They didn’t want her here. With the looks cast her way, Emalia figured they didn’t want her anywhere. Dead would be better, maybe. And with all the blades near their grimy fingers, that wasn’t an unrealistic possibility. Could she outrun them if they decided to do it? Emalia looked to the gate, shut and locked. Maybe climb the ramparts and leap over the side? It wasn’t a great fall, but it was night, and outside was an unpopulated stretch of plains and tundra with things worse than bandits lurking in the shadows. Every once in a while, Dead fell from the cities—or crawled out of the sunk one, she supposed—and infested the lands, and then there were the wandering few from the northwest. Either way, if things went bloody, there was no escape and certainly no chance of fighting out of it.

  Sovina was close, her hands near her saber and axe, always ready. At least I can rely on her, Emalia thought with a smile. Her friend caught the look and smiled back. It was a beautiful, warm smile, and it fit her perfectly. Emalia wished she could make Sovina happier. She loved to see her laugh and grin—it was simply unfortunate the world tried so hard to get in the way of that.

  And then there was Daecinus. The outlier. She glanced his way across the fire, sitting with his arms on his knees, head drooping, eyes shining through the sharp slits of his eyelids. Like those rubies Oskar chiseled out. Like embers in ash. Would he come with them should Oskar turn down her offer? I wouldn’t. Not with the threats made. He had no reason to trust she’d stay to her word, if Raizak contradicted her. Zealots were dangerous for that reasons. It was a fact of history, and now she was victim to that very fact.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up. Oskar was standing over her, arms crossed, cheeks a little red from the wine they’d been passing around. Just the mercenaries, of course, and Daecinus, though he’d refused. She and Sovina had never been offered. A slight she could ignore, given the circumstances.

  “Follow me,” he said, nodding to the side.

  She acquiesced, climbing to her feet. Sovina raised her eyebrows slightly, but Emalia just gave a slight smile and left. Her guardian wasn’t needed for this conversation, but they were close enough Emalia knew she’d have support in a second if needed. There was no one she’d rather have watch over her in a place like this.

  Feeling every sore muscle and tendon in her body ache, she followed Oskar to the wall, where he climbed up on the rampart and leaned against the rickety palisade. He scratched at his beard, dark with a fair number of grey strands. Without a helmet and all his weaponry and everything, he looked… mundane, normal even. Like a man you could meet at a market stand, talking about the produce or the batch of wool. Still, as he looked out over the hilly landscape, the cliffsides and whitecapped seas under the half moon, wind in his short, roughly chopped hair, there was an age, an experience in his eyes that didn’t quite fit. Like the distant gaze that occasionally took old Smychnik’s eyes when he spoke of his youth. All of a sudden, just looking at him, Emalia felt… uncertain. As if she were looking at the last fragments of a person. Like he were one of those old veterans who’d fought against rogue Sorcerers and raised dead. Hollow and empty as the corpses themselves, lost to the horrors of a darker past.

  “Were you always a mercenary?” she asked suddenly.

  He glanced over, quick and alarmed, then grinned and blew a warm breath into his hands. “Heh. No one’s born a sellsword, Priestess.”

  “I see.”

  He nodded, as if that was that. “So why don’t you tell me what all this Raizak business is about then?”

  “I told you the truth.”

  “So you really figure those visions are from your god, eh?”

  She sent him a harsh glare. “I’m not mad.”

  “Not saying you are. But, well, those could be anything, right? Sorcery or some such?”

  “Feia herself said there were no Spells on me.”

  “But there was something with Spirits, wasn’t there?”

  She had said that, hadn’t she? The whole room was swarming with Spirits, and she was half-alive from that door… Maybe I can ask Daecinus? Would he even tell the truth? Emalia curled her lip and looked away. “The gods work through Spirits in many ways. It is not alarming that I would have an essence of them upon me. Regardless, look where they led me. I found the center of Rotaalan and freed an ancient prisoner.”

  “Not sure yet if that was a good thing.”

  “But it was significant, wasn’t it? My point is that they are leading me somewhere, and even if you doubt Raizak’s direct influence, it is certainly of his work. His domain is that of Sorcery and knowledge.”

  “Yes, yes. Alright.” He gave a dismissive wave and sighed. “But asking me to bring my band along is a whole other thing. I lost two good men today.”

