《Copper Claws》


 1. Jaro

    Jaro¡¯s Journal


    I think there¡¯s a ghost in my attic.


    Eleanora could¡¯ve become a very good heroine of a story. She has just the right premise for that. You see, she was the only survivor of My Little Wanderer¡¯s Massacre. A band of outlaws, who call themselves The Clan, attacked the town and killed every single one of its inhabitants. Except for her¡ªa twelve-year-old girl. She survived by a miracle. She was plucking grape leaves in a cave by the river, and the cave got flooded, so she was trapped there for two days. When she managed to get out, she found her whole town slaughtered.


    Little Nora became a sensation. No surprise there. How could she not? A little girl, so innocent and sweet, like an angel, walking away from such a horror, alive and unharmed. It even made the tragedy of My Little Wanderer a little less tragic.


    Yes, she could¡¯ve become such a great heroine of a story. She could¡¯ve become a warrior, seeking revenge on those savages. An explorer, daring the hazards of the Steppe. An adventurer. A scientist. A hunter. A writer. Instead she¡­ simply grew up. She spent a few years in an orphanage. Then she met a boring lawyer with a boringly decent income and married him. She moved into a nice house in the city. Got pregnant. Got fat.


    Wait, you don¡¯t think I envy her, do you? Okay, maybe I do. But only a little bit. I wish that I lived of course. I wish I had that chance. I wouldn¡¯t have squandered my life as she did. I wouldn¡¯t have let it become ordinary. Sometimes I wish I could trade places with Nora¡ªwe used to do it quite often when we were kids. I pretended to be her, she pretended to be me. We looked so much alike, even our mother couldn¡¯t always tell us apart.


    But I¡¯m not Nora. I¡¯m but her wretched sister who got her heart ripped out in the middle of the night, in the town by the name of Little Wanderer.


    What can I say? Lucky me¡­


    So yeah, I¡¯m a ghost, you see. I wish I could say the phrase sounded better in my head, but that wouldn¡¯t be true. There isn¡¯t any way to make it sound any better. Still, I thought it¡¯d be nice to get it out of the way, just so that we¡¯re on the same page, you know?


    Right then. What else do I need to tell you?


    My name, perhaps? Well, my name doesn¡¯t suit me. It¡¯s too robust. It should¡¯ve been something different¡ªpale, light, tickly, like a cobweb brushing against your cheek in a dark cellar. Anne, for example, or Aya, or, better yet, Celectina¡­ yeah, I like the sound of that. But any name would suit a ghost better than mine does. Karina. Ka-ri-na. KaRIna. Ugh¡­


    My sister and I are twins, but we are¡ªoh so different. Clich¨¦, I know, but it¡¯s also true. I¡¯d been called wild, while Nora had always been a nice, girly girl. She took pleasure in womanly things, in womanly activities, while I have been a tomboy. But our difference lies far deeper than that, I think. I wouldn¡¯t have moved on as she did. You see, there are people like Eleanora, who don¡¯t dwell too hard on the past. Feelings are like bubbles to them. They rush through their souls in a sparkling stream. People like her, they cry, they laugh. They anger. They love. They hate. But it all goes away eventually, barely leaving a trace.


    Then there are people like me. For us, emotions are like nails. They thrust deep into our souls and stay there forever, even as the wounds heal around them. Even good things bleed. Even happy memories hurt.


    But Eleanora¡¯s life wasn¡¯t a complete waste. Eventually, she did manage to do something great. She gave birth to Jaro.


    * * *


    Jaro¡¯s Journal


    Mom can¡¯t see her. I wonder why.


    Jaromir was born in the very first light of the very first spring day. A beautiful boy, that¡¯s what everyone said, but for me, he was just a child. I didn¡¯t think him beautiful or anything special at all. I wasn¡¯t interested, not in the least.


    Until, quite suddenly, I was.


    It happened when Jaro turned¡­ I don¡¯t know exactly. Time is difficult for me. Past. Present. Future. They blend. I can¡¯t always tell them apart. It¡¯s like everything is happening at once when you¡¯re a ghost or rather not happening at all. He must¡¯ve been one? Or maybe two? When do babies usually start to walk? Yeah, well, it was around that time. Nora took him out to the park and set him down so he could walk a little. I followed them because that is what I did back then ¨C I followed Nora everywhere, her personal little ghost. So I watched her setting him down and then settling herself on a bench nearby.


    Jaro walked. First, he walked up to the fountain and watched the coy fish. Then he walked up to a flowerbed and watched a bee. I looked away, bored. It was painful, really, to watch him staggering on those short awkward legs. Whenever babes walk, it ends the same ¨C a few clumsy steps and then they fall and cry and their mothers rush to their sides, all ¡®oh¡¯s and ¡®ah¡¯s and ¡®oh-my-poor-baby-mommy¡¯s-here¡¯. Whatever.


    But to my surprise, Jaro didn¡¯t fall. He walked and walked and walked. He watched people. He watched dogs. He watched the sky. He tripped a couple of times, but always managed to regain his balance. Stubborn boy, I remarked lazily, still not particularly impressed.


    And then he suddenly turned his head and looked straight at me. I flinched. Then blinked. Then gaped.


    Can¡¯t be! I thought. No one sees me! Oh, don¡¯t be silly, Kara. He must be looking at something behind me¡­


    But immediately I knew it to be untrue. He was looking at me. Not through me, but at me. How, in the world?Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He smiled then, not the way children smile, but the way elder folk smile ¨C in a meaningful way, like he knew something important, but wasn¡¯t saying because he wanted me to figure it out on my own or was just being a smug asshole¡­


    And then he turned away from me, pretending to be a boring ordinary child once again.


    Oh, no, young man! You aren¡¯t getting away so easily!


    I walked up to him and stood in from of him.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said, snapping my fingers. ¡°Hey, boy!¡±


    I creased my forehead trying to remember his name.


    ¡°Err¡­ Jaromir? Hey! Look here!¡±


    I waved my hands in front of his face. He ignored me, and I almost laughed. Of course! He couldn¡¯t actually see me! How silly of me to even consider such a possibility!


    But I wasn¡¯t entirely convinced. And from that day on, I watched him. From that day on I wasn¡¯t Nora¡¯s ghost anymore. I became Jaro¡¯s.


    * * *


    Jaro¡¯s Journal


    I always knew she was here, but I never questioned her presence.


    You don¡¯t question, say, an old clock or a painting,


    that¡¯s been hanging on the wall since before you were born.


    You just accept it.


    I don¡¯t remember when we started talking to each other.


    I don¡¯t remember the exact moment I realized she wasn¡¯t something ordinary.


    Jaro¡¯s father died when the boy was four, and that was the day we started to talk. I don¡¯t know why. It¡¯s not that I could offer any consolation or be of any help. I don¡¯t get the whole dying thing. I don¡¯t have any insight or some special understanding or whatever else you might expect. I think ghosts know even less about these things than living people do.


    Nora was wailing in her room, but I knew she¡¯d be alright. She survived her whole family and friends being killed, she¡¯d survive this as well. But Jaro¡­ I didn¡¯t know if he was going to be alright. He didn¡¯t cry, but he was awfully quiet. Unmoving. And so I kneeled beside him and he looked at me.


    ¡°My name is Kara,¡± I said then.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he answered after a couple of seconds.


    And just like that, we became friends.


    * * *


    Jaro lives in the Attic. It¡¯s a nice place, really. It doesn¡¯t even look like a boy¡¯s room¡ªtoo tidy, too sunny, too grown up. Jaro could never be a proper child. He was born old.


    The Attic is a curious place, tiny and creaking, crammed under the roof. Somehow all the sounds of the house reach here, like small rivers rushing toward the great sea. They climb the old wooden planks, squeeze through the little holes and cracks in the plaster, like an army of insects, shuffling their tiny feet, and the Attic grabs hold of them like a pitcher plant. The voices of the servants fighting in the kitchen. Birds¡¯ cooing as they settle for the night under the roof. Mice scurrying away with pieces of bread or cheese. A maid whispering nonsense to her lover on the porch at midnight. All of it I hear. These sounds make me feel a little alive. They run like blood through my veins.


    But there is another reason why I like the Attic. It reminds me a little of the room Nora and I shared back at home, in My Little Wanderer. Way back, when we were still sisters, and twins, and friends.


    Jaro and I spend most of our days in the Attic, talking, reading, but mostly arguing. It usually starts with Jaro closing his book and looking up at me with this particular expression on his face. The ¡°I am going to ask you a question¡± kind of expression. And that¡¯s the thing about Jaro. He loves to ask the most uncomfortable questions. The majority of them are for his mother to answer, fortunately, but I, too, get my share. And unlike other children who ask fewer questions as they get older, Jaro asks more and more. And they only get more and more uncomfortable.


    Like the other day. He came up with a particularly nasty one:


    ¡°Why do the savages attack our settlements?¡± he asked, not even giving me a chance to brace myself.


    What?! What kind of question is that?


    ¡°What?!¡± I said indignantly. ¡°What kind of question is that?¡±


    ¡°Why do they hate us?¡± he mused. ¡°Why do they murder us?¡±


    Seriously, has this boy ever heard of a thing called consideration?


    ¡°I was one of those who they murdered! Have you forgotten about that?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ I just assumed that, since you were personally involved in this conflict, you must have given this a lot of thought. I would¡¯ve.¡±


    Personally. Involved. I wasn¡¯t ¡°personally involved¡± in it! I was a child murdered in cold blood by some gang of madmen!


    Jaro cowered a little under my cool gaze.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be angry,¡¯ he said quickly. ¡®It¡¯s just¡­ I just thought that¡­¡±


    ¡°You thought wrong.¡±


    Why would I think about things like that? I mean savages are like the last thing in the world that I care about! I don¡¯t care why they attack us. They are beasts. They are evil. Evil doesn¡¯t need reasons.


    Jaro was silent for some time, but curiosity got the better of him eventually.


    ¡°Do you remember what happened that night? Anything at all?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I snapped, but the way he asks his questions is always so quiet and serious, it¡¯s really hard for me to be angry at him, so after a while, I added: ¡°I don¡¯t remember anything about that night.¡±


    And that¡¯s the truth. Whenever I look back, there is nothing there, just a great gaping hole. No screams. No battle cries. No horse hooves beating against the dry ground. No pain. No taste of blood in my mouth. Just¡ªnothing.


    So very unexciting, I know, but that¡¯s what it is.


    For some reason my whole past is blurry. My life before the massacre is wrapped in thick smoke. Washed out, as if it all happened to someone else as if I read about it in a book or something.


    I get Jaro¡¯s interest. The Clan has become a bit of a fashion lately. A fascinating tale of boogeymen. As has the Steppe itself. I notice it everywhere. The patterns. The jewelry. Even Nora has one of those short vests, similar to those Steppe-women wear, and sometimes she braids her hair into two long plaits with tiny jingling coins.


    I would¡¯ve loved to wear my hair like that¡­


    My thoughts turn to Alma. She was my older brother¡¯s wife and one of those Steppe-women. It was a bit of a shock for the family when he married her, but there was nothing they could do. Alma was very fond of jewelry¡ªher wrists always heavy with golden bracelets, her vest fastened with silver brooches, rings with jade stones on every finger. So unlike the demure solemn women of Little Wanderer, but she was never garish, never vulgar. She was beautiful. So beautiful it almost hurt.


    Thinking of it distresses me. I remember suddenly how I dreamed to become like her when I grow up. I float down from Jaro¡¯s Attic and to Nora¡¯s room, and there I drift aimlessly, running my shadowy fingers through my sister¡¯s clothes, tracing the intricate patterns carved on her broaches and ivory combs and tiny wooden boxes with powder.


    I was twelve when I was murdered. The grown-up world was just a step away from me. Young women with their hair long and curled, their faces powdered and lips red, dancing with their sweethearts, or sitting on the porches with some handiwork on their laps, or having picnics by the river, laughing¡­ I watched them from afar, and I knew I¡¯d be a part of that world soon. Sooner than I wanted to. But then something awful happened, and my future was torn away from me. I¡¯ve never realized how badly I wanted it until it was gone.

 2. A Copper Claw

    Jaro¡¯s journal


    She looks like a girl, but I think it¡¯s because she wants to look that way.


    Maybe if she wanted to, she could look like something else. A tiger. Or a penguin.


    ¡­ No, what am I saying? A ghost-penguin! Now that¡¯d be ridiculous.


    Though a lot more original, I guess. After all, why do ghosts always have to be little girls?


    When people think of towns like My Little Wanderer, they imagine some dusty hamlet, a patch of dull green in the grey wilderness. Something small and lost. Now my memory of the place is vague. It¡¯s like someone or something cast a shadow over my life, and I have to squint and stare hard to make out the details. But I remember this¡ªMy Little Wanderer might have been small, but it was never lost. It stood right at the heart of the treacherous Steppe, its feet firmly planted in the hard soil, and it seemed to say, ¡°This is my place. This is where I¡¯m supposed to be.¡±


    Do I miss it? I guess you could say that. I¡¯ve never liked the big city. If not for Nora, I would¡¯ve probably left. I would¡¯ve gone¡­ anywhere. Turned into a restless spirit roaming the world. I am not afraid of heights or cold or wild animals. Perks of being a ghost. I can go anywhere!


    But I won¡¯t of course. I would never risk it. I¡¯m afraid that if I wander off too far from Nora, I¡¯d lose myself. Maybe she is the only thing that keeps me tied up to this world, and if we separate, who knows what will happen to me? I would never dare to put this theory to the test, because this ghost is apparently a coward, too.


    I tell Jaro that I don¡¯t dwell on the past, but the truth is, I¡¯m terrified of losing it. I feel that I¡¯m losing it already, bit by tiny bit. Every day a little more. So I summon up those memories, as much as I can, surreptitiously, furtively, feeling like a thief, tiptoeing through my own murky mind. I recite my memories like words of some song, because if I don¡¯t, one day I might not be able to recall them at all.


    There was a tree, Nora and I liked to play under it. There was a stone, huge and warm even at night. There was an oxbow on the river that ran past the town¡­


    And of course there was that cave. The ¡°Maw¡± we used to call it. That very cave, that saved my sister¡¯s life. It was pretty deep, and all over its walls and the ceiling there were hundreds of images made by the native folk. Weird grotesque pictures of wild animals and monsters painted in black charcoal, with some red pigment splashed on top to indicate spilled blood. Hideous birds with red beaks stared viciously at the intruders. We never paid those pictures any heed. We thought, ¡°Those natives, they are but savages. Why would their art be any different?¡±


    Now our art was refined. Civilized. Paintings of pretty women and adorable children and brave men. Brightly colored vases and intricately carved wood. That is what real art should look like. So we thought. And in the end it was the Clan who opened our guts and painted streets with macabre patterns of our spilled blood.


    The Steppe is no place for civilization. We tried to tame it, and failed miserably.


    There were quite a few towns like My Little Wanderer at the beginning of the century. Now I think only a couple are left. Others were just abandoned. People talk about the Steppe as if it¡¯s alive. They talk about strange creatures¡ªthe Fey¡ªthat roam it, wild things that prey on those who aren¡¯t careful. Some believe those stories. Some don¡¯t. But whether there are actually creatures there or not, the Steppe is a dangerous place and there is no point to argue with that.


    * * *


    Today, in a bout of sentimentality, Nora gave Jaro a necklace that our grandfather had made. It¡¯s shaped like a long narrow claw and it¡¯s made of some reddish metal. Copper or brass¡ªI could never tell the difference.


    Jaro put it around his neck. He can¡¯t take his eyes off of it.


    ¡°Did grandfather make it?¡± Jaro asks.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Nora is sitting in her chair by the window in a light morning dress. ¡°He didn¡¯t make it. It¡¯s a talon. He killed a monster and took it as a souvenir.¡±


    I¡¯ve heard that tale. My grandfather often ventured into the Steppe. He was a hunter and an adventurer, and he was also one of those who founded My Little Wanderer and brought our family to the town. I don¡¯t remember him well enough, but everyone in town believed him to be the bravest man in the whole world, and the story of him killing the Copper Claw became local folklore.


    Jaro is fascinated by the claw, and that¡¯s hardly surprising. It¡¯s fascinating to look at¡ªthe elongated form, the shine of the metal that hasn¡¯t been dulled by all the years.


    ¡°What did the creature look like?¡± Jaro asks.


    ¡°The creature didn¡¯t look like anything,¡± I reply. ¡°It never existed. This talon is fake. He probably ordered it from a blacksmith in the city.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    But Nora, who doesn¡¯t hear me of course, answers.


    ¡°It looked like a wolf with a sharp copper muzzle. Each paw was this huge,¡± she says holding her hands to indicate the size of the creature¡¯s paw. I almost laugh.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t look like a wolf claw,¡± Jaro muses.


    ¡°Well, Grandfather said it was a wolf,¡± Nora shrugs.


    ¡°Grandfather was a liar,¡± I say loudly right into her ear, but she doesn¡¯t even blink. This has always fazed me a little. Aren¡¯t we twins? Aren¡¯t we supposed to have this unbreakable bond? At first, I wondered if Nora felt my pain as I was drawing my last breaths. I stopped wondering a long time ago. It¡¯s quite pretty obvious that this idiot didn¡¯t feel a thing.


    * * *


    Jaro¡¯s journal


    The talon¡ªor a claw?¡ªfascinated me.


    It became a talisman. A symbol.


    And a dream.


    I soon forget all about the claw, but Jaro doesn¡¯t. From that day on he becomes somewhat captivated by the Steppe and spends hours searching the library archives, looking for¡­ well, anything really. Anything that has anything to do with the Steppe. At first, he¡¯s disappointed. There isn¡¯t a lot of information¡ªnothing that he finds interesting. There are some articles on the Clan and the atrocities they¡¯ve committed. There are some naturalists¡¯ ravings about the unique wildlife. There¡¯s a documented account of some drunk idiot¡¯s encounter with a Belter and some runaway teenage boys blabbering some nonsense about the Tickler Seductresses¡­ but other than that, nothing.


    And then¡­


    ¡°Ha!¡± Jaro nearly trips in a hurry to share his news with me. The Attic is suddenly too small to contain all his excitement.


    ¡°What¡¯s that about?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I found it!¡± he proclaims, and you might think that he¡¯d discovered a new continent, for all the pride and joy shining in his eyes.


    ¡°I found it!¡± he repeats hopping onto his bed. He looks so sickeningly cheerful I want to smack him. Jaro¡¯s moods are awfully contagious. When he¡¯s excited, somehow I become excited, too. Naturally, I don¡¯t like to show it, so I try to look twice as sulky as ever.


    ¡°So what is it that you found?¡¯ I ask patiently.


