He could almost feel them circling the wagon, checking underneath, looking over at the

  sacks of grain. At least they didn't climb aboard to move any of them.

  "More than disfigured him," the soldier said. "Just as much signed his death warrant.

  You're free to go."

  Silas didn't dare react, but he was still surprised that Penticott hadn't been lying about his predicament. Again he wondered how he had managed to escape him intact.

  "Thank you sir," Barstow replied. "A fine evening to you." He called to his horse again, and they were back on the move.

  Still, Silas was beginning to panic. Breathing was getting harder, and his lightheadedness

  had turned to dizziness. His heart was beating way too quickly, and his mouth felt dry while his body felt wet. He clenched his eyes closed and tried to hold every muscle, to keep himself from moving until they were well enough away. He wanted to cry out, to claw at the sack, to try to push away the grain that was covering him.

  He didn't. He held himself in check, and waited it out, each passing second like a lifetime of agony.

  Then the wagon stopped. The wagon rocked when Barstow hopped off, and then Silas

  felt the pressure of the grain coming off him. He figured if they'd stopped, he was safe, and so he let himself cough, gulping in the air and choking on it.

  "Okay, okay," Barstow whispered. "Try to quiet down. We may be out of sight but sound travels out here."

  Silas held his breath again, letting his lungs burn instead of coughing. When the sack

  opened, he shoved himself out and took a deep breath of the fresh, cool night air.

  "I never want to do that again," he said.

  Barstow laughed. "It ain't pretty, but it works. Now get off my wagon, I've got grain to deliver."

  Silas pulled himself the rest of the way out of the sack and hopped down from the cart.

  His legs were a little shaky under him, and he used the sword as a cane to hold himself up.

  "Thank you, kind sir," he said, bowing as best as his body would allow.

  "Take care of yourself Morningstar," Barstow replied. "Just because you're out of Root doesn't mean you aren't a wanted man. Be glad Rappett pays better than the new Constable." He laughed again, smacked Silas on the shoulder, and climbed back aboard his cart. He didn't look back as he rode away.

  Silas stood on the side of the road and looked around. He knew he was about a half hour's

  walk from the Root gate; not near far enough to be safe from soldiers or passerby who might recognize him. He was on the road to Elling, and the Baden wasn't far. In fact, he was near where he had gone swimming, and ruined his life.

  "Ruined?" he asked himself. "Or saved?"

  He didn't remember much, but he could piece enough together to know that at one time

  he was as much of a monster as the rest of his army. It was bad enough that he had aided in the capture of the Cursed. It was worse that he had ordered the deaths of more people than he could count, and that there had been a time when he had considered it only collateral damage.

  Murderer.

  The voice was in his head again. He tried to drive it out by thinking about his next steps.

  Get to Elling, learn as much as he could, try to remember who he was, stop him from killing any more innocents. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, but it was a start.

  Murderer.

  It was a different voice this time. A woman's voice. He closed his eyes, and his mind

  carried him back to the shore, watching the large ship set sail for the unknown lands on the other side of the sea.

  "I didn't know," he said.

  "What did you think would happen?" the voice asked. "Your own son. How could you?"

  "It shouldn't have been that way. It was supposed to be impossible." Silas stumbled forward along the side of the road, his eyes still closed, his head somewhere else.

  "Amman knows your heart. He saw how cold and hard it had become. How you saw

  nothing but loyalty and duty to a tyrant. He wanted to teach you a lesson."

  A lesson? He remembered. A lesson in loss, and grief, and guilt. A lesson in pain and

  suffering worse than anything he had endured as a soldier. A lesson he wanted only to forget, and had forgotten until he had run out of coin and been locked away.

  Murderer.

  His son had been Cursed.

  Murderer.

  He had found out.

  Murderer.

  He had ordered his death.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Eryn

  Eryn read the last line of the journal again and again, her heart beating faster with each

  repetition. It couldn't mean her curse. Could it?

  She dropped the book and looked at Malik, standing in front of her with tears in its eyes,

  its expression pleading.

  "Plleeeeeassseee," it said again. "Huuuurrtttss."

  "I don't know what you want," Eryn shouted. The book had made her afraid, more afraid than even his soldiers.

  Malik jerked his head back at the noise, and started sobbing louder. "Pllleeeassseee."

  "By Amman, say something else!" She picked up the book and threw it at him. It

  bounced off his chest and fell to the floor, open to the final entry.

  The monster looked down at it. A tear fell from its eye, landing below the writing. His

  hand moved out and pointed at the knife. "Killlllll," it said, the sound a flood of sorrow.

  "Killllll."

  She opened her eyes wide. It wanted her to kill it! She looked at the knife. She had killed his soldiers, and she had killed Master Lewyn, but they had been trying to harm her. This monster, this... thing that used to be a person, it hadn't tried to hurt her.

  She did the only thing she could think to do.

  She ran.

  Malik's head turned to follow her past, and then she was scrambling up the slope of dirt

  that led down into its lair and out into the forest. She looked down as she went, following his large footprints back to where she had lost her things. She would stop to pick them up, and then she would run, as fast and as far as she could. She knew so little about the world outside of her village, and all she had seen so far had been pain and sadness. What kind of world did she live in?

