to show with spring. Further, deep into the horizon in every direction, it bled into mountains. Cruel looking mountains, their peaks capped with sharp edges coated in snow. There was a stark beauty to it, she supposed, but those mountains often made it feel as though the county was bearing down on her, fencing her in. Even if they were miles and miles away, mere smudges in the distance, she could feel their presence. ¡°How¡¯s the leg?¡± Tadrin asked abruptly. She glanced over at him, but he was still facing forward, upright in the saddle. His face was inscrutable. ¡°Perfectly fine. It was only a bit of glass. Not serious.¡± ¡°Empty vial?¡± ¡°Thankfully.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± He flexed his fingers over his reins, letting go for a moment to stretch before grabbing hold again. ¡°Lucky.¡± There was more silence after that, and she was content with it. He was rattled. He hid it well, but Eida could see it as clearly as a rain cloud. It wouldn¡¯t be fair to accuse him of sulking. She knew it was more than that. It went unspoken between them, but they¡¯d become something of a family. A strange, disjointed one, to be certain, but she knew he wanted to look out for her. Sometimes he¡¯d tease her, ask her when she was going to settle down and have children. Find a nice man. He¡¯d taken to calling her ¡®old maid¡¯ the day she turned twenty-seven. ¡®Who¡¯s going to look after you when I¡¯m gone, eh?¡¯ She¡¯d given him a wry look. ¡®Me,¡¯ she¡¯d answered. He laughed at that, but she could read the worry in his eyes. She often wondered if he ever had a family. She wondered if he ever had a daughter. She also never had the courage to ask. It was true, though, that she could look after herself. Perhaps not as an enquirer, or at least not one who dealt with the creatures that came from the blight, but Tadrin well knew there were many professions the title could bleed into. She had at least basic skills with healing, and could create mixtures for it, too. They weren¡¯t that potent, but there were many villages like Coniston, and even passing knowledge would be a great boon. There were more things too, of course: investigative work, like the enquirer who¡¯d given up the trade in order to solve common murder. A lot of her profession involved understanding how someone had died, gritty and grim as it often was. Perception like that had a broad reach. But she understood what Tadrin meant. Why he worried. He was beyond his sixtieth year, and even if he never complained, she knew his sword was feeling heavier of late. She suspected that he wanted to die fighting, die with it in his hand. She kept an eye on him just in case, made sure he wasn¡¯t slowing down. She intended to keep him around for some time, set him up with a nice cottage somewhere, with lots of pointless hobbies to partake of and copious amounts of alcohol. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He¡¯d pretend to hate it, but deep down he¡¯d be grateful. They didn¡¯t see anyone else during the first two days of the journey. They didn¡¯t talk much, but it was companionable, and after the shifting stares and upturned noses of the villagers in Coniston, Eida enjoyed keeping to herself. She opened a new journal, scrawling notes on the Rakisha, marking down where they¡¯d found it and what the mutations entailed. She cursed herself that she hadn¡¯t opened it up, taken a closer look to see if anything but the teeth were changed, but she¡¯d been too rattled at the time to think of it. That, and she had no doubt the stench of that beast, sliced open, would have been enough to make her retch. On the third day, the road ahead finally spat out something that wasn¡¯t endless dirt and spots of green-brown grass. Soldiers marched towards them. Sordheim soldiers, bearing the livery of a golden lion standing on hind legs, lashing out at some unseen enemy. Count Nickolai Sordheim¡¯s men, the current liege and lord of Blightwatch. Eida knew little about the Count, but she kept her distance from his men anyway: she¡¯d found that being armed to the teeth and full of self-importance tended to be a dangerous mixture. Both she and Tadrin moved to the other side of the road as they passed by. Five men were at the front of a large wagon, all astride horses. There were six more, three to either side, marching single file with pikes in hand. She couldn¡¯t see what was in the wagon until they were passing directly by one another. A waxy tarp of old cloth, rough burlap tossed over a stack of something amorphous. Something¡­ Bodies. Around fifteen of them. Feet were sticking out of the cloth at the end of the wagon, and their skin was blackened and twisted strangely. Not burning. Something else. She could detect no hint of smoke, and the distortion seemed to originate beneath the flesh, not from anything that¡¯d charred the surface. One of the soldiers caught her glance and barked out: ¡°Eyes forward. Show some respect.¡± ¡°Is there trouble ahead?¡± Tadrin asked, his low voice close behind Eida. ¡°We¡¯re moving up the road to Blackstone.¡± ¡°No. The way is clear.