Village People

Stan returned home to an uproar in the village center. People were not working -- as he had expected them to be doing -- but instead were gathered around the village podium. A small woman stood atop the platform and was shouting something unintelligible. As he drew nearer, he could see that it was mostly women gathered around close to the person in the center, with men forming a buffer around them. He saw children off playing in the far end of the village square, so it couldn't have been a something life or death. Yet still, he felt an uneasiness settle around him.

"Stan!" A hiss from his right startled him, and he looked over to the alley between two houses. Mira stood there in the shadows, her eyes darting around wildly. "Over here!"

Stan's adrenaline rose. Why was his wife hiding in the shadows like some villain of the night?

"Mira?" He felt himself keeping his voice quieter than he normally would have. He had not intended to do so.

"Quickly!" She hissed again, making a come hither motion with her hands. "Before they see you!"

"Okay, okay." Stan said and closed the gap between them. She grabbed him by the shoulders and wrapped him into a sudden, unexpected hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay." She said. He could feel sobs threatening to break through her surface.

"What's wrong, Mira? Why are you hiding?" He asked. He held her away from him, mystified as he watched her eyes brimming with tears.

"I don't know how this got so out of hand," She whined, nearly inconsolable. "But they can't see you. They might kill you if they see you!"

"Why would my own people kill me?" Stan asked, a concerned expression crossed his face. "Why would you even say that?"

"It's all my fault, I think." The story began spilling out of Mira like a waterfall. "I was sewing with Ginny and Brenda last evening when you were gone, and we started drinking wine. I had a little too much, or maybe they slipped some truthwort in my drink, I don't know. But suddenly I was telling them everything about your father's death and how you were upset because you had found out about the fake heroes in town and…"

Stan's grip tightened on her shoulders, where he had been holding her. He felt a combination of rage and fear boiling up within him. "You did what?"

"I couldn't… I don't know. It just slipped out and then they started pulling information out of me. I tried to leave and they restrained me, and threatened me, and I got scared and, now they know."

"Are they telling the villagers now, I take it?"

"Yes." Mira's sobs were somewhat short of wailing, but they were still rather loud, given the circumstances.

"Shh, shh." He said. "It'll be okay. We'll figure it out. This is all just some misunderstanding…" He rubbed her shoulders gently, though he was somewhat unconvinced of his own words.

"But you don't understand." She insisted, looking up at him and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Brenda's little sister, Aura, she's the one that died just two years ago. Even though it was proclaimed as a tragic accident, everyone knew it was because Gresh didn't get there in time."

"And now she knows that it was probably my dad who killed Aura. Albeit accidentally." Stan said, and Mira nodded. "Well, that's fair, and true." He said after a moment. "But why do you think they'll kill me over it?"

"They think that you kidnapped Freya when you left a few days ago."

"Wait, who's Freya? Is there a girl missing?"

"Yes. The miller's girl, she's about 13. Her closest friend is Rufus, who ran out to try and find her and hasn't returned."

"Holy fire. Two missing kids. All in three days? All while I'm gone?"

"Yes." Mira nodded. "I tried telling Brenda that you weren't going to do it anymore, but given that Kutak became a hero and had his manhood ceremony, they just thought I was lying."

"Fuck." Stan said. "Fuck all of it."

"I'm so sorry." Mira seemed to be deteriorating again, and Stan shook her slightly.

"No, you have to keep it together, Mira." He said sternly. "Thank you for letting me know. But sweetheart, this is not your fault. There is clearly murder in Brenda's heart. She must have had suspicions about my father and they were realized when she found you in a moment of weakness. This is not your fault."

"What are we going to do, Stan?" Mira asked him, nodding. "How can we save you? How can we save the village?"

"We'll figure it out." Stan said. "But first, we need to find those missing children."

They passed a few moments in silence before Stan spoke again.

"Mira, I need you to do something for me." Stan said. "Can you go around the back way and get to our house?"

She nodded.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. Go to the house and gather a week's worth of dried meats, beans, and rice for us. Put it in a sack. Bring your traveling clothes, a dagger, and some water. If you can, go into the shaman's hut and bring my scrying tools. Whatever you do, don't be seen. Meet me at the edge of the forest over there," Stan pointed back at the direction he had come from, "As soon as you can. Make sure that no one sees you. Mention my presence to no one. You and I are going to find those children."

