Ylantri stood over another orc. This was the fourteenth time since she’d arrived at Agitar that she let another soul pass into her. A sigh escaped her lips as she exhaled with him on his final breath. It was done.
She pulled the black veil over her face again, covering her lips and nose. Retrieving a length of linen from her pack, she carefully wrapped his body, taking care to cover anything that might spread the disease. Finally, she passed her hand over his eyes, closing the lids.
After saying a small benediction under her breath, Ylantri emerged from the tent. “I’m sorry,” she said to the orc waiting outside. “You should take his body now, before the disease jumps to someone else. I have wrapped him in linen. Take care not to touch his skin.”
The orc nodded. Death was a part of the everyday now.
“Ylantri!”
Dalgron, the orc general, stood not far away, waving to her. A small human stood next to him, her skin wrinkled and her hair sparkling silver in the sunlight. Ylantri steeled herself for another round of questions.
Why aren’t you saving more? When will we defeat this infection?
She had no answers. She saved those who had enough life in them to survive. The others, she took before their souls could pass elsewhere. But the orc general wouldn’t understand that. None of them would. And as for the second question? His guess was as good as hers. The infection persisted, despite their efforts to isolate the sick. She feared there was more to this infection than a simple virus. It seemed… off, somehow.
Dalgron’s hand rested on the shoulder of the old woman, and to Ylantri’s surprise, he was smiling.
“How may I serve?” she asked Dalgron, bowing her head briefly.
“This is Hilthe. She has arrived with a cure for the infection,” Dalgron said, beaming.
“Really?” Ylantri took the woman’s measure. She had no doubt that the woman fancied herself a healer—many crones did, claiming their long life meant they knew something about healing. But often, they were simply lucky. “Do tell.”
“I am not sure if you know of my friend, Hugh,” Hilthe said. “He was the high priest of Solnar until he tragically passed here in Agitar.”
“Yes, I have heard of this Hugh.” Ylantri had also heard that he had taken his own life rather than be assassinated. It was an intriguing concept. Instead of fighting, he gave up. Intriguing indeed.
“Well, I’ve brought his body here. His relics seem capable of healing the infected.”
Hilthe said this so matter-of-factly that Ylantri couldn’t help but laugh. Humans and their strange beliefs. As if such a thing were possible.
“It’s true,” the old woman insisted. “A single strand of his hair already healed a faun who was on the brink of death. We’ve brought his body to aid in the healing efforts. And we arrived just in time. One of your healers nearly kept us out of the barrier.”
Ylantri pulled her veil under her chin. “Yes, I recall hearing of your insistence.”
Hilthe harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.
Ylantri had expected a different reaction—embarrassment perhaps? Yet this human appeared annoyed. Ylantri couldn’t help but warm to her.
“Well then, I already told you why we’re here and what we need to do,” Hilthe said. “Why have you sent our emissaries away each time we’ve approached you? Why did it take me convincing Dalgron to come with me?” Hilthe glared at Ylantri. “Innocent orcs have died.”
“And others have recovered,” Ylantri reminded the woman. “Or have your emissaries not told you, just as I told them? We are doing the very best we can. In any disease, there are always some who cannot be saved. It is a fact of life.”
“But these relics can heal even the most dire. I have seen it with my own eyes. If you would but let me try—”
“Fine.” Ylantri cut her off. “Come with me now. I was about to move on to the next patient. Shall I assume you’re carrying relics with you right now?”
Hilthe’s eyes widened, but she quickly composed herself. “Yes.” She patted the bag resting on her hip.
“Then we shall test your theory right now.” Ylantri turned to Dalgron. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he said. “Please, save my orcs.”
“I shall do my best, as always.” Ylantri motioned for Hilthe to follow.
Making her way through the camp, Ylantri kept ahead of Hilthe by no more than half a step. As they traversed the trampled prairie grass, she increased her speed ever so slightly. Ylantri needed the human to learn her place.
She stopped short of a tent with a red X painted on it. “I am going to pull my veil over my face again. I suggest you find something to wrap over yours.”
“I don’t need it.” Hilthe held up her wrist. A thin gray hair wound around it. “Hugh will protect me.”
Ylantri held back an eye roll. If Hilthe were to eventually understand how foolish this was, she would need to think Ylantri believed her. Otherwise she’d continued to cling to her silly notions.
