By dawn, the haze had grown thin enough for them to see rooftops up ahead. The village clung to the bottom of a shallow basin, ringed with gray fields and the bare suggestion of whirling windmills.
Marrec growled when the first column of smoke came within range. "Finally. Maybe we'll discover something that doesn't taste like ash."
Talia gave him a side glance. "You'd complain if the gods were to serve you."
"Depends which god," he replied, smiling slightly.
Ashen did not laugh. He stared at the village sign, half-buried in the earth. The lettering had been meticulously cut, but now the letters seemed to have melted, with an iron brand apparently being applied to them, making them droop.
When they arrived at the main street, not a person welcomed them. The market stalls were vacant, baskets upturned, fruits spoiled at corners. The crows were sitting at the rooftops, immobile, and mute, observing.
Talia scowled. "Looks like they left in a rush."
Marrec kicked the cart wheel with his boot. "Or perhaps never went at all."
Ashen followed the slight sound of metal rubbing lightly against stone. It came from a diminutive blacksmith's hut, the door open a crack. He motioned the others to stay back and covertly went inside.
The forge lay in a chill, the ashes long having settled into stillness. Tools were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Yet, at the heart of the room, a spiral had been etched in soot, rough and irregular. In its center, a hammer stood upright, seemingly positioned there with intention.
Talia came behind him, murmuring, "Wherever we go, it's there."
He nodded reluctantly, saying, "And closer each time."
A faint laugh came from outside—soft, childlike. They both turned. A littleguy stood at the doorway, perhaps eight or nine, dressed in a faded redtunic that hung looselyon him. His gray eyes were wide, and hewas hiding something behindhis back.
Marrec froze. "Where is everyone, kid?"
He nodded to the side. "Sleeping."
Talia hunkered down, voice calculated. "Sleeping where?
"In the fields," he said, and smiled—a smile too still to be human. Then he brought his hands forward. He held a small doll, shaped like a man, made of clay. Spiral carved onto the man's chest.
Ashen took a slow step to the front. "Who created that?"
My father. Prior to the soil taking him.
A cold gust of air ran through the room, yet the outside air remained stationary. The boy avoided eye contact and began walking toward the fields.
Talia's whisper trembled. "We can't just
"No, we won't follow," said Ashen hastily. "Not immediately."
They watched silently as the child vanished into the fog, leaving behind the distant crunch of his feet.
Marrec spat to the left. "I hate it here."
Ashen's eyes were drawn to the clay doll resting by the door, abandoned as if it were an offering. The spiral appeared to twist gently in the glow of the light.
We depart at dawn," he said. "Whatever is going on here—its not contained.
They hadn't stayed long enough to sleep. The inn stood vacant, the beds unmolested. The village seemed less a place than a memory that wouldn't go away.
When they departed, the fog shut behind them, as if it were removing their footprints.
And for the first time ever, Ashen asked if the spiral wasn't behind them, but instead, ahead.