Whisper, 9 Greentide 1723 CE

It was a hard trek back to the mainland. As if the heavens themselves were warning them away, the voyage across the sea was a mixture of strong tides and thunderous storms. By the time they arrived on the docks in Stormwatch, Whisper was more than finished with sailing. The sea had turned her stomach some time on day two, and refused to settle as she took her first steps on the sturdy wooden dock and cobblestone paths of the town.

Of all the places that Whisper and Lawbrin had traveled over the years, Stormwatch was a uniquely interesting specimen in Whisper’s mind. The town itself was nothing grand; wooden shingled roofs over wood beam framed walls. Most of the buildings were built around a two- or three-story design, intended to keep the living spaces far above the risk of flooding from the coastal waters. Since the sea breaks had been constructed around the edges of the bay, waters rarely posed a threat. But during hurricanes, the waters still risked coming deep into the land around the bay.

The people were the more interesting aspect of the large seaport. The population was a mixture of humans, some elves, and a high population of dwarves who’d made their ancestral living on or under the waves. When one looked around at the faces of the residents, there was a uniformity in the hard lines and salt-soaked skin of their faces. This reflected also in the toughness of their collective personality. When a sailor from Stormwatch was confronted with a gale while aboard ship, they would laugh, stating that the crew was in need of a good bathing. This stubbornness had served the populous well throughout the centuries, though. Nothing could shake them.

Stormwatch was one of the wealthiest ports in Emmeron, connecting Hammerhenge Island, Venzia, and served as a major hub into the interior of the Continent. Despite this, the city was wracked consistently with strong tropical storms, hurricanes, and coastal rains. The landscape was bleak and grey most of the year, with an ever-present chill that seeped into one’s bones. The buildings, even the more lavish constructions in the Upper Wards were built tough, with exteriors preferring durability over aesthetic. Living here really embodied what is meant to live on the Maelstrom Coast. The people reflected this.

Whisper and Lawbrin walked from the seaport towards the Upper Docks. The setting changed from the panoramic wall of grey skies and the ever-present white noise of harsh waves breaking against the stone seawall to an open set of worn stone paths and the numbing hum of voices and quick footsteps. The smell of the sea brine and fish was still strong here, but began to mix with the aromatic fragrance of cooking meat and burning coals, and sweaty bodies huddled around bar tables. Whisper and Lawbrin stood out from the crowd in the streets of the Upper Docks. While the workers wore thick hide coats to protect from the light rain that had been falling since morning, and torn woolen sweaters stained with miscellaneous colors, she and her companion wore finely crafted leather jackets and tailored armor. Lawbrin looked most like someone of their position. His breastplate had been polished before leaving the Island, and the cold steel glimmered against the blinding white-grey sky. Whisper’s armor was less conspicuous, and its leather and cloth construction allowed her significantly more mobility than its metal counterpart. Regardless, they were given a wide berth by the residents, who instantly recognized the pinned symbol of the scarred eye on their lapels—a symbol of the Order of Inquisitors.

The stables were nearer the north west edge of town. The rain had moved in more aggressively during their trek through the city, coming down in sheets now. They could see their breath hold in the air in front of them as a thin fog. They had recently re-waxed the canvas and leather packs that they carried, but even then, Whisper was certain she would find droplets of water inside. The sky had turned from a grey-white to a much darker shade, indicating that the storm was returning to the region.

The stable was neatly positioned at the end of several taller wooden structures whose purpose Whisper did not know. The shop front for the stables had been built from stone, and the inside was aglow with the light of a roaring fire. Beside and behind it was an elaborate system of horse paddocks and livestock chutes, meant to contain mounts and animals for slaughter which had been transported into the city. The horses, unphased by the storm looked up from their dirt-floored shelters, half-eaten hay dangling from their rotating mouths, and staring with uncaring eyes at the two newcomers.

They purchased a pair of horses, saddles, and some minor camping equipment from the nearby general shop. They strapped their gear, and headed off past the main gate by mid-afternoon. It would be a five-day trek to the festival grounds, half of which was through less-traveled woodlands—a fact that did not enthuse Whisper.

