Marlene finds me first. She breaks Denet free from her leg and rushes over.

  “You’re alive,” she whispers. “When Denet came shouting…a shade, how?”

  “I distracted it,” I say. “That’s all I could manage.”

  Marlene nods. “I would’ve got Honep or Taren to come to you.” She looks back at Denet pointedly. “But this one wouldn’t let me go.”

  Denet looks embarrassed and won’t look at me. Despite what the boy may think, I don’t blame him at all. No one would have reached me in time, even if he ran straight for Taren.

  Dusk approaches fast. Villagers come out of their homes and into the square, many with wood in hand, or a sack of grain or some other offering. I remain where I stand, trying to coax Denet into talking with me again. He’s hard to persuade.

  Taren appears from the outskirts of the village and raises an eyebrow at my empty arms. “No wood?”

  “He was attacked,” Marlene defends me. “A shade nearly took him and Denet both.”

  Taren’s mouth hangs. “How did you…what [Skill]—” Then he coughs. “Never mind. Tell me later.” He glances over to Edrine, who stands like a statue on the steps of the chapel, eyes fixed on us. “Let’s hope Edrine doesn’t notice our lack of wood.”

  “I got some!” Denet says, then cowers again when we look at him.

  Marlene turns back to me. “Taren might not be accused of faithlessness, not with his father—” She hesitates. I see Taren shake his head. “But Sevorn, you need to produce something for the rite. Wood is traditional, but maybe…”

  “I know what will work,” Taren says, then grimaces. “But you won’t like it.”

  ~~~

  At dusk, the entire village gathers, stacking wood or meager offerings into a pit near the chapel steps. I trudge through the crowd, weighed down by my bag. When I thump to my knees and start to unload, the whispers begin.

  An entire bag filled with stag meat, worth a dozen meals or more; and here I am, laying each frozen strip and chunk of it amongst the branches and logs.

  “Edrine can’t do anything but praise your righteousness,” Taren had said when he suggested the idea, “offering your whole bounty of meat.”

  Denet had complained, but Marlene silenced him. So now here I kneel, pressing frozen stag into any space it can fit.

  Father Edrine remains at his post on the steps, but his stare is unnerving.

  Elder Rorahn is the first to comment aloud. “You make a significant offer, young man.” He lifts a hand from his cane and presses my shoulder. “First the donated grains, then this.” He smiles. “You don’t like to live on the quiet side, do you?” He pats me before walking toward the chapel.

  Once all the wood and offerings are laid out, Edrine nods and Rorahn speaks loudly, “We begin the Rite of Renewal. Please bring your family runestones and circle our offering in holiness.”

  Denet runs ahead and into his home. I follow, if only to break away from Edrine’s gaze for a minute or two. It’s unfortunate that the chapel stands so close to my shed.

  Marlene lugs out a runestone no bigger than my head, smooth and square. Denet circles her, his hands inching out as if to take hold of it.

  Marlene pauses beside me. “Would you like the honor of carrying the runestone to the fire for our family?” Denet murmurs one peep before biting his tongue under his mother’s glare.

  There’s respect in her tone and the smile she offers. She welcomes me into her family. But I’m a monster, like a shade amongst the living. The runestone will hurt me.

  “I can’t,” I say. I can’t look her in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “I see…” The hurt in her voice cuts me, but I stay rigid. She cares for me, but it feels different than with Taren. He understands me. He’s alone, like me. Marlene cannot understand the [Skills] I carry with me, that haunt me.

  Marlene continues forward, lugging the runestone. Denet stops trailing her for a moment to glance back at me. Confusion lines his face, his eyes. He’s not old enough to connect the [Skills] I used to fight the Rot Heart with my avoidance of holy magic.

  Each family places a runestone around the pit, encircling the wood and offerings.

  “We stand,” says Edrine from his steps, “as one village. One village seeking the light of renewal.”

  He produces a vial from his robes and holds it out. Raimi steps from the crowd and takes it with reverence, joy in her aura. She holds the vial above her head so all can see, then takes practiced steps towards the woodpile. She attempts at elegance. Denet snickers and Taren jabs him in the ribs.

  Once Raimi reaches the wood, she pops the cork free and pours its contents over the offering. Every last drop. Then she returns ?to Edrine to offer the empty vial.

  “With holy rites comes the opportunity to strengthen us, unify us,” Edrine continues. “Let us purge the darkness from us in a gout of flame.”

  He looks to Rorahn, who has a bow in hand. Rorahn dips the tip of an arrow in oil and Honep lights it.

  For a moment, the weary age of Rorahn fades and he straightens, his whole body aglow. Then he releases the arrow and it pierces the center of the woodpile, which bursts into flame.

  The crowd of villagers press in, closer to the fire.

  I’m not prepared for this, there’s no escape. I should’ve been on the outside.

  Forced closer to the flames, I know we won’t touch it, but I’m more concerned about the runestones and smoke. I can already feel the air choke me. Nox rustles beneath my shirt.

  The scorching sensation starts at my feet, inches from the runestones. The heat of the bonfire evaporates in the pain that fills me. With a jerk, I press back into the villager behind me, seeking relief, but I hit something solid.

  “The fire is good for you, son,” says the thick voice of the blacksmith, Dargan. “No need to worry.”

  I bite my tongue to keep myself from coughing.

  [Spirit Bond] has reached Level 4.

  Nox bites my shoulder from under my shirt, taking some of the pain. I settle where I stand, on the tips of my toes, my feet almost touching the edge of the closest runestone. The position’s uncomfortable, and I feel my stamina dripping away, some from my stance, some from the smoke laced with holy magic.

  My hand finds moss in my pocket, still fresh. [Leech Grip] empowers me. I can handle this. My mana ring will provide enough for [Leech Grip] until this is over.

  Edrine watches me. He’s not smiling. He stands on the opposite side of the ring of villagers, close enough to feel the heat like the rest of us, but apart.

  When the ritual ends, space breaks up behind me and I tumble out, coughing and leeching the rest of my moss in relief. My stamina is depleted. I want to lie down by the great oak tree, but I cannot, not while I’m in public. I cannot show weakness.

  Taren seeks me out, but I wave him away. I need rest, not conversation. I retreat, not partaking in the feast prepared for after the ritual. The shed welcomes me, hay like an ocean of soft peace. I fall asleep without checking for decay.

