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  “These are no deadsteps, Ferran,” she said. “There is a pulse. They are alive, but they appear to have no control of their own bodies.”

  Ferran dropped lower, his spear extended before him, and Mireia shot to her feet. Both of them looked toward the dark wood nearby.

  The warden frowned and raised his sword. “There is something else out there,” he said in a low voice that chilled Hil. “They sense it.”

  “Sense what?” Hil breathed out in a barely audible whisper. He could not take his eyes from the two witch hunters.

  Mireia raised the small, black iron lantern and she began to chant. Her voice was strong and powerful, and in the eerie silence of the battlefield it rang out like a bell over the cold wind. Hil could not make out the words, but as she chanted and sang, the lantern began to glow with a bright light.

  And then the world drowned with screams.

  Hil dropped to his knees as all around him the maimed and broken bandits moaned and screamed. They writhed in pain, as if all the horrific suffering from their wounds now seemed fully felt. Hil heard men cry and gurgle their last breaths as they choked on blood.

  Amidst the hellish scene, Mireia stood, her long brown hair flowing around her. “It’s loose,” she called out after she ceased her chant. “It’s free,” she whispered before she dropped the lantern and collapsed to the ground.

  Ferran began moving toward Mireia, but Warden Aker was already there. “I have her, Acolyte!” the warden yelled. “Find it! Do not let it escape!”

  Ferran snapped his head back, looking in all directions. Then, like a hound on the hunt, he sprang forward and moved into the forest.

  All around Hil, the dying bandits writhed and screamed and he could not divert his eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held his hands to his ears, like a fearful child in a thunderstorm.

  Riffolk stood beside Hil, pale and shaken, his blade still out. The tip trembled, and his eyes darted here and there. Warden Aker helped Mireia to a sitting position. He yelled something to Riffolk and the young man’s face grew ashen. The warden repeated it, and Riffolk seemed to snap out of his stupor. He gave the warden a single nod and then began to move around the field with his blade, silencing each of the bandits. But even when there was silence once more, Hil could not bring himself to remove his hands from his ears.

  After what seemed an eternity, Ferran emerged from the woods further up the road and gestured for them to come. Hil rose and followed the group. His legs were shaky but remained upright.

  Hil saw anger in Ferran’s clenched jaw and narrowly set eyes. “I felt it move toward the road, then nothing,” Ferran said. “But it left this behind.” Past the edge of the tree line was a shape on the forest floor.

  A body.

  What he saw stole his mind. Hil found himself on the ground, retching. Whatever had done this to a human had not done it from the outside. It had come from within the man, emerging forth in some sort of terrible, violent birth. The only thing left untouched on what had once been a person were the boots. It was on this Hil focused his eyes and tried to piece his mind back together.

  Riffolk’s normally strong, bold voice sounded like a child’s. “What… what did this?”

  Ferran did not take his eyes off the body. “It could be any number of Ruins. There are a fair few that can do this to a host,” he said, gesturing down. “It may even be something the Order has never seen before.”

  Riffolk blinked slowly, as if recovering from being struck upon the head. “Monsters? You’re talking about monsters?”

  It was Warden Aker who answered him though. “Monsters are what your nana told you about to get you to set to your chores faster. These are the old woes, demons of broken night. The first Ruins.”

  “That’s impossible,” Riffolk said, but there was no strength behind his words.

  Yet denial was the only recourse Hil’s mind could find as well. “But they were destroyed,” he said. “In the old legends and stories, Aedan and the First Ascended fought the Ruins and defeated them. They were all banished into the Abyss.”

  It was Mireia who looked over at him with an expression of sympathy. “The titans, the behemoths, the grandest of the Ruins were driven back.” She shook her head. “But the cunning ones, the ones who knew how to hide in the shadows of impossible places.” She nodded at the broken mess of the body. “Even in the very bodies of men themselves. These secreted themselves away and thus remained in the world. Since the time of Aedan to now, they hide and they prey on mankind.”

  Hil wiped a hand across his mouth. “And one was here? That is what we faced?”

  “That is what we still face,” Ferran said. “It has lost its host. It cannot be far.”

  Riffolk cleared this throat before speaking. “No,” he said. “What you still face, sir.” He shook his head. “Our duty was to report what we have seen to Lord Garre. That is our charge and so that is what we must do. Whatever is beyond that,” he paused, trying to find the right words. “It is beyond us,” he finished.

  “And what exactly will you tell the lord?” Warden Aker cut in. “That the monsters of children’s stories have come to Greenhope? Where is your proof, magistrate? Where is the evidence you were commanded to gather?”

  Hil looked in shock at the Warden. “But you would come with us, Warden. You would convince him, would you not?”

  Ferran had walked to the top of the hill nearby. “By then,” he called back to them. “It will be too late.” He gestured ahead, past the hill.

  Riffolk and the Warden walked over to see what Ferran was pointing at. Hil followed a bit behind, but as he crested the rise his spirits sank even lower. Ahead in the distance, nestled against the forest, was a small village.

  Ferran grimaced as the others saw what he was pointing at. “Too late for them. And for anyone else this thing consumes now and for centuries to come. Because in this moment we failed to do anything about it.”

