Chapter 39: Disintegration

He didn’t know which hurt worse—the pain in his arm or the ache in his heart.

And he wasn’t sure he would survive either one.

The wound from the wolf’s bite was clearly infected. Probably tetanus, Larean thought. Or gangrene. Maybe frostbite and constipation, too.

Most likely all of them at the same time.

Still, he was more concerned with his heart. Not his physical heart, of course. That kept beating at a steady, albeit much too fast, rate.

He glanced sideways at Soria and Pelam. Sir Pelam now, he corrected himself.

Or maybe Sir Buzzkill.

Larean sighed. No, he wasn’t being fair to his companion. Pelam might have sold his soul to Mardocar, but that didn’t mean Larean had to give up on him. Pelam would always be Pelam to him. He’d have none of this Knight Eternal business.

But with Soria, it was so much worse. The changes he saw in her hurt him a lot more. There had been a time when they had been close friends, when they had trusted and helped each other. Now, the light he had seen in her eyes had gone out.

The Derimar girl no longer saw him as a friend, or even as a companion. To her, he was now a resource to be used or discarded as best benefited her divine mission.

She still said the right words—most of the time, at least. But he could read the meaning between the lines. He understood the insinuations and saw the hidden looks exchanged between her and Pelam. They thought he didn’t know, but he did.

Oh, how he wished he didn’t.

They were now on a mission ordained by the gods of the world. He had no idea what that assignment entailed, other than that it involved the three Imperial agents, pain, death, and, quite possibly, cruelty to small, furry animals.

He used to joke about such things to himself. This time, that last part wasn’t a joke.

In fact, none of it was. Knowing now how the gods of the world operated, Larean was under no illusions the coming days would bring them anything good.

They were standing on the outskirts of a small village, not far from where they had taken the wrong turn into the forest. After backtracking, they had opted for the left road at the junction this time. It had led them first through a small woodland, dense with conifer trees, and then out into open wheat fields.

Due to Larean’s injury, their journey had taken the better part of the day, despite the distance they had traversed not being very far. When they finally arrived in Grainsel, the sun was low on the western horizon, bathing the small hamlet in the golden yellow light of late evening.

Walking along the narrow street toward the center of the village, they received more than one concerned look. Pelam, despite having cleaned his face after the massacre, still wore his blood-soaked shirt and pants, and Larean’s stained clothes did not look much better either.

As they passed the blacksmith’s shop, a woman in her early thirties, wearing a simple, rough-spun brown dress and her black hair tied in a knot behind her head, approached them with hurried steps from the street beyond.

“Good evening, travelers!” she called out, her voice pleasant, though her eyes were filled with concern. “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

“Thank you, I’m fine. It’s not my blood,” Pelam told her. “I could do with a change of clothes, though, if you have a spare set we could buy.”

Learning they weren’t in need of medical attention, she seemed relieved, and proceeded to size the Agerian up.

“I’m afraid all I can offer is some of my husband’s old clothes,” she told him.

She winked at him before adding, “But I think he’s a bit larger than you.”

“That’s all right. It can’t be worse than this.”

She chuckled lightly. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t! I’m Ria, by the way. Olmad.”

Larean cleared his throat. “I wonder if you have a Flow Walker here?” he asked weakly.

“I’m sorry. Hello, I’m Larean,” he added, with some embarrassment. “Onyx.”

Ria looked at him and turned pale when she saw his injury. She stepped up to him and put her arm around his back, helping Soria support him.

“So that is your blood?” she asked. “You need to lie down. Come with me. But I’m afraid we don’t have a Flow Walker here. Grainsel is not a large place. You’ll need to go up to Hallandel for that.”

Pelam turned to him. “You’ll have to get there on your own. Soria and I have business here.”

Here? What kind of business could they possibly have here?

Two hours ago, none of them had even known this place existed!

“No, you can’t walk that far like this,” Ria told him, her voice an equal mix of reproach and concern. “You need to lie down. Rest. I’ll send my son to Hallandel at first light to fetch her for you.”

