If Lapat closed his eyes and forgot everything he knew, things really weren’t so bad.

  The soft wind cooled his burns. The gentle sun fought back the chills. Even the smell, an ancient and thriving forest fresh and untouched by the muck of cities, was quite pleasant. The pain, however, was less so.

  Lapat peered over the stern railing of The Knave, the burned wood a sour reminder of what he’d done. “A necessity,” Lapat assured himself. “An unfortunate and deadly necessity.”

  He tried to bury the memory of the night. The mad dash through shattered city streets. The pounding in his chest. The screams. The blood. The smell of burning flesh. The horrible feeling in his gut that teetered far too closely to pride or savagery. He should feel regret, and in part he did.

  But not enough.

  His forced voyage beside the scum of society had persisted for another day. Murderers, marauders, heathens, cretins all. The crew eyed him with deserved deference as one would, considering Lapat’s station so far above them. But that hesitation would only carry so far. Like it or not, they were stuck together. At least for the time being. There certainly was no returning to Meerside.

  “And why would I? The temple is likely destroyed or ravaged by those invaders. All the information I would have sought is likely kindling to the barbaric tendencies of warmongering lunatics.” Lapat leaned over the edge with a sigh. “There is another way. There must be. I will not be stopped. But...how?”

  He scratched his bald head in a great ponderance. The situation had changed suddenly around him. He survived that night because of her, that priestess, Verna. But that ring was special. Different.

  Lapat rubbed his wedding band. “Aren’t all rings just a promise? Of love, of fashion, of wealth. What does this one hold? And the power.” Lapat gripped the railing suddenly. “The power I felt at its slightest touch! Incredible! The runic engraving that must be present to hold magic of that magnitude, let alone to split the horizon...incredible.”

  A burnt fleck of wood fell from his grip, tumbling into the river below. “Power that must have a cost. A heavy cost.” He looked around, making sure there was no one in view, and pulled down his gloves. Pain ripped up his arms as the cloth dragged against ruined skin. “Curse it all,” Lapat hissed.

  His flesh was a mess of corruption. Blackened veins pulsed beneath sagged and worn skin. Pustules of mold seemed to erupt from him, their spread encompassing much of his hand and creeping further up his wrist. With every heartbeat, the sickness pumped deeper inside him. Spreading. Multiplying. Coursing through his blood, filling it with rot, groping at his skin, his cells, his very soul. Reaching already for his most precious mind.

  “Curse it all,” Lapat fought back the urge to shout. It was a juvenile response; purely emotional, he knew that. But the frustration... “It was never supposed to spread this quickly! Never! It was supposed to be gradual! Eventual! Slowed! I was supposed to stop-”

  Lapat paused. Doubt filled his mind.

  “Stop it? Did you really believe you could stop the greatest curse known to mortal kind?” A dark, malicious corner of his mind seemed to laugh. “Of course you did. You are Lapat Braveson, aren’t you? Graduate of the University of Meerside? Arcane extraordinaire? Greatest of all the casters?”

  “I never claimed to be the greatest,” Lapat whispered.

  “But you thought it. Didn’t you?”

  Lapat tried to shrug, but it only sent a spasm of pain down his aching spine.

  “You did!” The dark voice cackled. “Of course you did. I know you. I am you. I know deep down what you truly seek. What you truly fear.”

  “You,” Lapat shook his head, “are nothing more than my cerebral cortex rationalizing a traumatic occurrence. Or rather, a series of traumatic occurrences. Much like my near-immature outburst of emotion earlier, I will place you aside, and process you as is due.” Lapat drummed his knuckle against the railing and pushed aside the thoughts. “A trauma response is all,” he repeated. “I’m not hearing voices. I am not mad.”

  “Lapat?” A voice called behind him.

  “Y-yes?” He quickly rolled down his sleeves, pulling his gloves tight.

  Verna stepped beside him, her smile simple and kind. “Were you saying something?”

  “No!” Lapat blurted. “No, no, of course not. Just thinking aloud, my dear. A mind such as mine requires constant stimulation in order to maintain its wit and flexibility.”

  “If thinking aloud is what is required for a healthy mind, then I fear I may have the dullest of them all.”

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  “Why do you say that?” Lapat responded. “You do not seem a dullard. If anything, considering our current company, you are among the elite.”

  Verna laughed. “I don’t believe they are all bad.”

  “Then you have misplaced your faith. Keep to your goddess, my dear,” Lapat warned. “She has less potential to mistreat you than these ruffians.”

  Verna chewed her lip. “The Lady would never mistreat me. Or any of Her Order. We are blessed to serve under Her light.”

  “Blessed.” Lapat fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Yet with little opportunity to find a more adequate conversation, he would have to survive her beliefs. “Then seek solace in her, at least. As a word of warning. These men will not provide you the same sanctuary.”

  “You think they would hurt us? Still? Even after what happened in Meerside?”

  “Doubly so. This incursion, invasion, whatever warmongering suits your chosen vocabulary, has shifted things. The plan of this den of thieves has been altered somehow. Violently changed. And these criminals have short tempers and the preplanning capacity of children.” He turned towards her. “Violent men have violent means.”

  Verna stared out into the forest in silence. He hadn’t meant to terrify the girl, but a good dash of sense was necessary. For her to even have the slightest misinterpretation of their situation could lead to disaster.

