It had been a silent walk.

  Cindy kept two steps behind her lead, watching his thick cotton cloak scoop up the loose dirt and twigs as he wandered. Spring had finally won over the snow, but the morning frost still forced more layers on lengthy travels.

  With a quiet shiver, Cindy tucked her bare hands under her armpits. She hadn’t expected the walk to be so long, but should have clued in when she saw how bundled up Maynard was.

  His face had sunken with both the sorrow of these past weeks, and a neglect to care for himself. His beard had grown somewhat wild, dusted with the early frost of age, and certainly the main source of the boozy scent coming off of him.

  Infected or not, the sickness had squeezed the energy out of everyone in Bervolt. She hadn’t chanced a mirror in days, knowing full well what she likely looked like. The bags under her eyes held weight, and the skin on her hands had peeled and cracked from constant sanitation. All those who could aid her were untrained in medicines, and the ingredients that would make for a potent cure were beyond the coin and distance any of them could afford.

  But still, despite the small discomforts she was facing, walking in silence through the quiet morning woods had never felt so calming. It was an escape from her worries, even if briefly. The worry that her latest cure would hold no effect like so many before, that Bervolt would perish under her care, that the sickness would spread even further.

  It was a long trek, but free of most obstacles that would make transport difficult. Still, she was pleasantly surprised that Maynard had even half the energy to find a perfect burial spot, and then lead her back to it. He had been the life of the town before this tragedy. A lord once to a smaller city, retired to lead Bervolt with lively song and vibrant stories of his travels. Beloved and admired, even as misfortune tested his oversight. He was strong, Bervolt needed that energy now, more than ever.

  After a few more minutes, he stopped, allowing Cindy to catch up. He did not point at the clearing ahead, but his refusal to go further was a signal enough.

  This was the spot.

  She toed at the dirt, the cold ground still parting away easy enough.

  They would be able to bury the ashes at least, and allow the souls rest.

  “It’s good.” Cindy spoke, her gentle smile repaid with a dead stare from the man. “Thank you for finding it.” She rested her hand on his arm consolingly, but he jerked it away.

  Cindy let out an understanding sigh, offering the shovel back to Maynard. He yanked it out of her hands, sending his gaze anywhere but her.

  “You’ve been tired, we all have. But after the funeral I think you should rest, spend some time with Sajus and Timber.” Cindy continued, finally earning his gaze. Something in his sorrow hardened, but from the way his eyes drooped with exhaustion, she could not discern it between confusion or rage. “They need their father, I can take care of the sickness. Let’s go back.”

  She turned, taking a few steps before a loud sound rang in her ears. It was strange, but she had assumed it was Maynard testing the shovel in the dirt and hitting a stray stone. There was no point in digging right now, she would have to convince him to head back with her, and rest.

  It was no time at all to her, but as echo of the noise died, she closed her eyes momentarily and found herself laying on the ground. Her mind first settled on it all being a dream, and she had yet to join Maynard on his trek. But she could feel loose dirt between her fingers, and as her eyes fluttered open, she saw a sky washed with a grey haze.

  She leaned up, her stiff body quickly tingling with enough energy to bring her to her feet. All around her a thick white fog shrouded the forest, the distant trees only towering dark silhouettes. Maynard was nowhere to be seen in the strange fog. It was likely he had run for help when she fainted. She had no idea the weeks had taken that much of a toll on her body.

  Still, now she felt light, burdenless. As if she could step into the air and simply float away. The temptation was there, no matter how ludicrous the thought. It would be a blessing if she could sprout wings and fly off to the next town for more medical supplies.

  As the thought of supplies came to mind she felt a weight. But this one did not press her down from the outside, as the stress of the past few weeks had. It seemed to grow from somewhere inside her, weighing her feet to feel the ground.

  They were sick.

  She had to go to them. If her latest treatment wasn’t successful, the sickness would spread again.

  But where was she?

  She tried to pierce the thick fog, to remember any details about the path Maynard had led her down.

  She waited an hour.

  And then another one.

  And then she lost count. Count of the hours, count of the hopeless calls into the never-ending fog. Count of hope. The names she had called simply melted to screams for help - and then to screams in general.

  But silence was an uninvited guest that never seemed to leave. So she tried to leave it, and started walking.

  For an hour.

  And then another one.

  And then she lost count again.

