NIGHTWORLD

17: What Dead Men Say

As the team trekked back through the Deadlands, Jaro spent his time on point with Devna. While it was nice to spend a few days quietly marching with the marksman, he was mostly glad to have a bit of distance from Kadir, who had chosen to bring up the team's rear.

Jaro regretted the way their conversation had gone. The things he'd said were unfair at best. There was just something about that man that made his emotions boil and run wild; before he realised things were going too far he'd blink and they were already gone. 

Several days had passed since putting the ruins of Steambreather behind them, and the further into the marsh they travelled, the darker the days became. Losing sight of the sun sparked anxiety within Jaro – touching the light was the easiest way to remind himself of his own mortality. Down here in the shadows, he felt like it all might slip away, and he'd find himself a monster without even realising it.

Still, there was nothing to do but carry on. Frankie had them all switched to lighter rations, as the food supplies were starting to run low. Two nights now they'd spent eating Nightworld deer that Noah and Devan had hunted for them. The others said it was good, but Jaro couldn't tell.

“Do you feel like one of them yet?" Devna asked, her sniper rifle gently cradled in her arms. In fact, now that Jaro thought about it, he didn't think he'd ever seen the snow leopard without her gun. “You know," she added, poking up at her teeth. 

“Oh, right," Jaro forced out a laugh, warmth rushing to his ears. “I didn't know you… knew about that yet." 

“I heard the talk. Open secret now." 

“I guess." He blew air from his cheeks. “Um, I don't think so. I don't know. Maybe it's like getting older, and you don't really realise the change until it's too late. Blood smells different, I think I could probably tell the difference between a person's blood and a deer's."

“Which is better?" 

“I…" Jaro blanched. He and Devna had hardly spoken before now, this was what she wanted to know? 

He thought back to Steambreather, to the Black Tongue bleeding out on the floor; to Romulus forcing his own blood down; to when he had no choice but to feed on Kristian. “I'm not a vampire." 

“Not yet."

“Do you really wanna know?" 

Devna shrugged. “Of course. They say know your enemy, but we know precious little."

Jaro sighed. “Vampires seem best. Or at least different." It was hard to admit the words, but the more he spoke, the easier they flowed. “People smell better. Back in the factory there was… a lot of blood, it was everywhere. Things are different when they're alive. Dead animals smell the worst, almost rotten."

“I always wondered why they only choose to prey on people," Devna explained. “I suppose that answers that."

“Well then, I'm happy to satiate your curiosity." 

“Really? Will you tell me then why you are suddenly avoiding Kadir, after crushing on him for so many days?" 

“Do you spend all your time trying to watch after my love life, then?" 

The snow leopard rolled her neck, whiskers twitching. “I watch everything." She tapped the scope on her rifle. “Comes with the job, no? To be a shooter means sitting around, watching, waiting." She nudged him, tail flicking out behind her. “And you are not so subtle, boys can't help but stare, especially it seems when one is so… muscular." 

Jaro blushed. The last few days he'd spent a little time with Kristian, but the two had danced around the subject of what they were to one another. I should tell him what happened with Kadir. 

“We just had a disagreement, that's all. He's a stubborn man," Jaro said. 

“Oh, he is more than stubborn. I think they have not yet made a word capable of describing Kadir and his stubbornness." She looked back over her shoulder. 

“You talk like you know him well." 

Devna nodded. “My son and I were in China when we were stalked, hunted through the mountains for days. Abhiraj lost his life to save mine. But we did not know someone was hunting our hunter, as well. After Kadir found me, he helped me track it down. It wasn't justice, but it was something."

Kadir was right, Jaro thought. We really do all have the same story. No wonder he felt a connection to these people. In truth he barely knew them, and yet they understood each other better than most. They'd all been through the same nightmare, the kind of thing that was impossible to believe until it happened to you. 

Vampires. 

“Not justice, but something. Kadir's specialty. I just wish I knew how to get through to him," Jaro explained. “Get him to see things from my–" He was cut off as they pushed through a bramble, jaw falling as he took in the sight before him. 

“Aba k??" Devna muttered, raising her rifle and racking the slide, dropping naturally into a kneeling position. 

Before them lay a clearing, the dead earth sunken into murky water. Reaching up from the mud were dying trees, twisted and gnarled, each one interlocked with its partner. Looking through them, Jaro counted six bodies in total, mostly men, all dead and hanging by their necks.