“Thank you,” he said, relieved at not having to walk another horizon or two with a fever burning through his body. At the moment, he probably didn’t feel quite as bad as Ria made it sound, but at least it was nice to have someone take care of him. And even if he might have felt good enough to walk now, chances were things would quickly get worse as the infection spread through his body. Tomorrow, he’d probably be bedridden whether he wanted to or not.

The Olmads’ little shack turned out to contain not just Ria’s husband and older son, but two daughters and an infant boy as well. The cabin wasn’t large. There was just a single room, and you could walk across it in five steps if you were determined enough and didn’t mind stepping on a small table, a few wooden stools, and two rough benches that seemed to double as beds during the night—one of which Larean now lay on, receiving just the kind of motherly attention he had sorely been missing lately.

But despite the scarcity of the environment, Ria and her oldest daughter cooked what little they had, and half an hour later, Larean was sitting up again at the table, enjoying a luxurious meal of boiled beans and carrots.

No, there was no joke to be found there either, he thought, as his face broke into a smile. After the harrowing experiences of the past couple of days, this place felt to him like a little slice of heaven.

“So, Mr. Gathór…” Halek Olmad began to say, before Soria cut him off.

“Sir…”

“Pelam is just fine, Mr. Olmad,” came the interruption, the boy himself evidently not eager to draw attention to his newfound status as a Knight Eternal.

Not that downplaying his title did anything to hide the stench, Larean thought. Then again, it wasn’t too bad yet. Mardocar had only healed a few wounds so far. Most of Pelam’s body was still good old Pelam.

Halek and his wife exchanged a quick, confused look, but then he smiled awkwardly, smoothed his black hair, and continued with his question.

“So, Pelam, Ria told me you and your friends have business here in Grainsel. Are you here for the livestock auction?”

“No, I’m afraid we’re not,” Larean cut in, not wanting to give Pelam a chance to lie about their intentions. He was just as curious as Halek to learn what Pelam and Soria were really planning here.

Pelam gave him a dark stare, but continued without missing a beat.

“I’m sorry, I think she misunderstood,” he said. “We’re only staying here to rest up.”

Ah. So the servant of Mardocar still managed to lie about their plans. Why wasn’t he surprised?

Of course, the more important question was: why had he felt the need to lie?

“Children,” Soria said to the three siblings, who had been sitting quietly for most of the meal. Apparently, she wanted to change the subject.

“Can you show me your toys? I’d love to play with you, if that’s okay.”

The boy didn’t seem to care much for her suggestion, but the two young girls immediately brightened. Clearly, they had spent too much time being polite and were now eager to leave the table. After asking their mother for permission, they took Soria with them and went to a small cupboard in the corner of the room, from which they proceeded to bring out their toys: hay dolls, spruce cone animals, and make-believe food made from leaves and stones.

Soria laughed with the children and seemed quite comfortable in their company, while the girls found her both charming and fascinating. Before long, they were all lost in their playtime. It all seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

The keyword being seemed, Larean thought, knowing that behind Soria’s pleasant smile sat the god of torture. He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t afford to trust her.

“Are you Nimeans?” Pelam suddenly asked their hosts.

At first, they didn’t seem to understand what he meant. Then realization dawned on Halek’s face.

“Oh, you mean the hair?” he asked, pointing at Larean’s black scalp.

By now, it’s probably already gray.

Halek chuckled lightly. “No, we’re Western Empire. Lots of folks here came from Karolia and Revarium after the Unification.”

Pelam seemed satisfied with the explanation, but the whole exchange bothered Larean. The red-haired Agerian had always jabbed at him for being Nimean, and now he was querying their hosts on their heritage.

Stop it, Larean. You’re reading too much into things.

Half an hour later, he wished he had trusted his instincts.

The first sign of trouble came when Larean noticed Pelam didn’t reply to one of Ria’s questions, as if the words hadn’t even registered. To the Olmads, it probably seemed like his mind had simply wandered for a moment.

But Larean knew better.

Pelam hadn’t heard Ria because he had been listening to another voice. One that was much stronger and more powerful.

And decidedly more evil.

