The forest along the road withered, the trees becoming gnarled and ashen grey. The grass mottled to a sickly yellow, springing up in clumps between large tracts of grey-brown earth in the land ahead.

  "How does anyone survive here?" I asked.

  "One step at a time," Isla said, her voice quieter than usual.

  "C'mon! There's no use standing around half-sheathed," Castille said, urging her horse forward. Her mare didn't move; even the horse was spooked.

  She tried again, and the animal took hesitant steps forward. I could sympathize. Something was wrong in the air: a sickly-sweet smell that you could taste on your tongue. Dugan rode forward next, followed by Thor. Isla waited another moment, gripping her staff until her knuckles turned white. With a deep exhale, she advanced, riding next to Dugan and me for the first time in weeks.

  "Don't chicken out on me now," I said, flashing her a reassuring smile.

  She smiled back, her eyes lingering on the contaminated ground. I knew that expression well. Like a poison, I had learned to tolerate Isla, building up a resistance to the disturbing emotions she triggered in me. Through gritted teeth, I could even say I enjoyed being around her.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “What did you say all those weeks ago? It's different when you feel it. Something terrible is happening in this land.”

  Ominous.

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  “And we’re here to stop it.”

  “How can you be so confident?”

  I’ve already lost everything.

  “The stupidity of youth,” I lied.

  She smiled again, wider this time.

  “You know I’m only a few years older than you.”

  My smile turned brittle.

  Like Cynthia.

  I swept my hand to the side and dipped my head.

  “Then I bow to your intellect.”

  She giggled.

  “You always know the right thing to say to make me feel better.”

  She sat straighter in her saddle and galloped forward to ride with Castille.

  Dugan glanced at me over his shoulder.

  I shrugged.

  “I have a gift.”

  I put Isla out of my mind and focused on our surroundings.

  I expected the desolate wasteland, the forests of dead, leafless trees. I didn’t expect the silence. There were no bird calls, croaking toads or even buzzing flies. Decades of lead and arsenic poisoning in the land killed off the wildlife or forced them to leave for greener pastures. Occasionally, we passed patches of rust-coloured ground, copper ore that turned the surrounding pools of water a deep green.

  Along the road, an old farming village was arranged like a corpse that had been picked clean, its straw-thatched roofs bleached bone white by the sun. Our mood darkened as we entered the village. We rode past ransacked buildings with broken doors and clay walls that collapsed inward. Like the rest of the Dellends, the village was deathly quiet. The people had left, become miners, or haunted the land beneath our feet.

  Castille raised her hand, signalling us to stop. I strained my ears for any sound.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  The sound of wood on wood echoed in the distance. It was too rhythmic; someone or something was making it. I dismounted and walked up to Castille’s horse.

  "You heard it too?" She asked.

  "Yeah, should I scout?"

  She nodded.

  “Be careful.”

  I was off the second she nodded, sneaking on foot while the rest of the party trailed a few minutes behind.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  I moved toward the noise, checking the abandoned windows and collapsed walls for signs of life.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  The sound led us to the centre of the village, where I saw something I would never forget.

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