  But still, she walked, hoping to see a town, a trail, anything. Her attention was dulled as she dragged her feet, the unchanging fog eating sound and light. Until a single piece of colour fluttered to the ground before her. She had detached herself from the world around her so much she nearly didn't notice it. But somehow it ripped through her daze, and she stopped, looking down at the red leaf that had landed in front of her feet.

  As if energized by her attention, it caught a low breeze, rising back into the air to circle her and then flutter onwards into the fog.

  Her body moved to follow, until she stopped herself.

  A leaf? Following a leaf? Ridiculous.

  She walked after it.

  She was basically following a breeze because it happened to blow on her.

  But what else was there to do but trust fate? She was hopelessly lost, and Bervolt was depending on her. Perhaps Maynard would have returned if she had waited just a little bit longer, but she had lost track of the time, and the woods were dangerous at night.

  The wind carried the leaf far, but before Cindy knew it, she could see a figure in the fog. A person.

  Hope.

  Her steps quickened, and the fog parted to show the details of a woman sat upon a wide tree stump. She paid no mind to Cindy’s approach, the woman's gaze drawn to the bright red leaf that had blown into her cupped hands.

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  A beautiful woman by all accounts. She was dressed in a black woolen tunic that covered her body, her black hair cascading in waves down her back, with a few stray strands hanging over her soft, pale face. She looked mostly human, the only piece that could betray it being the very soft point to her ears. An Elaren of very distant blood was likely to blame.

  Cindy kept a respectable distance from the stranger, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. “Hello?”

  The women lifted her gaze, her soft hazel eyes skimming over Cindy and spurring a warm smile as she nodded in greeting.

  “My name is Cindy…”

  The woman remained silent, simply staring at Cindy.

  Just her luck to find a mute in the middle of the woods. But that did not mean she could not provide directions.

  “I’m lost… Would you happen to know where a town called Bervolt is?”

  The woman’s gaze dropped to the red leaf, her eyes scrutinizing the object as if she could read the veins that webbed it. But after her silent inspection, her smile returned, and she rose, wandering into the fog with graceful strides.

  Cindy followed the stranger, keeping close enough to soak in the strange warmth she radiated. Having a stranger at her side made the time pass quicker as they walked.

  Finally, in the thick fog she saw a warm yellow light. It quickly multiplied, the torchlights carving through the fog to illuminate a town that Cindy knew well. All at once the relief washed over her as she beheld Bervolt, the thank you's pouring from her tongue as she showered the mysterious woman in gratitude.

  Two figures emerged as they wandered down the trail. A man and a woman that Cindy had come to know well. The man’s name was Tarson, he had a problem with filtering himself, and had called the sickness every curse word under the sun while helping Cindy with running fresh water. His sister, Endris, was by his side. She was half as colourful as Tarson in language, but made up for it with the strength and stubbornness of a bull.

  Cindy called their names, approaching them with an ecstatic smile.

  She expected them to run to her in greeting, given how long she had been lost. But they ignored her, Tarson’s voice coming out in grumbles as he kept a heated debate with his sister.

  “That bastard, calling her a witch.”

  “There’s nothing we can do.” Endris hushed, her words only stirring more anger on Tarson’s face.

  “We could drive a spear up his arse.”

  Endris smacked his shoulder, the gesture returned with a soft elbow to her side as they ignored Cindy and continued to walk.

  She stepped in front of them as one final attempt to draw their attention. But they kept their pace, the siblings walking straight through her.

  Cindy shuddered as she felt them pass through, her mind racing to catch up to the sensation as she checked her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

  The woman looked on, and the siblings walked through her as well, her body parting like a mirage and swirling back together.

  She did not need the strange woman to speak to hold her own theories. Had the exhaustion taken her life? Cindy gazed at Bervolt, her heart sinking as she pressed onwards, passing through the gate without needing to move the door.

  What lay beyond was the town, just as she had left it, aside from one very important detail. The wrapped bodies they had laid in the town square were gone, the makeshift fences quarantining the sickest parts of the town stripped clean.

  And Bervolt was alive, with chatter, with excitement. The townsfolk were on the streets, no longer fearing the distance between each other. No longer fearing the sickness that had rattled her friends to their core and made her world a ghost town.

  “They’re alive.” She looked around at the lively town, children running and playing, her fellow townsfolk gossiping away with vibrancy and joy. It was a sight she had wished more than anything to see. Cindy turned to the woman, her stare still distant. “Thank you for showing me this.”

