The First Sign

Sam watched the fire crackle, embers drifting into the dark above the trees. Even while keeping watch, her attention occasionally wandered toward Gavin sleeping across from her. He had his sword tucked close against his chest, positioned so he could reach it the moment something went wrong.

Somehow, she doubted even sleep could completely lower his guard.

Sam pulled her own sword a little closer.

She had no idea how much time passed before the fire finally burned down to glowing coals. Sitting around had gotten irritating by then, so she stood, unsheathed her blade, and began practicing the swing Gavin had been drilling into her.

She reached thirty before a rustle cut through the trees. Sam stopped with her blade still raised and listened, quickly ruling out the wind or a person by the weight and rhythm of the movement. Something on four legs was circling beyond the clearing, and a second set of steps followed somewhere off to the left. Her gaze tracked the darkness until a faint thread of purple slipped between the trunks, and her grip settled more firmly around the hilt.

A Veyrath burst from the undergrowth before she could think much further. Its jaws snapped toward her face, but Sam caught its fangs against her blade, twisted aside, and cut cleanly through its body.

Purple-black dust scattered into the night.

One more.

Sam steadied herself and listened for movement. For a moment, the forest went quiet enough that she could hear the remains of the fire popping behind her.

Gavin was still asleep.

The second one suddenly tore through the darkness, but this time it went straight for him.

Sam’s expression hardened.

She planted her feet and tightened both hands around the hilt. The motion Gavin had forced her to repeat again and again came naturally now. She exhaled and swung diagonally through the air.

The blade never touched the creature.

The force of the strike reached it first, cutting through its body and core before it could land. The beast dissolved almost instantly, leaving nothing behind but fading wisps of miasma.

Sam lowered her sword.

The strike had been clean enough to satisfy her.

Then the feeling faded.

There shouldn’t have been a Veyrath here in the first place.

Veyraths rarely traveled far from the rifts that sustained them. Without enough miasma in the surrounding area, their bodies simply couldn’t remain stable for long.

And the nearest known rift was supposed to be days away.

Sam glanced toward the trees where the creatures had appeared. Either something had driven them unusually far from their territory, or the territory itself had changed.

Neither possibility sounded good.

She considered waking Gavin, but he needed the rest. If there was something worth worrying about, they would find out soon enough.

By morning, she regretted that thought.

They encountered another beast before midday, then several more as they continued east. None were particularly difficult to kill, but their numbers bothered Sam more than their strength. There was still no visible miasma in the air, yet the creatures kept appearing.

Soon enough it had been a few days since the first encounter of the Veyraths.

Sam brought her blade down through the last one, severing its body from its wings before it dissolved at her feet.

“What an annoying bunch…” Gavin muttered as he slid his sword back into its sheath.

Something purple caught Sam’s eye through the trees ahead, and although she first mistook it for another beast, the haze spread too wide between the trunks for that to be possible. Without saying a word, she quickened her pace.

“Sam?”

She ignored Gavin and ran through until the trees thinned around her.

Purple-black mist stretched across the forest ahead.

Her stomach tightened.

Miasma.

The Hearth Forest was home to one of the larger rifts in the region, but Sam remembered where its influence was supposed to end and this was nowhere near it.

The miasma had spread. But how?

Sam slowed as she followed the edge of the haze, trying to judge just how far it had reached. The farther she walked, the more familiar the surrounding forest became.

Then she noticed one of the trees.

Small fruit hung from its branches, the same kind she remembered helping an older villager gather when she was a few years younger.

She stopped.

“Teach…” Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall of miasma ahead. “Boisclair isn’t far from here.”

She told herself it was only worth checking because they were already this close. If the miasma had reached Boisclair, it was better to know how far it had spread before moving on.

The villagers were another matter.

They had made their choice four years ago when they believed the accusations against her. Whatever waited ahead, Sam wasn’t going there for them.

At least, that was what she told herself as she stepped into the mist then lifted her hood over her face.

~~~

The village looked deserted.

No one tended the crops or walked between the houses, yet there were no obvious signs of corruption either. The fields were still intact, and the plants hadn’t begun to blacken.

Maybe the miasma had only reached the village recently.

Or maybe everyone had gotten out in time.

Sam preferred the second possibility. It meant there was nothing here for them to deal with.

She and Gavin kept their hoods low as they moved through the village. The wooden buildings hadn’t changed much in four years, aside from wear. Sam recognized more of them than she cared to admit. The blacksmith’s forge, the houses near the center, even the places where children used to crowd the road.

The miasma had already reached the village, and there was no sign of anyone left behind. Even the fountain at its center had gone still.

“Should we check one of the houses?” Gavin asked.

“Don’t bother. Best case, they throw dirt in our faces and tell us to leave. Worst case, someone recognizes us, runs to the nearest guard, and we’re back in a dungeon before sunset.” She scoffed. “That's if anyone's still here, but I’d rather not find out which one.”

Heavy footsteps sounded from the northern end of the village before Gavin could respond.

Sam turned toward the noise.

Wooden stakes had been driven into the ground nearby, probably meant to keep Veyrath's from wandering farther in. Through a narrow opening between them stumbled two figures, a younger man carrying an older one across his back.

Both were covered in blood.

“Help! Someone!” the boy shouted. “Mister Glenn is—someone help him!”

His legs gave out, but Gavin caught him before he could hit the ground and helped lower the older man onto his back.

Sam remained where she was while Gavin examined the wound across the old man’s abdomen. It was deep and ragged.

A Veyrath, most likely.

The younger one couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. His breathing came in short bursts as he looked between them.

“Please…” He grabbed the edge of Sam’s cloak. “W-We were the only two who got out. The others—they’re still in—”

Sam was already moving.

Sam slipped free of his grip and moved for the forest before he could finish, Gavin’s voice following after her. She ignored it. If there were still people inside, then standing around would only waste time, and she wanted to know what had happened before deciding anything else.

That was reason enough to go.