Eighteen:
A Feast of Fell Tidings

There was some sort of gathering outside a building that looked closest to a pub. Victoria had left Theresa within the stables, where they'd left their caravan for the night—if only because it was safer than camping in the open and less of a burden than asking a family if they could room with them—and had been drawn over by the noise. There was more than a suggestion of dusk tinging what could be seen of the sky through the treetops and the townsfolk seemed to be taking that as their cue to stop working for the day. Cooking fires had been lit along the sides of the path, large communal-style dishes—some of which looked familiar and others not. A few people were playing music inside the pub. The notes rolled outside as though carried on the wind. Victoria kept to the edge of the group, watching the townsfolk as they ate and spoke and danced. Her discussion with Scythe had left her in a shaky, unsociable state and, even though she was curious, she wasn't certain she was welcome to join them. She was exhausted and uncertain where Reaver was lurking, but vanishing felt rude. Like she was doing something shady and suspicious. Was either option even really worth it if they were to leave in the morning?

And then the red-haired girl that had been with Nergüi—Nerys, she'd introduced herself as; stating a preference for Rhys—had come and pulled her into the fray with cheerful words and a warm welcome. Victoria usually had to be coerced into things like dancing, but Rhys was charmingly hard to resist and she found she didn't mind as much as usual. The people of Stonerest didn't seem to mind her once the initial intrigue wore off. And she fell headfirst into the festivities. Laughing, joking. Strangers pulled her into dances, into conversations, kept her pleasantly immersed in distractions until the chilly night air was warm and bright, all but spinning with excitement. For the first time in years, she able to enjoy herself without thoughts of titles or decorum or what others might think of her. She was only a girl, revelling in an evening with newfound friends.

It wasn't until she'd eaten dinner—a meal of bean and herb soup and some wild rice that had been served from a giant pumpkin—that she realised she couldn't stay awake much longer. A quick wash and then bed, she decided, vaguely remembering that Móirín had pointed out a washhouse when they'd walked through the town earlier. Victoria wished those she'd been speaking to a good night and wandered through the darkened streets. It was getting chilly again and the black outline of Thorndeep's trees looked more foreboding than ever.

"Hello? Anyone in here?" Victoria called, opening the door to the dark washhouse. No one answered and she used her Will to light the lamps. It was a moderately-sized round room, divided into three sections by curtains. Each section containing a couple benches and cupboards with a wide, ankle-height basin taking up the centre of the area; a stool sat in the middle of each. Recognizing an old-fashioned washtub when she saw one, Victoria went to fetch a couple pails of water from the well outside.

Returning with her water, she laid a cloth over the stool, warmed the water, and drew the curtains around her section of the room. She grabbed a bit of soap and a wash rag from her bag and stripped down. The stool was rough and slightly prickly even with cloth over it as she sat down. Victoria shuddered, emptying half of one of the pails over her head, and shook her head to get water out of her eyes as she set the pail down. Her hair felt somehow dirtier now that it was wet. Soot and grease still clung to her from the Forge and she smelled more than slightly of smoke. She had a feeling this was an exercise in futility. Grimacing, she slowly managed to clean up, her skin tinged pink and tender as she scrubbed roughly at each particularly stubborn bit of grime. By the time she was done, one of the buckets was empty and she was shivering.

Stumbling slightly, she hurried to dry off. About halfway done, she heard the door creak open and fumbled to cover up. "Hello?"

A pause. "I didn't realise anyone was in here."

Reaver, for the love of Avo, she thought, slumping slightly in relief. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. "You might have knocked."

"I could have," he relented, not expanding upon it. His tone suggested he didn't see the point.

Victoria shook her head and, slightly more relaxed, resumed drying off. Rifling through her bag for something comfortable enough to sleep in but substantial enough to walk back to the stables in, she called, "I think I'm going to bed. Did you want to wash up? There's still a bucket of water left."

"That's rather the point of coming to a bath, is it not?"

"No need to be catty." Rolling her eyes, she settled on a thin undershirt and trousers she usually wore under leather armour. She stuffed her feet back into her boots, forgoing socks, and pushed the curtains back a bit to look at him. "Do you want me to wait?"