    He reaches into his pocket and fishes out an old piece of paper, yellow with time, evidently ripped out of a newspaper.


    ¡°It¡¯s an article about your grandfather. Look!¡±


    I look at the paper, horrified.


    ¡°You tore it out?!¡±


    I don¡¯t know why it scandalizes me so much. After all, why do I even care, right? When you¡¯re a ghost compelled to haunt your very much alive twin sister, a mutilated newspaper doesn¡¯t seem like such a big deal in perspective. But there is something about ripped paper that really upsets me. My father used to be exceptionally gentle with all the printed material. But I try not to think of that. I tear my eyes away from the uneven border and look at the page instead.


    The headline says ¡°The Nightmare of the Steppe¡± and below there is a rather poorly drawn picture of four men with bows and spears lunging at a monster that looks¡­ well, pretty much like a wolf, only slightly bigger.


    The text itself is so small and Jaro¡¯s hand trembles with excitement so I can¡¯t read it.


    ¡°Will you hold it still, please?¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± he snatches it away, ¡°I can just tell you the gist. Basically it¡¯s about my great-grandfather¡¯s encounter with this wolf-monster. It says here that my great-grandfather and three of his friends were explorers, who sought to solve the mysteries of the Steppe. They went looking for all those creatures the Steppe-folk like to scare people with. They especially wanted to learn about this Copper Claw, a monster no one lived to tell about...¡±


    ¡°So they found it, and killed it, and chopped its paw off and made a necklace. I know. So what?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s exciting? The Steppe is the only place on earth that still has magic.¡±


    I stare at him, blankly. It¡¯s not a word you hear every day. Magic!


    ¡°Peculiar wildlife is not magic.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just wildlife. There are creatures there. Magical creatures. Fey. Everyone knows that.¡±


    ¡°Most of those stories are just a bunch of old wives¡¯ tales.¡±


    ¡°Most, but not all of them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the Steppe has magic or not, but I¡¯ll tell you this¡ªI lived my whole life there and I never saw anything even remotely close to a Fey.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t know a Fey if it came up to you and smacked you on the forehead,¡± he mumbles. ¡°You and Mom, you two are a lot more alike than you think.¡±


    He folds the article and tucks it into his pocket, then gets up and leaves without another glance in my direction. And suddenly I feel awful. I feel that somehow I¡¯ve disappointed him.


    Why do human interactions have to be so complicated, even when you¡¯re no longer human?


    * * *


    Jaro comes around rather quickly. He always does. He isn¡¯t like me. He would never sulk for days. The next morning he¡¯s a little ray of sunshine yet again. But that sinking feeling inside of me doesn¡¯t go away. It¡¯s made a cozy den for itself right in the pit of my stomach and it doesn¡¯t seem to plan on leaving anytime soon.


    We¡¯re different, Jaro and I. We have different relationships with the past. Once, when Jaro was about ten, we went to the museum.


    Locked in glass cases there were geodes cut in two to reveal their shiny quartz centers, like pieces of exotic fruits. There were lizards turned into stone by some mysterious magic of nature. There were taxedermised animals¡ªtheir forms made to look lifelike, scowling, alert, lazy, playful¡­ those ones gave me the creeps.


    Jaro took me to a chamber on the second floor, titled ¡°Archeology.¡± There were no dead animals there, but instead, it was full of something that was even worse¡ªthings that should be lost, buried somewhere beneath the ground. I¡¯ve heard that in the past people were buried with all their belongings. Now that was the right thing to do. Some things should just go away and be forgotten. Left in peace.


    I could almost feel all those people¡¯s presence. It pressed upon my eyelids. Things have memories. They keep a part of their owners¡ªthe memory of their touch, their smell. All of it lingers like fingerprints, mixed in the paint, in the fibers of the wood. I hate vases most of all. It¡¯s like the voices of the people past are trapped inside and they call for you, and you get this urge to draw nearer, to listen closer, to hear whatever they have to say. Their stories frighten me. To my ears, they are like sobs and painful whimpers and sighs.


    Jaro doesn¡¯t understand this language, but in his own way he listens too and he hears something completely different¡ªnot suffering, but something exciting. Something that makes him stop and peer at every object in wonder and trace the patterns with his fingers. He doesn¡¯t see the world like other people do. Maybe that¡¯s why he is able to see me.


    And maybe that¡¯s why he comes up with this ridiculous plan of his.

 3. Another Ghost

    I blame Chevalier le Courageux for everything. It¡¯s Jaro¡¯s undying love for this idiot that is the reason for all the troubles he finds himself in.


    Actually, no, I¡¯m not entirely sure it was Chevalier¡¯s fault. Maybe it¡¯s just that Jaro¡¯s been so bored lately. And isn¡¯t that human nature? When people get bored, they inevitably start looking for trouble.


    Suddenly it¡¯s no longer enough for him to be a boy in the Attic who is friends with a ghost. He wants to ride a fast white horse. To wear fancy clothes. To wield some fancy weapon. To fight dragons and rescue princesses.


    So he decides to start with me because apparently I¡¯m as close to a damsel in distress as he can find on short notice.


    ¡°Are you happy?¡± he asks me one day, looking totally inconspicuous.


    ¡°I¡¯m a ghost,¡± I answer. Since Jaro learned to talk, I found out that this was a perfect way to answer most of his questions ranging from ¡°Are you hungry?¡± and ¡°Do you want to play?¡± to ¡°Why do you have to be so mean?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says patiently, ¡°I know. But still¡­ are you happy? You don¡¯t actually like being a ghost, do you? Maybe you want to¡­ well¡­ move on?¡±


    ¡°Move on¡­ where exactly?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. To a better place?¡±


    ¡°And where is that place supposed to be?¡±


    ¡°You should know better than I do.¡±


    ¡°I know nothing, and you bloody damn well know it,¡± I snap.


    He looks at me and his expression clearly reads ¡°Asshole.¡± But he presses on, unwilling to give up so easily.


    ¡°It¡¯s not natural for a soul to linger in the world of the living...¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°¡­so I just figured¡­ it could be that you want to find peace.¡±


    ¡°Are you tired of me?¡± I narrow my eyes at him.


    ¡°Of course not!¡±


    ¡°Then why bring this up?¡±


    ¡°I thought that maybe you have some unfinished business that¡¯s been keeping you here, and so maybe I should help you to figure it all out. You being here, and me being able to see you and to talk to you¡ªdon¡¯t you think there must be a reason for all of this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a book, Jar. Sometimes there are no reasons in real life. You can¡¯t help me.¡±


    He isn¡¯t convinced. Of course, he wouldn¡¯t give up without a fight. He came prepared¡ªmaybe even rehearsed this conversation in his head a few times. He knows me, too. He knows which of my strings to pluck. The problem with Jaro is that sometimes he doesn¡¯t pluck them, but yanks them with all his strength so that they tear.


    ¡°I have an idea,¡± he says. ¡°Just hear me out.¡±


    Rather begrudgingly I relent, ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°I think that you¡¯re somehow connected to my mom. There is a link between you two that doesn¡¯t allow you to leave this place and that makes you haunt her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not haunting her. She doesn¡¯t even know I¡¯m here. Don¡¯t you think that if there was a bond between us, she¡¯d be able to see me?¡±


    ¡°Exactly! That is our riddle. Together we can figure it out!¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m too stupid to figure it out on my own? I had years before you came along and don¡¯t you think I haven¡¯t thought about it? There is no solution! I¡¯m just stuck here and that¡¯s that!¡±


    ¡°But why can¡¯t I at least try to save you?¡±


    ¡°Save me?! I don¡¯t need saving! I am not some princess locked in some shitty tower singing songs and waiting for a brave knight to come and rescue her stupid useless ass!¡±


    ¡°Does it hurt to try at least?¡± Jaro is angry too now. Angry at me for being so mulish. Angry at himself for even bringing this whole thing up. ¡°Or do you want to spend your eternity here? Spying on my mom? Being scared and jealous?¡±


    ¡°Stop now!¡±


    ¡°Wishing you were the twin who lived?!¡±


    I choke on his words. The cruelty of them.


    ¡°What did you say, you little brat?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t back down.


    ¡°Oh yeah? Am I a brat now? Okay. And you know who you are? A coward!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not some stupid quest of yours!¡± I shout, and suddenly something happens. My anger takes over and sends me spinning. It lifts me up and carries me away¡ªaway from Jaro, away from the house. I don¡¯t even realize what¡¯s happening until I¡¯m too far. The world is whirling in front of my eyes like a carnival, colors flying, light and shadow mixing in a dizzying violent twister. I cry out, though there isn¡¯t anyone who can hear me. My anger is gone in a blink of an eye, and debilitating fear takes its place. I feel like a ball of poplar wool caught by a gust of wind¡ªweightless and helpless.


    I see houses, dark roofs, and crooked chimneys, lawns, and treetops. I see carriages and horses, public parks and market places. A variety of scents rush past me in a mighty current. The hot and cold smells of the city intertwined: baked bread, smoke, manure, the hotness of a burning fire and the coldness of the river.


    I scream and flail uselessly until it occurs to me that my own emotions are probably causing this storm in the first place. So I try to relax, and I¡¯ll tell you, it¡¯s not that easy when you don¡¯t have a body. I can¡¯t take deep breaths to calm myself or lie back or drink some water. I am nothing but my mind, so what am I supposed to do?


    Think, Kara, think!


    Jaro¡¯s words pop up in my head¡ªa line from his journal. She looks like a girl because she wants to look that way. She could be a penguin.


    ¡­ Or she could be a gull¡­


    I don¡¯t know why I think of a gull. Not an eagle or a pigeon or whatever. Gull it is. I concentrate on the image as I conjure up a new look. It¡¯s weird, but it works. Just like that, I¡¯m a seagull gliding on my invisible wings. The wind is no longer an enemy, not a force to fight. It¡¯s become an ally. A friend. I float, and the wind¡¯s coolness fills up my feathers. Is this what flying feels like for a real bird? Or maybe it¡¯s just my idea of flying? Whatever the case, it¡¯s glorious.


    I fly around in circles, and when I¡¯m confident that I can come down, I land on a roof of some old building. I need to think. Where am I?


    It occurs to me that despite spending years in the city I never truly saw it. I followed Jaro and Nora around sometimes, but my attention was always on them, and the rest of the world was just a shadow lingering in the background. Now the city was all around me, I was in the middle of it, and there was not a single familiar person who I could concentrate on¡ªonly blur of strange faces and settings, colors and sounds.


    I look around, quite bewildered. Where is home? I¡¯m not even sure what Nora¡¯s house looks like! I know it¡¯s old and grey with a high dark roof. But every house seems to fit this description: all of them are old, all of them are grey.


    What do I do? How do I ever find my way back? Fear is rising in me all over again, and before it can get its hold over me, I start to look for something I can hold on to instead. Something familiar. Something steady. My eyes find black gates that for some reason I recognize.


    I fly to the gates and perch on top of them. I like being a bird. Even a ghost-bird.


    Beyond the gates, I see a misty ground strewn with flat stones. It¡¯s a cemetery. The oldest city cemetery. I saw it the day they buried Jaro¡¯s dad, Igor. I stood by Nora¡¯s side as she was crying her eyes out by his grave. Jaro was so little, huddling against his mother.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Igor was a nice man. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. I know I called him boring, but that¡¯s not exactly fair. He was a good man and I wish Jaro could¡¯ve spent more time with him.


    Why isn¡¯t Igor¡¯s ghost haunting Nora and Jar¡¯s house? Instead, they¡¯re stuck with me, a useless bitter idiot.


    Thinking these unhappy thoughts, I stare into the misty graveyard. It¡¯s pretty big, stretching for kilometers. Every stone has a little altar set on its top like a crown.


    Some of the altars are filled with offerings¡ª newly baked bread and wine and bouquets of fresh flowers. Some have a few dry pieces of bread and meat and withered flower wreaths. But the majority is empty.


    I wonder suddenly about my own grave. Where is it? In My Little Wanderer, I gather, beside my family¡¯s graves. Are our little altars empty? I don¡¯t think we have any relatives left except Nora to look after them, and she doesn¡¯t bother, so yeah, they¡¯re empty all right¡­


    I fly over the graves, peering at the names. Some of them are so old I can¡¯t even read them. Some are newer. Some stones don¡¯t have names at all, and I don¡¯t know why. The graveyard itself looks neglected, especially towards the center where graves are older-looking¡­ some are almost ancient, their crumbling stones bearing strange symbols¡ªprotective charms. The grass is shorter on the edges, but the older part is completely overgrown. In some places the grass is so high it swallows the graves and altars whole.


    There used to be a shrine in the center of the graveyard, but no one seems to have stepped over its threshold for years and creeping plants completely took over the building and turned it into a round green hill that sticks out of the tall grass.


    Now knowing what else to do, I circle around for a while, reading names, examining the meager offerings.


    And then I see her.


    I¡¯ve never seen another ghost in my life. And I meet one in the graveyard of all places! She is tiny¡­ at first, I think she is a child, but when I look closer she looks more like a young woman. But she is fuzzy. Like a charcoal picture smudged with an impatient hand.


    The woman has long black hair falling all over her face, covering it like a curtain. She is wearing a grey-green dress which makes her almost invisible in the grass. She is standing very still too, so I almost flew past her without even noticing.


    I startle. I swear for a second I totally forget that I¡¯m a ghost myself, and I nearly scream, but then I remember and shut up and descend a little to look closer.


    As I draw nearer, strangely, her form becomes even less defined. She is like a thin oily film floating on the surface of stale water, frail and diaphanous. I can see the graveyard and the sky through her.


    She is making some soft sounds. Sobs, I realize after a moment. She¡¯s crying!


    I drop to the ground and stop being a bird. I¡¯m me again. I take a few hesitant steps to stand right in front of the ghost-woman.


    The whole graveyard seems to be watching us¡ªtwo unnatural creatures meeting. The wind that helped my bird body fly is suddenly colder. Harsher. The remains of the morning mist that lingered in the tall grass come alive, and as if feeling my presence, they draw nearer, gather closer, and start circling us like a pack of wild dogs, until I can¡¯t see anything but the crying woman.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say quietly, ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t seem to notice me. Her body is shaking with violent sobs.


    What upset her so much?


    There are so many questions I want to ask her. Like: ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Where did you come from?¡± ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°Have you been a ghost long?¡±


    And more difficult kinds of questions, ¡°Do you know why you¡¯re a ghost?¡± ¡°Do you know if there is some other place that we can move on to?¡±


    And more ridiculous ones like, ¡°Do you want to be friends?¡±


    I buzz with questions. But it¡¯s obvious she is no condition to answer any of them. Okay then, let¡¯s take this slow.


    I look around, hoping the setting might give me some clues as to why she is so upset in the first place.


    Maybe she¡¯s lost like I am?


    The grass in this part of the cemetery is so tall it almost reaches her chest. That¡¯s why I haven¡¯t noticed the grave at first. She¡¯s standing on top of it. Right on the stone, facing its crumbling altar. I try to read the name on the stone, but I can¡¯t. It¡¯s a foreign language.


    I look at the way the woman is dressed. The style is kind of old-fashioned, but not too much. It makes me think of the way my grandmother used to dress: the skirt is full and long, the hem completely covers her boots. And a white chemise underneath, too. Not a ¡®new¡¯ ghost then.


    Well¡­


    I take a hesitant step towards her, so that she¡¯s standing barely a step away, and I reach out with my hand. Can I touch her? I haven¡¯t touched anyone or anything for eternity. I can¡¯t even remember what it feels like.


    I almost touch her, but suddenly she raises her head and looks straight at me. She looks a little older than me, but still so very young, stuck in that uncertain phase between a child and a woman, lingering still on the threshold. Sixteen, I guess. Seventeen, tops. Big eyes. Small mouth.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I repeat.


    Now that she lifted her head, her hair no longer covers her up, and I start noticing other details about her looks. Her dress is torn at the front. She also has a huge bruise on her jaw. It¡¯s startlingly bright, contrasting with the paleness of her form. The look of it unsettles me, and I suddenly don¡¯t want to touch her. Don¡¯t want to come anywhere near her. Don¡¯t want to be here at all. I want to run. It¡¯s something instinctive, a reflex that pulls me away from her.


    Run! Run!! Run!!!


    I take a step back, but her arm suddenly jerks forward and grabs me by the forearm, and I want to scream, but my voice turns into a chunk of ice in my throat and I choke.


    Run! Run!! What are you waiting for, Kara? Run!


    But I can¡¯t. Her hand grips me and it¡¯s so cold! Not an ordinary winter kind of cold either, but something else. Something, that hasn¡¯t been named yet, something, that doesn¡¯t exist in the land of the living to earn itself a name.


    I try to push her away, but it¡¯s like I¡¯m a moth trapped in a cobweb. The more I struggle the more she gets hold of me. She grips me with both of her hands now. I struggle, but she¡¯s stronger.


    ¡°Please, let me go!¡± I plead, but I don¡¯t think she can hear me. There¡¯s something in her face that tells me she doesn¡¯t hear or see or feel anything at all.


    She starts to speak, but I don¡¯t understand a word she¡¯s saying. They¡¯re just sounds.


    ¡°I don¡¯t speak your tongue!¡± I cry out. ¡°Please, just let me go! Let go of me!¡±


    She starts to howl. I can see more bruises on her skin. They¡¯re smaller, paler. There is also a bit of blood on her dress, but not a lot. Still, the sight of it makes me sick.


    Suddenly her words start to make sense. She¡¯s asking for help. Of course, she is.


    ¡°Help me! Help me! Make it stop!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t help you! Just let me go! Please! Please!¡±


    My strength is dwindling. The coldness of her is seeping inside of me. I¡¯m like a jar that is being filled with icy water, and it¡¯s getting more and more difficult for me to fight her.


    What is she going to do to me if I give in? I don¡¯t know and there¡¯s no way in hell that I want to find that out.


    But something tells me that I¡¯m going to¡­


    The thought sends me into a frenzy. I start kicking and pushing and pulling. To no avail. She¡¯s too strong.


    My knees give in and I fall. The tall grass that surrounds the grave swallows me.


    But that¡¯s absurd! I am a ghost! I can¡¯t die the second time¡­


    ¡­ Or can I?


    The sudden thought is like a strike of lightning. What if I won¡¯t die, but dwindle, lose all my strength and stay here forever with this¡­ this vampire?! What if I turn into a mindless piece of foggy conscience?


    Since I became a ghost, I thought that I had nothing to lose. I¡¯ve already lost everything I could¡ªmy life! So what more could there be?


    Well, it seems that there is always something to lose.