¡± The other soldiers didn¡¯t spare them so much as a glance, and there was no slowing in their marching forward. Soon enough, they were little more than a clattering of metal and pounding boots behind them, and the squeak of one of the wagon¡¯s wheels, strangely eerie in the quiet of open ground. When they were well away and the path was clear again, Tadrin asked: ¡°Any idea what killed them?¡± Eida chewed on the inside of her cheek, racking her mind for an answer, but she shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she replied. ¡°But it was nothing good.¡± ¡°Nothing good?¡± He looked over at her, briefly. ¡°Death is rarely good, Eida.¡± ¡°Nothing natural killed them.¡± ¡°More beasts, then?¡± She rolled her shoulders back, drawing in a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know, Tadrin. We¡¯ll see when we get to the university. Maybe we¡¯ll be able to learn about what¡¯s happening there.¡± He nodded. They kept moving, and when night came, they decided to forgo setting up camp and pushed onwards into morning. ~~ The gate was open before the men reached it. Up on the ramparts, sentries spotted them winding down the open road. They knew what the wagon meant. They knew what the sackcloth meant, white and laid on top of the dead like a flag of surrender. No word had been sent ahead. No word needed to be, anymore. This was the seventh patrol that¡¯d been ordered out to scan the border. The seventh patrol meant to report on the perimeter between Blightwatch and the largest pocket of blight, that span of twisted, corrupted land that was enough to fill most hearts with nothing but terror. But the Count¡¯s men were loyal. They knew the meaning behind the name of their beloved county. They had a long, valiant history of keeping watch over those atrocities, of making sure the number of abominations that got through were few and far between. Yet they weren¡¯t few. Their numbers grew by the day, and those front lines were failing. Courage alone wasn¡¯t enough to stand against it. It was a bitter truth to face. Bitter, because all those songs and stories told by the fireside had implied otherwise. The wagon ground to a halt. They stood before the crumbling enormity of Schloss Sordheim, its Western wing abandoned long ago to cave in on itself. The Captain stepped forward, pondering, for a moment, how well the castle suited Blightwatch. How well it reflected the way it was crumbling. Turning to one of the men lingering before the massive, iron wrought doors, he said: ¡°Inform the Count we¡¯ve returned. I have my report ready for him.¡± The man, a new recruit who hadn¡¯t had the excitement whittled out of him yet, darted up the stairs. The doors opened, and the half-light of the great hall swallowed him up immediately. The Captain turned back towards the wagon. Ten haggard faces stared back at him, ten sets of tired, hollowed eyes. ¡°Dig a pit for the dead,¡± he instructed. ¡°And burn them.¡± High overhead, a vulture circled lazily on frigid wind currents, its cry echoing like a death knell over the courtyard below. 5. Crane Blackstone rose up from the emptiness like some great, wounded beast. She supposed that at some point in history, the sight of it was truly magnificent: a massive, unbroken stone wall that rose twenty feet high, hints of large buildings peeking out overtop that wound and wove their way along the street which led up towards the residing baron¡¯s estate. There were cracks in that wall now, not quite enough to remove the functionality, but enough that an invading force could easily pinpoint the weaknesses to exploit. The gates that led into the city only closed when the sun went down - the river behind Blackstone provided more than rough terrain for its enemies. It made it the perfect place for trade, for merchants on their ships to sail in and distribute their goods. Though Blightwatch had a number of cities, none were positioned as well as this one. A beating heart in the midst of the county. Their approach saw more people traveling alongside them as they navigated the road. They kept to themselves for the most part, though some were eager enough to exchange words with strangers. Rumors flitted about. Some were harmless: tidbits of information about where the best crops were coming from this season, which breweries had the best beer and mead. There was quieter gossip, too, the sort said in hushed voices: farmers who¡¯d lost their land to creatures prowling the night. Small, defenseless villages that had been wholly abandoned, as though everyone simply disappeared without notice. It was these words that Eida listened to, these words that crawled up beneath her skin. There was always the chance that there was nothing substantial about it, of course, but it felt to her like those quiet whispers far outnumbered the brighter topics of choice. There was more ill than good. There were guards at the gates, two within, two without. She knew there would be more in the buildings to either side, left and right. Necessary, in the event there was an attack. Blackstone hadn¡¯t seen any manner of siege in at least a hundred years - it was far too deep within Blightwatch¡¯s territory for most to reach - but the last one