Iskra shattered the vial in her hand, and her blood mingled with the dark liquid. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the world around her faded away. She found herself facing a shapeless, blazing mass that swallowed the darkness.

  “Do not step closer,” a gentle voice echoed in her mind.

  “I am searching,” she began.

  “I know who you are looking for.”

  “What do you want in return?”

  “I seek an artifact.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Book of Gildardere.”

  “It has been lost for centuries!”

  “A lie. It is still there.”

  “Give me information, and I will find it.”

  “It is closer than you think. Return with the artifact, and I will give you his name.”

  She jolted awake, her hand soaked in blood. The creature’s words echoed in her mind: he is closer than you think. Her legs wavered as she stood, then she wrapped a piece of cloth around the wound. She sat at her desk and scribbled in a notebook. She closed her eyes with a sigh. If it was telling the truth, it meant a far greater conspiracy was at work and that someone within the castle had hidden the book.

  *****

  A page entered the room carrying a tray of food as golden light bathed the chamber. Once her meal was finished, Iskra left the room and went down to see Soren. When she pushed open the office door, silence greeted her. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Soren stepped inside.

  A page entered the room carrying a tray of food as golden light bathed the chamber. Once her meal was finished, Iskra left the room and went down to see Soren. She entered the empty office. After a long wait, the door swung open and he came in.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I have a lead on the murders.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I made some interesting discoveries while visiting the families of Falk and Jerffe. The man we’re looking for gives off a strong smell of sulfur. He has chestnut hair, brown eyes, and wears brightly colored clothing.”

  “I’ll look into it. You may go.”

  He moved toward the window as she left, stamping her foot. She headed for the herb district, where hundreds of people crowded between bars and taverns. She entered an establishment known as a place where information flowed as freely as wine. Upstairs, she took a seat, watching the comings and goings of the patrons. Minutes stretched, slowly turning into hours, but the man she was waiting for never appeared. The conversations around her, though numerous, yielded no clues.

  At last, she stepped up to the counter, where the bartender, short and stocky, greeted her before putting away a bottle.

  “I’m looking for a foreigner.”

  “I see plenty of those, ma’am,” he replied.

  “A man with chestnut hair and colorful clothes?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

  She visited a dozen bars and obtained no information. Little by little, her hope of learning more that night faded away.

  *****

  On her way home, Iskra noticed a letter slipped beneath the door, sealed with the royal crest. The council was sending her north to investigate a series of sheep killings. Out of breath, she arrived in front of Soren’s office and spotted Marte.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “I’m being sent north!”

  “I’ve also been assigned a mission to hunt down a band of brigands.”

  “Mine is about sheep murders.”

  “That sounds like an exciting mission,” he joked.

  She clenched her fists.

  “It’ll be all right, Iskra,” he murmured.

  The steward came toward them.

  “I want to see Soren immediately.”

  “He has an important task. He won’t be back for several days,” he replied.

  “Then I’ll wait,” she snapped.

  “Lady Iskra, you must leave at dawn. Your mission is urgent.”

  “My ass it’s useless!”

  “It’s an order from your superior and from the royal house.”

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  “Fine, I accept,” she growled.

  She left the room, Marte close behind her.

  “This doesn’t bode well,” he said.

  “I have some interesting information about the foreigner. He’s linked to sulfur, has chestnut hair, brown eyes, and wears colorful clothes.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  She waved him off and disappeared into her room.

  At dawn, a bulging pack hung against the horse’s flank, filled with clothes, a knife, ropes, a compass, and provisions. On the first day, she covered eight leagues and, at nightfall, found shelter in an inn.

  “Did you see? They left nothing but bones, the carcasses devoured down to the last fragment,” a man whispered.

  “It’s the third flock in a week. I don’t dare leave the animals outside anymore,” a young woman replied.

  A burly man nodded.

  “I was told there wasn’t even a drop of blood left, just blackened bones,” he added with a grimace, fists clenched.

  “Rumors speak of an old woman with pale skin. Some say it’s a curse, others talk about creatures in the forest. Me, I don’t believe it,” an old man murmured.

  “These aren’t rumors…”

  “We can’t just stand by. We have to go look for them, before it goes after more animals or us.”

  After four days, Iskra came face to face with the remains; their bones shattered at the slightest touch. A man was tossing the fragments into a pit.

  “Four animals. Four!” he growled.

  When she reached a few steps away, Iskra knelt beside a split skull.

  “Did you see anything suspicious?” she asked.

  “I’d have stepped in if I’d seen anyone!”

  The days that followed were marked by a series of attacks: sheep died one after another. She questioned several shepherds, but none could provide the slightest clue.

  One night, she settled into a tree near a sheepfold and kept watch until dawn. But nothing happened.

  One morning, as darkness mingled with the first light of daybreak, a shiver ran down her neck. Howls rose from the flock. She climbed down from the tree, and her hands burst into flame. The air buzzed; a swarm of flies descended on her. She hurled flames, sweeping the insects away.

  *****

  Back at the inn, Iskra headed for the bar.

  “Are there marshes nearby?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t advise going there, ma’am. A lot of people disappear there. Those lands are cursed.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The farther away you stay, the better off you’ll be.”

  She placed a silver coin in front of him.

  “Please.”

  With a sigh, he tore off a piece of tablecloth and drew winding lines on it.

  “Here is the marsh, and the mound in the center. That’s a cave. Follow the road north and you’ll reach it after two or three leagues.”

  She left a second coin on the table.

  “Bring me a meal and a beer to my room, please.”

  His gaze followed Iskra as she climbed the stairs.

  *****

  The water, coated with a layer of vegetation, stretched to the horizon, lost in the mist. Iskra rose as a black cloud devoured the sky. She lifted her arms and a wave of heat incinerated the insects. When she fell back to the ground, she plunged into the cave. A stench of mold and rotting flesh seeped into her nostrils.

  A scraping sound echoed, and she turned. A woman over two meters tall slid between the rocks, her scaled tail undulating behind her. Scabs nestled among her gray strands oozed a yellowish fluid.

  “What are you doing here, my child?”

  “I’ve come to kill you,” she replied.

  “You are very bold,” the creature breathed.

  She sketched a smile, and a forest of sharp teeth gleamed. Suddenly, thousands of insects poured from the cracks in the walls. Iskra hurled a blazing jet, but the tail struck her head-on and hurled her against the wall. Her back slammed into the rock, and a shock raced through her body.

  *****

  Her eyelids fluttered before opening halfway, and blurred shapes began to dance in her field of vision. A spasm escaped her, and she coughed.

  “So, the little one has finally woken up?” the witch snickered.

  Iskra raised her hand, trembling.

  “Don’t tire yourself the black stone of the bars blocks all your magic.”

  Around them, cows and pigs hung from hooks. Their carcasses swayed as blood dripped into buckets set on the ground.

  “Be patient it will be your turn soon.”

  Then she vanished, leaving Iskra alone in the cage.

  Time frayed. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her as her mind wavered between despair and madness. One day, the witch tossed a dead rat at her feet, its entrails spilling across the stone.

  “Eat, if you value your life.”

  She grabbed the rat by the tail and hurled it at the witch. It grazed her before smashing against the rock.

  “I’m not a dog!” she roared.

  “We’ll talk again when you start looking at your fingers like a feast,” the witch murmured before disappearing.

  Iskra curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her legs, breath ragged.

  Time passed, long and interminable. She had lost all sense of it, her body growing weaker by the day. A rumble rose from the depths, and the ground shook. Then a scream tore through the air, followed by a light that flooded the chamber.

  “I’m here,” Marte whispered.