Page 34 of Tethered In Blood

The candle’s flame flickered, casting restless shadows over the pages. Another night blurred into dawn, and the pieces still refused to fall into place.

My palm pressed against my temple and I dug my fingers into my scalp as if I might extract the answers from my skull. The symptoms didn’t match any known illness. No common element linked the afflicted. The village had been here for decades, maybe centuries. So, why now? Why did abandoning the old customs lead to this?

Sniffling, I flexed my fingers, stained with charcoal and ink. My pouch of nuts and seeds rested beside my notes. I chewed on a few, my mind too tangled to care. Sleep wasn’t an option. Not when I still hadn’t anything.

Another page turned. More notes. More theories. More of the same.

The floor creaked.

Oberon’s presence was a constant, silent force in the room. He came and went with the same unspoken routine—leaving in the morning and returning late at night. He never inquired about what I had discovered or why I remained at this desk, but his gaze felt weighty as he passed by.

The chair creaked as I shifted, easing the stiffness from my shoulders. The sky beyond the narrow window had darkened, with orange and crimson hues of sunset creeping in.

A scoff emerged from behind me, low and unimpressed.

I ignored it and flipped to the next page.

Oberon let out a humorless laugh. I envisioned the shake of his head and the clench of his jaw as he bit back a remark.

His footsteps approached the bed, the familiar jingle of buckles resonating in the space as he loosened his armor. Metal clattered against the floor, followed by the familiar, heavy thud of his sword being set down.

He remained silent for a long moment.

“How long?” His voice was hoarse from exhaustion.

I turned to look at him. “How long what?”

His eyes flicked toward the mess of parchment spread across the desk. “How long were you planning to do this?”

Bristling, I turned back to the desk. “Until I have answers.”

He grunted. “And if they don’t come?”

My charcoal rested on the desk with a lighttap. “They will.”

Another silence stretched, broken by the sound of fabric shifting and the faint creak of the mattress.

“You won’t be of any use to them if you’re dead."

I scoffed. “I’m fine.”

MYEYESBLINKEDopento the candle’s sputtering flame. Groaning, I stretched my stiff fingers and rubbed my tired eyes. I had dozed off again. The dim light of dawn filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over the desk. The notes before me blurred together until I forced myself to focus again.

I was so close. The patterns were there, but the pieces refused to align. The symptoms—their spread—followed no logic of an ordinary illness. It wasn’t the water, the grain, the livestock, or a common ailment. The healer had ruled out the usual suspects.

So what was it?

I rubbed my temples.

If the illness had been airborne, it would have spread differently. If it had originated from contact, families living together would have fallen ill simultaneously, but that wasn’t the case. The infection pattern was uneven and scattered. The disease affected a few households while leaving their neighbors untouched. Others had one sick individual while the rest of the family remained healthy.

It seemed rather illogical.

Unless it wasn’t natural.

A chill crawled over me as the thought settled.

Magic.

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