Reaver didn't look well. Tired, yes, and grimy, but she couldn't tell what else was wrong with him. Just that he didn't look like himself. If she'd hoped for a candid answer, she was sorely disappointed.

"No. No, dearest, I'll be fine on my own," he replied almost flatly after a very long pause. "I'll be along soon."

She stared a moment, frowning and trying to think. Talk to me, please. She wanted to kiss him goodnight and ask what was wrong, but she didn't think it would be welcome right now. And she was too tired to bicker. "If you say so. Clothes are in the bag; make sure to bring it with you when you leave, please."

He didn't acknowledge her words beyond barely inclining his head and she was too concerned to press it. As she left, she thought back on all the times they'd acknowledged the lack of communication between them was a problem. All she could hope was that, one day, he'd be comfortable enough with the idea to actually follow through and talk to her.

Reaver hadn't been feeling well since the Devourer's destruction. Granted, he'd thought he was going to die when the Devourer had all but thrown him across the Forge's courtyard, but the bones had healed within minutes until there was just a mild tenderness in his shoulder. A tenderness that should have faded shortly after. It hadn't. Any time he had to raise his arm, even fractionally, pain shot through him. He was no stranger to pain—usually it didn't even faze him—but this was sharp and throbbing, as though his veins were filled with razors and not blood. He thought he could ignore it if he tried hard enough, but it wasn't working. He felt worse than ever; dizziness pricking at the edges of his vision. Sleep, loathsome as it is, might help. First he needed to check his shoulder.

He shrugged out of his coat in front of one of the cracked mirrors, wincing as something caught on the fabric at his shoulder and gave a sharp tug. Grumbling, he ran a hand over the spot until he found something hard and sharp. What on earth? It was about the length of a needle; thicker and almost as pointy. Like a sharpened bit twig or a shard of rock. Frowning, he dropped it and started working on the buttons of his shirt.

And, once it was off, he could do nothing but stare.

At the point where the break had been its worse was a wound that was slowly becoming familiar: a dark symbol like a curling-rayed sun. It almost looked like it belonged there, surrounded by the old sigils of his tattoos.

A wave of panic was stirring deep, deep inside him, making it hard to keep his breathing calm and he almost wished for a proper chair so he could sit. What could he do? Reaver had seen how Theresa was deteriorating. She hid it well, but she grew weaker by the day. Was that going to happen to him? Would he grow weak and ill and fade? He'd assumed he would be invulnerable to the Corruption and its minions, but he could already feel that was not to be the case.

For the first time in weeks, Death's words came back to him: "Those who are not immortal are not made to be so." Had he been a fool to think he was safe from it?

Get dressed; no one needs to see this. With hurried movements, he scooped up his clothes and crossed the distance to the water Victoria had left him. It had gone cold to the point of being unpleasant. He washed his exposed skin as quickly as possible, numb to the chill and anything other than his concerned thoughts. And he dressed with equal speed. What do I do?

It was utterly silent in the town as he, Victoria's bag in hand, made his way to the stables. The cart had been parked in the middle of the open space and Reaver draped the wet towels over some nearby beams to dry overnight. Satyr flicked her ears at the sight of him and went back to sleep. With a sigh, he slipped into the caravan and closed the door behind him.

Theresa appeared to be asleep as he set the bag down on their vibrantly coloured dresser, but Victoria shifted towards him as he laid down beside her. He could barely make out her expression in the faint glow of her tattoos but she seemed thoughtful. And he abruptly realised he couldn't tell her about the wound. She would panic more than he was tempted to and would have the need to do something about it. But what if there was nothing to be done but wait? If the Corruption was destroyed, things affected by it would be safe, wouldn't they? There was nothing else he could hope for.

She pulled him from his morbid thoughts with a gentle kiss and he had to force himself to break it quickly.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, carefully reaching up to brush his hair from his face.

No. Instead of answering, he pulled her closer, pressing his face into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist; strong and warm and oddly comforting. All the while his shoulder throbbed in protest. Ignore it. He refused to die—not here, not with so much he wanted to do. Not without a fight.