He dropped into a squat, rifle raised as he signalled for the others to stop. The chatter died as they took in the scene, slides racking as the group slowly fanned out behind Jaro and Devna. 

“It never bloody ends, does it?" Frankie hissed, gesturing for Kristian to move behind her. 

“What now?" Kadir groaned, moving around to the opposite side, pointing his gun at the bodies as if he expected them to come alive any minute. 

Jaro approached the first slowly, his head on swivel, ears up and poised for any foreign sound. He was ready for violence, but except for the buzzing of flies and the ever-present croaking of frogs, the swamp was silent.

The body belonged to a wolf. Dried blood ran down his face, the result of a brutal eye wound. His chest was riddled with puncture wounds, trails of red running down his front.

Jaro nudged the corpse's boot with the barrel of his rifle, long dead without a doubt. Seemed everything of value had been stripped, leaving only his worn padded cloth armour, and some empty knife sheaths. 

“They were strung up after they died," he said, glancing back at the others. 

“Examples," Noah said, sloshing forward through the water and looking around them. “But if that's the scarecrow, who are the birds?" 

“No telling who they belong to," Jaro replied, checking the clothes. “Not that I'd recognise any clan symbols." 

A sudden sharp cry rose in the distance, animals scattering as a man drenched in mud exploded through the trees, gasping and crying as he came barreling through. He cradled a wounded arm against his chest, head whipping back over his shoulder. 

The team barely had time to react before the fox's boot caught on an exposed root, sending him tumbling over – arms pinwheeling as he careened through the air, crashing through one of the hanging bodies before falling face-first into the shallow water before them. 

He quickly picked himself up, freezing as he looked at the row of guns all now aimed at his head. 

“No, no, wait," he mumbled in Wallachian, looking back across his shoulder at the way he'd come. “Please!" 

“Fuck's he saying?" Kadir snarled. “Can't these people use words instead of just barks and fucking gestures?"

“He's asking for help," Noah said, looking around. “Someone's chasing him." 

The man dropped his head, holding his paws together as if he were praying. “I beg, I'm begging you. Don't let her kill me like an animal!" He pointed up at the other bodies. “Look! Look what she did!"

“She?" Kristian asked. “You don't think he means the Lady?" 

“No chance in hell," Frankie interjected. “That bitch is dead. I saw her burn up with my own eyes." 

“Let me help you," Noah said in Wallachian, offering a paw. 

“Watch it!" Kadir said, stepping in, gun still raised. “You don't know him, Noah." 

“He's unarmed, Kadir," Naoh said. “Don't forget. Technically we're here to help people." 

Jaro stared at the fox, trying to judge him. He did seem genuinely frightened, but there was nothing coming out behind him. Shit plan for an ambush though. 

Then again. Vampires were ambush predators, it was unlikely to see one taking on a large group unprepared. With the Lady gone, it wasn't unbelievable that another vampire had moved in on her territory, now she was gone.

He looked up at the hanging body nearby once again. The wolf's head lolled forward, mouth hanging open. Jaro's heart sank as he spied what laid within. 

“He's a Black Tongue!" Jaro cried, too late. 

Noah was already halfway to the fox when he attacked, the Black Tongue knocking his arm aside and seizing the bear's knife from his belt, yanking it free. He slashed widely at Noah, who was quickly yanked back by Kadir. 

Jaro fired two shots that went wide, splashing up water in their faces as the Black Tongue darted forward, the loaned vampire-blood in his system granting him enhanced speed and agility. He crashed into Frankie, tearing her gun from her paws with a cry as Noah's knife sliced across her forearm. Moving like a snake, the Black Tongue curled around her, knifepoint pressed to her throat as he backed away. 

“Interlopers," he hissed at them, eyes darting between each of the figures. “You killed the Lady, didn't you? It was you, it was you, you're the ones who sentenced us to madness and death!" 

“He's bloody strong!" Frankie grunted, trying to pry his arm off from around her throat. “Shoot the bastard already!" 

“Shut your whore mouth!" The fox hissed, eyes red and sunken. Now that Jaro got a better look, he saw the man's fur was patchy and dry, the pale skin beneath lightly scarred, as if he'd been scratching himself. He really was going mad. Withdrawals are a bitch.