  She looked back while she ran, expecting Malik to burst out of its hole and chase her

  down, to catch her and crush her in those massive grey hands, angry for refusing its request. She decided that if it did catch her, she still wouldn't kill it, assuming the knife could even get through that tough skin. It was one thing to kill an enemy, it was another to kill an innocent.

  Eryn knew they hadn't gone far, and she reached her things with plenty of strength

  remaining in her lungs and legs. She slid the final few feet on her knees, grabbing the stone and the brooch and the arrows from the ground and shoving them back into the quiver. She looked back one last time, didn't see Malik, and hopped to her feet.

  "Hold," came a shout from the edge of her vision. She turned her head, and saw a soldier moving out from behind a tree, his bow trained on her.

  "Do not move," another voice said. A second soldier stepped into view. Then a third, and a fourth.

  Had they been waiting for her? She had been foolish to run right to her things without

  even listening for them.

  "If you're going to kill me, just kill me," she said. She knew she would rather die than be taken captive.

  A fifth soldier stepped into view. He was different than the others, with short gray hair

  and a scar across one of his eyes. He wore a thick black leather jerkin with a dark breastplate over it. The center of the plate was painted with the bleeding eye.

  "I'm afraid we won't be able to honor that request at the moment," he said. "Not without a Mediator present, at least." He walked towards her, stopping a few feet away. "And it seems you killed the Mediator sent to retrieve you. It's been some time since something like that happened."

  "I'm not scared of you," Eryn said. She was lying. She was scared. She wished she wasn't, because if she could relax she could call on her Curse to try to do... she didn't know what.

  Somehow she had stopped the Mediator, Lia, and the two soldiers that had been with her. She just needed to be able to do that again.

  "Someone strong like you. I don't imagine you would be. We found the body of... What

  was his name, again? Lewyn? Back at our rendezvous point." He knelt down, his head winding up below hers, but she still felt like she was being talked down to. "To be honest, my dear, I'm afraid of you."

  She knew he was mocking her. She tried to kick him in the face.

  Faster than she could see, his hands came up and caught her foot, turning it and throwing

  her to the ground. She expected him to be on her with his sword, but he only laughed.

  "You're a quick one, for sure," he said. "Roland, Gerrett, bind her and let's get out of here."

  The two soldiers who didn't have their bows aimed at her started forward. One of them

  had a coil of rope hanging from his hip.

  Eryn flipped back over and brought herself to her feet, holding her knife out for

  protection. "I'll kill you," she shouted at them.

  The man with the gray hair only laughed again. "With that little thing?" he asked.

  She was still thinking of how to respond when a rock hit the man in the side of the head,

  and he fell to the ground.

  "Ambush," the soldier, Roland yelled, seeing his commander fall. The other soldiers forgot about her, turning around and scanning the forest, looking for their attacker.

  Eryn looked around too. She hadn't seen anyone throw the rock. Finding no one, she

  slowly walked over to where the soldier was laying, and put her hand on the hilt of his sword.

  She had never used a real one before, only the sticks she and Roddin had pretended were swords.

  The soldiers didn't even notice.

  She heard branches moving above them, and she turned just in time to see a massive gray

  shape come down on Gerrett, a huge fist punching him in the head and sending him flailing to the ground. Malik! Then she heard the whistle of arrows, and it roared at the injury.

  She stopped being cautious, taking a firmer grip and pulling the blade all the way out of

  its scabbard. It had the same smoothness and lustrousness as Lia's staff, and it felt lighter in her hand than any of the swords her father had ever sharpened at the forge.

  Malik had moved on from Gerrett, loping towards Roland, four arrows sticking out of his

  stomach and chest. She could see the blood running down around them, his life force leaking away. Had he come to help her, or had he come to get himself killed?

  She didn't know, and she supposed it didn't matter. The soldiers weren't paying any

  attention to her, so she started backing away, keeping an eye on them to make sure no arrows came her way, but otherwise trying to retreat. Malik had reached Roland now, and he leaped

  onto him and pummeled him into the dirt, fists pounding the man in the face over and over. As it punched, it looked over at her. It knew she was there.

  "Hellllppppp uuussssss," he moaned. Two more arrows blossomed from his body.

  Eryn had enough. She turned and ran, trying to block out the screams of the soldiers and

  the howling of Malik from her mind.

  She didn't know how long she ran for, but by the time she slowed her lungs, throat, and

  mouth were all on fire. She found a large tree and kneeled behind it, coughing and hacking, and finally dry-heaving. Master Lewyn had said there was a river, the Baden, and a road. She had been headed in the right direction. She couldn't be far.

  She was just so tired. Her whole body ached like it had the first time she had gone to the

  forge, after her father had her carrying ingots and pumping the bellows all day. She didn't think she had the energy to go any further, not yet. She lifted her head up and listened. She heard birds chirping and flying around through the trees, and she took a deep breath. She could relax for a few minutes, and then she would find the river.

