The Village, After the Wolves

A group of frightened-looking men, armed with everything from shovels to pitchforks, is blocking the road. Aster stops just in front of them. He’s breathing a little too hard for his liking. He really is out of shape. Next to him, the girl gulps down deep breaths of air while trying to look unaffected. It’s cute, but she’s not fooling anyone. Still, he’s glad his plan worked. Running her to exhaustion had sped up the process and gotten her mana under control. At least he won’t have to explain rogue magic to these villagers. But, first things first.

“What happened here?” Aster asks the eldest of the men and gets a sad headshake in return.

“Dire wolves. A whole pack of them.”

“As I feared. Injuries?” Casualties? He doesn’t dare to ask.

“Too many.” The old man sniffles loudly and one of the younger ones lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Who’s in charge? I need to see them at once.”

“Of course.” The old man waves for them to follow him while the younger men take up their positions again.

It's a fairly standard village. Pleasant. Pictoresque. Small but sturdy wooden houses with thatched roofs line narrow roads. Several mossgoats are watching them from the gardens, ears twitching nervously. Did the cursed wolves truly choose humans as their prey over these? That doesn’t bode well.

As they turn around a corner, into the main square, they’re met by a huge bonfire. A sizable pile of dead wolves next to it. Impressive. The villagers have done well considering their limited weaponry. Two men, armed with big shovels, pick up one of the carcasses and throw it on the fire, painstakingly making sure not to touch it with their hands. Then another one.

All the dead wolves bear the dark markings of the curse. Many of them are almost covered by it. It’s spreading so fast.

“Young Master Arakiba? Is that you?” A middle-aged man with an impressive beard is heading toward them, wiping a sweaty face with a pudgy hand. Aster ransacks his memory; he’s sure he’s met the man before, but he can’t remember his name, only his title.

“Mister Mayor.” He gives the man a polite nod, gestures to the dead wolves. “I wish I’d come sooner, but it looks like you could handle them. We took care of the ones that got away, then rushed here to help.”

“We appreciate it, Young Master.”

“We didn’t have time to burn them, so you should send someone to take care of that. In the field with the tall grass.”

“I’ll see to it at once.”

“Good man.”

As the mayor orders some men to the field, more carcasses are tossed into the flames, the pile steadily shrinking. It had been a big pack. But why had some of them run off? There’s a possibility that some survival instinct had remained even in the late stages of the curse. Just like it might be a coincidence that a group of wolves had left the village only to happen upon him and his companion. Aster doesn’t believe in coincidence. It’s far more likely, and troubling, that the beasts had been drawn in by her rampant magic. Like moths to a flame.

Well, if dire wolves are the worst they’ll encounter before they’re home, he’ll count himself lucky. He glances at the girl. Her breathing has returned to normal, a good sign. Not ‘the girl’, Diane. As if she’d known he had trouble remembering names, she even has it written on a little note pinned to her chest. Her very ample chest. He quickly raises his eyes to her face. At least she’s paying attention, wide eyes wandering between him, the mayor, and the fire. He turns back to the mayor to ask the question he fears the answer to.

“Any casualties? I hope your losses were minimal.”

“It could’ve been worse. Much worse,” the Mayor says, voice trembling slightly. “We’ve gathered the dead and the injured in the Town Hall.” The pudgy hand points to the largest building residing on the opposite side of the square.

The dead and the injured? Aster’s conscience hits him like a kick to the stomach. He should’ve been here to protect them. Or at least made sure that someone was stationed here. A couple of seasoned warriors would’ve made all the difference. It’s his sworn duty to...

“Excuse me,” Diane speaks up, interrupting his thoughts. “If you have injured people, I’d like to see them. Perhaps I can help.”

That’s pretty bold of her. Good. The mayor gives Aster a questioning look, and he nods his approval. He’s curious to see what she will do. Turning to Diane, the mayor bows politely.

“Of course, young Miss. That’s very kind of you. This way.”