“What do you want?" Jaro asked in Wallachian, still keeping his gun raised. “We have food, we have weapons. Let our friend go and–"

“NO!" The Black Tongue cried, pressing the knife harder against Frankie's neck. “I want you all dead, I want the Lady back, I want it back, I want you gone!" His words were frenetic, disjointed, crazed. He was speaking faster and faster, so quickly the words were running over themselves, building to a point. “I want it back, back the way it was before and not like no-no notlikethisneverlikethisIWANTITBACK!" 

“Don't let this motherfucker kill me!" Frankie cried, still tugging on the man. 

“Where is she where is she?!" The Black Tongue shivered, looking all around the small clearing, raising the knife as if to stab. “I WANT IT BACK!" 

Two gunshots rang out in the clearing and the fox jerked suddenly, jaw clenching as he froze in place. “Want it… back…" he rasped, coughing blood up onto his lips. 

Frankie scowled, shaking off the fox's arms and shoving him back. He stumbled, balance failing as he went over backwards, splashing down into the muddy water, body falling limp as blood pooled out around him.

Jaro blinked in shock, slowly lowering his gun. He glanced at the others, trying to see which of them had fired. His guess was Kadir, but the caracal looked as surprised as anyone. 

“So you see dead bodies, you just walk right in?" said a familiar voice, speaking Wallachian. “Are you all trying to get killed?"

Jaro's surprise redoubled as Ioana stepped out from her place in the bushes. She held a handgun in one paw; the sleek black one Isla had given her back in Cujac. 

“Ioana?" Jaro asked, shaking his head.

“That is me, yes," the burly fox replied. She wore a loose cloth outfit riddled with pockets and straps, all dyed a mixture of muddy browns and greens to blend in with the swamp. Her right arm was missing, the sleeve of her shirt sewed down flat against her body. Jaro's mind went back to Ashani's attack on Cujac. The Daybreaker had yanked the fox so hard her body was sent flying, but her arm remained. 

“You look… surprisingly well," Jaro said, as she pushed past him, dropping into a crouch beside the dead Black Tongue. Last he'd seen of her she was practically comatose in the Cujac camp. 

“Is that who I think it is?" Kadir asked, in English. 

“Bloody well looks like it, don't it?" Frankie replied.

“I am feeling old," Ioana said to Jaro, rummaging through the dead man's pockets. 

“I'm sorry, what is she doing out here?" Frankie asked, aiming the question at nobody in particular. 

Kristian stepped in, trying to translate between everyone. “Are the rest of the Cujac villagers out here, Ioana?" When the fox shook her head, he asked; “Why are you?" 

Ioana sighed, standing with some of her stolen supplies. “I could ask the same of you, Kristian. Last I hear you all go to Steambreather, part of some death wish. What happened, you see it and change your mind?" 

“We destroyed it," Jaro explained. Ioana froze, staring back at him as if she was unable to properly comprehend what he'd just said. “It's gone, underwater. The Iconoclast and the Lambcatcher went down with it." And maybe the Teardrinker. But that seemed like wishful thinking.

“I… see." The old fox paused, chuckling to herself. “I have underestimated you, other-worlders. This is why your leader is missing then?" 

“That's right." 

“I am sorry. I hope her death was well earned." Ioana sniffed, kicking the dead body in the water. “The Lady was busy making slaves, but this is the last I find today, and each day there are less still" She wiped her paw off on her pants. “You came to see Chevron, then?"

Jaro shrugged. “We don't know where else to go next. I need her advice." 

“Always it is the way," Ioana replied, jerking her chin back the way she'd come. “Come now, you follow."

The team seemed unsettled, but after a moment they accepted the change and trundled along after the old fox. After making sure things seemed smooth with the others, Jaro jogged up to the fox, eyeing her new look.

“There's some information missing here, Ioana," he said. “Are you going to explain what the hell you're doing out here? Those bodies…" he gestured around them, seeing more strung up in a similar fashion in the distance. “That was you? Why? Why any of this?"  