“Why don’t I take the girls to the river for a late-night swim, Mrs. Olmad?” Soria asked suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “The water is nice this time of year. We’ll have so much fun.”

Ria looked uncomfortable, her gaze darting between Soria and her young daughters.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said eventually, clearly reluctant to let them go with Soria but unwilling to offend her. “It’s already been dark for a couple of hours. They should really be in bed by now.”

Pelam rose from his stool, unclipped his sword from his belt, and laid it almost nonchalantly on the table. Placing his hands on either side of the blade, he leaned forward.

“I would suggest you listen to Miss Tolmar,” he said, his voice icy and sharp.

Halek looked up at him. “I don’t want to be rude, Pelam, but I think it’s time for you to leave now.”

“Sir Pelam.”

Behind them, Soria opened the creaking door and led the two girls out into the silent night. Ria was visibly distressed but didn’t dare say anything.

Larean silently mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to her.

She turned to him. “You can stay, of course.”

Pelam’s face darkened.

“You need to leave. Now,” he told Larean. “For Soria’s sake, I’ve protected you from the gods, but that’s over now. I’m giving you one last chance to go. If you interfere after this, the gods won’t spare you.”

Interfere? Interfere with what?

But the feverish glint in Pelam’s eyes told Larean there was no point in protesting. Slowly, without a word, he backed away from the table, never taking his eyes off the young Knight Eternal.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to leave after all, he thought. He could always see what Soria was doing with the children on his way out.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness outside. At first, he could only hear splashing from the direction of the river, making him think the two sisters were playing with their new friend in the water. But as his vision cleared, he began to see what was really happening.

He wished he hadn’t.

Standing a man’s length out in the deep water, Soria held one of the Olmad girls firmly beneath the surface. The child’s arms and legs thrashed in a vain attempt to get enough traction to break free. Around them, the water crested as spirits circled, eager to drink in the little girl’s fear and panic. On the shore, her sister lay bound in the mud, waiting for her turn, her limbs tied tightly with thick rope.

Larean’s scream at the horrific sight almost drowned out the terrified shriek from inside the shack, as Pelam’s blade pierced Ria’s heart.

Rushing into the cold water, he knocked Soria off her feet, and they both tumbled into the river. For a moment, the urgency of the situation made him forget how bad he felt. Now, his head spun. But what mattered was that the girl was free from Soria’s grip and was frantically clawing her way out of the water.

“You fool!” Soria screamed at him through the darkness. “You can’t stand against the gods!”

“What are you doing?” he shouted back, knowing full well what her answer would be.

“Patera and Mardocar demand a rite of passage from us. We are charged with sacrificing this village to their glory.”

“You can’t do that! Don’t you see? You just can’t!”

But how could you argue against divine commands? The voices in their heads weren’t imaginary. They were very real, and exceedingly terrifying.

Flames were now beginning to erupt from the windows of the Olmads’ cabin. Evidently, this was meant to be a burnt offering to the gods. The roar of the fire almost drowned out the wailing coming from within.

It took a moment for his fever-impaired brain to register the implication of that. But when it did, he rushed back to the shack as fast as his weakened legs could carry him.

Someone was still alive in there.

Throwing his full weight against the door, the frame cracked and tore free from its hinges. Peering through the smoke, he saw no sign of Pelam, but on the floor lay the slain bodies of Ria, Halek, and their eldest son.

And in the corner of the room, their newborn baby was crying.

Larean didn’t know why Pelam had left the child alive. Perhaps the gods had decided the youngest were Soria’s responsibility. Or maybe Pelam simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill the little boy.

Maybe it didn’t matter. The important thing was that the baby was still alive.

Crawling on his knees, Larean the thief crossed the room and scooped the infant into his shaking arms. The air was thick with sooty smoke, and he struggled to breathe in the roaring inferno that surrounded him. At the edges of his vision, darkness crept closer.

The door seemed infinitely far away. Every slow step he took felt longer than the one before. He stretched out his hand, as if he could will the doorway closer, but his arm trembled with fatigue, and he collapsed onto the floor, still clutching the boy.

With a final breath of smoke-saturated air, darkness overtook him.

Author's Note

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