"Are you sure? Won't they figure it out when I'm gone too?"

"No." Stan shook his head. "Mob logic is stupid. They will think that you got scared of them and ran away to a nearby village. Since you're not the main target -- I am -- they'll forget about you soon enough. In a few days, all this furor will die down. Hopefully, in that time, we'll find these children, and figure out how to end this once and for all."

"Okay."

"Do you trust me, Mira?"

"Yes, of course." Mira said. He cracked a small smile and gave her a strong hug.

"Good, now go. And be safe. I'll meet you over there. If there are too many people, just wait until nightfall. I'll keep my eyes and ears open, and I'll hide if I have to."

Stan walked his wife to the edge of the alley that pointed towards the outskirts of town. He watched her disappear into the rows of houses up ahead, and then he turned tail and jogged towards the cover and safety of the trees.

Stan and Mira had a cold, fitful night. They had set off towards Wissler, but Stan knew that they wouldn't make it before the sunset, and he was wary of traveling at night with the Deatheater around. They settled around a small campfire and Stan began preparing the meal while Mira sat shivering in the blanket that she had brought. The night was much cooler than expected.

They had talked some on the road, but Stan had promised her a much more detailed story about what he had discovered in Renya over dinner. Now that she was bored, however, she was begging for details as he cooked.

"Fine," He muttered. "I'll tell you. First of all, there really is a dragon."

"No shit." She said.

"Right, but, when I got to Renya, the shaman guild didn't believe me -- at first. But I described it and then the lady I was talking to -- Annica -- pulled out a book and showed me a drawing of the monster that I had seen."

"Someone has seen this dragon before?"

"Yes." Stan said grimly. "And they had the foresight to name it the Deatheater."

"Wow." Mira said looking worried. "That sounds bad."

"Apparently not many people live to tell the tale of seeing a Deatheater dragon."

"How did you, then?" Mira asked. Stan shrugged.

"I don't have a clue." He stirred the pot, inhaling the savory aroma of spiced rice and beans. He was glad that Mira had thought to bring some spice packets, as it was going to make their dinner much more palatable than usual. Stan, for one, didn't often spare the pack space for spices.

"But I definitely saw it, and I am still here to tell the tale. Anyway, the book didn't offer much by way of information, but Annica did. She said the Deatheaters show up -- usually in our region -- every couple of decades or so, and it always starts with a spurt of disappearances."

"Your father?" She asked, and he nodded.

"Not just my father, though. Horatio, the shaman from Wissler, is also missing. As are four other people from the region that Annica knew about, plus probably a few others that haven't been reported to the shaman guild."

"Wow." Stan saw Mira shudder in the blanket. "This is real then."

"Yes." Stan agreed. He pulled up some beans and rice on the spoon, but the rice still looked thin and hard. "Which is why I'm especially worried about Freya and Rufus. Who knows -- Freya may have gotten eaten, and now Rufus has put himself in danger looking for her."

"But we'll find them, right?" She asked.

"I hope so. After dinner, I'll scry for them and see if I can dig up anything. Unfortunately, it's not like I could go into town and ask where they were last spotted."

"No, not really. I mean, you could have. But I'm not sure you would've made it out alive." Mira barked a sharp, tired laugh. "Who are these savages that we live with?"

"Villagers are a strange sort of folk, sometimes." Stan agreed. The rice looked more done, and he reached out his hand for her bowl. "As are wives who tell shaman secrets." He said pointedly. He saw Mira shrink away from him and instantly felt remorse. "I'm just kidding, Mira. It really wasn't your fault. I would've cracked under that sort of pressure, too."

"I feel terrible." She grumbled, handing him the bowls. "And that Brenda bitch can roast in hell for all I care."

"If we have it my way, the hero farce will end when we get back safe with Ferya and Rufus, and Brenda will be driven out of town for idiocy."

After dinner, Stan sat next to their small fire with his scrying kit. Although it didn't often get used, the kit was immensely helpful in times like these. He hadn't bothered using it with Kutak, because he knew exactly where the boy had gone. But with a case like this, it was perfect.

