Page 8

“Did you hear the news?” I murmur to Ashley as I resume working. “Flint Lightshot killed half a dozen workers in Sector 8.”

Ashley is known amongst the villagers as quite the gossip-monger and my ploy works. The rumors spread like wildfire and no one even seems to question why Kara and I are suddenly in Sector 3 by the time the guards come to get Flint.

I’m not sorry he’s in trouble. He’s always been a source of tension in the mines and among the villagers. No one will miss him.

I find Kara, who is struggling with her arm, despite the gloves. “It’s getting worse,” she whispers hoarsely to me.

“Just keep your head down for now,” I say. “I’ll find a way to help you.”

Once we’re done for the day, I lead her back to our hut and help her lie down. I sit in the lone chair by our table, wondering what to do.

Is Kara’s disease causing violent outbursts now? I clench my fists, hands shaking. I need to do something before things get even worse.

I don’t know what to do though, I’m at a complete loss. She’s the only family I have left. I can’t lose her. Even if she turns into a monster, I will do whatever it takes to protect her, to keep her safe. I’m so lost in thought that I startle when Kara coughs violently.

I rush over to her side and she looks up at me, face pale. A trickle of blood dribbles down the side of her mouth and I brush it away.

“Hang in there,” I say, voice weak. “I’ll find a way to help you.”

I need to see Old Agatha. She’s the wisest woman in the village. She might know what to do. She’s lived here a long time, much longer than most. If anyone would have seen something like this before, it would have been her.

She’s a short walk away, a few huts down. Leaving Kara for the moment, I knock on her door and wait patiently as I hear Old Agatha shuffling around. She comes to the door, cracking it open to eye me up.

“Kelly, I expected to see you here,” she states, opening the door to let me slip in behind her as she heads to the fireplace to make a pot of tea for us. “I heard what happened in the mines. I also heard that you’re the one who discovered the scene of the crime.”

She hangs the pot on the iron arm, swinging it over the fire to warm. “The orcs are in an uproar. They say Flint Lightshot is the man behind the incident. But I have a feeling that you know the truth,” she examines me, her eyes keen and focused despite the wrinkles around her face.

I inhale sharply. She’s considered the village Wise Woman for a reason. She’s got a keen sense and always seems to know far more than she should. Sometimes I think she’s got a second sight.

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my waist.

“No one would believe a doddering old woman anyway,” Agatha says, reaching into the cupboard for two mugs. “Your words are safe with me.”

I draw in a breath, steadying myself. “It wasn’t Flint’s fault,” I admit quietly.

“I had a feeling it wasn’t.” She brings the mugs over to her rickety table. “What really happened?”

“It’s Kara.” I’ve been hiding her sickness for days now, and it’s gotten harder to keep to myself. “We think she’s found a cursed stone.” If anyone were to believe that, it would be Old Agatha. “She’s fallen sick. She had a fever and a rash yesterday. Today, her entire hand is covered in scales.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Agatha agreed as she picked up a jar of loose leaves, spooning them into our mugs. “What really happened in the mines today?”

“I don’t exactly know,” I admit, smoothing a hand across the table. “Honestly. I wasn’t there. I came in afterwards. She was holding the pickaxe, and there was blood everywhere… I only knew I had to keep her safe from the orcs. So I lied.”

“You say her sickness is worsening?” Agatha taps her chin thoughtfully. “I need to think this over.” She gets up, slowly making her way to the pot in the fire so she can take it off and bring it over to us as it whistles.

Agatha is quiet for a good long moment, so long that I open my mouth, on the verge of speaking up before I shut it again. I need to give her space to think.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says finally, as she pours the water into our mugs. “I’ve never heard of a disease or curse that causes violent outbursts and limbs turning scaly.”

I sigh, wrapping my hands around my mug. If Agatha can’t help, we have no hope. I squeeze the mug, staring at the dark leaves as they float to the top.

“That’s not to say that there’s nothing at all to be done,” she adds. My head jerks up and my gaze lands on her. She’s not looking at me, her eyes looking somewhere in the distance. “There’s one thing that you can try—and it’s a long shot, but you could seek out the dragons.”

“Dragons?” I’ve never heard of this.

“They live long lives, centuries even. Some even push three or four hundred years. I’m sure the dragons have accumulated a vast store of knowledge in their time. If they are willing to share, that is.”

The message underlying is clear. There are plenty of old species on Protheka that would never help me.