“Then come.” Ylantri stepped into the tent and held the flap up for Hilthe.
A small torch flickered inside, the smoke lazily leaving through a hole in the top of the canvas. On the ground lay an orc female, wasted away to practically nothing. She would be the next death of the day.
“This is Floran,” Ylantri said. “She fell ill nearly a week ago. None of our remedies have helped her. I was on my way to sit with her until the end. It is not far away.”
“May I?” Hilthe asked.
Ylantri nodded.
Hilthe rummaged through her pack and pulled out a single strand of hair. She knelt on the ground next to Floran. “I’ve come to cure you,” she said.
Ylantri grimaced. Nothing like giving false hope to the dying.
But Floran was too far gone to respond. A bubble of spittle formed at the side of her mouth.
“I’m going to wrap this around your pinky finger. You’ll start to feel better very soon, okay?” Gently, Hilthe wound the strand about the orc’s bent finger.
She looked up at Ylantri. “Come, see,” she said. “It won’t take long.”
Ylantri leaned forward. She took Floran’s other hand in hers, hoping to comfort the orc. When the soul was at peace upon death, it was much easier for Ylantri to live with it inside her.
Hilthe rocked back on her feet, waiting expectantly. Ylantri was impressed with her belief, but the woman would quickly learn how wrong she was. The desiccated parts of a dead man could never bring anyone back from the brink of death.
A strange warmth radiated in Floran’s hand. Without letting Hilthe see her curiosity, Ylantri leaned in. She could detect a flush of color returning to Floran’s cheeks. Something was actually happening. Was it simply Floran’s reaction to hope? It had to be.
Ylantri glanced at Hilthe, who didn’t seem to notice the change. It was subtle, and these were signals Ylantri had been trained to notice.
But as she continued to watch, she became certain the relic was doing as Hilthe said. It was healing Floran. How? Why? Why would a dead man’s relics heal the dying?
With a motion anyone else would simply observe as breathing, she opened her mouth, inhaling gently, and felt Floran’s soul begin to change. Instead of the honorable orc essence she’d possessed a moment ago, her soul was now in turmoil. Rage spilled forth from it as it fought to regain control over the body. Confused, Ylantri tried to ease the soul, to let it know it could still live forever as part of her and the Shadari. There would be no peace in returning to life from death. It was better to pass now.
But the soul bit back at her. Ylantri closed her lips and dropped Floran’s hand. No soul had ever recognized her intent before death. But this one did.
“Tell me about Hugh’s death,” Ylantri said to Hilthe.
“I don’t think this is a good time.” Hilthe glanced at Floran. “Perhaps we should discuss it later.”
“I need to know right now,” Ylantri pressed. “Was he studying the cult of Drothu at the time?”
“Yes,” Hilthe said, “but I don’t see why that’s important now.”
Floran’s soul hissed. Ylantri was taken aback. She didn’t know an encumbered soul could do such a thing. It was almost as if the soul had changed when Floran’s body had come into contact with the relic. What had Hugh done? What pact had he made with Drothu?
Whatever it was, Ylantri couldn’t allow it to go on. If Drothu was connected to the change, then Ylantri needed to take every soul she could before Hilthe was allowed to touch them.
She leaned in to Floran’s face, her hand on Floran’s cheek. Closing her eyes, Ylantri took a deep breath in, not caring what Hilthe thought of her sudden gasp, sucking Floran’s soul from her body, forcing it to resettle in Ylantri’s. The soul had been corrupted, but perhaps Ylantri could save it before Drothu controlled the souls of the living as he had the souls of the dead.
Ylantri fell backward, landing on her back as if someone had delivered a blow to the chest.
“Ylantri!” Hilthe shouted. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Burn Hugh’s body,” Ylantri gasped. “Burn it now!”
Floran’s soul now swam inside her, and it was striking at all of the other innocent souls. Tears poured down Ylantri’s cheeks. All the souls she’d collected—she had aimed to keep them from Drothu. But now she could feel his malevolent presence deep within her own body. Somehow, he’d found a way to possess the souls even before death. This illness was a ruse. It had brought Hugh’s body back to Agitar as a way to save, when in reality, it was a thread connecting the dead to the living.
Ylantri cried out; the pain was too much to bear. She vomited, ejecting not only her lunch, but also the corrupted soul. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she passed out.