She laughed, the sound coming out hollow in the corpse-filled swamp. “Yes. My apologies. They are meant to scare the others. After I woke up with Vasile I felt… Like I did not fit in with the others so much. After Cujac, all they wanted to do was run away and hide. I could not stomach the thought of cowering in the dark, praying to our dead gods. I am different now." She looked at Jaro, a rueful smile on her lips. “You did that. Killing the Lady… it changed me. Even my people could sense it, I think, they thought I was dangerous, they were relieved even when I left. So I come here, to hunt the last of the Lady's slaves, and help make Chevron's home safe. A debt paid, for all the time she helped make us safe. Turns out the Lady had more soldiers than I thought. They were all going mad, causing chaos, killing one another and anyone foolish enough to come near. It is slow death for their kind, without the blood of their master. I think of my work as a mercy." She whistled low, looking out into the distant gloom. “Nearly finished."  

Jaro considered her words, and although it still felt like Ioana was keeping something back, he decided that it was easier to believe her, at least for now. “Alright. But why hang them like that?" And how did you hang them? He thought. A one-armed woman dragged a fully grown man up into a tree?

“Like I say, to scare the others. If nothing else, they must leave Chevron be." Ioana shrugged. “Dead men say more than live ones."

Jaro's brow furrowed as he stared down at Ioana's missing arm. It just didn't add up. “Ioana… how are you doing this? Cujac was attacked… two, maybe three weeks ago? You should not be up and about hunting down Black Tongues." He'd seen what passed for medical treatment in Nightworld's Wallachia, and that only added to his confusion. 

“I'm stronger than you think, pup," she said. 

“No, I mean–"

Ioana stopped, sighing deeply. “Chevron, of course it is Chevron. She is wise, and she knows how to heal a body well. Lying in my brother's sickbed made me furious, all those people worrying and fretting… I knew she would mend me. So here I am." 

Jaro wasn't sure about that, but decided to let the matter drop as he saw Chevron's hut finally appear.

“You made some upgrades, hey!" Frankie called, whistling loudly. 

Ioana nodded as Jaro translated. “Indeed," the old fox explained. “You cannot rely on the mercy of others, especially not in this place." 

Before them, Chevron's hut itself remained much as it had the last time Jaro had visited. A small shack surrounded by a dense wall of plantlife. Since then however, Ioana had added warning signs, small fences, and little croppings of cover around the marshland. Small slits were cut into the bushes surrounding the hovel, presumably to shoot through. Jaro also noticed small pits and trenches carved out, water gathering at the bottom, small iron spikes sticking up from the mud. Where once had stood an old hermit hut, now resided a miniature fort. He was just thankful Ioana had elected to skip the scarecrow corpses this time.

“What the hell is this?" Kadir grumbled, eyeing off some of the runic wards strapped to the trees. “I thought you already killed the vampires out here?" 

“Vampires aren't the only danger," Kristian said. “Thralls. Black Tongues. Even selkies and sianachs, if the locals are to be believed." 

“This is just a world of monsters, isn't it?" The caracal replied, kicking at a loose rock and sending it tumbling into one of the spike traps. 

The whole scene gave Jaro pause. Something about it felt wrong, unsettling. Before Chevron's hut had felt like an eye in the storm, a peaceful shelter in a bloody landscape, now it just felt like everywhere else – prepped for violence. Not to mention Ioana's mysterious recovery. She should not be capable of this. He watched the fox, creeping around the perimeter of her rudimentary defences, checking over each one of her traps. 

“Less of them by the day," she called out, noticing him watching her. “Soon even the Deadlands will be free."

“We'll have to give this place a new name," Jaro muttered under his breath.

“My friends!" Exclaimed Chevron, as they all turned to see the ancient goat tottering out through a gap in her plant-wall. A knitted shawl was wrapped around her, and although she walked with a small cane, Jaro had to admit, she looked far more spritely than the last time they were here. “Returned you have to Chevron, welcome, welcome!" 

Kristian crossed the barriers and the druid pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing firmly. The old woman tutted, shaking her head at them all. 

“They destroyed Steambreather," Ioana said, sidling up next to Chevron. “Apparently they killed the Lambcatcher, also."

The goat bleated faintly, pulling back from Kristian. “And angered the remaining Lords, no doubt. It has been too long since their last embarrassment. Like children, they do not remember the feeling." 

“They will," Jaro said. 

“The runes," the druid asked, meeting his eyes. “Tell me. Did they work?" 

“Yes, at least I think so," he replied. “Thank you."

Kristian smiled. “Could we stay the night, Chevron? We need your advice."

“I owe you my life, my home is always open to those with peace in their heart." Chevron turned, ushering the group inside. 