  ***

  Eryn woke quickly, her eyes popping open and scanning the forest around her while her

  heart thudded against her chest. She had only planned to sit for a minute, and now that minute must have turned to hours. Looking up, the burnt orange of the sky told her the sun was

  beginning to set. And she was still so thirsty!

  No soldiers at least, she thought, trying to calm her nerves. She got to her feet and held the sword she had stolen up to her face. She couldn't believe how light it was, more like a wood toy than a real, metal sword. "It's no metal I've ever worked with."

  She cut the air a few times with it, listening to the sound it made. It was more hollow then she expected. Still, she was sure if it belonged to the lead soldier, it had to be of high quality. She gave it one last look, and then started walking, heading east towards the river. I need to find it soon, or I'll die of thirst.

  Two more hours passed, and the sky went from orange to black, lit only by the thousands

  of points of light floating within. The Whistling Wood was even darker, the thick treetops

  blotting out much of the light. Eryn knew she couldn't stop though, not until she had reached the river and taken a drink.

  She stumbled through branches, tripped on roots, and pressed herself tight against trees

  whenever she didn't hear birds or insects, or whenever the bushes would shift from some loud animal or another passing by. She tried to keep an eye out for any fruits berries she could eat, but it was near impossible in the darkness.

  She wanted to go home.

  The thought brought her back to her family, and she cried once more, missing them. It

  also reminded her of Malik and his journal. The last entry had shown he had once had a family too. She was sure he had missed them, just as she was sure he had succeeded in ending his life by attacking the soldiers. She only hoped he hadn't lingered long. Was that to be her fate, and the fate of all Cursed? How could it be, when Lia had been Cursed, and there had been nothing

  wrong with her? She would find out when she reached the city.

  Eryn was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice when the trees

  parted and a wide, dirt road appeared, stretching a dozen feet across her path. Only after she had taken her first steps out onto it did she turn her head to both sides, praying to Amman that she hadn't walked right into the view of any soldiers.

  "Thank you, Amman," she said, finding herself alone. She could hear the sound of water flowing over rocks close by. She ran across the road and into the thin outcropping of trees on the other side, and then to the grassy bank of the river. She knelt down, put the sword next to her, and took another long drink, crying soundlessly.

  "I've made it this far, Mother," she whispered. "I promise I will survive."

  After she had her fill of the water, she got back to her feet and turned north. She was still so hungry, but she could survive a bit longer without food. Now that she'd found the river, and the road, she was anxious to reach her destination.

  She walked for two more hours, following along the river, halfway between the water and

  the road, afraid of being seen too close to either. She was trying to decide whether it was better to travel at night or during the day, when she heard the first whisper.

  "I'm telling you Magret, I hear something."

  It was a man's voice. She glanced around, but it was too dark to see anybody.

  "And I'm telling you, Tanner, you're imagin-"

  A woman. She stopped speaking mid-sentence when Eryn stepped on a branch.

  "Did you hear it?" Tanner asked.

  "I think I did hear something," Magret replied.

  Eryn stayed quiet and didn't move. She held the sword up in front of her, in case she was

  attacked.

  "I don't hear anything now," Tanner said after a few minutes had passed. "It must have been a squirrel or something."

  "Squirrels don't skulk around at night," Magret replied.

  Eryn made up her mind. These people definitely weren't soldiers. "Hello?" she called, her voice still soft.

  "Did you hear someone say 'hello'?" Tanner asked.

  "I heard something. It sounded like hello, but what if it's a spirit. Or a ghoul. I've heard ghouls can talk like people, to trick them into coming closer."

  "Hello," Eryn repeated, a little bit louder. "I'm not a ghoul. My name is Eryn."

  Silence.

  "What do you think Tanner?" Magret asked. "A ghoul would say it's not a ghoul if it was a ghoul to get us to come closer."

  "It doesn't sound like a ghoul," Tanner replied. "It sounds like a girl."

  "My name is Eryn," she repeated. She started walking in the direction of the voices. "I am a girl, not a ghoul. I need help. Food. I have coin."

  She heard the sound of flint striking, and then saw a small flame through a bush up

  ahead. A moment later the flame was put onto the wick of a lantern, which illuminated the space enough for her to see Tanner and Magret sitting on the ground and a hand cart behind them, the contents covered by a blanket. It also allowed them to see her.

  "It is a girl," Magret said, her eyes lifting. She was an older woman, thin, with long grey hair and a weathered face. She was wearing a simple cotton dress cinched around her waist by a rope.

  "I told you it wasn't a ghoul," Tanner said. He was small and heavy, with a big nose and not much hair. His clothes looked like they had once been quite fine, but age and use had taken their toll.

  They both smiled, until they noticed she was holding a sword, and had it pointed at them.

  "Please," Magret said. "Leave us be. We don't have anything of value. We're simple merchants of fine found merchandise."

  "Magret," Tanner said. "She said she's hungry." He started getting to his feet. "I have some bread in the cart. Just take it and go."

  Eryn was confused, until she realized she was still holding the sword out. She lowered

  the blade to the ground. "Wait," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm not here to rob you. Please. If you have bread, I can pay you for it." She reached behind her to get her quiver.