    I try to summon my strength. I reach out for the power that brought me here in the first place¡ªanger. I seek it desperately, but it¡¯s all in vain. I can¡¯t do it.


    I will never see Nora again.


    I will never see Jaro again.


    Panic rises, enveloping me. But it only makes me weaker, and her, my captor, stronger, because fear is all she is now. A dim-witted monster.


    ¡°Mine!¡± she whispers, as her hold on me strengthens.


    And this possessiveness in her voice is what finally wakes me up.


    ¡°I am not yours!¡± I scream. ¡°I am my sister¡¯s. I am Jaro¡¯s. As they are mine! And you¡¯re nothing! You¡¯re nothing but a memory!¡±


    My anger pushes her away and her grip loosens and at last I manage to wrench myself away from her. I turn and run through the grass, as fast as I can, forgetting that I can fly. Then I remember and I spread my wings and leap up, and up, and up, until the wind catches me and embraces me, calming me down, caring for me, soothing the dull ache in my chest.


    * * *


    Jaro is sitting by the Attic window when I tiptoe into the room.


    ¡°Jar?¡± I call out hesitantly, my voice so weak and trembling, I won¡¯t be surprised if he doesn¡¯t hear me. But he does and he leaps to his feet immediately. I expect him to come up to me, but he is just standing there in front of the window, looking at me, his face blank.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡± he asks after a couple of minutes.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I don¡¯t know how to explain, so I just shrug.


    It took me some time to get back, but once using the cemetery as my reference point, I managed to finally make sense of the murky labyrinth that is the city.


    ¡°I was beside myself with worry.¡±


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s just¡­ I¡­¡±


    Come on, Kara, just say it already.


    ¡°I am sorry, Jar,¡± I whisper. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to scare you. Let¡¯s not fight anymore, all right?¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡± he sees it then and his face changes. He comes closer, peering into my face. ¡°What¡¯s happened to you? You look so¡­ pale.¡±


    I bark out a laugh.


    ¡°I¡¯m a ghost, Jar.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s different,¡± he shakes his head. ¡°I can barely see you.¡±


    ¡°I had an unpleasant encounter. I think it¡¯ll pass.¡±


    He nods. I approach the window and look outside. The setting sun pours on the glass and I can feel its golden warmth inside of me.


    ¡°Jar?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°What do I feel like?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°When you¡¯re near me, do I feel cold?¡±


    ¡°Not really. Actually, quite the opposite.¡±


    I turn around to face him, surprised.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You feel warm. When I¡¯m near you, it feels¡­ like spring sunshine on my skin.¡±


    Relief rushes through me like a wave. The memory of the ghost woman''s coldness is still haunting me. If Jaro said he felt the same way when I was around, I¡¯d¡­ I would¡¯ve just left. I would¡¯ve gone anywhere, away from Jaro, away from Nora. I would never knowingly expose them to that.


    My forearm is still numb with the ghost¡¯s touch. I wonder if it¡¯s going to stay that way, a memory of her coldness engraved on my very essence, for all eternity¡­

 4. Suitor

    Jaro¡¯s journal


    Do all moms think their sons are blind idiots?


    Time goes by, but my encounter with the ghost is not easily forgotten. I still feel her grip on my forearm. It faded a little, became less sharp, less cold, but hasn¡¯t gone completely. Apart from that, life is returning to normal. Jaro doesn¡¯t bring up our fight or his idea to ¡°help me move on¡± anymore.


    Except Nora is acting really strange all of a sudden, and Jaro doesn¡¯t like it. And neither do I.


    At first, it¡¯s just tiny things¡ªdetails that are easy to miss. She goes shopping and then returns with a small pink package. Curious, I peer inside to find a tiny wooden box with a cute rosebud painted on the lid. Later I find out it¡¯s a new rouge.


    Women in the city love to torture their faces with makeup. They powder their cheeks porcelain white and rouge their lips crimson until they pretty much look like dolls. Nora, however, was always quite indifferent towards those things. She was a Steppe-girl in a sense, raised in the wilderness. Women in My Little Wanderer shunned the Steppe-people, but still, there was some influence in the way people dressed and styled themselves. I don¡¯t remember my mother or aunts ever using makeup. Their beauty was simple, bare and sun-tanned.


    Nora uses some powders of course and even rouge sometimes, but never anything too bright. Now, this rouge is different. It¡¯s imported and pricy, and the color of freshly spilled blood.


    She also starts going out more often. She has friends in the city.


    ¡°Just having dinner with Lydia,¡± she says.


    Or, ¡°Mary and I thought we¡¯d go see a play.¡±


    But something is off. She opens up the chests that have been locked since Jaro¡¯s father passed and rummages through the old dresses and scarves and hats, and then she spends the whole evening trying them on in front of a tall mirror.


    Now and then she lets a sigh escape her lips and mutters something like, ¡°No, this is so out of fashion!¡±


    But despite these complaints, for the first time in a long, long while, she actually seems¡­ happy.


    And the reason for this happiness appears on our doorstep a couple of weeks later, wearing his best suit and carrying a huge box.


    By that time we know his name is Mikh and that he is ¡°a friend.¡±


    ¡°Behave well,¡± Nora warns Jaro, who was forced into his best suit, too.


    ¡°Are you going to marry him?¡± Jaro demands instead.


    ¡°Marry? Ah, my dear! What¡­ It¡¯s too early for that sort of¡­ Anyway, are you ready?¡±


    We¡¯re not ready, but she opens the door and invites him in. Mikh is a nice guy. I see it at once. He isn¡¯t too young, but not old. Balding. A bit on the stockier side. Not handsome exactly, but not unpleasant either.


    He hands the box to Jaro, and by the looks of it, it¡¯s pretty heavy. Jaro lowers it to the floor and regards it with alarm.


    ¡°Open it!¡± Mikh urges him, and hesitantly Jaro complies.


    ¡°Wow!¡± he breathes out when he sees what¡¯s inside. Books. Of course.


    ¡°Your mom told me you like archeology.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Jaro nods, and then, heartily adds, ¡°Thank you. I love it.¡±


    They have dinner, the three of them, in the dining room lit by thirty candles. It¡¯s a big room to illuminate, and usually, Nora and Jaro just eat in the kitchen, by the hearth. They have to be careful with money because Igor¡¯s pension is not much. They can barely afford a maid, and sometimes Nora even entertains the thought of moving to the country, but I doubt she¡¯ll ever actually go through with this. She feels safer in the big city.


    Jaro eats his dinner and retires with his box upstairs, to the Attic, leaving Nora and Mikh alone. They sit on the couch and drink wine and talk.


    I almost join Jaro, but then I hear Nora¡¯s quiet voice, and it stops me in my tracks.


    ¡°I was a little girl,¡± she says softly. ¡°Twelve.¡±


    Mihk listens, holding her fingers gently in his hands.


    ¡°My whole family was murdered.¡±


    I can¡¯t believe it! She¡¯s talking about the My Little Wanderer massacre! She never talks about it! Not with Jaro, not with anyone. I can¡¯t help but listen closer.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Mikh says.


    ¡°I¡­ well, I was but a young girl back then. I went to the cave near the river to gather some grape leaves. Our sister-in-law used to bake them, so we often went there. And then something happened and the cave started to fill up with water. I got trapped inside, and I couldn¡¯t get out for almost two days. Then, when I got out¡­¡±


    She shakes her head.


    ¡°Well, I discovered my whole town, soaking in blood, slaughtered by those savages, the Clan!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ shocking! I can¡¯t imagine what you must¡¯ve gone through.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it was tough. I remember the smell. It was horrible. I had to walk for many kilometers to get to the nearest settlement. I was thirsty and hungry, dead tired and so scared¡­¡±


    I can¡¯t help but roll my eyes. It all sounds so rehearsed. And why tell all of it to him, to this stranger? Does she want him to feel sorry for her? Or maybe she wants to appear ¡°interesting¡± in his eyes? Oh, this is so Nora! None of this is real for her!


    ¡°Was your family big?¡± Mikh asks.


    She shrugs.


    ¡°Not really. Mom, dad, older brother and a sister.¡±


    A sister¡­


    I can¡¯t believe my ears. I wasn¡¯t ¡°a sister¡±! I was her twin! I was the closest person in the world for her! We shared our mother¡¯s womb, and can there be an intimacy greater than that?


    A sister¡­


    Oh, yeah, and a sister¡­


    What was her name?... Kara? Yes, that¡¯s it!


    And then she reaches out and kisses him. I watch them, feeling anger rising in me.


    I want to slap her. I want to grab her by the hair and slam her stupid head into this elegant coffee table. I want to tear apart the room and break the glass and upturn the furniture.


    But I certainly can¡¯t do any of those things. So instead I pull my shit together and go upstairs to find Jaro.


    * * *Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°So what do you think of him?¡± Jaro asks.


    ¡°About your mother¡¯s suitor?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Nora¡¯s type.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡±


    ¡°Boring.¡±


    He chuckles.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You agree, I see. So a box of books isn¡¯t enough for you to warm towards him?¡±


    He shrugs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really need to like him now, do I? But I want Mom to be happy.¡±


    I consider this. Can I say the same thing? Do I want Nora to be happy? Do I actually believe she deserves to be happy?


    The print of the ghostly hand on my forearm flares up with sudden intensity and I grimace. For a second it¡¯s like I can see into the future. I can see Nora getting married to Mikh. I see their beautiful wedding with white lilies and sugary cakes. I can see her in the wedding gown¡ªbeautiful, radiant. I can see them moving to a new home¡ªhis home. I can see her giving birth to a couple more kids¡ªcute golden babies, whom she would adore and who would adore her in return.


    And I can see me, invisible, cold, angry, jealous, watching her have all that I can never have. Watching her live her simple ordinary life. I¡¯m going to become just like that poor girl in the graveyard, aren¡¯t I?


    But I don¡¯t want that.


    ¡°Jar?¡± I say. ¡°So where do you think I might move on then?¡±


    Jaro¡¯s journal


    She¡¯s changed.


    I can¡¯t pinpoint this change, so subtle, so insignificant it is.


    But it¡¯s still there¡ªa seed of fear has been planted inside of her.¡±


    We discuss it for some time and pretty soon it becomes apparent that neither of us knows what we are supposed to do or even where to start.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t remember anything about that night?¡± Jaro is looking through some books, philosophic bullshit about the nature of reality and existence of a soul. I know deep in my core that nothing that can help us can be found in those books, but Jar doesn¡¯t lose hope.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Nothing at all? Like maybe the tiniest thing?¡±


    ¡°I told you a hundred million times already: no, I don¡¯t!¡±


    My whole past is wrapped in thick smoke, but the night of the massacre is just not there at all. As if someone ripped it out of time, leaving a gaping black hole.


    ¡°Then¡­ what is the nearest memory?¡±


    I sigh and try to reach out into the smoke.


    ¡°Nothing unusual. Life there was not full of events, you know. It was a small town in the middle of nowhere. Quiet. Boring. Days were all the same.¡±


    You might think that life in the Steppe has got to be exciting. Full of unknown dangers and adventures. But in reality, it isn¡¯t different from a life in any other small town. The only difference really is that there were more Steppe people coming to town to get some supplies or have a drink or two in the local tavern. Sometimes young men picked fights with them, but nothing too serious.


    There were whispers of the Clan¡¯s atrocities, but all those things were happening somewhere else, they were like horror stories children like to tell each other at night, cozying up under warm blankets.


    We spent our days doing chores. Fishing. Playing hide and seek. Swimming in the fickle river that ran past the town. Our life was boring in the most perfect amazing sense. Mother scolding me for yet another ripped dress. Father teaching me how to shoot a bow and arrow. Alma, my brother¡¯s wife, making me the most beautiful wreath of flowers, saying in her gentle Steppe accent: ¡°You¡¯re too fast, little one. Just be still for a moment, let me put this onto your head.¡±


    The only thing I remember about that day is that I was angry at everyone because suddenly everyone seemed to have a job for me. Even Alma had come up with something. She was baking grape leaves and wanted me to pick them for her.


    Picking grape leaves was a tedious task. The cave where the grape grew was a long way away. It was damp and cold, and truly the last place in the world I wanted to go to.


    But I couldn¡¯t say no, not to Alma, so I acquiesced reluctantly and was on my way to the cave when I saw Nora. She was sitting by the river with her book on her knees, in her pretty, old-but-good-as-new dress.


    I called out for her:


    ¡°Do this for me! Please! I¡¯ll be forever in your debt!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so in my debt already! No, Kara, I don¡¯t want to!¡±


    ¡°Please, Nora! Please, please, please, please, please!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ scared of that place, you know that. And I¡¯ll ruin my dress!¡±


    ¡°You can have my dress for the next week!¡±


    ¡°Which dress are we talking about exactly?¡±


    ¡°Which dress do you think? The green one! Your favorite!¡±


    She worshipped that dress and hated me for not allowing her to wear it. Especially so, since I didn¡¯t really care for it that much myself. I only used it to taunt her, putting it on in front of the mirror, spinning this way and that way, letting the hem fly in graceful circles.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna give it to me?¡± she squinted at me, not quite buying it. ¡°The green dress?¡±


    ¡°For a week. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Promise?¡±


    ¡°I swear! Anything just to get Alma out of my hair! Now go, she needs this basket full.¡±


    I close my eyes. This was the last time Nora and I spoke.


    But this isn¡¯t an important memory, so I keep it to myself and try to think of something else¡ªsomething that is actually helpful.


    And then I do.


    ¡°We buried a vow-keeper, me and Nora,¡± I say. ¡°Could that be it?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a vow-keeper?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a¡­ like a charm Steppe people make when they are really serious about something. My older brother was married to this Steppe woman, and she taught me how to make those. It¡¯s like a little spell. You take a jar or a box, and you put something inside, something that has a very special meaning to you and you promise to do something, and then you bury it. This charm helps you to keep your promise, no matter what happens.¡±


    Some uncle went to a big city and brought us a round tin box full of caramel candies. We ate them, sitting by the river, under the Huge Tree. And then Nora said:


    ¡°Let¡¯s make that vow thingy she taught you.¡±


    ¡°What shall we vow?¡±


    ¡°That we never come apart.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need no vow for that. You know I¡¯m never going to leave you.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ still.¡±


    And so we made it. We each cut a strand of our hair and braided them together and put it into the caramel smelling box and secured it with a ribbon. And then we dug a hole in the ground under the tree and buried it there.


    And then we forgot all about it¡­


    Jaro listens to my explanation, frowns.


    ¡°It sounds like a children¡¯s game to me,¡± he finally says.


    I shrug.


    ¡°Yes, but the way Alma explained it to me, the Steppe is a magical place. Steppe people believe that all those creatures that live there draw their powers from it¡ªfrom the earth itself. Every intention you put into the earth, becomes magical. What if there is a bit of truth there? What if it actually worked?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ it does make sense, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Not really, it doesn¡¯t, but what in this world does?¡±


    He considers for a while.


    ¡°Okay. Then this is what we¡¯re going to do. We need to find that box and dig it out and destroy it. By doing this, we destroy the spell, too. And then you are free.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ how? I mean it¡¯s there, in My Little Wanderer. In the Steppe.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. We need to go there and find it.¡±


    Is he serious? With a creeping feeling I realize that yes, he actually is.


    ¡°Jaro, no! We can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Imagine telling your mom you want to go to the Steppe, let alone finding My Little Wanderer! Nora wouldn¡¯t hear of it.¡±


    ¡°Mom doesn¡¯t have to know.¡±


    ¡°You want to run away?!¡± I squeak.


    ¡°Yes, exactly!¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­. Because, Jar, you¡¯re a kid!¡±


    ¡°I turned fifteen six months ago, which means I am only six months short of being legal. And I look a lot older.¡±


    ¡°Older? Please! You look twelve!¡±


    But that is not entirely true. He does look older. He could probably pass for an eighteen-year-old. If he wiped that goofy smile off his face. Seeing his enthusiasm makes me want to smile too and relent to any stupid plan he might come up with. My idiot sister, how did she manage to make something as perfect as Jaro?


    ¡°I can¡¯t let you do this! It¡¯s not right, taking you there.¡±


    ¡°Come now,¡± he says quietly. ¡°It¡¯s not about me, and you know it. It¡¯s about you not wanting to go back and face all of that. It¡¯s about you being scared. And please, don¡¯t disappear again! I am not trying to be mean. I just want to help.¡±


    I think about it for a few long seconds.


    ¡°Tell me it has nothing to do with you being not okay with your mother¡¯s new suitor.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± he waves me off with a fast smile.


    I am not sure I believe him, but I pretend that I do. It doesn¡¯t mean that I say yes though. I know that it isn¡¯t the right thing to do. Jaro is still very young, and the Steppe is not a place for idealistic stupid kids who want to play heroes. I won¡¯t be able to protect him if he gets into trouble.


    But there is a voice in my head that finds arguments against all of these points. Jaro is not a kid anymore, it tells me. He is smart, capable, and he wants adventures. It means that sooner or later he¡¯ll be off to find them with or without you, so why not let him do it now? He is idealistic¡ªthat¡¯s true, he doesn¡¯t know what he is getting himself into¡ªthat¡¯s also true, but he has you, and you would be able to help him still. You can warn him of danger. You can be a lookout. You can notice things he doesn¡¯t, and caution him in time to avoid any harm.


    Deep in my heart, I know that all of these reasons are nothing but a pile of dog shit. He is young and na?ve, and those two things are enough to not let him anywhere near the Steppe.


    ¡°Nora will kill me,¡± I think, and then almost laugh out loud.


    Nora doesn¡¯t even know you¡¯re here, you dolt! That¡¯s the beauty of being a ghost. No one will ever blame you for anything.

 5. Hitting the Road

    It¡¯s the second day of Somber, the first month of autumn. Summer hasn¡¯t given up yet. She fights with all her might, allowing people to enjoy warm evenings and sunny days, but her strength gives, little by little. A few chilly winds have broken the defense and rushed through the city like a howling wild pack, and yellowness is already munching on the greenness of the leaves.


    The second day of Somber is our birthday. Back home we celebrated it with a pie. We woke up to the smell of baking pastry coming up from the kitchen. I can¡¯t remember what Mother put inside. Raisins, perhaps? I loved that pie so much, how could I forget?


    Mikh has proposed. He invited Nora to a fancy restaurant and made a show of it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s celebrate your birthday,¡± he said, but she knew right away that he was planning to propose. And he did.


    Afterward, they eat a cake covered in white frosting with tiny marzipan flowers and caramel pearls on top. They drink wine, and all I can think of, watching them, sitting at the same table, is that I never tasted the cake. Nor wine. I have always thought that our mother¡¯s pie was the best dish in the world, and I can¡¯t even remember its taste.