  The woman flicked her gaze to Cindy, a little colder at the reaction. She did not seem to understand the gratitude Cindy was paying her. With a mysterious goal in mind, she passed Cindy, wandering to the town square where Cindy could see Maynard huddled around a small crowd of villagers.

  His old energy was back, and instrument in his lap as he held the circle of townsfolk in complete captivation at the story he was retelling. Cindy had heard many pleasant tales from the man, he had a magical way of making even the most mundane things extravagant and engaging.

  But she had not heard the tale he was telling before.

  “I told her I knew her ruse, and drove her out. Said we would have her on a pyre if she showed her cursed face again. And then, less than a week later, the sickness was gone!”

  The townsfolk murmured in agreement, their gazes dark with anger at the subject of Maynard’s tale.

  Cindy stopped at the mention of sickness, sitting to the side to listen to the tale.

  “I can’t imagine what would have happened if she had stayed. She would have taken so many more lives.” Maynard continued, his gaze filled with a theatrical sort of sorrow as he shook his head somberly. “Cindy would have spread her blight beyond Bervolt. What a jealous and evil creature.”

  Her body froze at the words.

  “What…?” she breathed, the words weak as she tried to replay his words in her mind and understand them in a different way.

  Maynard adjusted the stringed instrument in his lap, starting on a few notes. “But with this song, far and wide, she won’t be showing her face anywhere.”

  Cindy drowned in her spot, the shock still coursing through her as the song Maynard sang came out of everyone. Every child, every mother she had laboured to save, every man who had helped or lay in a sick bed of their own.

  They sang with so much joy it sickened her. And she felt something stir. A nauseating bubbling in her body that poured from her skin in tears and rage and settled on her skin like a million iron chains.

  And what was left of the light feeling faded altogether.

  She wanted to take the weight off, it was an awful sensation. An awful song. They deserved the chains, not her.

  And Maynard deserved the heaviest of them.

  As Cindy simmered in the center of the town, a motion caught her corner vision. She gazed at the strange woman, and the open palm she had stretched out to her in silent welcome.

  There was no thought to it. To the warmth and guidance the woman had provided her. She accepted the woman’s hand, feeling the warmth tingle up her wrist, her plea breaking with sobs as she stared into the woman’s hazel eyes. “Make them stop. Please.”

  And with those words, the warmth spread across her body, and turned into a scorching blaze.

  ━━━━━━ ? ? ? ━━━━━━

  “We found a spot. Far enough that no one would camp or disturb the dead.” Maynard whispered, his fear shifting to stilled anger as his next words were pressed out between his teeth. “she spoke of my wife. How she would be able to rest peacefully there, in the middle of the woods as a sad, filthy mound of ashes. Not my wife, not the angel of my children. Ashes.” He spat. “She even had the gal to smile to my face.”

  The corpse watched him silently, Maynard taking its ease as an invite to finish.

  “I shattered her skull where she stood and left her there, in the woods. I gave my wife a proper burial. The sick stopped spreading after that.” Maynard hissed, his lips curving into a smile of bloodlust. “I knew it was her. I knew she was a witch. She even called a demon here after her death.”

  “A demon?” The creature mused, cocking its head rigidly. It’s voice melted to false pity “Oh darling. No no no. A demon feeds off pleasures and suffering, they need it to survive. A demon leaves when its had its fill." It drew close to his ear, its whisper sharp enough to travel to its audience. "I'm not a demon, I just think it’s fun. She found Cindy in the woods, wandering, restless. The Wind lead her to us. Gods, to think she was willing to forgive you. Until you made that song.”

  Maynard watched the corpse with wide eyes as it began to hum, the familiar tune turning to a simple song that complimented the creature’s voice. “Have you seen the witch of late? A jealous evil crone. Fell in love with a married mate, so she caught his wife alone.”

  The creature raised its hand again, inching towards Maynard’s other shoulder. He sang his part weakly before it had to ask twice. “Cursed her dead, slept in his bed, and as the story goes - we chased that wicked woman to the woods…”

  “And after that?” The corpse mused.

  Maynard remained silent.

  “That’s fine, you know. You know that the sick would have spread to everyone, Bervolt would have become a ghost town if Cindy wasn’t there. And still, you mocked her.” It rose, casting a cold shadow over the room as its voice bellowed with power. “So a ghost town it shall be.”

  The creature raised its hand, the frayed flesh of its bony fingertips barely touching Maynard’s face before the whine of a loose floorboard stopped it.

  It stilled, both it, and Maynard staring at the source of the sound.