Jaro held back, watching as they all filtered in before following after. His stomach felt uneasy, a gut feeling he couldn't quite place. Holding a paw up to the thin shard of light, he let the faint warmth dance across his fur. Still alive, still breathing. 

The interior of Chevron's small compound was quickly dominated by Team Two. Kadir and Frankie set about prepping the tents and sleep mats in the corner, while Devna and Noah built up a small fire in the circle of stones the druid had laid out. Kristian seemed occupied in his discussion with Chevron at her hut, explaining the events that transpired back at Belisarius's factory. 

Jaro watched Ioana, the one-armed fox leaning up against Chevron's wall, chewing on something as she eyed the others.

Last time he was here, she'd begged him to take the villagers of Cujac back through the Source. To free her people from the eternal reign of vampiric oppression and terror. She was utterly devoted to their cause.

Now she just abandons them? What am I missing? What could cause someone like that, someone so fiercely devoted to the protection of their own people… to just leave them behind in the pursuit of vengeance?

Did something happen? Something we missed? Or was it truly like she said. Killing the Lady, only to come home and see her entire people's home destroyed in a matter of minutes… it wasn't an easy thing for anyone to process.

He tried his best to put it from his mind. Ioana was alive, and it seemed she was happy to help them once again – they were in no position to turn anyone away. 

Leaving the others to their work, Jaro made his way over to Chevron and Kristian. Like a doting grandmother, the old druid seemed excited by the return of her guests, and had already pushed some seeded orange bread and tea into the polite marten's paws. 

“You are the doctor who doubted my ways," Chevron said to Jaro as he joined them, wagging her finger disapprovingly at him. She jerked her chin at Kristian's thigh, the same one that one of the Lady's Black Tongues had shot with a crossbow the last time they came to the Deadlands. “Now you see, sometimes the old ways are best." 

“Come now, Chevron," Kristian said. “Jaro is a very experienced medic in his own right." 

“How I envy the arrogance of youth," the druid shook her head, patting a pillow beside her. “Come, come, sit now. Tell me why you have come."

Jaro took the pillow, accepting a cup of tea from the old goat. He allowed himself to smell it, taking a small sip as the warmth washed throughout him. Like most foods for him now, it had no taste, but the heat of it was a pleasant reprieve from the everchill of Nightworld. 

“You are not well, child," Chevron said, squinting at him. “I can smell it." 

“A sickness beyond even your ability, I think," Jaro replied, smiling grimly as he rubbed his chest. “But that isn't why we've come." He looked at Kristian, asking in English. “Did you tell her yet?"

“No. I thought you would want to."

Jaro sucked his teeth, switching back to Wallachian as he turned to the old goat. “During our time in Barda, we learned of a place called Orobos, which lies on the other side of the swamp. Do you know it?" 

Chevron's eyes widened, and though the druid made an effort to keep her composure, Jaro saw the trembling of her tea cup. 

“Where did you learn of this place? Truly, that is where you wish to go?" She glanced between the two of them. “To Orobos? By all the martyred hearts, why? The Dreamless is not some cog like the Lambcatcher, no… no, he is something else entirely. There is no reasoning for this, for the things he does…" 

“I met some of the things he does," Jaro said. “All we know is that the other Lords are afraid of him. He's got something out there, a secret, maybe a weapon. Without that we have no hope of fighting Dracula."

“There is no fighting Dracula. You need to go home, child, not there. Anywhere but there."

“Yes," Jaro sighed. “But the Source – that is, our way home – it's right in front of his castle. He's waiting for us to try. If we make for that he'll be ready, and we will be slaughtered." He leaned in, jaw clenched. “But if Zakhar really does have a secret, if he knows something that could help us… we have no other choice. We are going."

Chevron closed her eyes, as if in pain. “You are speaking sense, but I do not like it. Orobos is out there, yes, it lies in the ice to the south-east, where all my animals fear to tread." Chevron shook her head, muttering beneath her breath before continuing. “But the marsh is wide like an ocean, and the lands of Zakhar are not natural. They are twisted by his designs, bent like all things… to his curiosity. The others, they feel a thirst for blood and pain… the Dreamless, he has only a thirst for the forbidden." 

“Do you know what's out there, exactly?" Jaro asked. “A castle, another factory? Is it like Barda?" 