Their first campsite was move inviting that Whisper had expected. They had made significant ground in the short travel time, somewhere around twelve miles. It was dark when they stopped beside a rocky overhang just off the main road. It was obvious that others used this spot frequently on their way to the ferries in Penzance, which would carry them up to Whitebridge and Amva Naequa. With skill, they had a fire kindled in a few minutes, and food cooking on a small hanging metal plate above the fire.

Whisper sat, eyes closed near the side of the overhang, wrapped in her lined coat. She listened carefully, picturing each drop of rain hitting the petals and leaves above her.

“Food’s ready. Are you asleep over there,” he asked.

She grunted to indicate no. Carefully leaning on the stone behind her, instead of the damp ground, she looked like part of the landscape. Whisper rose and walked to the small fire. Lawbrin skewered a length of sausage and filled a small wooden bowl with steaming potato wedges.

“Grilled and hot,” he said, handing her the bowl and skewer.

She sat on one of the wooden stumps left helpfully positioned by a previous traveler. This was life on the road. Cold, damp, and largely miserable. For a few minutes they ate in silence.

“Are we going to talk about what happened back at the Keep?” asked Lawbrin between bites.

Whisper made a visible sigh and rolled her eyes.

“What about it?”

She stuffed a potato quickly into her mouth.

“We’re walking back into the fire.”

“And?”

“Come on, are you really going to make me pull it out of you?”

She placed the meat stick over the rim of her bowl, untouched, and locked eyes with him. Her stoic expression, while outwardly flat, was intense. It had an almost threatening feel.

“Whisp, I don’t know how many more times you need to hear this, but it wasn’t your fault. We couldn’t have known what was coming.”

“Our job is to think four steps ahead.”

“But we’re not seers. We can’t see into the future. We’re human. Fallible and imperfect.”

Her face glinted with emotion, her head darting backwards in surprise at his words.

“We don’t get to dismiss this. This is our responsibility.”

“No, it isn’t!”

His shout was unexpected, something that was almost as rare as Whisper’s vulnerability. In response, the daggers of her eyes attempted to pierce his soul.

“You can’t hold the whole world on your shoulders. You do that, it’ll kill you, inside and out.”

He paused, giving space for his words and for his own intensity to falter.

“There will come a day when you realize that the world doesn’t behave kindly just because you slay enough monsters. It’s cruel and it’s unfair.” He paused for a moment, his gaze dropping to his boots.

“This world finds enough ways to kill us off. If you blame yourself for every death that you can’t prevent, sooner or later it’ll find a way to kill whatever hope you’ve got left.”

She could feel the pang of guilt in her chest. He was right, but she couldn’t bring herself to think the words so clearly.

“This job is all I have and all I’ve ever known. You know that. If I fail, then what has it all been for? Who am I, without this?”

Lawbrin hung his head, knowingly. “There is a life beyond hunting nightmares. Maybe it’s time you found something more.”

She looked back up to him, a soft grief in her eyes.

“You’re right, you know. I think when this is over, it might be time to tread a new path.”

***

Much to her relief, the remainder of the trip was uneventful. Before them was a forked path.

Fitting, she thought, given everything.

The path to the right towards Penzance and the massive ferries that traveled northeast up the river towards Whitebridge. The left led towards the village of Mistwick and the grasslands in which Nomar Keep resided. She kicked her horse into a trot, and they moved down the northern path towards Mistwick.

It took the the remainder of the day and most of the next morning to finally reach the secluded festival grounds. The sweeping fields around the battered black stone keep rolled into the distance to the north, and were obscured by heavy tree lines to the south. They went to work immediately, locating the center of the festival.

“Shit. This place is a mess,” said Lawbrin.

He grimaced at the sight of broken tents and bloated bodies. Overturned tables, spilled food, and busted seating were strewn everywhere. The canvas of the tents was ripped apart and mice scurried through the piles of cooked flesh and molding fruit.