  “That’s not because of me.”

  “A point that can be argued. We blundered into the trap room, sure enough.” He looked as if he was going to say more but screwed up his lips and shrugged it off. “Why ask me, anyways? We did try and rob you.”

  “That is true. But you also handled yourselves well under pressure. We worked together, saving each other, and then you didn’t betray me after.”

  “Heh, there’s still time.”

  “Amusing,” she said, frowning. “Oskar, I learned today that this may be bigger than Sovina and I can handle alone. We can help each other here.”

  “And your fellow priests won’t help?”

  “No.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Might I ask why?”

  “They thought my visions were delusions, that I was a mad charlatan and possessed by the Dead. That I had broken the sacred trust by… Well, I broke their trust, and I am no longer welcome because of it.”

  “Not too much of a surprise from the likes of them.”

  Though she didn’t necessarily disagree, his words still stung like a jab to her gut. “Why do you hate the Column so much? We are not always the most agreeable of types, but nothing that deserves your vitriol.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He smiled at her, all teeth without any hint of kindness. “We don’t want to be getting into that.”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms, fighting down her frustration. “So what will it be, then? Have you given my proposal more thought?”

  Oskar was silent for a long while. Long enough her annoyance faded, and she studied him. Eventually, he scratched at his whiskered chin, gave a resigned sigh, smiled, and said, “Let’s talk pay, shall we?”

  …

  I waited until everyone was asleep. It was no easy task, considering the deep-set exhaustion that clung to my bones, but I needed space and privacy—two things that curious eyes disallowed. When the sun had fully set and the sky was left dark with sparse rays of moon and the fires were reduced to glowing embers, I withdrew from the rough wool cloak Oskar had offered me. A good enough man to rely on for now, for despite his clear self-centered motivations and violent past, he seemed to look out for his own. And here, in what I had gathered as the distant northwest region of the Kastalec, that attribute was essential.

  The facts of my situation were grim. I reflected upon them as I snuck from our small campsite to the latrine pits near the ill-kept stable. I speak one language—and not the native tongue of this region, by our interactions with the guards. I am weakened, dulled in my access to Spirits, and Corrupted, the extent of which is currently unclear. The current state of Sorcery was… confusing. Brief talks with Feia had revealed little—primarily due to her lack of formal training and knowledge—but it seemed a fact of the world that Sorcery had become more unstable. That word frightened me. It meant Corruption, chaos, and madness, but it also meant that my greatest possible advantage against my unknown number of enemies was severely limited. If a simple transfer of knowledge and language had nearly killed me, then what about raising an army of the Dead? No, my previous workings of Sorcery would need to be reexamined, recalibrated. But if there is a way, I shall find it. And those who did this to me, to my sister, to my people… they will suffer.

  I slid behind the stable next to the palisade and peeled back the old robes I’d woken in. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I peered through the shadows at the extent of the Corruption ravaging my left side. My mouth went dry. Cracked lips peeled back in a grimace somewhere between disgust and resigned fear. My skin was paler than its normal grey tones, looking like quartz. It was webbed by black veins that seemed to move under the eye. Sections of my flesh seemed even darker, as if I’d been struck by the cold and only pieces of me had died as a consequence. But it was no simple biological reaction—this I knew. No, Corruption from the overuse of Spirits didn’t just kill you, it stole from you. The life that bound one’s Soul to the earth, the lightness of joy and comfort that carried the elderly past their expected final days, the wonders of the senses and joys of youthful energy—these were all vulnerable to Corruption’s hunger. And there was more. It sometimes turned people, broke them. Still, it wouldn’t kill me. Not immediately, at least. I had time to determine an effective course of action to delay that accelerated end. My naturally long lifespan would help, but it would not—

  I turned, pulling the robe closed across my body as the sounds of footsteps drew closer. A person appeared, an outline of a figure at the end of the narrow alley in which I hid. I squinted at them as I prepared to run. With the shadows cast by the dull light of the moon, I couldn’t make out features beyond a medium build and… ah, so this is what it came to.

  “Sovina, was it?” I asked, casting a glance behind me. The other side was open, though further away. “Have you come for my heart, then?”