The great hall is impressive, high ceiling and beautiful carpentry. Aster steels himself before looking at the people lying or sitting on the floor. Fortunately there doesn’t seem to be too many severe injuries. A few women are bustling around between the wounded, offering hot beverages and nutritious berries. Mothers holding crying children. Men and young boys trying to keep a brave face. But no…

“Your healer, where is he? I remember him as a man of talent.” Aster asks, looking around the room. He can’t keep his eyes from the line of bodies along the far wall. Covered head to foot in white linen, some having flowers placed on their chests, weeping families at their sides. Twelve, thirteen… no fifteen bodies. His fists clench, nails digging into his palms.

“He went missing, Young Master,” the mayor informs. “More than a month ago. Just like the others.”

“Others?” Damn it! He should have foreseen this. More healers have gone missing? When the kingdom needs them the most? There had been rumours before he left, and a few more questions to the mayor confirm his worst suspicions. All the village healers in this area are gone. No bodies found. Just vanished.

Is Master Tenna safe? She should be. The resident healer at Arakiba Castle is crucial. Losing her would be a major blow, especially since he hoped that she would help Diane come into her powers. After what he saw this morning, she needs all the help she can get. And then some.

Here, her confidence is back. She’s quietly left his side to join the women caring for the wounded. Head tilted, he takes in the scene, impressed by the way she’s taking charge. Issuing orders, pointing to some of the injured, and listing things on her fingers. She claps her hands and the women scurry off.

Curious, Aster moves closer just as the women return with large buckets filled with hot, soapy water, piles of towels, and linen. Under Diane’s guidance, they all get busy, washing off dried blood, cleaning wounds, ripping linen sheets into strips, offering comforting words.

Not that soapy water could wash away the stains of the curse. Ridiculous. As if he hadn’t already tried that. But then chances were high that these people hadn’t been exposed long enough to be affected. So far, cursed humans have been exceptionally rare, and he’d like to keep it that way.

In a surprisingly short time, all minor injuries are treated and wrapped with strips of tight, white linen. The girl is efficient, he’ll give her that. Even without magic. Seeing her like this gives him hope and something warm softens the tense chill in his chest. The woman in front of him now is very different from the one this morning. A glimpse of the true Chosen peeking through. Focused, kind yet ruthless enough to stitch deep cuts closed with needle and thread when needed. Impressive.

Smiling, he watches her gather a group of children. The scratches and scrapes on their knees and hands are more likely from falling when running for cover than from any wolf. Thank goodness. Kneeling, she opens her bag and brings out the little box with the useless spells. The kids, however, watch breathlessly, clearly in awe as they each get a colorful spell placed over a minor wound.

“You should keep them on for three full days,” Daine instructs, applying the last one to a scraped elbow, making the tiny girl squeal in delight. “Then you must take them off, that’s easy, and burn them to set the kitty spirits free.”

The children nod in agreement and dart off to show their parents and Diane looks up at him. Tired but smiling.

“You did good,” Aster says, and he means it. “They’ve offered us food and a room for the night. If you're finished here?”

"Yes, I don't think there's more I can do to help for now." She gingerly gets back on her feet. "Food and rest sound lovely."

The mayor who’d been watching from a safe distance approaches, arms spread wide.

“Thank you for all your help. I’ve instructed the innkeeper to provide lodging as well as a suitable meal for you. And they’re heating water in the bath house.”

“Thank you. We appreciate it,” Aster answers for both of them.

“As for your sleeping arrangements…” The mayor coughs delicately. “Do you require one room or two?”

Aster gives Diane a long look, imagining all the trouble she’s likely to get herself into if left to roam free. Her strange clothing makes her stand out even when her mana is concealed. What if her magic flares up again? Or there’s another attack? Not only is she defenseless on her own, she’s far too trusting. If he’s honest about it, he‘s grateful for both, using her weaknesses to his advantage. Her trusting him enough to go along like this, not pushing him for answers he isn’t prepared to give – yet – has made things easier. The Prophesy. That’s not something he’s ready to discuss. Not until it’s strictly necessary. But there are some things he could tell her…

“Young Master?” The mayor asks again, bringing Aster back to the immediate problem.

One room or two? There will be gossip and rumours, he knows this, yet the choice is easy. Keeping the Chosen safe takes priority. He can deal with the rumours later. Deal with her later. He squares his shoulders, daring anyone to object.

“One room will suffice.”