Whisper began investigating some of the bodies.

“They were stabbed or bludgeoned to death.”

Lawbrin was sifting through a pile of trinkets left on the tables inside one of the tents.

“Seems like they didn’t care about loot,” he said, tossing a handful of necklaces back down.

Whisper sighed, kneeling before an older man who had been stabbed repeatedly, and who now lay face down in a puddle of shallow mud.

“And they weren’t after the men,” she said. “All the bodies are male.”

“Got some older women up here in a row,” he said.

Whisper rose back up in one swift movement, walking the few dozen feet to where Lawbrin was standing behind the nearest tent.

She looked at the bodies of the bloodied old women. They were lined up in a row, obviously kneeling when they were beheaded. Their bodies had fallen forward, dark red pooling around their corpses. It was the vacant eyes of the dead that got under her skin most. The pallid color and opaque dryness seemed to pierce through her into her soul.

“So, not the elders?” She stared into the clouded gray eyes of a woman whose eyelids had never fallen. The expression of terror and sorrow on her face was forever etched in place on her now marble-like skin.

“Must be a blood cult. They’re always looking for young victims. More energy to draw from.”

“This is too brazen for a cult. Too many people. I mean, there has to have been a few hundred here, if all we’re seeing are the ones they left behind.” 

She looked around, perturbed. She was trying to sort out in her mind the number of attackers that would have been necessary to subdue what amounted to a small village.

“Uh, Whisp. Come look at this.”

She realized only now that Lawbrin had moved away from the row of bodies. She found him some distance ahead, staring at the large wooden entry door to the main tower. The keep itself was in poor condition. Walls around the grounds were crumpling under time, weather and former battles. Pieces of the tower itself had fallen off, probably struck in the distant past by siege equipment. But the door seemed well preserved, if a little worn.

Adorning the wood planks was a large symbol, painted in dried blood. At the center, the outline silhouette of a tall slender figure rose up like a tree, starting small at the base and growing wide with outstretched arms near the top. The thick lines of the figure had run, leaving an ominous streaking effect down the wood. The figure was encircled in a round oval, and the branches of a large tree sprouted behind the figure’s head. The drawing was crude, messy, and sent a chill down Whisper’s spine. She had never seen anything like it.

“Looks like your cult theory might actually be panning out,” she said.

“Do you recognize the symbol?”

She eyed it carefully, scanning every additional detail she could find. 

“No.”

There was a thump behind the door. Immediately Lawbrin’s blade was in his hand, his stance readied.

Whisper had drawn the set of daggers from her belt, holding them in a protective guard around her face. She scanned behind them while Lawbrin kept his attention forward on the entryway.

“Open it,” she said, spinning back around.

“Couldn’t go smoothly, just one time?”

He moved the door, pulling back on the large iron handle. He strained but was able to open it a few feet before swinging back into position flanking Whisper.

The inside of the tower had obviously been untouched for a long time prior to the harvest festival. For the purpose of the celebration the ground floor had been turned into a sort of larder, containing massive crates of food, kegs of alcohol, and what appeared to be some form of fireworks. The dust covering the base stones had been disturbed recently. The sight of footprints and scuff marks were evident.

The duo moved inside, carefully scanning every crevice and beam. There was a thick musty smell inside the tower base. Nearly thirty feet in diameter, the base was big enough that the thin streams of sun that broke through cracks in the walls were not quite enough to fully illuminate the distance. Above them, Whisper could see the wooden flooring of the second level above them. The broken planks, shattered support beams, and moldy cloth drapery moved in a slight breeze that flowed through gaps between stones. A thick dust coated everything, and as they stepped, small plumes of gray material puffed into the air around them. Whisper pulled the cloth scarf at her neck up around the bridge of her nose. 

“Raise your guard.” he instructed softly.

A creaking noise, like footprints across rotten boards echoed from above them.

