Rhian

The Creepy Lass who kidnapped Gus was a musician called Everleigh Gloom. All Alexander knew was that she played the violin for high-paying, super-elite clients in the city. All I knew was that she looked like a Strachan, had eyes like a Partisan, and was a massive pain in my tits with her elementalist horseshite. I was worried about Gus, obviously. But like I've said, I'd know if he were dead. And if The Creepy Lass wanted him dead, she'd have killed him at The Estate. Aye, sure—there were around a million unsavory things she could do to Gus other than kill him, but the point is: I reckoned we still had time.

Besides, Gus was Gus. I'd have bet on her being his new best friend by now.

So, while I waited for Alexander to check with his contacts on the matter of Everleigh Gloom, I stopped by Oskari to check on Marta.

I arrived in town around noon, and for a minute it felt like I was in Delphia again. Apart from the shitty weather, the smells, the generally colourless palette in Amalia, and basically everything else, I guess. Most of the townsfolk I passed along the way smiled and waved.

"Hello there, saviour," they'd say.

And I'd nod or what have you.

The village garrison sat next to The House and the stinky, grimy pond that was now frozen over. That day, there was a line of about a hundred people outside. Most were happy to see me. A few acted like regular, sane people, and a few still hated me.

At least they weren't carrying eggs.

Other than that, there were three covered carriages and six horses I didn't recognize parked along the road. I stopped next to of one of my most faithful subjects and gestured toward the wagons.

"What's all this about?"

"They arrived this morning," the lady said. "Some have come all the way from Verena!"

"Who have?"

She shrugged. "They're saying they're scholars, here to study the ruins of the church."

"Well, that's no good," I said.

"Their representatives are meeting with the Captain now."

"All right, and what're you lot lined up for?"

"I don't know about everybody else," my subject replied. "I'm just nosy."

That was fair enough.

I walked my arse up to the front of the line and opened the door to the garrison.

There were three Amali crowded around Captain Marta's desk, including a lass with wire-rimmed spectacles, practical but expensive looking clothing, and a rope holstered at her side. The two men beside her had a bookish look.

Marta waved.

I waved.

The others stared blankly while I pulled up a chair beside the Captain and sat.

"As I was saying," Marta said, "my answer's no."

"You're only the Captain," the one with the salt and pepper mutton chops argued. "Surely, Oskari has a mayor?"

"Yeah," Marta said. "You're looking at her."

"You're the Captain and the mayor?" the man asked.

"No—I'm the Captain," Marta said, nudging her head in my direction. "She's the mayor."

The woman rolled her eyes. The old man snorted, and the younger, meeker of the two men cracked a small, nervous smile.

"What?" I said. "Do I not look mayorly enough for you?"

Rope Lady chimed in next. "You expect us to believe that a Partisan—a foreign one, no less—is the mayor of Oskari?"

"Why would I lie?" Marta answered. "You could easily ask the locals."

Saviour, mayor—why not. They'd probably go with it.

Uncertainty all around, but what could they say?

Nothing, that's what.

I clapped my hands together. "All right, so. Now we're all on the same page: as the both saviour and the mayor of Oskari, I give Captain Reider here full authority to say or do whatever she bloody well wants when it comes to you lot," I said, pretty much.

"Why thank you, lady mayor." Marta smiled, but when she turned back to the scholars, she wasn't anymore. "My answer's still no. You can stay the night, but I want you gone in the morning."

Didn't take a genius to sort out why Marta's answer was no. On top of not wanting Those People poking around our business with Those Things, it'd be reckless of us to let them stay without first explaining everything. And we all know what happened last time I tried explaining everything. Besides, Verenians couldn't be trusted around Partisans.

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Anyhow. The scholars left the garrison with their tails between their legs, and I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Marta field requests from the villagers.

Most of them were boring, so.

We were at the Widow's Peak having a late-night snack when we heard the screams. Ivana had just finished telling us her life story, and it's too bad you missed it seeing as it's a great bloody story. But whatever. I'll tell you later. Everybody inside rushed outside, including myself, Ivana, and Marta.

In case you forgot, the Widow's Peak was built on a hill, practically on the outskirts of the village. A real nuisance for Barrens to climb I reckon, but on the bright side, if they'd had too much to drink they could roll their way home. Anyhow. The point I'm trying to make is: there was a nice, clear view of the village from atop the Widow's Peak peak, and that night, the village was on fire.

All right, so not the whole village, but it was only a matter of time.

About ten houses had gone up in flames, and the garrison, too. The fire crept closer to The House, and the three carriages the scholars arrived in were blazing. Lucky for them, the representatives and their workers were staying at the inn that evening.

Well—mostly.