  Without another word, Ferran headed toward the road. Warden Aker gave Riffolk and Hil a meaningful glance and followed the witch hunter.

  Riffolk sighed and turned to Hil.

  Hil gave him a small nod. “Just… just give me a moment,” he said to his friend. Riffolk headed after the other two men.

  Hil fought down the urge to run the other way, to flee in panic back to the keep and lock himself in his room. But then he felt someone nearby. He opened his eyes and saw Mireia offering him a flask.

  “Is this some sacred potion that will give me courage?” Hil asked.

  Mireia smiled at him. “Yes,” she said. “It’s brandy.”

  Despite his fear, Hil smiled and took the offered flask. The burn of it down his throat was a touch of familiarity amidst the madness of the morning. He passed it back to her.

  “The first step is hard,” Mireia said, catching his eyes with her own. “But it won’t be the hardest. There are far more terrible things that you will face. Things that will make you long to go back to this first step. I wish it was otherwise, but it is not.”

  “Won’t I long to go back to before I knew about all this? To the blissful ignorance I used to have?”

  “No,” she said. “Not when you see the full truth of what these things have done, and are still doing to us. After that, there is no going back to ignorance.”

  There was such strength and fierceness to her words that Hil believed her. She smiled one last time before following the others over the hill.

  Then, with a courage he did not know he possessed, Hil walked behind her.

  2

  There were people working in the misty outlying fields as the group entered the outskirts of Groveland Down village. The workers stopped what they were doing, put up shovels and hoes, and watched the strangers.

  Ferran felt their scrutiny but it did not faze him. His own eyes were busy roving to each and every person he saw, searching for any trace of the rolling, oily dark that marked a blackheart. The bandits he had faced had been covered in the darkness, and the taint
of it had been all over the ruptured body he had found. That taint would be visible on any person that the creature was using as a host.

  And yet there was no sign of the darkness.

  Ferran maintained his vigilance. What had birthed from inside the bandit would not remain unmasked for long. Perhaps it would take a traveler to the village, but it could just as likely be a resident of the village itself. Still, it would not matter. If the creature was here, he would find it.

  Ferran had been born with the ability to see through the guise the Ruins used to hide themselves. As a child, that vision had been a curse that came close to driving him to madness. But now he embraced it as his birthright and his destiny. It let him hunt those things that would hunt his fellow man.

  Yet, despite this gift, he saw no sign of his quarry. Ferran glanced over to Mireia. She shook her head in response. He accepted her unspoken answer with a frown. When he had joined the Order as a child, Mireia had been the first to befriend him. Since then, they had been inseparable, though their gifts developed along different lines.

  Though Ferran could see the true nature of the Ruins when he confronted them, Mireia could do far more. She sensed them, tasted their corruption on the air like the smell of rot.

  Warden Aker led the way through the village, the crowned-eye emblem of his station hanging from a heavy chain around his neck. As they approached the village headsman’s house, it became clear they were expected.

  The headsman stood in the doorway. He was a short man, middle-aged but already losing much of his hair. The man rubbed the dirt off his hands with a piece of cloth as the warden and his entourage approached. Ferran could sense a well of fear bubbling beneath the surface of the man. The headsman stood welcoming in the doorway, but the man’s eyes returned again and again to Ferran’s tattooed face.

  The headsman forced his eyes away from Ferran and addressed Warden Aker. “Whatever brings such dark company to Groveland Down,” he said, his voice low, “is likely best discussed in private.” He opened the door to the house and invited the group inside.

  The home was clean and comfortable, and a large fire burned in the hearth, taking the damp chill from the air. Once all were inside, the headsman shut the door and turned toward the warden, his arms folded across his chest. “I am Hamond. I speak for Groveland Down.”

  “I am Mesym Aker, Warden of the Third Ward and Eye of the Throne. These two men are magistrates of Greenhope, and these are acolytes of the Order of Talan.”

  “The witch hunters need no introduction for those of us who have lived in Groveland Down long enough.” There was bitterness in the man’s voice that was unmistakable to Ferran.

  The warden raised an eyebrow but continued on. “I will be blunt, Headsman. There have been disappearances in the region. When we arrived to investigate we were attacked by what we at first took to be bandits.” The warden shook his head and held the headsman’s focus. “These were not simple bandits. Something horrible has come this way and we must find it before your village suffers.” His words were direct, and their impact on the headsman was noticeable. “Has there been any strangeness in the village this day?”

  Hamond shook his head, eyes wide. “No. Nothing that has reached my ears.”

  “What about in the recent months? Disappearances? Bandit attacks, perhaps?”

  “It is a lean season. There are always bandits in the forests around the village when times get harder.”

  Warden Aker frowned. “I do not believe you understand the gravity of this situation, Headsman. There are things beyond our understanding, and now your people are in danger from those things.”

  The headsman’s eyes focused once more on Ferran and Mireia. “And you believe our salvation lies in the hands of these witch hunters, Warden?” Hamond said. His weathered face drew into an even deeper frown. “If so, then I will say honestly that I do not know if I have the stomach to do what must be done to ensure our salvation.” There was sorrow in his voice as the words trailed off.