Whisper nodded to the rickety ladder on Lawbrin’s right. He moved closer, looking up into the open hole that used to hold a trap door. He couldn’t see anything of substance, but as he gazed, he could see the faint silhouette of a swaying humanoid shadow against the rounded wall. He looked at Whisper, an expression of warning on his face. He lifted a single finger, indicating one being, and began climbing the ladder. His sword remained in his hand as he climbed, slowing his ascent, but leaving him at the ready. Whisper waited until he made it to the floor above, testing the boards around him with his foot, and then began climbing.

The hairs on his neck and arms were standing on end, and his blade was positioned in a high guard. He heard Whisper gracefully transition to the wood floor behind him. Now with backup, he proceeded forward into the shadowed space. Sunlight drifted in from several angles, illuminating dust particles and giving everything a warm, yet dingy hue.

Old barrels and remnants of furniture were scattered around the space, broken and rotting just like the structural elements. Behind a stack of torn cloth and dusty wood crates stood a lone figure, partially obscured in the gloom. It was human, female, naked, and swayed like a branch in a gentle breeze. Lawbrin lowered his weapon so that the point of his blade extended immediately out in front of him, ready to thrust. He advanced, Whisper skirting the edge of the room, parallel to him. 

The woman looked to be in her mid twenties. Her skin was covered in a thick layer of grime and mud, and her hair cascaded down in front of her face in a tangle of knots, twigs, and leaves. She stood with her face angled to the floor, and her left shoulder was angled towards Lawbrin, almost protectively.

As he and Whisper neared, they slowed their pace, maintaining a safe distance between themselves and the unknown figure.

“Are you alright, ma’em?”

No response. 

Lawbrin and Whisper exchanged a quick glance, with Whisper advancing closer to the young woman.

“Can you hear me? Are you alone? Are you injured?”

No response.

Lawbrin stopped in place. Something was wrong. He planted his foot into the floor, grounding his stance a few feet away.

“Young lady?”

The attack was unexpected. It was not the young woman whose claws Lawbrin’s shoulder, but a second figure that appeared from the shadows behind Whisper and Lawbrin. The force of the blow was minimized by his quick reaction. As Lawbrin turned with the blow, only the top part of the claw scoured the leather on his sleeve. However the sudden twisting momentum loosened the plank below his feet. His boot broke through the thinned layer of old wood and he fell backwards, leg caught in the broken timber.

Whisper was at his side in an instance, using her shoulder to push the attacker forward over away from her companion. The attacker appeared as a young man, as grimy and naked as the young woman. Whisper considered that they could be frightened festival goers. However the events of the next few seconds changed her mind.

The young male tumbled, off balance but quickly managed to recollect his balance. He twisted around, his body illuminated in a thick stream of daylight. He looked square at her, revealing eyes as black as tar and a pallid olive face highlighted in an oily muck. The man paused letting out an unnatural screech, throwing his whole body into the motion. She watched as the man’s body split in two. Jagged lines tore themselves across his midsection as large batlike wings tore themselves from the flesh at his back. Along his face, large rips in his flesh wove their way across his cheeks exposing rows of needle-like teeth. Whisper tightened her grip and readied herself. 

She was unable to prepare before a second figure was rushing at her from the side. She phased away, appearing behind the woman who had, just moments ago been breathing heavily but stationary in the corner. As Whisper phased back into her material state, she could almost taste the acrid stench of decay lingering in the breeze caused by the woman’s movement. 

No, she thought to herself, not a woman. A creature. Something void-tainted.

She collected herself and moved to strike, driving the ends of her dagger into the female's back. She felt the flesh tear under her weight, the daggers finding soft tissue to sink into. But the creature appeared affected. Whisper felt the flesh rip and tear beneath her as large leathery wings ripped forth from the creature’s back, and the flesh around her midsection tore apart. Whisper was forced backwards, and rolled into a crouch a few feet from where she’d started. One dagger remained in the creature’s back, while the other slid towards the ladder. 