left its carapace cracked, and reparations for damage that heavy felt like an impossibility. Recent history had been about surviving more than thriving. Inside, the sheer volume of people in the streets was a shock. Four days of travel in open fields left the shrill voices of laughing children and the tell-tale hawking of wares a dull ringing in Eida¡¯s ears. Part of her reveled in the teeming life. It felt like a sort of balm against the memory of the dead man, against the embittered, sullen expressions of the people who called Coniston home. Yet it was also overwhelming, and it wasn¡¯t long before the ringing started creeping its way deeper into her skull to become an ache. A steady pounding. Tadrin¡¯s horse fell in line behind her as she took up the reins and guided her own deeper into the city. The square wasn¡¯t far from the entrance, and it was here that most passing through would linger for however long they remained. Taverns and inns and an assortment of shops sprawled out from it in a kind of radius, built up and subsisting on the coin freely passing hands between traveling merchants. Eida ignored all of it, worming her way around little booths and carpets arrayed with pottery and cloth and food. Her destination was further in. Deeper in, wedged like a particularly stubborn splinter. There were many universities throughout Blightwatch, though any splendor they once had was as weathered as everything else. The largest, even in the golden ages before the blight, resided in Blackstone. At their core, the universities sought simply to secure and spread knowledge. The knowledge itself was varied: art. Philosophy. Medicine. Common trades like smithing and woodworking. Eida assumed that the building once stood entirely on its own, with a courtyard and some manner of garden, but over the years whatever fence it once had got peeled away in spurts to make room for other buildings. Homes, for the most part, hastily thrown together, meager things of stone and thatch and wood. The university was still imperious in its own right, simply by its size, but it no longer stood apart. It was no longer other. Eida steered her horse towards the stables and passed it off towards one of the young men working within. She felt some weight lift off of her as she marched towards the doors, studying the imagery etched thereupon. It was an effigy of the Mother, pictured facing forward, her hands outspread, her palms upturned. Symbols for plants and stones, metals and weapons, elixirs and instruments - they orbited her, denoting the value of such knowledge, denoting how it was received and taught with her blessing. One of the images was defaced. Scraped away painstakingly, until only a crater remained. Eida didn¡¯t know what it looked like - that¡¯d happened long, long ago, and she only saw glimpses of related symbols now and then in old, yellowed volumes within the library, and only when the passage meant to defame and rebuke its contents. Alchemy. She often wondered if the Mother ever truly allowed such a practice, or if it had been the hubris of the carver to include it. Wondered if it was removed before or after that final catastrophe that led to the corruption of Her precious lands - to the blight. ¡°I¡¯m going to go unload the horses,¡± Tadrin said. ¡°You should consider resting up before trying to talk to Crane.¡± She blinked, looking away from the door and squinting up at the sellsword. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because you hate each other.¡± She laughed. ¡°You¡¯re exaggerating.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not. The last time there was a meeting of the Enquiry, you damn near screamed at him.¡± Eida rolled her eyes. ¡°Like I said, you¡¯re exaggerating. I¡¯ll meet with you when I¡¯m done.¡± She could hear him sigh heavily as she pushed through the door and deeper into the university¡¯s building, but she ignored him. This matter couldn¡¯t wait, and she was certain she could remain civil long enough to report on what they¡¯d seen. Even if Crane was a bastard. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Her steps echoed as she wandered down the hallway. The ceilings vaulted high overhead in a way that made them somehow feel like they were pressing down on her. It had been over a year since she¡¯d actually stepped foot back here - she didn¡¯t dislike it, even considered it home in some ways, but there was always work to do, and it was never in the same place. Her life consisted of traveling from one point to the next, chasing whispers or following up on the contents of a desperate flyer pleading for help. There just wasn¡¯t often time to come back. The walls were bare, for the most part. What paintings existed were rudimentary where they weren¡¯t faded. There was a gallery in one of the wings, where the air could be better controlled, the artwork better preserved, but she¡¯d only seen it once. Art had never been a particular interest for her. Neither had music, for that matter, and she outright avoided the halls dedicated to that skill - not because she disliked it that much, but because many of those playing were novices, and their