  Mireia, her voice soft and gentle as only she could be, spoke. “You seem to know of us, Headsman. Has a member of the Order come to Groveland Down before?”

  Hamond looked at her, eyes narrowing. “Yes,” he said, voice quiet and weak. “One of your kind came to the village when I was a boy. My father was headsman then. This man came to my father and told him of the dark, horrible things that had infiltrated our village. This evil was in our homes, amongst our families, he told us.”

  As he spoke, there was such sadness and pain on his face that it appeared the headsman would not continue. But he swallowed hard and kept going. “My father asked if they should not inform the lord, but the witch hunter urged him not to, saying that the lord himself would likely burn the whole village. The man claimed that he could root out the evil himself and save the village.” At this, Hamond’s voice broke, and tears began to fill his eyes. “My father agreed. And this man burned six of our people. Burned them alive. Two men, three women, and one child.” He looked from Mireia to Ferran and back. “I will never forget their screams, you see. Because the witch hunter made the whole village watch.”

  After he finished speaking, the only sound was the crackling of embers in the fire. There was not much that could be said. The Ruins that Ferran and Mireia fought, that the Order fought, were ancient and cunning. They had survived the days of legend by learning to hide amongst the very people they preyed upon. The story, as horrible as it was, was not beyond the realm of possibility. And that made it all the worse.

  It was Mireia who eventually spoke, and Ferran was grateful as he always was for the soothing sound of her voice. “Your father never forgave the Order,” she said.

  “I never forgave your Order. My father never forgave himself. Never knowing if he had done the right thing. The guilt and the doubt ate away at him over the months and years until there was nothing left of him at all,” he said shaking his head. “Perhaps there was some merit to what the member of your Order did here. Though they cost a fortune in gold, the wards and symbols he sold to us have evidently kept the evil away. But was it worth the cost? I do not believe so.” He wrung his hands slowly. “I cannot believe so.”

  “What did you say?” Ferran said sharply, and Hamond recoiled as if Ferran might strike him. “What did you say about taking gold for symbols?”

  Hamond stammered in the face of Ferran’s glare. “He took all that we had. All our money in exchange for protection. He said we needed it because we had witches among us.”

  Ferran looked over at Mireia. He saw the same horrible understanding on her face that blossomed in his own mind. No acolyte of the Order would demand payment. Cold anger grew in the pit of Ferran’s stomach as he realized what had transpired.

  It was Warden Aker who spoke, clearing his throat. “I have known members of the Order of Talan for a long time, Headsman. They have no need of wealth. The man who came to your village was not one of them.”

  Hamond stared at the warden for a long moment, and then his shoulders slumped and he rolled his head back. There was a look of despair in his eyes. “If that is true, Warden,” he said, “then what happened here was even worse. At least before there was the small comfort in the possibility that those terrible days had left my people safe. But if that was not the case…” He swept his arm out, as if he could banish the terrible realizations. “My people burned for nothing. My father took his own life for nothing.” Hammond collapsed into a chair, his head buried in his hands.

  Mireia knelt down in front of him and took his hands into her own. “I am sorry,” she said, and her own voice was thick with shared pain and sorrow. “But by whatever cruel design of providence, or twist of fate, we are here now. A warden of the king, magistrates of your lord, and acolytes of the order of Talan stand before you. I wish it were otherwise, brave Hamond, but this danger is real. And we fear it is already among you.”

  Hamond stared at her, tears tracking down the lines of his face. “What can I do?”

  Ward
en Aker moved closer to the headsman. “We need full access and cooperation of your villagers. But you must keep this threat a secret to contain any panic.”

  “Not tell them? Not tell my people that some unspeakable horror may be amongst them? In their very homes?”

  “If you tell them, you may give it the opportunity it needs to escape,” Ferran said. “We cannot afford to lose it.”

  “After all you have suffered, I know we have no right to ask this,” Mireia said, drawing Hamond’s focus back to her. “But you must trust us. On our very lives, Hamond, I swear this to you. If you give us your trust, we will end this.”

  Hamond slumped down, his head in his hands. But from behind the fingers, Ferran heard his voice. “Very well,” Hamond said. “Do what you must.”

  Warden Aker motioned for them to leave. The two magistrates went out first. Ferran waited for a moment, watching Mireia return a hand to the headsman’s shoulder. Then, the two of them followed the warden out.

  In the street outside, the group stood in the cold mist. Warden Aker shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “These people have suffered,” the warden said. “I would not see them suffer further.”

  “What can we do though?” Hileon asked, his voice timid.

  “We keep her promise,” Ferran said, nodding toward Mireia. “We find the Ruin. And we end it.”

  ***

  They separated, Mireia going with the two young magistrates and Ferran accompanying the warden as they worked their way systematically through the town.

  Ferran walked amongst the thrum of village life. In the gray mist of the morning, people hurried about their various tasks. In the center of the village square, vendors had set up their wares for market day. Carts and barrows rolled down the paths between buildings, carrying in the harvests or delivering goods. Here and there, men and women worked on the buildings, fixing thatched roofs or working mortar into stone walls.