"My research!" Mutton Chop Man cried.

"Your research?" Rope Lady replied. "Isn't your historian inside?"

"My historian!" Mutton Chop Man cried.

But never mind The Historian. We Partisans have excellent eyes, and I could see the horses hitched nearby the wagons were neighing and thrashing around desperately. I dashed down the hill and through the village proper, dodging flames along the way. Once I arrived, I sliced their restraints with my dagger. The animals fled, galloping through the village in every which direction, bowling over a few panicked townspeople along the way.

Meanwhile, villagers poured out of their homes as more and more of them burst into flames, seemingly out of nowhere. There was a man still shouting from inside one of the carriages.

Ivana approached me by the wagons. I hadn't even noticed her following.

"Can't you do something?" I asked.

"I'm not on good terms with the elements," she said. "I'd only make it worse."

Made me think of Strauss then. At least this fire wasn't his fault.

Then again, maybe it was. Maybe he was back.

I had a quick look around.

Oskari had six wells, most of them tapped from the nearby river. The only one I could see from where we stood was crowded with people fighting over buckets and boots and whatever else they could fill with water. Worse, Those Things were running rampant—slaying villagers left and right, snapping their necks or draining the life-force out of them. At the top of the hill, Marta was fighting a male and a female pair. By the looks of things, the dozen or so people I'd left up there with her were either gone or dead.

There was more shouting from inside the carriage. Poor sod.

"I'm going to try," Ivana said.

"All right, mate," I said. "But make it quick. Places to be."

Ivana stepped up to the wagon, close as she could be without catching any flames. She waved her hand in front of the door.

Nothing happened.

She tried exhaling on it.

Nothing happened.

She tried inhaling next.

Nothing happened.

"If I could just do this one fucking thing…!"

Getting angry never worked for Strauss as far as putting flames out, so I took a few steps back. But what do I know? The flames around the rear of the wagon went out. Seeing his chance to escape, the meek looking bookish fellow fumbled his way out into the open air. He coughed and sputtered the whole way running to my side, looking altogether horrified and nothing short of singed.

On the other hand, Ivana was looking proud.

"I did it," she said.

"Aye, you did—fizzled those flames like a champion," I replied.

"No," she said. "Not that."

I was about to ask what she meant, but the historian passed out at my feet instead. I rushed to his side, tapping the lad's cheek a few times.

Nothing happened.

I gave him a good shake.

Nothing happened.

But over by the wagon, something did happen—a flaming section of the canvas cover fluttered free, showering Ivana with sparks and embers before landing on her head. Now, I couldn't tell you if she'd seen it coming, but even with my reflexes, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Those Things and fire don't mix, and Ivana caught fire fast.

The historian woke up with a sharp cough, and right before the five-hundred-some-year old bar owner burst into flames and crumbled to dust, she smiled and waved to us both. In the end, the only thing left of Ivana's was a golden locket. I scooped it from her pile of ash and stowed it away in my bag.

Back at The Hill, things hadn't gone much better. Marta survived, having taken down both attackers with her brother's sword. But the two scholars didn't make it. Neither did their crew who were sprawled about in every which direction, their faces frozen in horror. In the end, Those Things didn't stick around much longer after all the murder and mayhem. It was too risky staying near the flames for long.

At least The Historian was conscious again—for now.

I estimated around two hundred dead. That's only counting the bodies I could see from the hill. Not counting the folk who died running back into their homes to save someone else. Or the ones who were too stubborn to leave in the first place. As for the survivors, most of them were evacuating toward the One Road to Jaska by then, leaving behind their homes, their dead, and all their hard-earned possessions.

Some stayed behind trying to put out the flames. Not that it bloody mattered.

Just about the only thing not touched by the fire in the end was the Widow's Peak.

While Marta took The Historian inside to recover, I couldn't bring myself to go with them straightaway. I needed a minute.

Ivana was all right. I still miss her, actually.

Look, I had no goddess-be-damend clue why the Anima attacked. Maybe it was on account of the time I tried spilling the beans. Maybe it was on account of those scholars snooping around, threatening their security and whatnot. Maybe they just felt like it. Whatever the case, it didn't bloody matter either.

There were just so. Many. Dead.

For the next little while, I stood on the Widow's Peak peak and watched the village of Oskari burn to the ground.

So much for saviour.

It must have been around two in the morning when the heavy snow started falling, and it was around that same time I spotted someone walking toward me.

Those rosy cheeks and that fur-lined jacket. That stupid-looking hat with the ear flaps, her big red hair sticking out every which way.

Adeline Blanchett rushed up the hill, dropped her bag, and pulled me into a hug.

It was a bad day, but just for a second, it was a slightly better day.

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