    I don¡¯t want to admit it, but my memory fades. Over and over again I think about the ghost in the graveyard. Is that what I will one day become?


    No, I shake my head, of course not! I am nothing like her!


    But fear doesn¡¯t let me go. Once it has its claws on your throat, it holds fast, and I know I can¡¯t fight this beast on my own.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I tell Jaro.


    He raises his head and regards me over the book he¡¯s been reading.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I said okay! I¡¯m in! I want to go back and find that damned vow-keeper and I want to be free of it!¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Jaro says. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s cool.¡±


    That¡¯s it? Eternal Sky as my witness, I love this boy, but he has always been a weirdo!


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be happy.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look happy.¡±


    ¡°Come, I need to show you something.¡±


    He takes me outside to the shed in the back yard. It¡¯s an old crumbling building barely bigger than a doghouse. It¡¯s also full of spiders, so Nora doesn¡¯t go near it.


    Inside the shed, cobweb hangs like white curtains. Jaro ducks in and pull out a bag made of dense fabric. He opens it and steps back, so I can look inside. Provisions, rope, a flask¡­ By the Eternal sky!


    ¡°I was going to go anyway,¡± he explains, ¡°alone, if I must. I am glad that you¡¯re with me though.¡±


    * * *


    Jaro¡¯s journal


    I can understand a lot of things, but I don¡¯t understand this¡ªhow could Mom just get over everything that¡¯s happened to Kara and the rest of their family? How could she move on like that? She doesn¡¯t even want to visit their graves to leave an offering for the Goddess atop their tombs. She visits the cemetery every week to give her thanks to the gods for looking after my dad¡¯s soul, but she doesn¡¯t even think about her own family. It¡¯s like¡­ she just doesn¡¯t care. I think I can understand why Kara¡¯s so angry at her...


    Neither of us is a traveler, but for obvious reasons, it¡¯s much easier for me. I don¡¯t need food, I don¡¯t need water. I don¡¯t need a blanket or a cloak to keep me warm. And I can fly for days in my newly obtained gull form, covering huge distances in a snap of a finger, without ever needing to sleep.


    Jaro, however, is not a ghost and he needs all those things¡ªfood, water, shelter, rest.


    We plan to stick to big roads, where there are always travelers and no risk of getting in trouble with some bandits or wild animals. But a road is still a road, and I¡¯m worried sick.


    Books are the worst liars. They paint adventures in the colors of mystery and romance and then gloss over them with an exotic allure. They promise that nothing is impossible if you truly wish it. A lowly country lad who wants to be a knight ventures into the world with nothing but his courage and by the end of the book he gains everything he ever wanted¡ªa king¡¯s crown, a love of a beautiful woman, people¡¯s admiration.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But Jaro and I discover that adventures are neither about courage nor about wishes. They are first and foremost about money.


    We have some supplies. Jaro stores them in the shed, where Nora wouldn¡¯t look. He has a rope, some dry bread that won¡¯t go bad on the long road. He has a water skin and even a traveler¡¯s cloak he¡¯s found in one of the old chests in the cellar. He donned it to show me.


    ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Better than one would expect from a fifteen-year-old city boy. The cloak accommodates his tall lanky frame quite nicely. It¡¯s dull grey and stitched in a couple of places, and it makes Jar seem somewhat older and more experienced than he actually is.


    But there is something theatrical about the way he looks, too. It¡¯s like he is an actor in a play, wearing a costume. A nice costume, but a costume still. And it fills me with a new fear: that some swindler on our path might look at him and see through this flimsy guise. See that Jar is but a boy, who has no experience with the road, who has never been outside the city walls. Easy prey to take advantage of.


    I have seen my share of travelers who passed our town sometimes. My father called them scum. Not all of them were, but some were, indeed, trouble. They had calculating cruelty in their gaze. Never come near them folk, grown-ups used to warn us, kids. And we knew better of course than to disobey¡­


    But on the road, those people are everywhere. And sometimes they wear perfect guises even weathered travelers can¡¯t see through. What of Jaro? Would he be able to know them?


    These thoughts distress me.


    But Jaro just waves my fears away with a laugh.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be fine. Thieves only look for those folk who have something valuable. We don¡¯t have anything. Nothing to steal from us.¡±


    Perhaps he is right, I don¡¯t know.


    But if we don¡¯t have anything, how in the world are we going to get to My Little Wanderer?


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure something out,¡± Jaro says, and I allow his confidence to convince me.


    * * *


    We plan to hit the road on the twelfth day of Somber. We don¡¯t want to wait too long, because autumn is getting stronger with each day, and soon it will be all over us, with its chills and rains and winds. We want to make good use of these last warm days and be through with our task before the winter starts to creep in.


    Talk about optimism.


    Nora¡¯s wedding is scheduled for the beginning of the next month. The first day of Mudder.


    ¡°You¡¯ll miss it,¡± I tell Jaro.


    ¡°That''s fine,¡± he shrugs. ¡°We can¡¯t wait that long if we want to go through with our plan. Besides, with the wedding preparations, it¡¯s easier for me to sneak away. After that¡­ it might get problematic.¡±


    Nora wants to rent the house out when she moves in with Mikh. Who knows what life is going to be like after that. If we want to get away, now it''s our best chance.


    So we take it.


    * * *


    The morning of the twelfth day is gloomy. Clouds are low and dirty, heavy with upcoming rain. The air is very still and the usual morning sounds¡ªhoofs and cartwheels thumping against the cobblestones, yells of the vendors, voices of the people on the street blended into a uniform murmur¡ªseem subsided, less harsh, less intrusive. As if the city is holding its breath in some sort of grim anticipation.


    Nora¡¯s mood is sunny though. She doesn¡¯t notice the clouds. She sings, dressing up. She ordered a few new dresses from some posh city tailor, and they make her look very nice. There are three of them: the first one is colored like dark honey, the second one is milky-white with a thin silver thread along the hem. And the last one¡ªmy personal favorite¡ªis green with fine golden embroidery on the bodice. Just like the one I had, the one Nora wanted so much. I promised to give her the dress when I sent her to the cave. I never fulfilled my promise.


    ¡°Which one should I wear?¡± Nora asks, arranging the dresses on her bed.


    I startle. A wild absurd thought rushes through my mind¡ªthat she is addressing me. And for a second it¡¯s like I get a glimpse into some alternative reality, where I am alive and all grown up and we are getting ready for some occasion, her turning toward me and asking: ¡°Which one, do you think?¡±


    But she is talking to her maid of course.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, madam,¡± chirrups the girl. ¡°They¡¯re all so pretty.¡±


    ¡°The green one,¡± I whisper. ¡°It really suits you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe the yellow one?¡± offers the maid.


    Nora looks at the green dress, picks it up, but then drops in back on the bed.


    ¡°Yellow it is.¡±


    I leave the room, pausing just to give her one more look. Am I going to see my sister again?


    ¡°Goodbye, Nora,¡± I whisper.


    Really, there¡¯s not much else to say.


    * * *


    Nora has a fitting at twelve, then a lunch with her friend. It means we have about three hours of time to execute our plan.


    It sounds cooler than it actually is. A plan! We have no plan! We are two idiots who have no idea what they¡¯re getting themselves into.


    And we¡¯re this close to changing our minds. Well, I am anyway. Jaro keeps his doubts to himself.


    ¡°Jar?¡± Nora calls out, before stepping outside. ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    ¡°Mom, wait.¡±


    Jaro comes up to her and hugs her.


    ¡°Hey, and what have I done to deserve that?¡± she laughs.


    ¡°Nothing. I just thought I want to give you a hug. You look nice.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she laughs. ¡°See you later, alright?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You¡¯ll see me very, very soon, I promise.¡±


    She gives him a funny look, and then, at last, she leaves.


    ¡°Are you crazy?¡± I inquire. ¡°What was that about? You want her to get suspicious and get home early?¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t. She¡¯ll forget everything about it in a couple of minutes.¡±


    ¡°You feel bad about it, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He shrugs.


    ¡°A little. But we have to do this, so it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    He starts to put everything he gathered into a bag ¨C food, water, flint. He¡¯s been raiding the cellar, rummaging through the chests and boxes and whatnot. One thing about old houses ¨C they collect all sorts of crap. He found some old things and managed to sell them to a rag picker. He also found some old books and sold them, too, getting a decent price. He knows books. He knows what is worth what. There is some use in all his passion for books apparently.


    He throws on his cloak, picks up the bag and the staff, and looks at me.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s as good as it gets, I suppose,¡¯ he says. ¡®We¡¯ll have to make do with what we have. Let¡¯s go.¡±

 6. Anya

    Outside, the greyness of the city bids us a sulky farewell. I turn into a bird and follow Jaro as he makes his way through the busy streets. He is carrying a heavy parcel secured with a rope, and he wouldn¡¯t tell me what¡¯s inside.


    ¡°What¡¯s this secrecy?¡± I grumble. ¡°I will find out eventually, won¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Jaro answers cheerfully, and I know it¡¯s no use for me to keep asking.


    It¡¯s a long walk. I force myself to look around a little, trying to commit to memory as many details as I possibly can.


    We pass a coffee shop. In its tall window, we see chocolate cookies and lemon pies and fluffy raisin pancakes. A woman walks in, letting out an avalanche of smells¡ªginger, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, and a variety of other delicious scents that I don¡¯t recognize.


    The look of all these pasties alone makes me hungry, but their smell almost drives me mad. Of course, for me, hunger is not the same as for the living, but it¡¯s just as real and nothing in the world can ever sate it.


    The flowerbeds are not yet emptied for the winter, still vivid, still fragrant with late summer flowers¡ªred and orange and yellow chrysanthemums¡ªlike girls all dressed up for a ball, each trying to look prettier than her neighbor. Their beauty is almost enough to chase away the greyness of the day.


    Who knows, I might not come back... The thought scares me, but you might¡¯ve noticed by now that pretty much everything scares me, so yeah, no surprise there.


    Jaro is silent and tense. It¡¯s like a personal rainy cloud is following him around, perching comfortably on his shoulders. But this tension somewhat melts away as we make our way through the city. It feels like crossing a threshold, like closing the door behind you. Resolute.


    While the center of the city is elegant and fashionable, with all its tiny boutiques and restaurants under the brightly painted signs, the outskirts are busier and faster and louder. We pass through the gates of the high-town and dive into the chaos of the market area. Horses and donkeys, carriages and carts are everywhere, and for a moment I¡¯m blinded. So fast! So noisy!


    There are stalls everywhere and they all sell different things, seemingly without any order. Here, a butcher with red meat and poultry. His neighbor is a foreigner with some overseas jewelry, sparkling in the scant sunlight. Farther on¡ªa woman with caramels shaped like birds and a huge casket of sugary water to wash it down.


    Beggars, sitting in the mud, grab at Jaro¡¯s cloak.


    ¡°A coin, kind sir?¡±


    But of course, we don¡¯t have anything to spare, so Jaro walks past them, stepping just a little faster.


    At first, I think we¡¯re making our way towards the main gates, but Jaro moves through the crowd, delving deeper and deeper into the market area. I fight the panic that is rising inside of me. I tell myself that the confusion will pass, that I will get used to all this mess soon, very soon¡ªany moment now I will feel better! I stop looking around and concentrate my attention solely on Jaro, trusting him to lead us.


    After a while, it becomes apparent that he is not just walking around. He is looking for someone, peering into the faces of the merchants.


    ¡°Who are we looking for?¡± I ask.


    But he¡¯s too distracted to answer.


    ¡°He should be here, he said he¡¯d be here¡­¡± he mumbles to himself.


    ¡°Who?¡± I ask again.


    He turns around.


    ¡°Ah, there he is!¡±


    He points towards a somewhat quieter alley, and I see a covered wagon parked at the curb there. Jaro heads towards it, and I follow, curious. As we approach the flaps at the back of the wagon part letting out a man. He is around forty and has the kind of look you expect from a man who spent his life on the road.


    ¡°Huh,¡± he says, seeing Jaro. ¡°It¡¯s you! I thought you ain¡¯t coming.¡±


    ¡°Well I told you I¡¯d come, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    The man chuckles.


    ¡°Oh, you know how these things are. Boys want to run away one day, then they sleep on it, think about it, and they change their minds. A smart thing to do, too. If you ain¡¯t sure you want this, you better turn back now.¡±


    ¡°I am not some runaway kid.¡±


    ¡°Of course you¡¯re not. So did you bring what I told you to?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Jaro unwraps the mysterious bundle and I can¡¯t believe my eyes.


    ¡°You dolt!¡± I exclaim. No wonder he didn¡¯t want to tell me!


    It¡¯s a rifle and a long-bladed knife sheathed in a leather scabbard. Both seem familiar. Those are my grandfather¡¯s weapons. Jaro must have found them in one of the chests in the cellar. I can¡¯t believe Nora still keeps those things. She inherited everything our family-owned, of course, but most of it her caretakers disposed of.


    The man scratches at his chin, thoughtfully.


    ¡°Have you robbed an antique store or something, eh, kid? The knife will do. And what¡¯s that? A hunting rifle? Let me see.¡±


    Reluctantly Jaro puts the rifle into his waiting hands. The man examines it.


    ¡°An old model, but a good one. A weapon like this desires a better target than those lands can offer. A Listerian work, isn¡¯t it? I assume you know how to put it to good use?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Splendid. You¡¯re hired then.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to¡ªI don¡¯t know¡ªtry me?¡± Jaro asks receiving his rifle back.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you know full well what you¡¯re getting into and that if you aren¡¯t qualified enough, you ain¡¯t getting out alive. The Steppe is a dangerous place. If you can¡¯t handle yourself there, you¡¯re screwed. So if you have any doubts, please, do me a favor and piss off now.¡±


    ¡°What exactly are we going to hunt?¡±


    ¡°Just wildfowl. Nothing special. But it¡¯s going to be a long expedition. We¡¯ll spend ten or more days in Steppe, so be ready for that.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Ten days!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not paying three pieces a day for nothing, boy. But you¡¯ll find that I¡¯m a good superior. I¡¯m fair and honest and if you do everything I say you won¡¯t regret working for me. Deal?¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± Jaro says quickly.


    ¡°Right then. So we¡¯re leaving in an hour or so,¡± the man nods at the wagon. ¡°Put your things inside, then help me load it. Chop-chop.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure if I like the man or not.


    ¡°Who is this guy?¡± I ask Jaro when he gets inside the wagon to store his things under a low bench. Inside the covered wagon is a cramped space under a waterproof canvas. The wooden boxes and weaver baskets are all locked tight. It smells funny, too, but I don¡¯t know what that is.


    ¡°A hunter. Heading to Horta. He agreed to hire me as his help and in return, we can travel in his wagon. You didn¡¯t think we¡¯re going to walk all the way to Horta, did you? I have to disappoint you¡ªcaravans don¡¯t go into the wilderness. And we still don¡¯t know the exact location of the town. It wasn¡¯t repopulated. It¡¯s empty now.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me about it?¡±


    ¡°You would¡¯ve objected.¡±


    ¡°You bet I would¡¯ve! Do you even know how to use that gun?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve practiced a little.¡±


    How Jaro manages to do stuff without me ever finding out is beyond me.


    ¡°Does it still work?¡± I ask dubiously.


    ¡°Sure it does,¡± he grins, and then adds, gently, ¡°This is going to be dangerous. But we knew it from the start.¡±


    Jaro helps Steel with boxes¡ªcarries them and loads them into the wagon. He is a little nervous, a little impatient, and one of the boxes falls to the ground with a sharp sound.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a girl¡¯s voice calls out. ¡°You, boy, be careful!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, miss,¡± Jaro apologizes quickly, turning around to face her. ¡°Oh¡­ Errr¡­. Hello.¡±


    She is small and skinny, dressed in brown trousers and a loose grey shirt instead of a dress. But her clothing isn¡¯t the most remarkable thing about her.


    For a second I think that she¡¯s wearing a mask. The kind of masks actors put on when they portray monsters or personify an illness. The ugly kind.


    But it¡¯s no mask. It¡¯s her face. She has lovely blue eyes, clear as the sky in the warmest, sunniest day of summer. Her lips are coral-red, plump and small. But the upper left side of her face is red and distorted¡ªa bulging scar that pulls her skin to one side.


    Jaro¡¯s just standing there, gaping. Finally, after perhaps a few long seconds, he offers her his hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m Jaromir,¡± he says. ¡°You can call me Jaro.¡±


    She hesitates but then takes it.


    ¡°Anya,¡± she nods at the hunter, who is busy with horses. ¡°I¡¯m his niece.¡±


    Anya¡­ I like the name. The directness of it fits her well.


    ¡°And are you¡­ are you going to travel with us?¡±


    She chuckles.


    ¡°No, Jaro. It¡¯s you who is going to be traveling with us.¡±


    ¡°Riiight,¡± Jaro smiles. ¡°Well, I humbly thank you for having me, miss. I¡¯m looking forward to this journey.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± she says. ¡°Believe me, there is nothing to be excited about.¡±


    * * *


    Jaro¡¯s journal


    Great grandfather Marek¡¯s rifle is a thing of art. Its stock is graceful and decorated with complicated intertwined patterns. There¡¯s a tiny silver figurine sitting under the trigger. It looks like a wolf or maybe a fox¡ªI can imagine great grandfather touching the figurine with his thumb for luck before going on a hunt.


    The hunter¡¯s name is Steel. His dark skin bears many marks. His dark eyes bear many shadows. His dark hair is cropped close to the scalp and reveal some ugly twisting scars. I also notice a tiny hole in his ear, but no earring in it.


    He is a foreigner, obviously, and from the Listerian desert no less¡ªthe land that lies far beyond the Steppe, and is pretty much the same for me as ¡°the far side of the world¡±. Trying to imagine it is like trying to imagine the Gods¡¯ Realm ¨C something so completely beyond my understanding it¡¯s overwhelming. I wonder what could cause a Listerian to end up in the Empire.


    The way to Horta takes approximately nine days. The road passes several minor towns, and in each town, Jaro¡¯s job is to unpack the goods and to show them to the customers.


    Anya writes the income down into a large black book. As we approach a new town, she puts on a thick grey veil, similar to those Listerian women wear¡ªperhaps, even thicker. I doubt she can even see where she¡¯s going wearing that thing. But¡­


    ¡°My face is bad for business,¡± she explains plainly.


    Steel¡¯s merchandise gives me the creeps: bones and feathers, beaks and talons, dried bird hearts and serpent tails and whatnot. All these animals come from the Steppe, and some people believe that everything that comes from the Steppe is magical somehow.