She was up and running as the creature spun around, using momentum from the turn to separate its upper torso from its legs. The creature moved deftly, flapping its wings like a bat , and barring its fangs at Whisper. It lunged, and Whisper slid the remaining few feet the dagger, using her foot to catch herself on the ledge of the ladder portal. She felt the creature’s claws scrape the back of her leather armor, but with less force than necessary to pull her with it.

She grabbed the blade and thrust, just in time to catch the bat-like frame in the chest with the blade. The creature hit the floor, and the force rolled Whisper from her back, onto her hands and knees. 

She saw Lawbrin pull his foot free from the hole, just in time for the male figure to separate from his body and slam into Lawbrin. The force shattered the floor, and the pair tumbled through the wooden planks. 

Whisper let out a scream of panic, “Lawbrin!”

She felt the cold rush of fear course through her veins, turning them to ice. Her breathing tightened, and a pit immediately rose in her stomach, as the fear of his death bellowed out from within her. It was a new feeling, since Merton. She crawled forward, to view Lawbrin’s fate, but was caught by the flying frame of the woman before she could reach the new opening in the floor.

She was forcibly crushed into the wall, her head spinning with the sudden impact against her skull. Beside her, a window with stiff fabric curtains was shining sunlight into the space. She reached out to block the advancing teeth of the woman, who bit at her like a caged dog at raw meat. Whisper managed to get her forearm across the woman’s throat, blocking her mouth’s advancement. The creature slammed its fists into her chest and abdomen, trying to rake and claw at the leather there. Whisper pulled at the curtain beside her, yanking the cloth free. A burst of sunlight pierced the space, sending the creature backwards in the air. It recoiled from the daylight, snarling in pain. 

Whisper dropped hard to the floor. She felt the blood pooling at her side before she saw the wounds. Not wasting a second though, she moved to the ladder, practically throwing herself the fifteen feet to the ground floor. She smelled the change in the air behind her as the creature moved to the edge of the sunlight, vomiting a thick, rotten smelling bile at her. The bile hit the wood, causing small tufts of smoke to rise where it ate through the material.

At the bottom, Whisper landed on her back against a pile of crates. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to take in air for a few precious seconds. Above her, she saw the creature seemingly float above the hole. It screeched, and Whisper rolled out of the way, just narrowly avoiding a new wave of bile that landed with a thick, wet sound against the crates where she had just been laying. A glint of steel showed her where her dagger was. A flurry of movement to the side, showed her Lawbrin’s frame, swinging her weapon deftly at the body of the other winged monstrosity. She grabbed the blade, and spun back to the emerging body of the female creature.

It was horrifying how quickly it scrambled across the stone of the wall. It stopped, and twisted it neck to an unholy length, glaring at Whisper. She slowly moved backwards, keeping an eye on both creatures. The male was busy with Lawbrin’s blade, while the female hunted her like a large beast. Whisper moved closer to the door, positioning herself so that there was some distance between her and the wooden frame. When she was in position, she made her move.

She ran towards the creature. The monstrosity threw itself off the wall, flapping its wings in long powerful strides, quickly gaining momentum. Just as the two would have collided, Whisper phased again. Her body dissolved to air in an instant, and reformed several feet behind the entrails that poured from the half-body of the creature. Unable to stop its momentum, the creature slammed into the wooden door, crashing through with a cacophony of splintered planks.

As it entered the sunlight, it was as if it’s wings gave out, sending the creature sprawling into the dirt and mud. It skidded across the courtyard about a dozen yards before slowing. Thrashing wildly, it screamed in pain as it’s flesh sizzled in the sun, weakening it. Without hesitating, Whisper threw herself into the sunlight, and climbed onto the creature’s left wing. She drove her dagger into the creature’s heart, dragging the blade sharply against its skin. Tears and cut formed in the flesh, and black ooze poured from around its wound. Whisper drove the weapon down again, meeting steel to heart. A few twitches echoed through its muscles, before it settled into an eerie stillness. It wasn’t dead, but it would hold for a few minutes.

“Whisper!” She heard her name shouted from inside the tower, and she moved back to the entrance of the keep.

