Chapter 4

A shorter chapter with a dire revelation.

Travelling was faster on the main road. Oia’s power kept them safe from two more patrols over the following three days.

“How long can you stay like that?” asked Jorick after evading the third patrol.

“By myself? A few hours, more if I move around alot. I think it sucks mana from the air or something, so if I keep moving I can keep using mana.” She skipped along the road, red hair bouncing behind her. “The most I can do with Strad is an hour if we are always on the go. I’m surprised we’ve been able to ghost so long, with all three of us.”

Ahead of them on the road, they spotted a destroyed cart. The horses were gone, but the charred human remains were scattered around it. There were blackened gashes in the ground and the cart itself was perforated and shattered. They ghosted as they approached and Jorick could still see red rings surrounding the blast marks.

“They are still warm. A patrol must have been here recently.” Strad released Oia’s hand and began to examine the wreckage. He, or rather his heat, became visible. His hands, face, underarms, and crotch glowed red while any other exposed skin was dull orange. Even his footsteps left long oval colours on the ground and puff of purple gas left his mouth and nose. Jorick let go.

“Must have been from another village,” explained Strad as he heaved a burnt wood panel and tossed it aside. Below it were crushed crates, barrels, and bundles of clothing. “They packed light. Looks like there was four, maybe five adults.” He picked through the piles of clothing, tossing a few garments and a leather belt into his pack. Oia carefully extracted some dried fruits from a crate. Jorick walked around the cart, counted bodies, and closed their eyes. There wasn’t much blood. Jorick guessed that the weapons were cauterizing the wounds as they burned through their targets. His stomach turned as he came upon the fourth body, bisected at the waist. There were scratches in the dirt where the man had tried to crawl away. He was face down, so Jorick left him alone. Instead, he put an arm against a nearby tree and vomited on the trunk.

“You okay over there?” asked Oia.

“Yeah, fine.” Jorick made his way back to the other two. Oia had found some salted meat and a short, thin sword. Strad emerged from the cart, with something in his hand. A small canvas doll, one glass eye still hanging from its face. The fibrous hair was scorched and it was missing a leg.

“One child.”

Oia gasped, eyes wide. Jorick was speechless. Strad placed the doll on the least damaged part of the wreckage, as if he was laying a little girl down to sleep. He stood there, head titled down, eyes closed. Oia walked over and hugged him around the waist, crying. Strad put a hand on her head and ran it through her hair. “We will perform the final rights for them.”

Jorick was nearly in tears, but managed a reply.

“I’ll get started.”

The nearby woodlands were full of dry leaves, moss, and twigs. Jorick had gathered kindling for many fires before, but never for one so large and so depressing. Strad broke dry branches apart with his bare hands, while Oia whittled small wooden figurines. Twilight had set in before the pyre was ready. Strad and Jorick carried the bodies and arranged them on the cart. They placed the fourth adult, the one who had been broken in two, and began searching for the child.

“I can’t find it,” said Jorick.

“Nor I,” answered Strad.

“You don’t think they...” said Oia.

They looked at each other and decided silently that what they were now all thinking was true.

They are taking children!

The fire burned tall and bright, easily visible from the distant hillside where they made their camp for the night. A patrol ship hovered in and landed next to the pyre. A pair of figures in dark angular armour surveyed the fire and swept the area. Finding nothing, the figures re-entered their ship and disappeared into the night sky.