    Anya is a witch, apparently. She uses those bones and feathers to make ugly amulets and cooks the hearts and the tails to make nasty concoctions. She pours them into dirty bottles and adds macabre labels like ¡°Ivory Kiss Potion¡± and ¡°Bitter Desire Elixir¡± and ¡°Scarlet Scale Brew¡±.


    Jaro likes it though. These potions are the closest thing to magic that he¡¯s seen so far. In his enthusiasm, he even calls people up to the makeshift stall, ¡°Kind sir, could I interest you in some white serpent elixir? It¡¯s great for the joint aches! Lovely madam, would you like to try our bone powder? Does wonders to the complexion!¡±


    Customers seem to sense his fascination with the wares, and so they draw near and sample and taste and smell. And then they buy. Jaro barely leaves them any choice.


    I don¡¯t think Steel has realized what a nice bargain it was, hiring the boy.


    Two days into our slow journey we stop by the river to spend the night. The surrounding land is bumpy with thin patches of huddled trees here and there. Steel hides our fire so that some late-night traveler wouldn¡¯t see it from the road. We don¡¯t need a company. For a merchant, a company means trouble.


    The night outside the city takes my breath away. I forgot what night sky can be like. In the city, the stars are duller, smaller. But here, they shine like tiny fire-spirits, furiously, as if in a rush to spend all the light in their bodies until dawn comes to chase them away. And the sky¡­ it¡¯s so dark. Dark and deep and cold. I love it, but it cares nothing for my love, and then I love it even more.


    Jaro and Steel are sitting by the fire. There is a rabbit, impaled on a spit over it. Fat hisses softly as it drips into the hot coals and the smell of the roasting meat is¡­ heavenly.


    I don¡¯t remember ever liking meat when I was alive, but now I would kill for a bite of that succulent rabbit. But then I hear something, and the hunger is almost forgotten.


    Sobs. Somebody¡¯s crying their soul out in the dark.


    I listen for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. I remember the sobbing ghost that nearly drained me of all my strength, and I have an absurd thought, ¡°What if it followed me here?¡±


    But of course, it isn¡¯t possible. She is bound to that abandoned grave and she wouldn¡¯t have the strength to travel.


    It¡¯s someone else then.


    Well, it¡¯s not your business, Kara, says the voice in my head, the reasonable one. Remember what happened when you tried to help that ghost? You still feel her touch on your skin, don¡¯t you?


    I do. But this is no ghost. I can tell.


    In my bird form, I follow the sound, and it leads me to the bank of a shallow stream.


    Anya is sitting on a rock, her feet touching the water. She is holding her veil in her hands and uses it to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She looks fragile as if she is made of thin glass. I have never seen anyone cry like that. It¡¯s like she¡¯s collected her tears for years and now finally she lets them spill.


    She, of course, won¡¯t see me, so I get very, very close, without fearing to alarm her. But as I do so, she suddenly lifts her head, and I gasp and drawback.


    She looks at me¡ªthrough me¡ªand her bloodshot eyes are hollow. The emptiness in them reminds me of the ghost in the graveyard, but it scares me a lot more. It scares me because it doesn¡¯t belong on the face of a living human being.


    I dash back, to our roasting-meat-smelling camp, my wings beating violently against the chilly evening air.


    ¡°It is not your concern,¡± my reasonable voice chants. ¡°Not your concern. Not your concern. There are many unfortunate souls out there, so what? You can¡¯t help them.¡±


    No, I can¡¯t. This is true.


    How can I help her? I can¡¯t even help myself! I should think about our mission, not some random crying girl with a scarred face.


    I go back to Jaro, and perch on his shoulder.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Nothing, I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine. Everything¡¯s fine.¡±


    I almost say ¡°fine¡± a few more times, but catch myself in time and shut up.


    Jaro shrugs and doesn¡¯t pry. I wish he had though. I would¡¯ve told him if he¡¯d pressed me just a little. But he doesn¡¯t and I don¡¯t, and so Anya continues to cry for some time and when she comes back to the camp, she face is hidden under the veil and unreadable.

 7. Blind Blades

    Our next stop is Shale, a small, energetic town that never sleeps and never ever stops talking. It¡¯s like every single holiday in the Empire has gathered here. The streets are decorated with paper flags that tremble in the wind. There are three main marketplaces and all the houses in town were built around them like seats surrounding an arena.


    ¡°The marketplaces have names,¡± Steel explained. ¡°Red, Golden, and Brown. Red sells food¡ªmeat, fish, plants, ale. Golden sells clothes, fabrics, furs, and buttons. Now we are heading to Brown. It¡¯s where they sell everything else.¡±


    And ¡°everything else¡± is exactly the right way to put it. They have exotic birds in cages. They have tiny dolls made of colored glass. They have boxes that play music when you lift the lid. They have¡­ well, pretty much everything to entertain a bored rich customer. The majority of the goods are brought from overseas so they cost an arm and a leg.


    Shale is red. The bricks of the houses, the roof tiles, even the mud¡ªall red, red, red. Somehow, during our voyage, we inadvertently crossed the summer¡¯s border and stepped into the domain of autumn. The trees are red and yellow. The flowers bloom their last, desperately trying to hold on to their bright colors but losing them inevitably.


    Isn¡¯t it strange? Back at home, with Nora, I have never looked around. I was fixed on her and nothing else. After Jaro was born, he became another fascination. But the surroundings never interested me.


    And now? My senses are heightened. I pick up on every little detail. And the closer we get to the Steppe, the stronger I feel it. It¡¯s like the fog inside of me is melting away and everything is becoming crystal clear. I can¡¯t close my eyes and shut my senses, and I don¡¯t want to! I want it all. I want to absorb it, to bathe in it, to get lost in it.


    Stepping onto the street of Shale is like finding yourself amid a street party. It carries you away, in an elegant graceful dance and seduces you with a mixture of scents and blinds you with its rich colors. The palette is completely new to my eyes¡ªall these strong, heavy colors of autumn. Scarlet, and chocolate-brown, and maroon like chestnuts prepared for roasting, and deep-yellow like cider spiced with cinnamon¡­


    The statue of Mother Earth welcomes us at the city gates. Standing as high as a three-story building, it¡¯s the tallest statue I have seen in my life¡­ or after. She is made of white stone, with hair swaying gently as if in a mild breeze and her hands extend into the sky, as a tribute to the Father God ¨C Eternal Sky.


    We arrived in the town accurately in Mid-fall eve, so the statue is bathing in gifts: wreaths, baskets full of fruit and vegetables, embroidered cloths, shells, apple pies, jars of milk and wine, spices and grains in tiny bags, scented candles¡­ and even stranger gifts, like bars of soap and ugly dolls made of cheap fabric.


    On our way here Anya picked up some dry grass and wildflowers, and now she sits in the back of the wagon, twisting them this way and that way, fashioning something¡­ well, my best guess is that it¡¯s a wreath, albeit a strange one.


    She also has a small wooden box full of trinkets. It¡¯s like a treasury of a small girl. There are beads and ribbons and buttons and bits of golden thread and scraps of fabrics and whatnot. Anya dips her fingers inside and chooses carefully, giving each item a thorough inspection. When she¡¯s finished, I peer curiously over her shoulder. An effigy, that¡¯s what it is.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Jaro asks.


    ¡°I believe it¡¯s a doll,¡± she replies with a chuckle.


    ¡°Why did you make it?¡±


    ¡°I always make dolls for the goddess. I think this one turned out pretty nice.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an elaborate gift. What are you going to ask of her?¡±


    ¡°The same thing I ask every time,¡± she says simply. ¡°Deliverance.¡±


    * * *


    We stop at the inn called Grand. Ironically it turns out to be anything but. It¡¯s a tiny place, hidden in an alley, away from large crowds. This isolated location might be the reason why, on regular days, it doesn¡¯t see a whole lot of customers. Today, it¡¯s lively, but not too cramped.


    Inside it smells of beer and ale, freshly baked bread and roasted meat, cheap tobacco and rain-soaked wool. Still, it¡¯s nice. There is a long narrow table that divides the room into two. Six smaller tables near the walls. The floors and the wall panels are made of dark wood, and I smell a lingering aroma of polishing beeswax.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    There is an old piano in the corner. A girl and a boy, who I assume are the innkeeper¡¯s children, take turns to play it. They play well, too¡ªthe girl tends to rush the tempo a little, and the boy bangs at the keys as if he hates the old instrument and is desperately trying to break the thing, but all in all the music is quite pleasant, and there are two over-enthusiastic couples who even manage to dance to it. Patrons play cards, eat and drink.


    Anya disappears, probably taking shelter in her room on the second floor. Steel orders some bread and stew and beer for Jaro and himself. He also orders a jug of Listerian wine and then finds a vacant place near the hearth. It¡¯s warm and it smells even nicer here. Some pinewood logs are burning in the fireplace, and the delicate waft is like a tiny melody, subtle yet persistent, that weaves its way through louder sounds without letting them overwhelm her.


    There are two tables set for games. The one on the right side of the room is for plain old cards. The one on the left¡ªfor something called Blind Blades, a complex game involving a multi-colored playing field, dice and some pieces of wood etched with letters, numbers, and symbols.


    Jaro becomes interested in it the moments he sets his eyes upon it. He longs to learn the rules and asks Steel questions like:


    ¡°And what happens if I don¡¯t choose the right symbol in time?¡± (¡°You¡¯re screwed.¡±)


    Or:


    ¡°What if a player gets everything right in the first round?¡± (¡°Then he wins obviously, but believe me, boy, I have never heard of such a thing ever happening.¡±)


    ¡°I wish I could try,¡± Jaro says then.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a game for newbies. Don¡¯t be a fool, boy.¡±


    Steal lounges back in his chair, enjoying his wine, the warmth of the hearth and the lingering aroma of burning pine. He looks like a cat. A rather drunk cat.


    I look at Jaro.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it! We don¡¯t have much money, and if we lose, that means we¡¯re going back home, abandoning our mission.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not going home, Kara! I¡¯m not a child, you know. I know the risks. But think about it. You could help me with this.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± he leans closer to the fire as he speaks, so nobody can see or hear him talk. ¡°This game is not that difficult.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ for me. For us. The important thing here is a bit of luck¡ªguessing the symbols on the wooden planks that your opponents hold. You can look at them for me and tell me, and then I can play and win.¡±


    ¡°You propose that we cheat?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says simply.


    I stare at him, dumbfounded.


    ¡°No,¡± I say after a few seconds. ¡°No, Jar! It¡¯s all but a game for you, isn¡¯t it? But if you cheat and someone suspects it, then¡­ I don¡¯t know what they are going to do! They will beat you. They can even kill you for this.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so dramatic.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be such an idiot, then.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Kara. No one is going to know. And we need the money¡ªonce we¡¯re in Horta, we will need a horse and food and equipment to reach My Little Wanderer. The pieces master Steel is paying me aren¡¯t going to be enough. And¡­¡±


    He pauses.


    ¡°And there is also the matter of me going back home after we¡¯re done.¡±


    Home. Of course. I keep forgetting he still would need to get back home after all this is over. He will need the funds, especially if I¡¯m not around anymore.


    ¡°Kara, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s the best chance I¡¯ll probably get.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s cheating.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes you have to cheat a little, for the greater good.¡±


    ¡°Did you learn that from books?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t reply. His mind is already somewhere else.


    ¡°Are you going to help me or not?¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Okay then.¡±


    He polishes off his beer and stands up. And then, to my utter horror, he moves through the crowd towards the table on the left side of the room.


    ¡°Can I join in?¡± he asks cheerfully.


    ¡°Can you play?¡± a gray-bearded man at the table looks at him askance, stirring the dice in a large wooden mug. His doubt is understandable. Jaro doesn¡¯t look like someone who can play. He also doesn¡¯t look like someone who can pay up.


    ¡°Yes, of course, I can play,¡± he nods. ¡°And I have money!¡±


    He digs out his coin purse and weighs it on his palm. I groan. What are you doing, Jar! It¡¯s all our money!


    ¡°Right¡­¡± the grey beard still eyes him skeptically but relents. ¡°If you say so. Be my guest.¡±


    He waves at the empty seat and Jaro takes it without hesitation.


    ¡°I told you I am not going to help you,¡± I hiss.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he replies, not addressing anyone in particular.


    He is so calm. I curse under my breath. He knows I¡¯m not going to leave him, so he doesn¡¯t leave me any choice but to comply. And it makes me so angry I almost let him drown. Arrogant brat! I should let you lose your shirt¡ªand your pants, too, for good measure. That would teach you a lesson!


    But I can¡¯t. My fate depends on it. If he loses, we go home. To a newlywed Nora and her amazing new life.


    So I fly up to Jaro and perch on his shoulder.


    ¡°I hate you,¡± I whisper. ¡°I hate you so much right now! You insufferable egocentric little¡­¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re doing it then?¡±


    The question is for me, but he addresses the grey-bearded guy, who is apparently in charge of the game.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says overturning the cup and letting the dice, all six of them, to roll out onto the playing field.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I echo testily.


    And then we start the game of Blind Blades.

 8. A Stolen Purse

    Anya¡¯s Journal


    ¡°There¡¯s something off about this guy, Jaromir¡ª


    a teeny tiny wrongness that I cannot place. It¡¯s like a shadow is following him everywhere.


    A living shadow. He talks to himself sometimes, too. Makes me wonder.¡±


    It¡¯s easier than I expected. I get a little lost at first since the game is insanely fast with all those numbers and letters and strange pictures flying past me like a wild torrent. I circle the table, peering into the hands of the players, trying to remember what they got, but by the time I pass the gathered information to Jaro, the spin is already over and we have to start all over again.


    We¡¯re gonna lose! We¡¯re gonna lose! We¡¯re so gonna lose!


    But Jaro seems to be quite relaxed, and I try to follow his example. I watch carefully. The symbols are starting to get familiar, so I can memorize them better. I gave them code names too, and that helps a lot.


    ¡°The guy on your right has seven, seven, one, A, B, O, winged snake thing, jumping ball, half-horseshoe. The guy on your left¡ªthree, two, two, D, D, D, O, P, W, no pictures. The guy in front of you¡­¡±


    And so on.


    Jaro doesn¡¯t always understand me, and he coughs when he needs me to repeat or paraphrase.


    ¡°You¡¯re feeling alright, lad?¡± his opponents ask idly. ¡°Haven¡¯t passed through The Bear¡¯s End lately, have you?¡±


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t. What¡¯s there in the Bear¡¯s End?¡±


    ¡°An outbreak of Teary again, they say. Heard of it? You get chills and sore throat and then, with no warning, you start crying bloody tears and don¡¯t stop till there¡¯s not a spoon of blood left in your body.¡±


    I shudder and shift uneasily on Jar¡¯s shoulder, and forget for a few seconds about my job, imagining the horrors of such a dreary illness.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± says Jar. ¡°I think I¡¯m losing this round.¡±


    It jolts me awake and I rush to resume my duty.


    Jaro is careful. He doesn¡¯t start winning straight away, he loses some, he wins a few coins, then loses them again. He is learning how the game works. But then he starts winning, and winning, and winning some more. And it attracts some attention. Even Steel gives up his cozy seat by the fire to come up to the table and watch the game.


    His brows rise then drop into a frown, but he doesn¡¯t say anything. He knows Jaro¡¯s cheating, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to voice his suspicion. Besides, how can he prove it? It¡¯s not like it¡¯s illegal to bring your pocket ghost to the playing table.


    I feel the room buzz around me. I¡¯m starting to enjoy the game. It¡¯s been a while since I felt I was actually doing something. Of course, in this case, this ¡°something¡± is ¡°cheating¡±, but who cares? It¡¯s fun!


    The coin columns on Jaro¡¯s side of the table are getting pretty darn tall. Alright, maybe it wasn¡¯t such a bad plan afterward. Maybe I should give the boy more credit. He isn¡¯t stupid.


    Steel watches the game for some time, but then he leaves. We barely notice.


    Halfway through the game, I turn into a weasel. It happens on its own. Like that time when I first turned into a gull. I felt like a bird then. Now I feel like a weasel. But it makes it easier for me to sneak. I jump from one player to the next, spinning, hopping, sprinting across the colored field.


    I forget about the time. I forget about everything.


    Until I hear a sound.


    A sob. A quiet desperate whimper.


    My hearing is better than that of any human, so I am the only soul in the room who picks up on it. I wish I had ears so I can close them and just STOP HEARING. I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t. She is in my head, my chest--my everything, and I choke on it.


    I stop in the middle on the table, forgetting all about the game. Where does the sound come from? Outside¡­


    I throw a desperate glance at the window. Something is happening on the street. I need to see it. I need to know. But I can¡¯t leave Jaro.


    I turn into a gull again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I promise him. ¡°You¡¯ll have to play without me for a while, alright?¡±


    He looks at me, utterly shocked, but I¡¯m already on my way out of the inn and into Shale¡¯s cool night.


    It started to drizzle a little, and the whispering sound of falling raindrops fills the night. I stop for a second, disoriented. Where did the sound come from? I haven¡¯t imagined it, have I?


    As the darkness came, Shale¡¯s changed its face, like a girl donning an evening dress. I look around and it takes a bit of an effort to recognize the street we drove by to come here, the courtyard, the barn where we left the horse and the cart.


    There are puddles of water on the ground and small bubbles dance on their surface. The door of the inn opens and closes, admitting people in or seeing them out, and scraps of warmth and light and laughter escape into the night and melt in the rain.


    It¡¯s a ridiculously peaceful night. And yet, someone is screaming somewhere.


    ¡°Please!¡± I hear then. ¡°Please, you have to¡­¡±


    The barn! It comes from the barn!


    I need to check it out, but I have to hurry. Jaro will lose, badly, if I don¡¯t get back to him on time.


    I enter the barn through its double doors, and for a moment I pause, making sense of what¡¯s happening inside.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Anya is crying, cowering in a deep shadow beside the wagon, while Steel is beating her with a whip.


    I¡¯ve always suspected there were no warm feelings between these two, but the scene leaves me speechless and horrified.


    Each hit is precise and unhurried and completely dispassionate. I look for the right word. ¡°Habitual¡±, that¡¯s it. Like some sort of tedious job, you¡¯ve been doing for some time and so developed a muscle memory to it.


    Is this what this is then? A habitual task? Beating that poor girl¡­


    ¡°You stole it, did you? You stole it?¡± the hunter barks, striking again.


    The girl manages to lift her arm right in time to shield her head. It seems she, too, has developed muscle memory of a sort.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t! I swear, uncle, I swear on my life¡­¡±


    ¡°Your life? What¡¯s your miserable life worth? Less than a wretched rat! I should¡¯ve drowned you when you were but a babe. Now that would¡¯ve been a good decision.¡±


    A new blow follows and the girl is not quick enough to cover her head this time. The whip catches her across the forehead and she cries out.