  “No,” she said, standing still. An outline in the night, ominous, motionless as if waiting to pounce. She was a panther, I knew. I imagine she was often underestimated as a warrior due to her gender, but I’d seen her cut through the Dead, and I would not make such a foolish mistake.

  “Why show yourself?” I asked.

  For a second, she didn’t reply, and I figured the worst was to come. But then she stepped into the alley and patted her sides. Closer, I could see she didn’t have her saber or axe on her, but that didn’t preclude a dagger, of course. “I’m unarmed. Not here to fight. Just to talk.”

  Conversations are certainly possible in the comforting light of the sun and in the presence of less blood-hungry others. “Go on.”

  “I’m loyal to Emalia, to my Column-sister. She says you don’t die, then you won’t.” She stopped a few strides away, arms crossed. “But I think letting you live is a mistake. One that will get her in trouble. With Raizak or the thick-headed fools back at Nova, I don’t know, but letting you walk out of there? You can see the trouble to follow.”

  “I can understand your mistrust, especially under the circumstances.”

  “It’s not about that,” she said, face scrunching up. “You’re dangerous. And anyone dangerous is bound to have a few enemies, especially if they’d found themselves locked away inside one of the sinking cities.”

  I nodded in acquiescence. As little as she knew about me, her assessment of the situation was not incorrect. “And what does this mean for you and me?”

  Her eyes found me like speartips, threatening as any weapon. “It means you keep your dark magic to yourself and those who already know. We don’t need attention, and we don’t need people getting afraid of awoken necromancers—”

  “People fear Sorcerers?” I interrupted, confused.

  She carried on anyway, “And it also means you don’t put Emalia in danger. She’s risking everything for you. Though her reasons elude me sometimes, she’s wise enough to know the truth even when I don’t. But what I do see are all the ways this is going to get her hurt or killed. Look out for her, Sorcerer, and I’ll let you keep breathing, understand?”

  Her threat made me want to hurt her. Kill me? After all your people did to me, you think your threats can sway me? You think your feeble bluffs can strike anything other than furious indignation in my heart? My blood was racing hot, but a sharp thrust of shame cooled my anger. I thought of Demetria and what she might say at such things. At what I was at risk becoming.

  No, I thought, correcting myself, Sovina is looking out for her friend, her companion. This deserves understanding and agreement, not resentment. If I were in her position, I would feel the same. I looked this warrior in the eyes and nodded. “She has nothing to fear from me. Her assistance in the dispelling of my ignorance over these missing centuries is more appreciated than any material comfort. As long as she—and you—keep the promise of peace, then I will treat her as one of my own. But I should relay to you that her visions, as she calls them, are of a Sorcerous nature. I would be inclined to say she is peering past the vale—”

  “Do not question her connections to Raizak.”

  “I merely sense something Sorcerous. I am not claiming it is a Spell.”

  “Good.” She gave a curt nod, then glanced down to my loosened robe and said as she began to turn away, “And concerning the extent of your Corruption… I’ll keep that to myself. But don’t let it kill you. Or worse. I’ll be the first to put a blade in your skull should you fade from us.” Before I could reply, she walked away, leaving me there behind some decrepit stable in a ruin of a fort far from my home and even further from a time that made sense.

  For all I knew, I was the last of my kind, stranded within this new world so very distant from my own. A walking relic of a dead past, a corpse thrust into life by the cruel hands of fate, left to rot here in this uncanny debris.

  For the first time since I had awoken, my awareness was brought from the sickening pain at my side towards a cold rush of chills crawling up my spine. What if I was the last of my kind? And the attack at the Grand Observatory was but a preamble to a far more sinister assault than I anticipated? Pethya was no more—that was a fact—but that needn’t be the case for my people who once populated the great nation. Could they be gone too? I’d hoped they simply escaped, but the possibility of their genocide now haunted me. The question lingered there like a burning firepoker hovering before a prisoner’s eye. Under the honor of my title and those entrusted to me, I wished it to be a lie. A figment of the mind. I wished it so bad I almost went out into the dark to wander to the place I might call my home and see for myself. But that was a fool’s errand, the rational part said. It would be wise to learn, to grow stronger again, and to gain allies. To bide my time.

  And yet the question lingered, more torturous than the pain of truth itself.

  After some time, I slipped back under the shared, open-faced tent and huddled underneath the ratty old cloak, feeling the cold touch of dread in my bones.