  “Do you still have the ring?”

  Verna turned back to him, patting the pocket of her robes.

  “Good. Good.” Lapat licked his lips. “May I see it?”

  Her hand slipped into the pocket, but she paused. “I’m not sure that is a good idea.”

  “A good idea? Why is that child?”

  She chewed her lip nervously. “I think I should keep it hidden for now. Out of sight from everyone. Just in case, you know?”

  “I don’t intend on stealing it from you if that is your concern,” Lapat blubbered. “I take some pain from an accusation of that degree!”

  “No, Lapat! I don’t think that!” Verna said quickly. “It is everyone else. The crew, like you said, what I am worried about. I don’t think it would be wise to let them see me holding it is all.”

  “Oh, yes. No, of course. I apologize, my dear. I didn’t mean to become so insulted. I... I must be tired. Please, continue the secrecy.”

  Verna pulled her hand free from her pocket. But Lapat felt his gaze linger just a moment longer.

  “How are you feeling?” She said, breaking his temporary spell.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your jaw. As well as your hands, did they...did they burn in your spell?”

  “Oh! No, I am well, thank you. While that blow to my face was quite out of the ordinary. Luckily, I will be fine in a few days. No lost teeth.”

  “And your burns?” Verna asked quietly. “Is that why you cover yourself even in this heat?”

  Lapat looked down at his wrists. The infection, though hidden, seemed to throb past the cloth, threatening to be revealed. Threatening to expose his shame. “I am recovering nicely.”

  Verna nodded and looked away, satisfied. “I have never seen something like that. It was...”

  “Incredible?”

  “Terrifying.” Verna shook her head. “All the bloodshed, the violence, and then your storm. I’ve never been so scared of someone in all my life.”

  Lapat’s head fell slightly. “I am sorry I scared you. I only intended to delay our capture.”

  “I don’t blame you, Lapat,” Verna said quickly. “I was just scared, that’s all. Now that I know you, I am not worried.”

  “You were worried?” Lapat peered towards her. “About me?”

  “Well, yes. It was awful! You standing there, fire flying from your hands like some god of the sun! Helios or Qutitzpl. Destroying everything in the blink of an eye.” Verna sighed. “I can’t imagine the pain you must feel.”

  She knows! The dark voice hissed in fear.

  Lapat gasped, pulling his arms into himself. “The pain? What- what do you speak of?”

  “Does your god not weigh heavily on you?”

  Lapat sighed, relaxing his grip. She thinks I am one of her kind. A worshipper. “They do not. I am no priest or a member of any religious order.”

  “You do not?” Verna furrowed her brow. “Then how do you summon such power? It is of the gods, is it not?”

  “Not mine,” Lapat chuckled. “I am a graduate of the University of Mereside. A practitioner of the Arcane Arts.”

  “A warlock?”

  “Gah! No!” Lapat spat. “Please do not sully my good name with those charlatans!” Lapat spat once more. “Soothsayers and palm readers, frauds in all. No, I study magic in the same way one studies music. I have dedicated my life to understanding the songs surrounding us. And for my credit, I have mastered much.”

  “So, the firestorm, it was your own?”

  “All my own,” Lapat said proudly. “There are few that can perform a feat such as that. Fewer still who can summon it and stand beside you as I do today.”

  “You are certainly the best caster I have ever met.”

  “Have you met many others?”

  “No.”

  “Oh...well, that does limit your compliment in some ways...”

  “Lapat!” Verna laughed. “I am just teasing you! Goodness, you are so serious. We escaped Meerside alive and are on the way to Lightfall. The goddess protects us!”

  “Sorry,” Lapat laughed. “Just much on my mind. What awaits us in Lightfall?”

  “Us?”

  “Well, yes. I had thought with the passing of your High Priestess and the destruction of your temple...” Verna cringed, and Lapat quickly apologized. “May have been destroyed! May have not! Perhaps it didn’t!”

  “Perhaps...”

  “Regardless,” Lapat said awkwardly. “Your High Priestess made it clear that the delivery of the ring to Lightfall is paramount. Given the number and intensity of parties also seeking it, I can only assume your priestess had good reason to send you. She must hold you in high regard.”

  “She sounded scared. I don’t know why she chose me. I don’t know why...” Verna looked away quickly. Her face was tight and bunched, as if recalling a painful memory. “This ring, this key, I must deliver it to the good Deacon in Lightfall. Under Her light, I must.”

  Lapat looked around uncomfortably, unsure of what he’d done that caused her sudden mood shift. He tapped at the burnt railing, flecks floating away like peeled skin. “You know,” he said finally, “I originally sought out your Order to access information from your records in Meerside. Medical histories. But I believe, given our current predicament, the best path forward is to escort you to Lightfall and seek my information there. Perhaps with your help, I could speak with this Deacon?”

  “You would help me?” Verna smiled.

  “Naturally,” Lapat returned the smile. “We are in this little mess together, aren’t we?”

  “We are.” Verna squeezed Lapat’s arm. “I am glad to have you here, Lapat.”

  “As am I.”

  Lapat watched her go, then turned back to the river. “Poor child really needs a friend, doesn’t she? And I needed a way into Lightfall.” He scratched at his infection, the pain driving tingles down into his bones. “And soon.”