71. Small Towns (Patreon)

Oz looked up at the gate. Shoulder-height was definitely an estimate based on my adult height. It’s well over Fflyn’s head. He lifted his hand and knocked. “Hello? Is anyone inside?”

The gate creaked, swinging with the wind. It whistled through the gaps in the planks, rattling the rusty old hinges. A few signs rattled on the far side of the gate from shops lining the road, a glimpse of the town’s one-time prosperity.

“No reply,” Aisling commented. She went to jump.

Oz grabbed her sleeve. “Not now,” he hissed. Let’s not reveal ourselves over something so stupid! If we climb the fence, let’s climb it like mortals!

“There’s no one around,” she pointed out, gesturing.

“What about the windows? Let’s give it a minute,” Oz reasoned. He stood on his tiptoes and peered through the gaps in the gate.

Much like on the road outside town, weeds grew through the streets. Vines choked a few of the houses, growing over the windows and doors alike, and in the center of a side road, a small tree bloomed, bobbing happily in the sun.

Oz licked his lips. The internal streets of the town haven’t been used? That’s not a good sign.

He knocked on the gate again, louder this time, so it knocked in its bearings and thumped against the stone wall. “Hello! Anyone!”

“You don’t want to go in there.”

Oz and Aisling both whirled.

A kid, about Fflyn’s age, stood behind them. Ragged hair and filthy clothes hinted at a life in the wild, as did her dirt-stained fingernails and bare feet. A bandanna covered the top of her head, stained with tree sap and earth. She watched them with wary eyes, keeping her distance.

Aisling’s eyes widened. She leaned in toward Oz. “Look at her eyes. She’s half-fey.”

Oz squinted.

Gold eyes darted from Oz to Aisling, peering out from under a jagged fringe of ash-grey hair. Like a wolf’s, the yellow irises filled almost her entire eye, turning dark at the edges rather than white.

In the not-so-distant forest, a pack of wolves howled, as if calling out to the girl. She glanced over her shoulder, then back at Oz and Aisling. “Stay away from there. It’s dangerous.”

Oz stepped forward. “What’s dangerous about it?”

She shook her head, backing toward the forest. “Stay away.”

A door creaked open behind them. A wheezing old voice spat, “Not again. Go! Shoo!”

Without another word, the wolf-girl turned and ran, dropping to all fours to gallop into the woods, wolf tail bobbing after her.

“Begone! Begone, beast!” A withered old priest ran out from a small church, waving a small statue of a noble-looking man. He caught sight of Oz and Aisling at the door and slowed, lowering the statue. “Who… who are you?”

“We’re traveling bards. Wandering around, sharing stories and gossip. Can we—”

“Oh. Unfortunate, how unfortunate.” The priest drew up to the gate, but remained behind it, not reaching for the latch. “Don’t you know? Our village has been quarantined. There’s no one left.”

“You’re still alive,” Oz pointed out.

“No, no. I would be doing you a disservice to let you in. Continue on, young travelers. Better yet, turn back. Nothing but disease and death lie ahead.”

“Disease and death?” Oz asked. I guess it’s not a secret sect, then.

The old priest nodded slowly. “Disease and death. I go forth to check on Charles, and if he lies dead, then only two remain in this village: myself and young Sueanne.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Oz asked.

The priest shook his head. He rolled up his sleeve and showed Oz pale flesh, spotted with rotting green splotches.

Oz drew back, startled. What kind of sickness is that? Leprosy? Even in my world, there isn’t a cure. And that’s assuming it isn’t some horrible this-world disease.

Instantly, he consulted the books in his head, but the majority of Madame Saoirse’s library was filled with magical books with magical techniques, not medical books. A dozen magical basic-level medical texts came up, and he put them on the front of the queue. From the back of the library, he found a single purely medical text, and quickly consulted the image index, but nothing matched the man’s symptoms.

Oz’s brows furrowed. I need more medical texts. More non-magical texts in general, actually. Or is this the best the world has? I mean… He gave the medical text a side-eyed look. This thing talks about dosing people with belladonna and leeches, for goodness’ sakes.

No, no. There has to be better than this. It’s probably the same problem I always have: the first floor is simply far too basic! Once I get to the second floor, I bet I’ll have so many better books available to me. Medical and otherwise.

With a dry chuckle, the man lowered his sleeves. “I sometimes wonder if I am not already dead, and merely too much the fool to realize it.”

“Everyone else already died…” Oz lowered his head. Explains why no one’s eating, I guess. But if there’s really a terrible virus, why is Rogue the bookseller so blasé about entering this region?

“Or worse,” the priest murmured.

“What?”

“No, no. Nothing. Please turn back, travelers. Nothing lies beyond here but death.”

Oz glanced at Aisling. “Let’s go, sister. We shouldn’t linger.”

She frowned, but nodded and followed him. They walked off, back up the hill.

Once they were out of earshot of the priest, Aisling glanced at Oz. “We’re leaving?”

“Of course not. This is suspicious as hell. Dead or worse, huh? And that virus…” Oz consulted the bestiary quickly. Undead, types of undead… oh, yeah. Yep. There’s quite a few. Vampires, zombies, wights, and stranger things yet. Kresnik, banshee, dullahan, will o’ wisps… Indeed, dead mortals’ bodies infected with the right dark magic make potent beings that can even pose a threat to low-level mages. With enough time or the right spells, undead can even threaten high-level mages, or ascend themselves. Oz shivered. An undead on Madame Saoirse’s level? I hope not.

Is someone secretly building an undead army? I, er. I might have stumbled upon more than I expected. This might not just be a scandal. This might be an attempted coup!

Do I turn back now? Take what I’ve discovered to Sachairi and call it a day? Oz considered, furrowing his brows, then shook his head. No. All the evidence I have right now is a fudged census sheet and a bad virus in the mortal world. Even with the cursed puppets, it’s just a mess of random symptoms and bad behavior, not a coherent image of an attempted coup. Especially since it’s coming from me, Ossian, the undeserving heir to that thing everyone wants, I can’t simply throw a bunch of random shit together and hope someone understands what it’s getting at. I have to make sure it all comes together.

Conclusive evidence. I need conclusive evidence.

Plus, this coup is as much a threat to me as it is to anyone else in the town—potentially more a threat to me, because who says someone won’t use the unrest of the coup to pop open the library’s barrier? Whether it’s the coup-enactor themselves or simply a high-level mage taking advantage of the mess to obtain what they’ve long desired, any sort of unrest is bad for me! I profit from stability and the balance of power. Until I get much stronger, I need the current status quo to remain!

Atop the hill, Aisling paused. She raised the recording crystal to her eye and swept the village, then put it away once more. “Where to now?”

Oz nodded ahead of them and off toward the forest. “We get down this hill, out of the village’s sight, then head to the forest. We’ll take the long way around.”

Aisling nodded. “Heading deeper in, then?”

“We’re going all the way,” Oz confirmed.