“I do not," Chevron said ruefully. “There are some mysteries I do not want answered. All I know of Lord Zakhar, is that he is the one who brought Dracula back to this world, and that the other Lords fear him for it." She seemed to shrink in place, staring into her tea. “You must know. Brada has always been known to be cruel, but there were rules. You served or you suffered, and people without a home could go and work, and not fear the vampire's hunger." Her voice began to rise. “Zakhar abides no rules but his own. Not the laws of nature or reality. So much he has twisted and warped that even I can not recognise it as natural any longer. Don't you understand? The Lords of the Cortège are to vampires as Gods are to us, and even they dare not cross him."

“It's alright, Chevron," Jaro tried to calm her, raising his paws. 

“No!" She snapped, hammering her hand down in the air. “It is wrong. Even I – I who see beauty and hope in the foulest moulds and the sickest rots, even I can find nothing of joy or life out there. Hear me when I say to you that while Steambreather was a dark place, Orobos is the closest thing on Earth we have to hell." 

“Sounds like what they do best." Jaro and Kristian turned at the sound of the new voice. Noah stood listening in, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, a grenade launcher hanging from one shoulder. The bear's Wallachian was rougher than theirs, but still passable.

“Vampires corrupt like… how do you say? Like cancer. We have seen it many times in our world and yours, now we are the fools for expecting anything else. Be still, wise mother, I won't let the young ones lose their head." He grinned, switching to English. “Can't wait to blow this one up too."

Chevron covered her eyes with a hand, sniffing sharply. 

“Why don't we pick this matter up in the morning?" Kristian suggested. “It is late, and we have travelled far. I think we could all use some proper food and sleep. Then we'll decide what comes next." He leaned in, laying a paw gently on Chevron's knee and squeezing. “It has been good to see you again, I'm glad you are alright." 

“Thank you, child," the druid replied, still covering her eyes. “I knew you would be well. I saw it in the bones." 

“C'mon mate," Noah said, nudging Jaro with his foot. The wolf nodded, climbing to his feet as the others left. He gave Chevron one last look, but decided it best to leave her to compose herself.

The distress troubled him, and as he ate the food that Noah and Frankie had prepared, Jaro found himself wondering if they were on the wrong path forward. He'd seen the results of Zakhar's 'curiosity' back in Barda, but even so he had trouble imagining anything that could rival Steambreather's evil. Nightworld was the gift that kept on giving.

With Kadir still happy to ignore him, Jaro opted to make for an early night, settling into his ridge tent out by the side of Chevron's clearing.

What was Zakhar hiding out there? What was he trying to accomplish? Chevron said he was the one who brought Dracula back from their world. Could he manipulate the Source?

And Jaro himself. How long do I have left? He was living on borrowed time, eventually the vrykolakas would swallow up his mind and body… and he'd be one of them. What if it happened before he realised? What if the team woke up one day and he'd started killing them already? Was it wrong to keep going with them, knowing he could turn at any moment?

Questions plagued his mind, but so did fatigue, and before he realised it he'd slipped into a dark and fitful sleep.

Dreams came. Or nightmares.

In and out.

Cold then hot. 

Broken bones. Broken promises.

I'm just numb.

Blood.

So much blood.

He woke to the sounds of midnight.

Stirring in place, cold washed over him, the croaking and buzzing of the marshland falling into step with the see-sawing of the team's snores. Checking his watch, Jaro saw there were still a few hours left until dawn, yet he felt wide awake already.

He'd been dreaming. The images were lost now, but whatever it had been about, there'd been violence. He remembered screaming, blood, broken bones. Memories of Africa? Or the parasite? Trying to worm its way deeper into his mind?

Jaro licked his lips, deciding to put it all from his mind. He pulled his sleeping bag back, climbing up and out of the tent. Standing in the darkness, he gave it a moment for his eyes to adjust. Embers smouldered by the fire, and the rest of the team slept soundly in their own tents. Only Devna was awake, wedged up in a tree with her rifle, the thin glow of a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth. 

Moving softly, Jaro went to the tent right by the end, creeping in slowly so as not to wake the occupant. 

“Huh?" Kristian murmured, as Jaro laid down behind him, pressing their bodies together. 

“Is this alright?" Jaro asked, slipping his arm around the marten's middle. 

“Yeah, yeah. Are you okay?"

“Can't sleep." 

“Okay," Kristian whispered, adjusting himself. Jaro's heart skipped as the marten's paw brushed over his own. “What's on your mind?" 