It was the silence that woke her. Or, more specifically, it awoke the Crawler. With the mental equivalent of a light prod, it had woken Victoria. Repressing a yawn, she laid there in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of her companions' breathing and the ticking of Reaver's pocket watch. She was comfortable and warm. Wrapped in blankets and curled in a warm ball, she had absolutely no inclination to move. Nor did she understand why the Crawler had woken her. Everything seemed fine. She nuzzled a bit deeper into her pillow and tried to go back to sleep but, now that she was awake, she couldn't seem to go back to sleep. Eyes closed, her ears strained to catch any sound…and then she noticed something was off.

When she'd gone to sleep, she'd been able to hear all the sounds common to a small town: birds and bats, farm animals and the occasional townsperson wandering about, and the squeaks and chirps of vermin and other small animals that flocked to the safety of the town. Now there was nothing. Not even the creaking of Thorndeep's trees. It felt almost like the town was holding its breath.

Puzzled, she slowly sat up. She tried not to wake up Reaver as she pushed the blankets off her and began feeling for her boots. Tugging them on, she pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her bag. Everything looked normal as she stepped out of the caravan and into the stables.

"What are you doing?" Reaver enquired groggily. Clearly not entirely awake, he sat up, hand at his eyes as though that would wake him up faster.

"Something feels wrong."

"Other than you being awake in the dead of night?"

Instead of replying, she pulled her sheathes from her bag and shrugged into them. After a beat, she did the same with her pistol's holster. Better to be armed and not run into trouble than be unarmed and out-manned.

"Is it time to leave?" came Theresa's tired murmur.

"No," Victoria replied. "I just need to check something."

A couple of the horses seemed nervous, but none of the almost dozen others appeared to think anything was amiss. Maybe tonight was just one of those nights—where the dark seemed too deep and it made everything eerie though nothing was wrong.

Yawning and stretching, she stumbled toward the stables' entrance and fumbled to lift the latch on the tall doors. Victoria peeked out into darkness. The moon had already set and the stars weren't quite bright enough tonight to illuminate much. By her estimation, there was probably three hours or so until dawn. All the houses and lamps outside were dark. No one was out and nothing moved. Not even a breeze.

False alarm, she thought to the Crawler.

It didn't respond other than to shift slightly, like an anxious cat.

She started to close the door and something heavy dropped from the roof, onto the ground just outside the light of the stables. It lunged forward with a roar. Without thinking, Victoria drew her pistol and fired a single shot.

"Balverines!" Victoria called, voice growing into a shout as she progressed through the syllables of the word. Her voice seemed to echo in the night and a lamp burst into light in a nearby home. She could hear Reaver and Theresa clattering about in the caravan, but there wasn't time to wait for them. Instead, she stepped over the muddy, blood soaked carcass of the balverine and into the night.

She knows where we are, the Crawler murmured.

The Temptress? Victoria offered, but there was no reply.

From the other side of town came a scream, but it cut off far too quickly. She drew a sharp breath. Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran forward, pistol in hand.

It was too dark. She could feel eyes on her, but saw nothing. Despite her best efforts, pebbles clicked and scraped underfoot as she walked. She'd expected panicking in the streets in response to the scream. However, no one appeared eager to do anything more that peek out from between their curtains. She wasn't sure if she would have preferred the panicking. In this deep silence, her nerves felt stretched tight. She kept waiting for an attack that didn't seem to want to come.

The door of one of the cabins up ahead had been ripped open, lying in splinters across the ground. Though she could see no balverines, she knew that didn't mean they weren't there. She crept up to the house, slipping inside as quietly as she could. One of the windows was shattered and the hearth's fire was little more than embers, leaving the building cold. As soon as she stepped inside, the only thing she could smell was blood. Smothering everything.

Glowing eyes in the dark. She got off a single shot before she found herself driven to the floor. Hot breath washed over her face. She fought the urge to gag. The scent of death and decay was cloying. Teeth snapped close to her face. She tried to brace against the balverine's neck with her forearm. Groaning, she wrestled her pistol up until it was level with the beast's head. Fired. Warm liquid splattered across her face. The balverine went limp and she flailed as she struggled to push it off her. Tried not to think about what had happened to the cabin's previous residents as she clambered to her feet.

Outside there were screams. Bangs and crashes. She lurched toward the front door and stumbled out into the street. The balverines no longer seemed concerned about hiding their attack. The air was full of howls and shouts. Struggling to peer through the darkness, the only things she could see were people running away from their pursuers or a corpse lying, broken, in the street. Without thinking, Victoria fired at one of the balverines, felling it. Her shot at the next nearest beast missed. The balverine leapt out of sight.