discoordinate plucking and fluting was like torture. A left. A right. Down past large windows letting in streams of sunlight. Crane¡¯s office sat beyond the first door of the wing dedicated to the Enquiry. Even where the different fields of learning were loosely defined, there tended to be some manner of informal ringleader, a keeper of the books and records who would mark down who enrolled for what, what wealth passed between which hands. The university did charge a fee, of course - nothing exorbitant, but it was enough that admission was a barrier to the poorest in Blackstone. There used to be an option to work through the tutelage - that was the option Eida had taken some years ago - but gold had since become more needed than labor. Placing her fingers on the door¡¯s handle, Eida muttered an oath under her breath, rolled back her shoulders, and plastered on a smile. Then she opened it and stepped inside. Olian Crane was a short man of middling years with grey, balding hair and a wrinkled physique. There was not a scrap of fat on him: he was a wisp of tense energy, his wiry frame always appearing like it was poised to fight or flee. His desk sat at the back of a small room, and he was currently bent over it, scribbling away at some document with the raw intensity of a smith holding tongs over a forge. Eida cleared her throat faintly. There was no response. She felt her smile wilt. She gave it another attempt, and when there wasn¡¯t so much as a glance upwards, she said: ¡°I know you¡¯re not so old your hearing has failed you yet.¡± Crane grimaced. He peered up at her with dull green eyes - dull because of the color only, she knew his sight was as sharp as ever. ¡°Most knock first.¡± ¡°I used to do that, you recall. You have a penchant for ignoring it.¡± He glowered at her. ¡°I¡¯m a busy man.¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± she replied. ¡°I¡¯m here to put in a report. I believe we should call a meeting of the Enquiry.¡± He just stared at her, vacantly, the feathered tip of his quill quivering slightly over the page he¡¯d been marking. Waiting. She sighed, and strode further, until she stood right in front of his desk. Once there, she drew out the journal she¡¯d drawn the mutated Rakisha in and set it on top of the parchment. He immediately scowled deeper. ¡°The ink wasn¡¯t dry yet.¡± ¡°I did not set it on top of the ink,¡± she said. She was careful to keep her voice level, even, and let none of her mounting frustration show through. ¡°Look at it. We found this thing circling Coniston. It killed three before we got there and dispatched it. Look at the teeth.¡± Crane leaned forward, setting his quill down with an air of utmost reluctance. He frowned, lips puckering up into a wormy line, before leaning back again in his seat. She knew he didn¡¯t need any books to verify what the beast was. He¡¯d been in the business long enough to know most of them by heart. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± ¡°Quite certain.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure you didn¡¯t imagine it in the moment? Such encounters can be quite stressful.¡± She narrowed her eyes at him. Breathe, Eida. Don¡¯t let him get under your skin. ¡°Tadrin can verify it as well if necessary. He took it down.¡± ¡°Of course he did. That was never in question.¡± Eida curled her fingers into a fist and concealed it at her back to keep from reaching across the desk and punching the man in the face. ¡°I will speak to Tadrin,¡± Crane continued. ¡°Verify, and then I will begin putting together the other reports I¡¯ve gathered.¡± ¡°There are others?¡± He just stared up at her blankly. ¡°How many? From where?¡± ¡°That will be discussed if an Enquiry is deemed necessary,¡± he stated. ¡°Your contribution is appreciated.¡± Without warning, he tore out the image she¡¯d rendered of the Rakisha and set it aside. Eida grit her teeth together, grinding them hard enough to restrain her own tongue. ¡°We¡¯re finished here for now.¡± ¡°I deserve to know-¡± ¡°The more experienced enquirers will be consulted, first and foremost. We will decide how to proceed from there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been in this trade for twelve years,¡± she snapped at him. ¡°I am one of the most senior members-¡± ¡°And I am the head of Blackstone¡¯s Enquiry,¡± he bit back. His eyes glinted with equal parts delight and steel. ¡°You will wait, and I will inform you if your assistance is needed further.¡± She glared down at him for a few tense beats, feeling her heart pound in her chest, struggling with the urge to let go and throw that hidden fist right into his jaw. With a sharp exhale, she wheeled around instead, forcing her legs to cooperate as she left the office and slammed the door behind her. She stalked back down the hall, her features drawn into a grimace. She got along with most in the university, but Crane was an exception. Crane was old enough to remember her from when she¡¯d first arrived, gawking and desperate, a fish trying to escape the hook. The others saw her for what she was now, but Crane would forever see her for what she had been. And he¡¯d always hate her for it.