“Kadir, mostly," Jaro lied. “Zakhar too. I keep wondering if we're doing the right thing, or if we're just running to our death."

“You think it might have been luck back at Steambreather?" 

“It wasn't all luck, but some if it was." Jaro inhaled, smelling the scent of Kristian's fur. “Most, maybe."

“That is how these things usually go," Kristian said. 

Jaro murmured into his neck, feeling the different muscle groups in his body slowly relax.

“Jaro," the marten started. “I'm a scientist who's spent the majority of my career working with military types like Isla and Kadir. People that need to believe they're the most competent ones in the room in order to do their job. They don't like to be told what to do, and they hate being wrong."

“I just want him to listen," Jaro explained. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his face into the back of Kristian's neck. “But I shouldn't be telling you all this. It's not fair."

“Why?" 

Jaro paused. “I mean… It feels wrong. Shouldn't you be enough? Why am I hurting so bad after Kadir when I already have something good?" 

The marten sighed. “People don't work that way though, do they? I guess I shouldn't, really, but I do understand. The rules are different here." Jaro nodded, tightening his grip on the doctor. “I like Kadir too. But you need to give him time to listen, on his own terms. Then you'll see." 

Jaro nodded. Kristian was probably right. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were wasting time. It was just like with Boz. You never know how long you've really got until everything changes. 

How much longer can we keep this up? Whatever was waiting for them at Orobos, it wouldn't be good. Jaro knew Kadir had feelings for him – the idiot had even admitted as much. So why deny ourselves a good thing?

He sniffed, trying to push the thoughts from his head as he drifted off. 

The sleep that came was fitful and shallow, but thankfully free of dreams. Continually Jaro half-woke, his eyelids heavy and fatigued, his body sluggish against Kristian's.

When the morning eventually came, he jerked awake suddenly, finding himself alone in the tent. Clearing his throat, the wolf pushed up, the chill of a foggy dawn already biting hard at his body. As usual he climbed from the blankets without his shirt, allowing the little slits of sun to wash over him, reinforcing his own mortality. Not one of them yet. 

Did he feel different? Colder? More beastlike? There'd been a moment or two inside Steambreather when he'd felt like a monster, but now… that part of him had retreated.

Pulling on some clothes and looking around the camp, it seemed most of the team were still sleeping. Jaro was glad, they deserved a bit of proper rest. Kristian was nowhere to be seen, but there was steam rising from Chevron's hut, so perhaps he'd gone to speak with the old druid.

Leaving the doctor to it, Jaro made his way to the firepit, where Ioana was knelt down, poking at some embers she was trying to nurse back to life. 

“Why carry a tent with you, if you do not intend to use it, hmm?" She asked, a wry smile on her face. 

“Not you too," Jaro muttered, sitting by the embers. He shivered into his coat, grabbing his tail and dragging it up into his lap. “I don't remember the marsh being this cold, the last time we were here." 

“A few weeks can change everything." Ioana jerked her chin at a small cup by his foot, left out from the previous night. “Look." The last few drops of water had frozen over, forming into tiny tears of ice lining the tin cup. “Winter is approaching, and it starts in the east." She pointed into the distance. “Things will only get colder as we grow closer to Zakhar." 

“We?" Jaro asked. 

“Yes," Ioana said firmly. “Unless you have objections. My work is done here, or close enough to have the same effect. The last of the Lady's servants will scatter, give it another week or two and they'll start drowning themselves to stop the pain."

“Oh, lovely." 

Ioana's face hardened, jaw twitching. “To become a vampire's servant is to sign yourself to an early grave." 

“You're welcome to come with us, Ioana. We'd be glad to have your help."

“You will need it," the fox said, chuckling. “Wallachian winter has teeth. A winter is the vampire's hunting ground. The sun is dim, the rivers freeze, and darkness swallows the land. You get lucky with the Lambcatcher. It will take more than luck to kill the Dreamless."

“I said the same thing," Jaro said. Leaning in, he licked his teeth, unable to help glancing at the place where her right arm was meant to be. “But… Ioana, are you sure you're alright?"