The world had taken on an oddly muffled quality as she started to run. The rush of blood in her ears drowning out the world. She hopped over fallen bodies—both human and not. Broken bits of wood and stone made the streets uneven; she found herself stumbling every few steps. She didn't think she had time to move slowly. Further into town she could see a growing, flickering glow. Even from here the smoke stung her eyes. Shit. Throwing herself around a corner, she was just in time to watch a farmer drive a pitchfork into a balverine's gut. A pained howl rent the air. As the creature tried to rip the tool out, Victoria fired off a shot, killing it before it could attack again. The farmer flashed a quick smile before a second balverine dropped atop him, sinking its teeth into his neck.

Something rammed into her before she could kill it. Her head cracked against the cobbles. Ears rang. She couldn't find her pistol. Her hand fastened around the hilt of her dagger. Wincing as the balverine roared, spraying her with heated spittle, she worked the blade free. Drove it up under the balverine's jaw. She pulled it free and started to roll the corpse off her, groaning as additional weight was added to her burden. The other balverine loomed over her, claws digging into the flesh of its dead brethren. Strands of drool dribbled from its fangs as a continuous growl poured from its throat.

"Oh, fuck this," she snapped, tugging on her Will. The air around her charged. Lightning burst from her hands, arcing through the balverine's body. By the time it was dead, she was shaking. Breathing hard as she pulled herself out from under the dead beasts. Need to go. Need to help the others.

Fumbling to pick up her pistol and her dagger, she stumbled onwards.

She came upon a row of burning cabins. Townsfolk were trapped between them and a pack of balverines. And yet, still closer to her, Scythe battled through the horde, a dangerous whirl of gold and blue. Once more, Victoria pulled on her Will. She called down a wave of lightning, distracting the balverines just enough for Scythe to finish them off.

"Reach safety," he called to the townspeople, almost calmly, as Victoria tried to use her Will to extinguish the flames around them. "We will handle this atrocity."

Terrified and sobbing, the civilians fled toward what Victoria hoped was safety. The flames were out now. Scythe barely spared her a glance before stalking away and Victoria didn't care to wait until he had something to say to her. Instead, she hurried off towards a different part of town.

She tried to direct every person she encountered to safety, though she had no idea just how that was guaranteed. She was finding fewer balverines, though. Even if she could dispatch most of them with only a single shot, she was beginning to tire. The adrenalin fading from her system. She had to keep going.

There were less people running now. All she saw now were corpses. The air already smelt of rot. The balverines were retreating, hopping up into the trees. She kept seeing flashes of eyeshine that vanished behind the branches. The howls were fading. Silence slowly returning. Her breaths sounded too loud to her ears now. Victoria circled the town until she was certain the attack had ended. The sky had faded to a deep blue, the horizon tinged with a burning orange. She didn't see a single living human anywhere.

The thought that she'd failed them haunted her steps as she slunk back toward the entrance of the town—to the stables. Theresa stood in the doorway; the ends of her staff were bloody and dripping. Reaver stood further out in the road, only lowering his gun when he realised who she was. She pulled him into a tight hug, relieved to find him well.

"Did anyone else make it?" she enquired. Her voice sounded muffled against his shirt.

"Rhys and Nergüi found their way inside. They are safe," Theresa replied. She sounded exhausted. "Beyond them…I could not say."

Victoria's heart sunk. She hadn't seen anyone in a while. She could only hope that maybe someone had gotten away. But what chance did anyone have, alone in Thorndeep?

She heard the heavy scrape of Scythe's greaves behind her and pulled away from Reaver. Scythe seemed solemn and melancholy. He clutched his scythe, leaning heavily on it as though it would steady him and keep the weight of his troubles from affecting them. It was not a welcome feeling.

"Very well," he finally sighed. Tiredness and something she couldn't quite place tugged at his voice. He seemed to sense the trio's confusion for he slowly added, "We will assist you."

His body language seemed to ask what else there was for them to do. There was nothing left for anyone here. The town was lost. And it was for the best that they moved on.

AN: I promise I'll come back and edit this soon. Hope it was alright in the meantime!