Lawbrin screamed profanities as he dodged claw after claw. The male creature was moving with such speed around the room that it was hard for Lawbrin to execute anything more than evasion and defense. Whisper pulled a small pouch from her hip bag, and unraveled the thin twine. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel the fear still coursing through her. She ran behind the creature, puffed out her lips, and blew the fine silver dust into the air over the creature’s back. 

Instantaneously, cries of pain rose out from the monster, and it slammed its back repeatedly into the walls and boxes around the room. Instead of the inquisitors, it was now solely focused on the burning sensation caused by the mix of silver flakes that stuck to its skin. Lawbrin capitalized, and readied his weapon. The creature, unaware of his proximity, failed to see the blade come down. In a second, the creature’s head rolled against the back wall. The body fell in a oozing lump of flesh and dangling organs on the ground.

“Quickly. This isn’t over.” Whisper warned. “Grab the bodies and throw them in a pile outside.”

For the next few minutes, the pair worked to bring the scattered body parts of both creatures into the sunlit courtyard. Lawbrin crafted a fire beside the corpses, and they used old rags and wooden planks to increase the reach of the flames. Before long, the bodies of the two creatures were engulfed in red and orange. Whisper and Lawbrin looked on, bodies bruised and sore from the fight, as the creatures howled their final death cries, and burned to ashes. Whisper finished cleaning the black acidic bile from her blades with discarded linen, and replaced them both in the sheaths at her lower back.

“What were those things?” asked Lawbrin. “I’ve never seen those before.”

“Managaals. Vampiric creatures that lure in their victims by taking on the form of humans or elves. Then they split from their lower bodies to hunt. As long as they are separated from their lower torso, they heal themselves quickly. But sunlight prevents that process. The only way to permanently kill them is with fire.”

“How do you know about these creatures?”

“Salk’Ir. They were there.”

“Ah.” It was all he could reasonably say.

The massacre at the Salk’Ir monastery when she was a child was the reason Whisper and Brother Rafique had found their way to the Brotherhood of Seven. It was strange to speak about it. Of all the horrors, failures, and losses she and Whisper had experienced, this was the one that had started the path to all those after. It was something she didn’t speak about, and something Lawbrin, out of respect, never asked about. Her fighting there had proven her worthy of training as an Inquisitor, after her home was ransacked.

“Come on. We need to search the tower. These things need fresh meat, not bodies. I suspect they were left here intentionally.”

She moved back into the gloom of the keep’s spire, and began rooting through back corners and piles of discarded junk. Lawbring joined in the search, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Avoiding the sticky messes of black vomit, they climbed each ladder to the next floor, searching through anything they found. It was futile, until they reached the top most level.

“Aewalin’s mercy,” said Lawbrin.

Lawbrin was the first to speak, but Whisper felt everything. The fear over losing Lawbrin during the fight paled to the dread, and panic that coursed through her now. Hanging from the roof supports were dozens of bloodied, skinned, and half-eaten bodies in various stages of decay. The blackened flesh and congealed gore was overpowered only by the thick, sickeningly strong odor of rotting meat. The only commonality between the remains were that they were younger than the bodies outside, and there were no children. Both Whisper and Lawbrin had gagged as they climbed over the ledge of the trap door, and were now using small scarves and hand cloths to cover their face against the stench. 

But the bodies were far from the most gut wrenching sight. The sigh that stopped them in their place was the silvered metal disc hanging from the back wall. Its metallic surface seemed to swirl without ever physically moving, drawing the eyes to look deeper into the abyss. Around the edge of the void mirror were severed limbs–hands, legs, feet, ears, all nailed together or tied with coarse twine to frame the portal and give it power. The amount of bloodshed in this room had been used to open this gateway to the Void, and allowed the creatures to enter the mortal plane.

“This has to be connected to Merton,” said Whisper. “It has to be.”

“Shit.”