The old fox stopped, sighing deeply. “Jaroslav. Since I wake up, everyone ask me if I am alright. My home once looked to me to lead them. Now they ask if I am sure I can dress myself? If I am sure I am not in pain? Bah. Look at me, a vampire took my arm!" She proffered her shoulder, eyes wide. “And that arm was the least of what I lost. My home is splinters. Of course I am in pain. But also I am not helpless. For all the agony I feel, I have double amounts of rage. You say Zakhar has secrets, perhaps he knows a way to kill the Daybreaker. Before Cujac, my life was about protecting my people. Now, my life is about the same thing, and the only way to do that is destroy the one that took their home. So please. Stop asking me if I am alright." 

Jaro let out a breath, nodding slowly. He saw Ioana's paw curled into a fist, the muscles in her jaw bulging, the tension pulsing in her eyes. 

Why aren't you angrier? He wondered at himself. They nearly killed his father. They infected him with a vile creature. They humiliated him and violated his friends. They murdered Isla. They'd kill more, before this was over. 

He should hate them. There was a point when he did, wasn't there? After the Godhead's Lament, you were angry. Like Kadir. He was angry when he killed the Lady.

So why wasn't he angry now? 

A memory came flooding in, one he thought he'd buried. Boz, back in Africa. There'd been talks the Legion would be joining the Americans in Afghanistan, joining Operation Enduring Freedom.

“It's all just a bit much, isn't it? September changed everything. At this point I don't even care what they do, I almost wish I felt sad, right? Now I just feel fuckin' numb."

One of the last conversations they had. 

“Are you alright, child?" Jaro shook himself from his stupor, looking up to see Chevron standing over him. The goat was smiling pleasantly, small decorations dangling from her horns. He looked around and realised Ioana had left. Behind him, most of the others had woken up, and Kadir and Frankie were already arguing about what order to pack their stuff up in.

How long was I sitting here? 

“You look a little lost," the druid said. 

Jaro pushed up to his feet, brushing himself off and blinking back to reality. “Yeah. I was."

“Do you know where you are now?" 

“I…" Jaro swallowed, rubbing at his forehead. His muscles hurt, his jaw ached. “I do. Yes." 

“Oh, child," Chevron sighed, squeezing his shoulder. “You keep looking, but you can't find the woods while you're hiding in the trees." In the distance Kadir was shouting something back at Frankie. 

“What… does that mean?" 

“Oi, Jaro!" Noah was calling, waving his big paw. “We're packing up now. We should get movin' if we wanna make progress." 

He waved the bear off. 

Chevron sniffed at him. “Will you be well, child?" Something about the druid's stare uneased Jaro. It was as if she were looking right through him. “You look as thin as glass." The stare was withering, he could almost feel himself crack. 

“I…" He choked. What did she want him to say?

“Here." The goat pushed something into his paws, and looking down, Jaro saw another strip of fabric, similar to the one he lost in Steambreather. “Try not to lose this one now."

“To protect us from Romulus?" 

“No, not like that… these…" Chevron tapped the fabric in his palm. “These are for you. These runes form a mirror. Remember them and see yourself, child, see what you are, who you are, everything you are… all in its right place. You see?" 

Jaro didn't, but Noah was still calling, and so he nodded, closing his paw over the fabric. They had to leave. To keep going forward. He only had so much time left.

“Is this about the parasite?" 

“It's about you." 

His heart felt empty. Sucking on his teeth, the wolf looked over one shoulder. To Kristian, studiously organising what little of his testing equipment had yet to be broken. To Kadir, instead now bickering with Devna while the snow leopard simply stared back at him lazily. 

Well, maybe it wasn't all empty.

“There is something else that you should know about Orobos," Chevron said gravely. Jaro ignored Noah's cries, looking back to the withered druid. “If you are certain to go there."

“What is it?" 

“Gossip, perhaps, the musings of crows…" Chevron sighed. “You are right in that Zakhar has secrets. They say he has a way to strip vampires of their immortality. To purge the darkness from their hearts and make them into exactly what they fear becoming most of all… prey." 

“Chevron… is that true?" 

“I would not lie, it is what I hear." She shrugged. “But still, it may be rumour. Vampires lie as easily as they breathe, even to one another, even to themselves." Jaro shook his head, his ribs aching slightly as the thought bounced around in his head. Was that possible? If Zakhar truly was some kind of vampire-Rasputin, it certainly seemed plausible. The parasite inside him, he'd almost given up hope of getting it out. 

“You mean…"

It would explain why the others are frightened of him. 

Jaro seized the goat by her shoulders.

“Are you saying… that he has a cure?"