  ~~~

  Hunger wakes me the next morning. I tumble from my loft before Nox can reach me, so he flies down onto my shoulder. I rub his obsidian shell. I owe my small friend more than he realizes.

  I join Denet for breakfast. We have no meat. Denet asks when I will go hunting, but I don’t have the opportunity to respond because Marlene arrives. She’s late for breakfast.

  Apparently, Dargan is ill.

  “He has a wife to tend to him,” Marlene says, “but no one to craft hinges for Orlen and his family. Their door will fall out any day now.”

  We finish eating while Marlene relents to us the task of fitting horseshoes.

  Later that morning, I enter the village square to fill a pail of well water. Eight people stand outside the Elder’s home, complaining.

  “Father Edrine will tend to them as soon as he is able,” Rorahn says.

  “He already visited us,” the farmer, Ferlon, says. “Says my wife has lost her faith and is being punished.”

  “He said we weren’t dedicated enough in the ritual,” says another farmer, Brennic. “That some evil’s preventing us from being cleansed.” He huffs. “My son was excited for the ritual. He took the fast seriously. And now he’s laid up with a fever!”

  Rorahn tries to calm them. “It is likely nothing more than overeating after the fast.” He slaps his cane. “Wait it out and see. Or go pester the cleric!” He ducks inside and closes his door.

  The crowd disperses with voices murmuring about some evil in the village. Their words collect in my mind, fogging my vision. What if Edrine is right—if I’m the evil that is bringing this sickness, like the rot before it?

  “Sevorn,” Taren surprises me and I jump. He stands rigid, concern in his eyes. “It’s Raimi. She won’t get up.”

  Taren turns and I follow.

  “Orlen was supposed to set traps with me this morning,” Taren says, “but never came.”

  He stops, and I see Raimi’s mother rushing back to the house with a pail of water.

  “He won’t let me near her. He’s afraid she’s too weak.” Taren bows his head. “I did get one look. She’s as pale as ?snow, and as still as stone. We must do something.”