***

The first order of business had been to remove the mirror from the tower. With the sorry state of the tower, it had been easy to roll the silver disc outside. Whisper and Lawbrin, careful to monitor the surface for any sign of activity, had removed the limbs from the frame, and throw it from a large hole in the wall on the floor directly below. The mirror sailed through the air with a faint spinning whisper, before crashing into the muck with a thick splash. 

They buried the silver disc face down in a hole some hundred yards from the tower in a thicket of thin ash trees and berry bushes. After covering it again, they turned their attention to the victims of the festival. It took several hours to lower the bodies from the tower and set them ablaze in the courtyard. Whisper and Lawbrin had bowed their heads as the bodies sizzled. Tiny embers floated across the darkening sky. 

“Aewalin, we pray that you guide these souls to your everlasting light. Embrace them as children returning to their parent, and show them mercy in your judgment. Ai efirtis thanas iet tulam nafa’l ishav,” said Whisper. May your souls find freedom in the mists of eternity.

“In your name,” said Lawbrin in ceremonial response.

They were silent for a moment, before turning back to the makeshift camp they had set up off the main gate. Their silence continued as they cooked their evening meal, and Lawbrin pulled out his small sketchbook again, continuing to draw from memory, the bloody icon from the door.

“I found deep tracks and hoofprints headed northwest from the grounds when we were collecting wood,” she said absently. “Whatever prisoners they took, were probably carted away.”

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked, never looking up from his charcoal and paper.

Whisper squatted down across the fire from Lawbrin and placed her wet hands near the flames. The night was bitingly cold as a result of the wetness of early spring. It seeped into her bones like liquid into a rag.

“We follow the trail. See where it leads us.”

“What happens after that?”

She looked up at him. “Do you even need to ask?”

“If we try and track whoever did this, we’re likely to end up in a mess we can’t handle on our own.”

“We’re just going to find them, and then call for assistance if needed.”

He chuckled. “Right.”

“What was that?”

His eyes darted towards her, head still down-turned. The expression was a mixture of annoyance and condescension.

“You know damn well you won’t stay put when we find them. Which means, I won’t be able to stay put because I’ll have to support your flank.”

“Stop making it seem like this is my obsession alone.”

“But it is.”

Whisper was taken aback. She knew the feeling of resentment that had instantly welled up in her was evident on her face.

“I feel the loss and the weight. But I’m concerned about you. If we’re in a position to help, we help. If we aren’t, I need to know you won’t do anything reckless. It’s not just your life you’re risking here.”

“In all the years we have traveled together, when have you known me to be reckless?”

“Only recently. That’s what worries me.”

Whisper stood in a fluid motion that began at her knees. She could feel the bruises forming along the backs of her legs and back where she had landed on the crates. A nice sharp headache has also been lingering behind her eyes for the majority of the day.

“We’re done here.” As she turned to walk away she thought better of it, and whipped back around pointedly. “I’m not dull, you know. I recognize you’re beside me in this. Despite how I may feel, I’m not suicidal. But we’re the blade that protects people. This is what we do.”

“I don’t doubt your resolve or capability...”

She cut him off.

“Yes you do! And you shouldn’t! That’s the problem! Go to bed. We leave at first light.”

With that, she moved behind the flap of a festival tent she had commandeered for the night’s rest. The firelight danced along the outside of the canvas, casting flickering shadows in the dark spaces between flares. Whisper settled into her bedroll, which she had placed atop the sheared off tabletop from the market stall she now resided in. 

The bedroll was warm, lined with Heathfox fur, but smelled like sweat and earth from her time on the road. She had wadded the head of the bedroll into a makeshift pillow, and turned her back to the door. It was then that the tears began streaming silently down her face. Her body shuddered under the emotions, but she never let a sound escape, fearing Lawbrin would hear her. The faces of the children of Merton clung to her mind’s eye, strung up like dressed deer in a slaughter house. She could only imagine what had happened to the hundred or more villagers from the festival here. She could only imagine what she would find at the end of the trail. And she was afraid of what she would do when she found it.

Maybe he’s right to fret over my actions, she thought to herself. One way or another, I’ll see that justice is served here.