Mira settled in next to him as he pulled out the murky glass orb from its soft, pelted bag. This particular orb had been in the family for three generations. It was pink and orange and red, and very delicate. His father told him it had been made from salts from the tallest mountain range in the whole world, the place where the gods were closest to humanity, an "abode of snow." He hadn't believed his father -- about the salt thing, that is -- but when he placed his tongue on it, it did indeed taste like a strange sort of salt. His father had then yelled at him for wrecking the energy.

"I don't think I've ever actually seen your scrying orb before." Mira admitted. "But it's beautiful." She reached out a hand to touch it, but Stan pulled it away.

"Be careful, you might wreck the energy." He wasn't mean about it, but he did look at her until she nodded, the slightest tinge of remorse on her face, and removed her hand. He brought the orb back to him, close to his chest.

"May the ancestors look warmly upon me." He spoke the ancient words quietly, but he could feel their power stirring in his loins. The orb seemed to emanate healing energy from its mere presence, and Stan felt his scrapes and bruises lessen, his joints ache less in the cold autumn evening.

With his words intoned, his aches healed, he looked desperately into the opaque surface, back lit by the gentle glow of the campfire. The orb seemed dark and perfectly ordinary, and any mystic feelings that he had been getting earlier were dissipating quickly. He had never felt this way during a scrying session before.

Mira moved closer to him, briefly breaking his concentration. He didn't look at her, but instead tried to renew his focus on the task at hand. He mouthed the children's names -- Freya. Rufus. Freya. Rufus. -- as he stared into the pink void of the orb. Nothing.

"Gah, it's not working." He muttered. "Stupid orb." He turned his glance away from the orb and felt a chill run down his back. Something was missing. Something didn't feel right.

"Do you feel that?" He asked Mira, half whisper, half growl. He felt her hand grip his arm.

"Isn't it just the magic?" She asked in her sweet, lilting voice. He shushed her.

"Shh. No. That's not my magic. This is something different." He looked past the campfire, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Why is it so quiet?" Mira asked, and that's when Stan realized. All of the normal night time noises -- the crickets, maybe an occasional owl, the rats and the raccoons -- there was nothing stirring. It was like a wet blanket had been hung over their campsite and muffled everything around them.

"All of the animals have been scared off or silenced." He said. He reached to his belt and pulled the dagger from his waist. "Where's your weapon?"

"In the bags." She pointed past the fire towards the bags, which lay invitingly in a darkened corner on the edge of the campsite.

"Too far away. Here, take mine." He offered the dagger to her, handle first, but she shook her head.

"No, you keep that." She said. She hefted the pot that held the beans and rice. "I think you're probably better with it than I am. I'll use this, if I need to."

And just like it had come swiftly, the silence ended. A few crickets started chirping again, off in the distance, and a friendly "Hoot! Hoot hoot!" sounded from the trees. Despite the noise, however, Stan was not put at ease. He didn't think that it had been a random occurrence. Not when he had been holding the scrying orb. Something was out there, and it didn't want him using the small amount of magic that he had.

"Take it now, and let me try again." He insistently held the dagger, handle first, towards her. She reluctantly grabbed it.

"Okay." She agreed. She ran her fingers along the ornate blade's handle, and Stan watched as the blade reflected the fire's light. It was mesmerizing in its own right, and Stan felt his vision grow blurry. The magic of the night settled back over him, and he was sliding down a sand trap of nonsensical images. The blade just flicked back and forth, like somehow Mira was trapped by the same magical force that held Stan in its clutches.

Come to me. It whispered. I am hungry.

The fire went black and Stan was startled from the spell by Mira's shriek of surprise.

"Down!" Stan shouted out of reflex, grabbing his wife and throwing her to the ground. A growl sounded, close, just on the other side of the fire.

They were frozen like statues for what seemed like an eternity. Stan held his wife, inhaling the odd mix of pine needles, her perfume, and the damp, moist ground on which they lay. The fire slowly inched back to life, and Stan looked up, expecting to see the eyes of a Deatheater staring him in the face. There was nothing.