    ¡°You stole it, didn¡¯t you?¡± he repeats, and his voice isn¡¯t even particularly angry. ¡°You stole my purse, you little shit?¡±


    A new blow strikes and a new scream follows.


    But when the girl lifts her head again, her expression is distorted with pain and anger and fear and hate. The impossible blueness of her eyes burns like cold fire and for the first time, she doesn¡¯t look ugly to me. She looks beautiful in a way. Like a goddess of war, out of this world. Deadly.


    ¡°YES!¡± her voice cuts through the barn, like a whiplash. ¡°I stole your fucking purse! I did it! So kill me already, you pitiless heartless bastard!¡±


    I flinch at the extent of anger and hurt in her voice.


    Steel flinches too and the whip stops. He probably didn¡¯t expect his victim to confess, and he doesn¡¯t even know what to do now that he¡¯s obtained the confirmation he wanted.


    ¡°You did?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, I did. I did it,¡± the girl lowers her head on the crook of her elbow.


    ¡°Where is it then?¡± Steel regains his composure. ¡°Where did you hide it?¡±


    ¡°Nowhere. I didn¡¯t hide it, you fool. I spent it!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°There were too many coins in there. You couldn¡¯t have spent all of it! No, you hid it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, uncle, you know too damn well that I¡¯m too dull-witted to even think of hiding anything. I spent it all, to the last coin. And if I had more, I¡¯d spent more.¡±


    ¡°What could you possibly buy?¡±


    ¡°Food. I bought food. Lots of it. Sugar canes from vendors at the market. Lemonade. Hot chocolate. I¡¯ve seen and smelled it so many times, I thought I should try it at least once. And then I went to Olivier¡¯s bakery on the corner of March and I bought a dozen cupcakes. One of each flavor: peach, blueberry, chocolate. The one with an almond on top. The one with some coconut sprinkles. They melt on your tongue when you put them in your mouth. And you¡¯ve never even tasted the coconut, have you? Haven¡¯t you ever wondered what it tastes like?¡±


    The hunter¡¯s composure falters again. It seems he doesn¡¯t recognize the creature before him. It¡¯s not his silent niece. It¡¯s someone else.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m smart enough to lie?¡±


    There is an uncertain pause, and then Steel lifts his whip again and starts beating the girl with a new fervor. This time it¡¯s not mechanical. He hits her, over and over and over. It catches her on the head and with a short cry Anya falls, and this time, she doesn¡¯t rise. She just lies there. And I think she might be dead¡­


    Horror pushes me away from the barn and back to the inn. My wings beat so fast I nearly fly past it. Inside, the heat of the fire and the cozy smells of food and spiced wine engulf me. People play games and drink and eat and drowse. It¡¯s like a different world. It¡¯s impossible to imagine that within a few meters a girl is being beaten to death by her guardian.


    Jaro lifts his head from the table, and I read desperation in his eyes¡ªhe is losing, he needs me. I almost forgot about him. But I can¡¯t go back to the game now. I need to get help.


    I hop on his shoulder.


    ¡°I nearly lost!¡± his voice is barely a whisper, but I hear him fine even in the din of the inn. ¡°Where were you?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t play. I need you to come with me. Now!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Jar! There is no time to argue, you need to come with me! It¡¯s Anya. She needs help!¡±


    ¡°Anya? What?¡± he hisses, and he doesn¡¯t need to say the words for me to hear him: ¡°If I give up the game now, I lose. We¡¯ll end up with even less coin than we had. We¡¯ll end up with nothing!¡±


    ¡°I know we¡¯re going to lose the money, but this is more important, Jaro.¡±


    He turns his head to look at me. He reads it in my voice¡ªthe graveness of the situation.


    Then he lowers his palms on the table.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, good men, but I have to leave.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t leave!¡± argues the grey beard, but Jaro shakes his head.


    ¡°I must. I¡¯m sorry. It was a good game.¡±


    ¡°Not for you it wasn¡¯t!¡±


    But Jaro doesn¡¯t listen. He is already on his feet and he follows me through the room and outside and to the barn.


    I watch his face change as he enters the double doors and grasps what¡¯s happening.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± he asks loudly.


    Steel looks up at him.


    ¡°Nothing at all, young man,¡± he replies. ¡°Nothing at all.¡±


    It¡¯s only now that I notice he¡¯s drunk. He sways a little as if the ground moves beneath his feet and he has to make an effort not to lose his footing.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like nothing to me,¡± Jaro grits his teeth. His eyes are fixed on Anya, and blackness spreads in them as if the ink is spilled into a crystal clear water pool.


    ¡°Be on your way, lad. This is a family business, so stay out of it.¡±


    ¡°Like hell I will. Let her go. Now.¡±


    Jaro steps closer, and Steel raises his whip.


    ¡°She stole my money, and so she¡¯s in trouble. If you don¡¯t go, you¡¯ll be, too.¡±


    Anya whimpers, as she lifts her head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go!¡± she calls out to him. ¡°Please, Jaromir, don¡¯t¡­¡±


    She shouldn¡¯t worry. If there are things in this world that scare Jaro, trouble is not one of them.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he assures her, and then he walks up to her, as if completely oblivious of the whip in the hunter¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Jaro!¡± I say. ¡°Jaro, be¡­¡±


    And then Steel hits him. I gasp, but Jaro is fast. He knew the whip was coming and so steps out of its way, just in time. The tip misses his cheek by a mere inch though.


    Steel hits again, and again he misses. Despite his lanky frame, Jaro¡¯s nimble, always been, and Steel¡¯s drunk, but it doesn¡¯t mean the boy has much of a chance against him. The hunter¡¯s a grown man, tall and strong, who has been in many fights. Jaro is but a city youth, skinny and bony, who hasn¡¯t so much as seen a fight up close, let alone been in one.


    Steel frowns. I can see he¡¯s getting angry¡ªat himself for not being able to hit the boy, at Jaro for being too fast for him to catch.


    He drops the whip and reaches for the knife on his belt.


    ¡°Jaro!¡± I cry out in panic.


    What have I done? I shouldn¡¯t have brought him here! What did I expect him to do? Well, that¡¯s simple¡ªI didn¡¯t expect anything! I didn¡¯t think at all! Just acted on a pure impulse, a senseless desire to protect a girl neither of us even knows that well.


    See, this is what becomes of those who fancy themselves heroes. I knew books shouldn¡¯t be trusted. I¡¯ve been nagging Jaro for being such an idealistic fool. And yet here I am! It is I who lured Jaro into a danger¡ªa deadly danger!


    ¡°Jar,¡± I say. ¡°We need to go now. Forget about her. He¡¯s right, it¡¯s none of our business.¡±


    But Jaro doesn¡¯t even listen. Of course, he doesn¡¯t.


    Steel stabs at the boy with the knife. Jaro staggers back to avoid the blade. Doing so, he loses his balance and falls to one knee, and in the next second the hunter is already upon him, with his teeth bared.


    I dart forward and claw into Steel¡¯s face. It¡¯s ridiculous, this miserable effort of mine, but I don¡¯t think about it. My only thought is that I have to protect Jaro. Try at least, even if¡­ even if¡­


    Steel covers his face and backs away from my beating wings. He looks around not understanding, frowns, but I come up to him once more, and he stumbles back again, still confused. I¡¯m not sure what he feels, but he feels something, and that is enough for him to retreat.


    And that is also enough for Jaro to get on his feet and grab Anya¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Can you stand? Can you walk? Can you run?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I can run.¡±


    He helps her up and together they run. And Steel is too drunk to chase after them.

 9. A Story Told

    They roam the streets after that. The town, all prettied up for the upcoming celebration of Mid-fall, isn¡¯t in any hurry to go to sleep. Anya keeps her head and her hood low, so her face is obscured by the deep shadow, and the passersby sometimes look at her, trying inadvertently to catch a glimpse of her features.


    ¡°When my face is hidden like this,¡± she admits, ¡°I like to pretend I¡¯m pretty underneath this hood. And for a moment, for all those people, who can¡¯t see me¡­ I am.¡±


    They stop at the florist¡¯s shop window. It¡¯s lit with candles and framed with garlands of golden berries. There are a few bouquet arrangements on display¡ªbright yellow tulips, vibrant orange daisies, dark red orchids, and red roses. The prettiest colors of the autumn picked and gathered together in tiny round weaved baskets, embroidered with glass beads and silk ribbons and ornamental buttons.


    ¡°They look like they don¡¯t belong to this world,¡± Anya says. ¡°It seems they come from another realm, where there is nothing but beauty.¡±


    I never liked flowers. Too ephemeral, they don¡¯t last. Especially when they are cut from the ground and assembled into overpriced bouquets. But Anya takes their beauty in as if she is a traveler dying of thirst and they are a cool spring in the middle of a desert.


    Mid-fall isn¡¯t as cheerful as Spring-come. Rather it¡¯s more¡­ mysterious. It¡¯s like magic is waking up in the shadows. Our mother used to bake a pie with wild strawberries, always cutting a piece to put on Mother Earth¡¯s altar¡ªthe goddess we shared with the Steppe-folk. Nora and I decorated the house with rowanberries. And we always got new dresses on that day, too: a darker one for me, a lighter one for her. Mother never dressed us the same, not wanting, perhaps, to draw even more attention to our extraordinary resemblance.


    Jaro is happy. I can hear the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time, Anya doesn¡¯t seem cold and distant, and they¡¯ve been talking for hours. He asks questions and she answers them keenly.


    ¡°A match made in heaven,¡± I remark dryly, but he waves me away, so I spread my wings and fly circles around them, playing with the wind and allowing it to carry my weightless body. I try not to get too far though, just so that I can still catch snippets of their conversation.


    ¡°Your scar¡­ Has¡­ has your uncle done that to you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no! Why would he?¡± she laughs at the idea. ¡°If anything, my scar is to blame for all my misfortune. If I were pretty¡ªor even not ugly ¨C he would¡¯ve married me off to some merchant and that would¡¯ve brought him some gain. I was but a baby, when I burned myself, very badly. I barely survived. Maybe it would¡¯ve been better if I didn¡¯t, but it is what it is.¡±


    She speaks of it lightly, as if it¡¯s nothing at all. There is no bitterness in her voice, but maybe a little regret and sadness. But Jaro¡¯s jaw tightens in anger.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t say that!¡± he protests.


    Anya regards him calmly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It doesn¡¯t trouble me anymore. You don¡¯t have to say anything to make me feel better about myself. I¡¯m not blind and I¡¯m no fool.¡±


    Heat colors Jaro¡¯s cheeks red, and he lowers his gaze. He is silent for a minute, but then bursts again, ¡°Did you really steal from him?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she says after the briefest pause. ¡°Does that make me a horrible person?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But your uncle nearly killed you for that.¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have. He has a temper, that¡¯s all. And I think I was deliberately provoking him. I told him I spent the money I stole on sweets. Can you imagine that? Spending¡ªwhat?¡ªthirteen pieces on sweets! And still, he believed me! That¡¯s how stupid he thinks I am!¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t spend it then?¡±


    ¡°Well, I did, some of it. A few necessities. But everything else I stashed. I always do that.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve done that before?¡±


    ¡°A couple of times.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to spend the rest of my life hiding in the back of my uncle¡¯s wagon, that¡¯s why. And he¡¯s never gonna let me go of his own accord.¡±


    ¡°So you want to run away.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say anything to that, but there¡¯s a gleam in her eyes, that says yes, she wants that, more than anything.


    ¡°And what of you?¡± she asks. ¡°What are you going to do after the job¡¯s done?¡±


    ¡°I have things I need to take care of. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to the Steppe.¡±


    ¡°It must be very important to you. You have to be desperate to join our hunting party.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°You just don¡¯t seem like the hunting type.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never hunted before.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in for some eye-opening experiences then,¡± she mutters. ¡°What do you seek in the Steppe? Tell me it¡¯s not some treasure rubbish? Because that¡¯s just¡­¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that.¡±


    ¡°What then?¡±


    ¡°I need to help a friend.¡±


    She keeps quiet for a few moments, and then she lifts her head and looks him in the eye.


    ¡°Take me with you,¡± she says.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Take. Me. With. You. Are you deaf?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°I can help you. I know a thing or two about the Steppe. More than a city boy does, anyway. And I have some money so it¡¯s not like you¡¯re gonna have to take care of me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. Anya, it¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Please! I¡¯ve been going on hunting expeditions with my uncle since I was ten. I know danger better than you do.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a family matter. I can¡¯t involve you.¡±


    ¡°You said it was about a friend.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what people say when they lie. Alright, forget I said anything.¡±


    She starts walking away, and Jaro chases after her.


    ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t tell you. I¡¯m sorry. Even if I did, you wouldn¡¯t believe me anyway.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised at my ability to believe in things.¡±


    ¡°Would you believe me if I said my friend was a ghost and I¡¯m on a mission to help her move on?¡±


    He laughs as if it¡¯s a joke, as if he¡¯s just being silly, but Anya stops suddenly and turns to face him.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    She is deadly serious, too, and I perch on Jaro¡¯s shoulder, curious.


    Jaro is silent.


    ¡°I feel her,¡± Anya says after a long pause. ¡°I¡¯ve felt her ever since you¡¯ve joined us. I didn¡¯t know what she was, but I feel her, always.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ do?¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how and why, but yes! I do, Jaro.¡±


    That¡¯s¡­ unexpected. I remember how she looked up suddenly when I got closer to her. It was like she¡¯d heard me approach. Maybe she has the same gift as Jaro¡ªto an extent at least.


    Tentatively, Anya reaches out with her hand. She can¡¯t see me, it¡¯s quite obvious, but she guessed I was near, so I fly up to her and perch right on her open palm.


    The girl gasps and almost pulls her hand away, but then she lets out a short laugh.


    ¡°I can feel her.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it!¡± Jaro shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯ve never met another person who could communicate with her. You must really be a witch.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Anya smiles. ¡°It feels like¡­ It¡¯s like the Steppe. It¡¯s the same feeling you get when you touch the Steppe.¡±


    Neither of us understands what she means by that, but we don¡¯t ask.


    It¡¯s almost morning. Whether we want it or not, we must go back.


    And face Steel¡¯s wrath.


    *


    ¡°What if he¡¯s gonna be angry?¡± I ask for the hundredth time, as we make our way to the hotel Grand.


    ¡°Oh he¡¯s most definitely going to be angry,¡± Jaro says. ¡°But I don¡¯t think we have any choice. I¡¯ve lost all my money yesterday, and my bag and my weapons are still in Steel¡¯s keep.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re screwed,¡± I say, ¡°He¡¯s gonna kill you the moment you show up, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to take our chances. I¡¯m not leaving grandfather¡¯s rifle with that man.¡±


    But surprisingly, Steel doesn¡¯t seem very angry. When we enter the inn, he is crouching near the fireplace and it looks like it was him who¡¯s been beaten, not his niece.


    Anya slips past him without a word and runs upstairs, but Jaro lingers in the doorway, gathering his courage before joining the merchant. Rather cautiously he takes the empty seat on the opposite side of the table.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says, ¡°but I had to intervene.¡±


    Steel shakes his head.


    ¡°You¡¯ve some nerve showing up here after what happened, boy. Maybe you do belong with our merry company after all.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not kicking me out?¡±


    ¡°Beggars can hardly be choosers. I take all the help I can get these days,¡± he sighs. ¡°I¡¯m a businessman, boy. You wanna stay with us, be my guest. But I¡¯m going to take the money she stole from your payment.¡±


    Jaro pauses for a few heartbeats, then nods.


    ¡°Alright, deal.¡±


    Steel shoots him a curious look.


    ¡°Good. But it does make me wonder¡­¡±


    He pauses, taking a sip of his morning tea.


    ¡°It makes me wonder about this business of yours. Tell me, lad, where are you headed? And what is so important there for you so you are willing to continue no matter what.¡±


    Jaro bites his tongue and stays silent.


    ¡°Well,¡± Steel says scratching at his chin. ¡°Look, kid, it¡¯s not my way of getting into other people¡¯s business but I feel I must tell you this. The Steppe isn¡¯t a place for city boys. You wander there all by yourself, you ain¡¯t getting out alive, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    Jaro says nothing, but his jaw is set and Steel nods a little, watching him.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good lad. I can see that much. Decent. So take my advice. Turn back now. I¡¯m even going to pay you enough to get a ride home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a kind offer, sir, but I¡­ can¡¯t. My friend¡­ I have to help her.¡±


    ¡°Her?¡± Steel lets out a sigh. ¡°A girl then? Well, in that case, I¡¯m just wasting my time, am I not?¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­ no, not exactly a girl. It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    Steel raises his eyebrows but lets that one slide.


    ¡°Let me tell you a story then. I doubt it will make you change your mind, but it might make you a little more careful.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ All right.¡±


    Jaro loves stories. Even now, in the company of a man he doesn¡¯t like, he can¡¯t turn away a chance to listen to one.


    ¡°It happened to one of my dear friends, so I assure you the story is true.¡±


    And this is the thing with all the tall tales¡ªthey always start the same way: ¡°I know this is hard to believe, but it happened to my dear friend (or a close relative, or a person who would never ever lie, and who is, of course, absolutely sane)¡±.


    But who am I to judge really?


    Anyway, back to Steel:


    ¡°My friend was hired as a guard by a rich man to escort a caravan that had to deliver his wife and a few other family members to a wedding that took place on the other side of the Steppe. The route was dangerous, and the caravan needed heavy protection, as it was carrying gifts for the newlyweds¡ªgold and silver, gems and pearls. It was a desired prey for the outlaw bands that dwelled in the wilderness.


    My friend took the job eagerly. A Listerian, he was used to the dangers of the long routes, and neither bandits nor harsh conditions of the wastelands scared him.


    The caravan departed in the morning, on the first day of Bloomer, and they were going day and night, without rest, without stopping. And by the end of the third day of their travel, they came upon a different caravan. This one was abandoned. The carts and wagons were upturned, the canvas ripped, the wares scattered. And there were lifeless bodies everywhere¡ªjudging by the wounds, they were killed by some wild animal¡­ or rather a pack of wild animals.


    My friend is not ¡°a-faint-of-heart¡±. He has seen things, done things¡­ But the sight of that butchery drained the color from his face. He and the other mercenaries searched the wreckage, looking for survivors. My friend urged the guards to hurry. The smell of spilled blood suggested that the slaughter happened only a short time ago, so whoever or whatever did this, might still be nearby. But as they searched, the wonders of the abandoned caravan made them forget about everything in the world¡ªtheir duty, their destination, and even the danger.


