Page 41 of Court of Heathens

How?

The sky is dark—no, not night, I realise with horror. The darkness is smoke from fires. The flames lick at buildings’ walls.

We are standing on top of a small grassy hill with a village spread before us. I don’t know where we are, but the village looks ancient. The structures are made of thatched roofs and clay walls, and the fires are burning it all. There are no screams, though, no signs of running or panic, and despite it only being a small village, I know there should be someone.

“Where is everyone?” I whisper, a bad feeling building within me.

“I don’t sense anyone,” my demon murmurs, taking my hand as I step forward. “Be careful, Freya. Remember what we are hunting. They could still be here.”

“They aren’t. They are gone, and the trail is growing colder.” Phrixius sighs and wanders away. We follow him, stepping into thesilent, burning village. It feels like it’s frozen. There’s a teddy on the ground, and wooden toys lie forgotten where they were dropped.

Clothes still blow on lines strung between houses, and buckets near the well are overturned and leaking water, but there are no bodies . . . no people.

I just hope they managed to escape before the necromancer arrived.

The demon clicks, and the flames disappear, leaving smoking cinders and charred remains of houses. The smoke still fills the air, and I bat it away to see, my eyes stinging from it.

“Stop.” Phrixius stops us, his arm spread in front of me, and he turns, blocking my view. “Don’t look, Freya.”

I blink, trying to clear the smoke. “What?” The smoke clears behind him, and he tries to cover my eyes, but I move past him, seeing what he did.

My heart stops, horror coursing through me at the sight in the middle of the village.

They didn’t get away. They didn’t escape.

They are all dead.

I gasp in horror, stumbling back as I try to make sense of it, piecing the scene together like a macabre puzzle.

The tree that remains in the centre of the village is a horrible sight, with bodies spread on its twisted branches. They range in age from old to young, and I even see a baby cradled in one of the branches, looking like it’s sleeping, but blood covers its chest and its mouth is slack.

They are all dead. They were killed and hung like this to be found.

I heave as I turn, throwing up on the grass. A hand rubs my back as tears squeeze from my eyes. “Who could do this? Why?”

“Evil,” Phrixius says. “Pure evil. They did not need to die, but the person wanted their deaths. Instead of letting them go after destroying their village, they chose to kill them as a warning.”

“To whom?” I ask, wiping my mouth.

“To us,” Phrixius murmurs, his eyes locked on the tree. “This village is where the last battle of the dark wars took place. It was built by their ancestors, and this tree was planted with magic after the lastnecromancer was killed. It was a sign of life, of rebirth. This is a warning.” He turns and picks his way through the village.

I stumble after him, needing to get away from the tree and the smell of death that fills my lungs. He seems to know his way, and we find ourselves behind the village where an old graveyard sits.

Now, all the graves are overturned.

“They committed one more crime,” he whispers. “After burning, killing, and desecrating the tree, they stole their lost loved ones for their army—the last disrespect they could offer. Whoever did this is powerful and old enough to know the stories of the dark wars and be angry about it.” He glances at us, looking worried. “They are trying to bring back the dark nights when death spread across the land. They are trying to reclaim their power and territory, and with the mask they stole, they can. It holds the souls of the necromancers from the past. They are channelling them and joining their powers. This isn’t one person anymore. This is an army. This is the dark wars all over again, and they will not stop until we are all dead or enslaved.”

We cannot leave the villagers like this.

I cannot change what happened, and I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help feeling an immense sense of guilt. What if we could have stopped them? I cannot change the past, but I can change the present.

Ignoring my demon’s pleas, I climb into the tree and carefully lift the baby from the branch before I gently lay him on the straw my demon magicked for me. Then I climb back into the tree, making sure to memorise each face. I know they will haunt me, but I want them to. This one is a little girl, her hair in braids. A branch is thrust through her chest. As carefully as I can, I pull her free, catching her as she falls into my arms. Grunting, I lift her and climb down, laying her beside the baby.

Silently, Phrixius and my demon help me, climbing higher than I can and taking the bigger bodies. They don’t use magic, and neither do I. Enough magic has been used on these people. They deserve therespect and love of being cared for after what they endured in life. I will not defile them in death.

Once they are all out, I turn to Phrixius. “We should bury them.”

“We can’t,” he says, looking at them sadly. “I want to, but I can sense the remnants of the dark magic used to kill them inside them. If we bury them, he will be able to call their bodies back from the grave even years from now. To honour them and allow them peace in death, we have to burn them so he cannot do that.”

---