Page 93 of Bloodwitch

“People,” he said hoarsely. The first word in hours. “Ahead. Fighting.”

Lizl glanced back, though she waited until they were off the bridge to call, “Where?”

Aeduan inhaled, grappling at whatever magic he could find. “North,” he said at last. “On the other side of the falls.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know.” And it was true—though the old Aeduan would have known immediately. The old Aeduan would have sensed how many people there were and how many open wounds too. Now, all he sensed was bloodied turmoil and death.

Lizl squinted in the direction of the waterfall, lips puckering sideways. “I don’t know this area,” she admitted. “I took a shortcut to save time, but a shorter journey is not worth losing a life over. We will head south at that fork up ahead.”

She kicked her mare into a three-beat canter. The donkey followed, jolting Aeduan with pain. Each impact sent fresh blood sliding down his chest. Each hoofbeat snapped the leash tighter into his neck.

They reached the fork in the road. A crack sounded.A pistol,Aeduan realized as more tore out across the sky. Then came screams. High-pitched and closer than he expected.

His magic rustled. It nudged, it dug. A familiar scent swelled in his veins. Someone he knew had been hit; someone he knew was dying.

“Wait!” Aeduan tried to slow the donkey. “Wait,” he shouted, louder. “There’s a monk back there!”

At that, Lizl reined her horse to a stop. She swiveled in her saddle, eyes immediately latching onto Aeduan’s ear—onto the opal he wore. But neither his nor hers glowed, meaning no monks nearby had called for aid.

“You lie,” she spat, already angling forward once more. “You try to trick me so you can escape.”

“No,” he protested.

“Then who is it?”

That, he could not say. It was possible he had never learned the person’s name—his magic cataloged so many bloods. Some it retained, some it did not.

Before Lizl could push her mare onward, though, more shots echoed out. Closer, and with them came voices and shrieks.

A woman in Purist gray burst from the trees beside the path. Clutched to her chest was a babe, wailing. She saw Aeduan and Lizl.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Please,” she begged in Marstoki. “Please don’t kill me. I beg you, please. My child—”

Her words broke off. An arrow hit her in the back. It cut through her chest, piercing her heart. Then piercing the babe. Blood cascaded into Aeduan’s senses.

He stumbled off the donkey, magic grasping for the woman. To stop her blood and save her before she and her child died. He was too weak, though, and too slow—and the leather leash sliced into his neck, holding him back.

Until Lizl dismounted too, and together, they raced for the woman. Aeduan dropped to her side and stared into dark eyes. But he was too late. The last flickers of life had already fallen away. Her babe was silent, his body limp.

Distantly, Aeduan wondered if his own mother had looked the same on that night all those years ago. The arrow wound, the blood—endless blood. Aeduan had not been able to save her either.

Death follows wherever you go.

His leash yanked, forcing him to rise. Lizl dove into the woods ahead of him, sword drawn, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

He was glad for it. He wanted to follow. He wanted to kill.

They passed more bodies. Another woman, two children. Each dead, each pierced by bolts with yellow fletching. Lizl did not slow; Aeduan did not slow behind her.

The sounds of fighting drew nearer. More pistols popping and screams filling the air. Swords clanged too, and a man’s voice shouted orders. They reached the forest’s edge and a moonlit massacre mettheir eyes. It was a Purist encampment, walls high but gate opened wide. Bodies covered the rocky earth in rows, as if people had fled in a great stampede only to be picked off one by one from behind.

Blood dribbled and drained. It was not merely Purists that tarnished the soil with red, but Nomatsis too. Different ages, different genders, different glassy eyes and splayed limbs. The blood, though, always looked the same.

A shout, and a lanky boy charged from the gate, no older than fourteen. On his back was a Nomatsi shield. He had no weapon. He simply ran.

As one, Lizl and Aeduan abandoned the trees to defend him. Yet like before, the boy slowed to a stop when he saw them, hands rising and mouth bobbing. No words, only terror.