    The unlucky caravan was transporting some valuable and exotic goods. There were pearls the size of a grown man¡¯s fist. There were silks painted in the rarest colors. There were statuettes made of pure gold. And in one of the wagons, there was an empty cage, made of some unknown shining metal, encrusted with gems.


    The cage caught my friend¡¯s interest, so he started looking for the key to match its lock and found it in the rubble¡ªthey key was as peculiar as the cage itself, made of that same metal, and my friend put it into his pocket. He¡¯d been meaning to show it to a blacksmith and learn the name of the metal.


    Very soon the mercenaries noticed something rather unsettling about the whole scene. The corpses that scattered the ground around the caravan did not belong to merchants. They were dressed in black and grey and they wore black scarves on their heads. My friend identified them as members of the infamous Clan.


    But if the Clan attacked the caravan and a battle ensued, then where were the bodies of the merchants?


    There was no one alive to tell the story of what had happened, and the truth, it appeared, was to be buried forever in the wilderness of the Great Steppe. However, it seemed a waste to leave treasures lying around. So the travelers and their guards started to rummage through the wagons, filling their pockets with coins and precious stones.


    And as they were doing so, the night fell.


    It began with a deafening howl. The ground shook. The wind blew. And creatures, made of nothing but darkness, were suddenly upon them. The gems and the coins turned into red clay. The wagons that looked brand new in the evening light now were nothing but old wooden carcasses. Only the corpses remained the same¡ªa grim promise of what awaited the unfortunate travelers.


    The creatures were so fast it was impossible to see any details. The only thing my friend remembered was their claws¡ªsharp and fast and deadly. They hacked and slashed and spilled blood. My friend survived by a miracle. His fingers found the key in his pocket, and so he ran and locked himself in the cage made of that strange metal, and that way he lasted through the night. When the day came, the creatures vanished, leaving new corpses behind.


    My friend was the only survivor.


    He continued his journey, shaken, barely understanding what had happened and where he was going. And on his way through the wilderness, he came across a dying man. He wore the attire of the Clan and he had a foul deep cut across his stomach.


    He told my friend what had happened to him and his fellow men. They saw an abandoned caravan full of treasures, and then were attacked by fearsome creatures¡­¡¯


    Steel falls silent.


    Jaro doesn¡¯t even seem to breathe.


    ¡°I saw him after his return,¡± Steel shakes his head. ¡°And he was not the same man I remembered. Every person who comes this close to creatures of the Steppe is marked for life. And he came too close.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it all can be explained.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes? How? That my friend was drunk and mistook wreckage for treasures and some wild animals for monsters? No, boy. There''s evil lurking in that place¡ªdemons weaving attractive illusions to lure a careless prey.¡±


    ¡°Illusions¡­¡± repeats Jaro pensively. ¡°Thank you for the warning, master Steel. I will be careful of any illusions.¡±


    ¡°Bah! And how will you know the difference between what¡¯s real and what¡¯s not, pray tell!¡±


    ¡°I will walk away from anything that is too good to be true, then,¡± Jaro smiles. ¡°And if I forget I hope my guardian angel will be there to remind me of that.¡±


    Steel nods gravely.


    ¡°Well, I did not expect the story would be enough to change your mind. Let¡¯s hope your guardian angel is smart enough to see the danger in time then.¡±

 10. Horta

    Anya¡¯s Journal


    ¡°I told Jaro that I wanted to run away, that I wanted another life for myself.


    The truth is¡­ I don¡¯t even know what that life would look like.¡±


    At long last, we arrive in Horta¡ªour last stop before we hit the Steppe¡ªand it¡¯s unlike any other town we¡¯ve seen so far. Like the guardian of truth, Pravinok, it wears many faces and as you travel from one part to the other, it changes right before your eyes, so fast, you can barely register it. There is a classy part with tidy houses surrounded by low hedges and immaculate flowerbeds, and then there is an old part, where the houses are worn and shabby and poor. There is an exotic part where the foreign influence is palpable and merchants from all over the western territories built their outlandish-looking houses and opened their shops full of outlandish-looking products. And then there is a traditional market place, where people from all over the Empire sell the local goods¡ªgingerbreads made by special formulae that have been passed down in secret for generations or weaved baskets that are sturdier than any foreign-made ones.


    And then there is Grubby. A wild part, where Steppe-folk live. Those are mostly small merchants, all packed under the leaking roofs of two-three story buildings. And unlike all the other parts of town, even on Mid-Fall, it¡¯s empty, save for some craftsmen selling trinkets in makeshift wooden stalls, an old street sweeper, some coachmen watching for prospective clients at the corner, and a few infrequent passersby.


    As we step on the street, Grubby welcomes us with slippery mud and hordes of buzzing insects. I am spared from these nuisances, but Jaro suffers through them to the full extent. He slips on the mud and barely recovers in time, escaping the embarrassment of sprawling down in the middle of the street. He tries to wave off the insects, but they are too many and soon his face is swollen with their vicious bites.


    ¡°Damned flies,¡± he whispers, scratching at the red marks.


    ¡°I guess being a ghost has its benefits,¡± I murmur.


    But truthfully I get my share of troubles, too. The smell alone is enough to knock me off my feet¨Cfiguratively speaking. I feel like I¡¯m being suffocated. The air stinks. It¡¯s a foul mixture of stale rainwater and horses and decomposing wastes and whatnot, and I wish I could hold my nose and stop all these smells from harassing my senses. Alas. When you¡¯re a ghost every smell and every sound pretty much jams into you and there is little you can do about it.


    I have seen many Steppe-people when I lived in Little Wonderer. They brought some of their products¡ªmilk and cheese¡ªto the seasonal markets. They made amulets for children and pretty ornaments out of birds¡¯ feathers to put on your clothes or your hat. They also made honey milk, which was something like sweet cream, and Nora and I loved it.


    Seeing these stalls, filled with colorful trinkets, is like peeking into my childhood, sweet and sad at once. And looking at them I realize something I haven¡¯t even considered before¡ªthat I¡¯m not a child anymore. That somehow I haven¡¯t stayed a child even though I died a child. Shouldn¡¯t I have frozen in time like a fly caught in amber? Shouldn¡¯t I have stayed the same twelve-year-old girl for all eternity?


    Grime doesn¡¯t even seem to notice the holiday spirit that has engulfed the rest of the Empire. There are no decorations on the streets, no colorful lanterns or paper leaf garlands in the windows. It¡¯s like we crossed an invisible border and turned up in a completely different dimension, in a place where glee is forbidden to tread.


    The wind carries a few strands of shiny tinsels and the street sweeper brushes them away carelessly.


    We arrive in town at night and are both left disappointed. Its name has been haunting us for days now, and what do we see? Some stinking hole.


    But the dawn changes it. We spend the night in a small inn. In the morning Jaro buys a tiny roll of bread and some milk and considers it a good enough breakfast. He soaks the bread in milk and then eats it, sitting cross-legged on the roof.


    The dawn is burning in the east, coloring the sky into a variety of shades of orange and yellow and red. There was a legend among Steppe people. They said the flame of the dawn is the fire of the Mother Goddess. She builds it to chase the chill of the night away from her house, like a wife rekindling the fire pit in the first blue-grey hours of the morning.


    And that¡¯s when I feel it--the Steppe, its fiery breath inside of me. Hot breath, even this late in the year, it is still burning and full of strange unknown power.


    ¡°We¡¯re close, Kara,¡± he whispers, and I nod, excited and scared at the same time.


    *


    Later that day we meet the remaining members of our merry company. It¡¯s only six people, including the three of us. There¡¯s a woman named Jade, who is dark and grim, and a man named Vas, who is blond and cheerful. They are both around Steel¡¯s age or maybe just a little younger and they both bare scars¡ªon their faces, on their necks, on their hands. Their skin is darkened by the hours spent under the hot Steppe sun and those markings stand out on it, stark pale pink on golden brown.Stolen story; please report.


    There¡¯s another guy who is only a couple of years older than Jaro, and as much out of place in the company. Fair-haired and pale-skinned, with na?ve blue eyes, he is lanky and so awkward I wouldn¡¯t trust him with a gun. I don¡¯t understand why Steel hired him at all.


    We depart with the earliest light and walk without stopping till the sun rises high above our heads. They took no horses. The only animal is a docile donkey, pulling a cart to be loaded with the kill.


    Steel looks ridiculous. He¡¯s all covered in weird shaman talismans¡ªfeathery necklaces and bone bracelets around his wrists and ankles. I mean I know he sells all that, but I¡¯ve never thought he believed in all that nonsense himself. He doesn¡¯t seem the type.


    ¡°Oh yeah, he believes in all that shit, all right,¡± Anya chuckles seeing Jaro¡¯s astonished face. ¡°If people weren¡¯t paying that much money for all that Steppe stuff rubbish he wouldn¡¯t even set foot there. He thinks that the Lady of the Wild Beasts is mad at him because of what he does and she might curse him or something worse. Thus all this mascaraed.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t believe in such things?¡±


    ¡°I believe that the Lady has other things on her mind, and doesn¡¯t care about stupid merchants,¡± she pauses, looking at Jaro askew. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Of course, not. You¡¯re but a city boy, after all.¡±


    ¡°Not entirely. My mother is from these lands, you know.¡±


    ¡°A native?¡±


    ¡°No. My family was one of the settlers. My grandfather was a great huntsman who killed many beasts.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Anya raises her eyebrow. She isn¡¯t wearing her uniform veil¡ªshe can¡¯t see properly through that thing, and in the Steppe, she needs her eyes.


    ¡°Do tell. What awful beasts did your grandfather slay so bravely? A wolf? A bear?¡±


    ¡°He killed a Copper Claw if you must know.¡±


    ¡°A Copper Claw!¡± she laughed. ¡°Of course! What else? A Belter? Maybe even a Sorel?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true! He even took a memento from the beast¡¯s corpse. Look,¡± Jaro pulls his copper pendant from under his shirt and shows it to her.


    For a few moments, she is quiet, not believing, a smile still lingering on her lips, as she glances at the jewelry. Then realization starts to slowly spread across her face. And then¡ªfear fills up her eyes, making them darker.


    ¡°You bloody idiot!¡± she exclaims suddenly, stepping away as if to put distance between herself and the pendant. ¡°Where did you get this? Is it real? Tell me it¡¯s fake!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ yes, of course, it¡¯s real. It belonged to my great-grandfather.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea, do you? A Copper Claw! Do you have any idea what that creature is?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Jaro stumbles upon his own words. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I only know what my grandfather told everyone.¡±


    ¡°And what did he tell everyone, pray tell?¡± she hisses, her fear turning quickly into a rage.


    ¡°That¡­ that¡­¡± he seems to desperately try and remember what Nora told him about the famous monster hunter. ¡°That he challenged the beast and slain it and took this claw as a memento of the victory. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Anya steps forward and grabs Jaro by the front of his shirt.


    ¡°Listen to me!¡± she spits. ¡°Hide that thing, so none sees it. Especially my uncle! If he catches even the glimpse of that thing, he¡¯ll kick you out of the expedition!¡±


    The shock imprinted on Jaro¡¯s face can only be compared to mine. He is speechless. We both are.


    ¡°Why? What is it?¡± Jaro manages finally.


    She covers her face with her palms and lets out a loud groan.


    ¡°What kind of idiot are you? Going to the Steppe, without having even the slightest idea¡­ Alright, listen then. I do not know if Copper Claws are real or not, I have never seen those creatures and I pray to never cross paths with any of them, but the folk in the Steppe believe they exist. And if they see that you¡¯re wearing this pendant of yours¡­ they will chase you away and they won¡¯t talk to you and they might even turn hostile. So make sure no one sees you wearing it. Better yet, throw it away!¡±


    ¡°It belonged to my grandfather, I can¡¯t throw it away!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get it. Everyone in the Steppe is afraid of Copper Claws. They say that taking a memento, it¡­ it marks you.¡±


    ¡°Marks you? In what way?¡±


    Her eyes lose their angry sheen and become worried instead.


    ¡°I¡­¡± she shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m not in any way a specialist on the matter. But from what I¡¯ve heard of Copper Claws, they are vicious creatures, and they never ever forget and they never forgive. They have endless memory and they would hunt down the wrongdoers for all eternity if need be.¡±


    She bites into her lower lip, trying to find the right words to explain what is worrying her so much.


    ¡°They hold grudges, these creatures. And they aren¡¯t going to rest until they give you what they think you deserve. It is said that the Steppe binds them to their vengeance, and they can¡¯t rest until they kill the person, who did them wrong.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe that?¡±


    ¡°Listen to me very carefully. I don¡¯t know if these superstitions are all true. I don¡¯t quite believe them myself. But whether I believe in magic or not, whether there is magic there or not, one thing I¡¯m certain of. There is something there. Something dangerous and powerful, and you are taunting it wearing that thing around your neck.¡±


    Jaro hides the claw in his shirt and looks at her.


    ¡°I won¡¯t show it to anyone. Although, truthfully, I don¡¯t believe that some magic wolf will come after me because of a bobble.¡±


    ¡°Wolf?¡± she shakes her head. ¡°Jaromir, you don¡¯t know anything, do you?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s what my great-grandfather said it looked like. A giant wolf!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what your great-grandfather killed and where he got that thing, but a Copper Claw is no wolf.¡±


    ¡°What is it then?¡±


    Anya shakes her head, and now she looks a little sad as if she is about to tell a very sad story.


    ¡°Copper Claw is a girl, Jaro,¡± she says. ¡°A beautiful girl.¡±

 11. The Hunt

    A local hunter¡¯s tale


    I encountered a Copper Claw once. She came to my fire, and never have I ever saw a woman whose beauty could compare to hers. She ate the food I offered her, but then her careful illusion slipped and I caught a glimpse of her claws¡ªjust for a moment, but instantly I knew who she was. And I knew that if I angered her, she¡¯d rip me into pieces. I knew I had to be as careful as a calf treading on early spring ice.


    The legends have a funny trait¡ªthey never stay the same. As people carry them from one land to the other, from one town to another, they change. With each person telling the story, it changes¡ªit gains new details and then loses some along the way. And in the end, the truth has nothing to do with what people believe in. I don¡¯t know what my grandfather killed. I don¡¯t know if it was an actual wolf, a huge snarling beast. Maybe he saw it like that because our eyes betray us more often than we can imagine ¨C or maybe he told us of the beast because he couldn¡¯t cope with what he really did.


    Anya is telling us stories as we move along the beaten path, further into the Steppe. The sun meets no obstacles and there is not the tiniest spot of shade in sight, but it isn¡¯t hot. The wind that is blowing across the flatland is laced with thin chilly threads. You can almost smell winter approaching, even though the summer is still putting up its futile miserable fight, blooming with the last flowers, trying its best to give us one more ¨C just one more day of warm and light and beauty.


    ¡°We call them Fey,¡± Anya says, guiding the docile donkey. ¡°They are not beasts and they are not all bad. Some are. Some aren¡¯t. But all are dangerous, of that you can be certain. The famous ones are Copper Claws, Sorels, Belters and Ubbe. There are others, weaker ones. Those operate with illusions and cunning wit, not with strength. They are dangerous, too, but if you¡¯re able to see through their lies, you have a chance to get away from them. With Copper Claws it¡¯s different.¡±


    ¡°You said a Copper Claw was a girl?¡±


    Anya nods.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard. Some legends say she is the Lady of the Wild Beasts herself. She controls birds and protects them. That¡¯s why my uncle is so afraid of her. Birds are sacred to her and she doesn¡¯t favor those who kill them. It is said that the Copper Claw became evil when she saw the atrocities committed by people and she became so angry with them, she started to kill them and she feels like she is doing the right thing.¡±


    ¡°Every villain thinks he¡¯s doing the right thing, right?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°You said there are many Copper Claws.¡±


    ¡°The legends are vague in this regard. I think it is her daughters and granddaughters and great-granddaughters. They spread. And all of them are Copper Claws.¡±


    ¡°I see. Are there any male Copper Claws?¡±


    ¡°No, just women for some reason.¡±


    ¡°A nice family.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea.¡±


    ¡°So how do you recognize a Copper Claw?¡±


    ¡°By looking at her hands, supposedly. She has claws instead of nails¡ªjust like that one you wear on your neck, but people say she always hides her hands in her long sleeves or behind her back. So you can¡¯t tell. And she is very beautiful, not like an ordinary girl. She is the most beautiful girl and men fall in love with her at first sight and forget to be careful. And that is when she¡­ STRIKES!¡±


    Anya shouts the last word and lunges at Jaro, and he topples, falling on his back and she laughs.


    ¡°You idiot!¡± he exclaims, regaining his balance. But he is glad. The black cloud has passed over their heads and is gone, his stupidity is forgiven, and her anger is dissolved.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to be extra careful around beautiful girls then,¡± he says, getting up.


    He meant it as a joke, but Anya¡¯s face goes blank. She knows she isn¡¯t one of those girls and never will be. Her face is an ugly mask she is stuck with for life. She flexes her fingers as if straining to keep them away from clawing at her face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡± mutters Jaro, but she cuts him off.


    ¡°I like you, Jar, I do. You¡¯re a good guy. I would hate to see you fall victim to the Steppe. So you be careful, you hear me?¡¯


    He nods gravely, but I am pretty sure the only thing he heard was the ¡°I like you¡± part. Men!


    *


    We stop for a short rest on a small hill. Steel goes ahead, to scout, and the women grab buckets and carry them to the river. We watch them drawing water. They talk¡ªwell, Jade talks, to be precise, and Anya listens to her like every word is a golden coin and she snatches at them greedily. They are a mere stone-throw distance from us, but I can¡¯t hear them¡ªthe wind is carrying their voices away¡ªand I don¡¯t care enough to listen closely.


    There is something that worries me more.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t there more people?¡± I ask Jaro. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s suspicious?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do, thank you, Kara,¡± he mutters, a little too loudly, and Vas hears him.


    ¡°Did you say something?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I was¡­ I was just wondering why there are only five of us. Don¡¯t people want to earn some money? I¡¯m sure there are plenty of people who can handle a gun in these lands.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, there are. But they¡¯re just a bunch of chickens, ¡®tis all.¡±


    ¡°Why? What are they afraid of?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± he falls silent. ¡°You know, never mind, kid.¡±


    Don¡¯t you just love it when people start to say something, and then they are like, ¡°Oh, never mind¡±?


    But they aren¡¯t getting away from Jaro. This kid has a talent for getting his answers.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he leans closer, dropping his voice. ¡°I should know this, shouldn¡¯t I? I¡¯m not running away now, it¡¯s too late for that anyway.¡±


    It is. We are already too far away from anything even remotely resembling civilization. We would never find our way back if we lost our group. Well, maybe I could if I turn into a bird and fly higher, but my sense of direction isn¡¯t the best, and I might just get lost myself if I get too far from Jaro. I¡¯m too scared to try that and I just hope it won¡¯t be necessary.