"What the actual fuck is happening right now?" Mira asked. She struggled out of his arms. "And what are we doing out here in the damn forest while devils are trying to … I don't even know."

"I don't know, either." Stan admitted. "But I have a feeling that this has something to do with our missing children, and probably, the dragon."

The fire flickered and Stan instinctively flinched. He looked away quickly, trying to listen for any movement around the edges of darkness that surrounded them.

"Stan, I'm scared." Mira said. She brushed pine needles off of her shirt and looked at him. "I want to go home. I don't care what the villagers think. They won't actually kill you, will they?"

"It's too dangerous there, and it's too dangerous here, too. But I don't think moving is wise." He said. "I'll check father's notes and see if there's a protection spell or something that can get us through the night."

"Where's his notebook?" She asked him, "I didn't realize that you brought it."

"I bring the special one everywhere." He said. "It's part of the job description."

"The what?" She asked.

"Never mind." He wasn't sure where that odd combination of words came from, but the bad joke wasn't worth repeating. "Not important. It's over in the bags." He gestured.

"Do you…" Mira trailed off and instead chose to hand him the dagger. "Here. Take this. You know, just in case?" She ended in a question. Stan shrugged and accepted his dagger back from her.

He felt in his heart of hearts that whatever danger had been there, it was now passed. He wished that he had the book that Annica had showed him, so that he could learn about real dragons and what to be wary of. Truth be told, he had no idea if this was a dragon or something else entirely. Nor was he sure if he wanted to find out.

"It'll just take a second." Stan said reassuringly. He left his wife's side, skirting somewhat cautiously around the fire, ears and eyes open for anything untoward.

"Be careful." Mira said. Although she was behind him, Stan could feel her shifting nervously. He clothes made a rhythmic sweeping noise.

"It's just our bags. They're right there." Stan said, keeping his voice calmer than he truly felt. Images of his unnaturally early death, in front of his wife, kept dancing in his mind. Our bags are right there. They're right there. It'll be fine. He reassured himself.

He closed the distance with no trouble, and immediately felt silly for worrying. For good measure, and for safety's safe, he dragged the bags closer to the fire, well within the circle of light. You know. Just in case.

"Stan," Mira asked as he was dragging the final bag towards the center of the fire's light, "What did you say this dragon was called?"

He looked up at her, confused. Her eyes flickered oddly in the fire's steady light.

"The book that Annica had said it was called the Deatheater dragon." He responded. He squinted at her -- were her eyes really that shiny? The night was playing tricks with his mind.

"Fitting." Mira laughed a deep laugh. "The Deatheater. What an unimaginative bore of a name." Her laugh grated in his ears like a fork to a plate. Stan winced. He moved closer to her, gripping the dagger tightly. Something wasn't right. The insects had died down again.

"Are you okay, Mira?" He asked, genuine concern in his voice. She seemed paler than usual, and she was swaying a bit.

"I'm peachy." She answered. Her eyes still looked off to him. Bigger, shinier than usual. Had she blinked at all? He reached out to touch her, and she backed away from him. There was no fear in her eyes. A toothy grin grew from her thin set mouth.

"Mira?"

"Try again." Her voice was not Mira's at all. It was deeper, more… sensual.

"What are you?" He asked, backing up and pointing the dagger at Mira. She seemed to be growing larger by the second. Her throaty laugh reverberated through him.

"Child, I have known you for a long, long time. I gave you that dagger. Do you think it will harm me?" She towered over him now, and Stan could feel his body shaking in a quiet, refined terror.

Still, useless though it might be, the dagger was the only thing that seemed real to Stan, and his fist was like iron around its handle. Some nameless magic was bowling through this night. He had a feeling that even his father had never seen magic like this.

"I... You…" He stuttered, flailed for his words. But none came.

"I am Tulith." She said. "And I am hungry."

A long, agonizing moment passed. Stan was frozen in place, shaking like a leaf. She -- Tulith -- curled above him like a serpent readying her strike. Stan's mind raced through all of the words that he wished he could've told his wife before she became this … thing. Or maybe she had always been this thing, and it had all been a cruel trick. He knew that whatever happened, it would be by her mercy, and not by his strength. The world went black.

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