    ¡°You¡¯re right I suppose,¡± Vas nods. ¡°It¡¯s that these sorts of expeditions are dangerous, and the folk around here is a superstitious lot. They are all kinds of scumbags¡ªbrave enough to harass merchants and travelers, plunder smaller settlements, but hunting¡ªno, no! Too afraid to enrage the Lady.¡±


    ¡°You mean the Copper Claw?¡±


    ¡°I mean what I say. The Lady of the Wild Beasts looks after birds and small animals¡ªthose who need protection from the cruelty of men. She doesn¡¯t look kindly on those who kill them.¡±


    ¡°On us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, on us. But you don¡¯t believe that superstitious nonsense do you? Anyway, it¡¯s all just temporary. They¡¯ll start joining in again. Our company used to be twenty¨Ceven thirty men and women. But something happened recently and it¡¯s just a little too fresh in their memories.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°A hunting expedition got missing. A large one. Thirty-six people, no less. We organized a search and looked everywhere and when we found them¡­ well, that wasn¡¯t a very pleasant sight to behold, not pleasant at all.¡±


    ¡°They were all killed?¡±


    ¡°Massacred,¡± Vas nods gravely. ¡°Butchered¡ªguts spilling out, dried blood gathered into sticky pools, heads and headless corpses¡­ well, you get the picture.¡±


    Yeah, we got the picture alright¡­


    I shiver. I think of My Little Wanderer. I can only imagine what Nora saw that day when she discovered the town covered in our blood. I don¡¯t want to think about it, but I can¡¯t help myself. It¡¯s probably a darn good thing that I don¡¯t remember anything about that night.


    ¡°Who¡ªor what¡ªdid this?¡± asks Jaro. I bet he¡¯s thinking the same thing that I am.


    ¡°Who knows? My best guess? Wild animals. Or¡­¡± he makes an effective pause, ¡°maybe it was the Clan.¡±


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s heard of the Clan for an eternity now,¡± argues North. ¡°No way. It wasn¡¯t them.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not. But when we came back and told people what we found and then brought the corpses home for proper burial¡ªthat¡¯s when all the hell broke loose. People started talking and making theories, remembering the bedtime stories their grannies used to tell them.¡±


    ¡°And now they think that the Lady killed them? Because they were hunting animals?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. A superstitious lot, what can I say? So that was only a couple of months ago. But that¡¯s not the only reason business has been slow for Steel. He¡¯s too afraid of the Lady, and people sense it.¡±


    ¡°Why did you two join him then?¡±


    ¡°For the old times¡¯ sake. You know, us and Steel, we go back a long time. Don¡¯t we, Jade?¡±


    He yells the last words at Jade, who is returning¡ªwith Anya close on her heels¡ªcarrying two bucketsful of water.


    ¡°You bet we do,¡± she replies in the same grim manner of hers, and I sense something then, some hidden meaning in their words, but I don¡¯t give it much thought.


    *


    We spend the night near a lone rock that looks completely out of place on this flat terrain. People huddle close to the fire and I sit on the cold stone guarding their sleep. They take turns with night watch, but their senses are dull. They won¡¯t be able to see the danger in time.


    I can.


    A howling sounds in the distance, but it¡¯s too far and I know it¡¯s not a threat. If something happens I can wake Jaro up, warn him. I admit that most of the time, I am a quite useless companion, but I too can be of help out sometimes.


    We reach our destination the next day when the sun is already about to set. It¡¯s a place the locals call Grove, which suits it, since¡­ well, since it¡¯s an actual grove. I like it when a name suits a place. Too often names have nothing to do with the real thing. We had a valley near our town and it was called Green, but actually it was just brown and grey and¡­ well, yeah, just those two colors, really. No green, that¡¯s for sure.


    But Grove is an actual grove. It appears suddenly. It is hidden in a deep wide valley. The river that runs through the center of it has probably been broad and rapid some time ago, but now it¡¯s hardly more than a spring. Trees grow at its banks. They are short and bent to one side, their branches almost entirely bare already. A restless wind is traveling through the valley, ripping the remains of the trees¡¯ scant foliage and throwing it around and playing with it like a kitten with balls of colored yarn. It looks like a nice, peaceful place, bathing in molten gold of the setting sun.


    However, as the night draws nearer, Grove loses some of its charm. Shadows start to fill the hollows. They crawl from under the trees. They grow and swell and deepen until the whole valley seems to be bathing in dark ink. The silhouettes of the trees moving slightly by the wind remind me of some wild beasts, locked up in a pen.


    ¡°Are we going down there?¡± asks North. He is nervous, touching a leather amulet on his neck.


    Steel shakes his head.


    ¡°No, let¡¯s wait here till it¡¯s completely dark.¡±


    ¡°How are we going to see in the darkness?¡± Jaro frowns.


    ¡°Leave that to me.¡±


    So we wait. Everything is still, everything is quiet. The only noises, the only movements down in the valley are caused by the frantic wind, that doesn¡¯t seem to need any rest at all. It gets stronger, then weaker, then stronger. The trees move with it, and I imagine that they are dancing for some tune that we can neither hear, nor understand.


    I keep my eyes open, but I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re waiting for. I don¡¯t know¡­ until suddenly I do.


    Something stirs, and within seconds Grove is filled with voices. For a moment I assume that I¡¯m just hearing things¡ªthat maybe it¡¯s the wind again, got trapped between some rocks. But a moment later I realize that it¡¯s not a mere sound. It¡¯s a song. A complex multi-voiced song that is both chaotic and harmonious.


    Birds¡­ Those are birds! There is no doubt about it¡ªbirds are singing, invisible in the darkness of the valley, and it¡¯s unlike anything I¡¯ve heard before.


    We freeze as if charmed by some magic, listening, soaking it in. I don¡¯t think that anyone in our small company as much as draws a breath. They don¡¯t talk, they don¡¯t move. I wonder if the song fills them up as it fills me up. If they feel the same thing that I feel.


    But then Steel¡¯s voice breaks our stupor.


    ¡°Get ready,¡± he whispers.


    Get ready for what? I have forgotten where we are, what we are supposed to do. I¡¯ve forgotten our mission and our troubles. The enchanted song erased everything from existence.


    But the others haven¡¯t forgotten. Quietly, smoothly Jade loads her gun. Her eyes burn¡ªI see their feverish shine even in the darkness. I hear her pulse beating with some excitement that is completely alien to me.


    Jaro swallows uneasily. He has never hunted. Shooting at the targets is one thing, but shooting at something alive is quite another.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Steel whispers when all the guns are loaded.


    They start to move into the grove, slowly descending the slope, careful not to stumble or slip in the dark. I hover over their heads, spreading my bird-wings once again.


    The closer we are, the louder the song. Louder and louder and louder it gets until it¡¯s almost impossible to stand it any longer.


    The birds are invisible in the darkness. They don¡¯t seem to notice us, too preoccupied with their nocturnal tunes, and we manage to get very close. The song is everywhere now. It¡¯s like I¡¯m drowning in it. And I gasp for air and beat my wings desperately. It¡¯s a similar feeling to the one that I got when Jaro and I had a fight and my anger sent me to the different part of the town. Except now it¡¯s not my feelings that are flooding me. It¡¯s theirs.


    And then, without any warning, the grove lights up. It¡¯s like someone brought a burning match close to a batch of dry moss. Except the fire is brighter than any other fire I¡¯ve seen in my life. Boldly, it chases away the night itself. The shadows rush back, scared, scattering, burying themselves deep into the hollows between the tree roots. Bright fireflies of sparks dash into the sky.


    Birds launch into the air, their song turned into frightful screams. I still cannot see them properly¡ªnow they are but swift shapes amongst the branches. I catch a glimpse of bright feathers¡ªred, brown, yellow¡ªlike a colored hurricane that envelops us.


    I still don¡¯t know what this light is and where it came from, but then I look at Steel. He is holding something--a tiny vial in one hand, and a wooden bowl in another. He¡¯s mixing some powders and the reaction creates this light, that spills down, on the soil like a waterfall of lava.


    When the vial and the bowl are empty, he drops them and grabs at his gun instead.


    ¡°Now!¡± he cries. ¡°What are you waiting for, you fools? It¡¯s not for long!¡±


    He is talking about the light. And it¡¯s true. It¡¯s fading already. It won¡¯t hold off the shadows for much longer.


    Vas and Jade are the first ones to come to their senses. They start shooting. I don¡¯t understand how they even hit their targets¡ªthose birds are large but fast as whips of striking lightning. They dart, trying to hide and fly away, floundering helplessly as the twigs and branches catch them, stopping, hindering their flight. Some fight back though. They come shrieking at their attackers, all scratching claws and tearing beaks. Vas yanks a sword out of his sheath and slashes at them with violence I haven¡¯t expected from someone as good-natured as him.


    Jade doesn¡¯t fall behind¡ªshe dropped her gun and now is slicing and cutting and stabbing with her two neat slim knives. She looks like a spirit of war, wild and bloody and¡ªoh so incredibly fast! My eyes can barely follow her movements!


    Feathery bodies fall everywhere. Jaro shakes off his initial shock and joins the madness. The air is acrid and grey with thick smoke.


    Anya is a good shot¡ªI see several birds falling to the ground at her feet. Jaro isn¡¯t that good, but he does well enough, too. Steel shoots like an automaton¡ªefficient, fast, cold. He doesn¡¯t seem to be swept by the excitement of the battle that has affected everyone else. He doesn¡¯t seem to pity the crying birds, but he doesn¡¯t seem to enjoy killing them either. And I am not sure what is scaring me more ¨C the slaughter that is happening around me or this disturbing lack of any feeling on Steel¡¯s part. The same one I saw that night when he was beating the soul out of his niece.


    A huge bird¡ªit would easily surpass a golden eagle in size¡ª attempts to grab at Anya. It starts hitting her with its wings, screeching like crazy and aiming at the girl''s face. Anya discards her gun and seizes the knife, tucked under her belt. It isn¡¯t a fighting knife, like those Jade wields. It has a rather short sleek handle¡ªthe sort of thing that can be found on every kitchen, really, but in Anya¡¯s hands, it¡¯s a weapon. She lunges at the bird and by some miracle she hits it. And when the bird falls, she starts hitting it, over and over and over until the bird no longer moves and Anya¡¯s hands are covered in its blood. I look at the girl''s face and see that her scratched cheeks are wet with tears.


    I suddenly remember my father going on a hunt when I was still alive and a little girl. I remember wildfowl lying on the kitchen table, dead bird eyes staring at us, as we crept in to look. Pheasants, mostly. Their beautiful green and blue and golden feathers falling all over the place¡ªwe kept those and put them into our hair.


    Eventually, it ends¡ªthe screams, the slaughter. The light fades. The birds are either killed or have flown away.


    ¡°Go, get the cart,¡± Steel commands. ¡°Let¡¯s get these in.¡±


    Vas hurries off to do the bidding, and when the cart is here, they quickly load it with dead birds and then we leave the Grove behind. And I no longer like how the name sounds. Suddenly it has some inexplicable grimness to it. Now it sounds sinister. Now it sounds wrong.

 12. Sandstorm

    We move upstream and spend the rest of the night near a small river. People wash the blood and sweat off their faces and clean up as best they can, but they can¡¯t wash away their weariness. Vas and Jade seem completely untouched by the whole thing. Steel digs into his bag and takes out some bread and a flask. He shoves the bread into his mouth and washes it down with whatever is in the flask.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of them in the morning,¡± he nods at the loaded cart.


    ¡°Take care?¡± Jaro asks. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°We only need talons and beaks. That¡¯s what we¡¯re paid to deliver. There is no need to carry a cart full of bird corpses around.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Jaro looks down, at his hands. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You saw what we trade, didn¡¯t you, boy?¡± he chuckles. ¡°They aren¡¯t much in terms of meat. I mean I¡¯ve eaten my share, but really, the only value they carry is their claws and beaks and that¡¯s that.¡±


    What about their songs? I¡¯ve never heard anything so¡­ ethereally beautiful.


    ¡°It seems such a waste,¡± mutters Jaro.


    ¡°Did you say something, lad?¡± asks Vas as he takes care of the donkey, making it comfortable for the night.


    ¡°No. I was just wondering¡­ are we staying here or moving tomorrow? Are those birds coming back to this grove?¡±


    ¡°Not for some time,¡± Steel answers. ¡°They will eventually. Meanwhile, we move forward. There are other places where birds nest.¡±


    They prepare their bedrolls and sleep.


    Jaro and Anya don¡¯t sleep. They sit with their backs to the cart, not paying any heed to the awful smell that radiates from it.


    I resume my night watch, too, looking out for wolves or bandits or monsters, who might take revenge after today¡¯s carnage. And as I watch, I listen to the quiet voices.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Jaro asks. ¡°You¡¯re not hurt?¡±


    ¡°No, I am fine. A few scratches. I¡¯ve had worse.¡±


    ¡°Two days down,¡± Jaro says. ¡°Eight to go.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡±


    Anya¡¯s voice sounds hollow. The fire that burned inside of her while she hunted is suddenly all gone and in its place¡ªnothing but pale cold ashes.


    She turns her face towards the sky, and there¡¯s an expression in her eyes that I can find no word for.


    ¡°Well, at least¡­¡± starts Jaro, and then he shakes his head without finishing the sentence.


    ¡°What are you thinking of?¡± Anya asks, following a short and fragile silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking¡­ that I don¡¯t like to do this kind of job.¡±


    ¡°I warned you, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Well, you were right.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± she says after a while.


    He looks at her.


    ¡°What?¡±


    She is silent for a very long time, but it isn¡¯t a quiet silence. Unspoken words are welling up on her lips. They are like angry tears you desperately try to stop from spilling, but they gather behind your eyelids, more and more until you just can¡¯t.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like doing this kind of job either. Do you see what my life is like? This¡­ this violence. Maybe we deserve the Lady¡¯s wrath. Maybe eventually we¡¯ll end up just like those poor souls at the Lonely Water.¡±


    ¡°The Lonely Water?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the name of the place where that hunting expedition was killed.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    The Lonely Water¡­ Why does this name sound familiar?


    ¡°You should get some sleep,¡± Jaro says to Anya.


    She nods, curls up on the ground next to him and closes her eyes. Within seconds, she is asleep.


    And then it hits me.


    ¡°This name she said!¡± I tell Jaro. ¡°The Lonely Water! I¡¯ve heard it before!¡±


    ¡°You have?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    I grasp at the memory that floats past me like a tiny bubble.


    ¡°Nora and I used to play there when we were kids. It¡¯s just an hour¡¯s walk on foot from My Little Wanderer.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re close!¡± Jaro almost jumps to his feet, but Anya stirs and he remembers to sit still, not to disturb her sleep. ¡°We¡¯re close, Kara!¡± he whispers. ¡°We are.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I can¡¯t believe it.


    ¡°I thought it would be hard to locate the town, but now, all we have to do is find this Lonely Water place¡ªand from there we will be able to find our missing town.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    I can barely contain my glee. I can¡¯t wait for the morning to come. For us to finish with this bloody mess of a hunt, and continue with our true mission¡ªto find My Little Wanderer.


    But when the morning comes, the danger comes with it. The danger I, in my excitement, totally miss.


    *


    We weren¡¯t exactly unfamiliar with dust storms. We had a few of them every year, but nothing too bad. I¡¯d heard stories that they could be dangerous, but we were kids and ¡°danger¡± wasn¡¯t exactly the word kids understand. When you¡¯re a child, a boogie-man is scarier than any kind of weather.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play too far,¡± Alma, my brother¡¯s young wife, used to call to me, standing on the porch of their house, pressing her hands to her heart. She was always afraid something would happen to me if I wandered off too far. She didn¡¯t worry about the other kids¡ªnot even Nora. But then, no one but me ever ventured too far. I was the wild one. I was the one always looking for trouble. But at the end of the day, it was the trouble that found me and not the other way around.


    Anyway, Alma always had a few scary Steppe stories up her sleeve. She used them hoping to dissuade me from running so wild. She told me of a demon who could control water, named Kolzhutar. She said he was waiting for children, hiding just under the surface of a quiet lake, and when they swam too far from shore, he¡¯d seize them and pull them under and eat them in one huge gulp. She told me of another demon who traveled with wind and caused dust storms to blind and choke those who step too far from home. Zhelayak¡ªa wind-foot. Or Tausogar, who moved mountains and could tear the earth apart.


    I had never heard stories like that, so I asked grandmother if she knew any of them. She replied she had never heard these legends told in that fashion.


    ¡°Kolzhutar, Zhelayak, and Tausogar are benevolent spirits in the Steppe. They are not demons. They help heroes and remove obstacles from their way. They don¡¯t eat children.¡±


    ¡°Why would Alma make up such stories then?¡±


    Grandmother sighed¡ªshe often sighed when she talked about Alma.


    ¡°That girl simply has a very vivid imagination.¡±


    But I think that wasn¡¯t exactly true, only partially. I think it was that Alma simply understood the dangers of the Steppe better than anyone else in My Little Wanderer.


    The thing with dust storms is that they happen suddenly. No warning. The sky gets dark and within a couple of minutes, the calamity is upon us. It lifts the dust and sand and soil into the air and carries it, twisting and turning and howling like a wild beast.


    We haven¡¯t seen it coming. I haven¡¯t seen it coming. It all happens too fast. And when it hits, we aren''t ready.


    ¡°Cover the cart!¡± Steel cries. ¡°Quick, cover the cart! And keep close! Jaro! Put that damn scarf on unless you want to choke on the dust!¡±


    Jaro follows the order, covering his mouth and nose with the scarf, following the example of the more experienced members of the team.


    ¡°Prepare yourself,¡± mutters Jaro. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s talking to me or Anya or us both. And then the storm hits and it turns out that I really should have listened and prepared myself. Although how? What can a ghost do?


    The gust of wind sends the grey-brown sand into the air and covers everything, so I¡¯m completely blinded. I no longer see Jaro. I don¡¯t see the bloody cart. I don¡¯t see other members of the hunt. Everything is covered in dust.


    If I were alive, I¡¯d probably choke on it. As it is, I just glide on a strong current, allowing it to carry me further and further away from Jaro, and I can¡¯t do anything about it. Vision is the main sense for those who don¡¯t possess a corporal body. Through the vision, I can lock myself upon an object, and sort of hold on to it. Without my eyes, I¡¯m pretty much screwed. By the Eternal Sky! I¡¯m so completely and utterly screwed!