Page 50 of The Silversmith

“Get away!” croaked the old lady, dragging the little girl off the ground and away from me. “Outsiders are no longer welcome here.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, stumbling backwards until I hit a safe, warm, wall of muscle. He rested protective hands on my shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. Relief soothed me when the little girl hugged the items to her chest.

Gavin steered me back to our group. Finn, Caz, and Ezra watched me with a mix of sadness and admiration. Gemma hugged me tightly and gently stroked up and down my back before smiling tenderly and taking my hand as we walked down the center road.

I swallowed vomit when I noticed blood staining the outer walls of run-down homes and empty shops. The number of dilapidated buildings far exceeded the number of people left in this village.

“Insidions,” said Finn. “They’ve been here.”

The farther we went, the more the village stunk of feces and carrion. I was grateful whoever had been slain was laid to rest. So far, the street was empty of corpses.

As if in response to Finn’s warning and in mockery of my hopeful thoughts, Gemma gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand.

To the left of us, a man was strung up in the dying trees with a noose around his neck. His abdomen was cut open. His intestines hung out of him, rotting. He reeked of decaying flesh and flies burrowed into his carcass.

“Oh, gods.” Ezra turned away and emptied his stomach contents behind a cedar tree, where he remained.

I faced the sight even though my stomach churned something terrible.

On the ground below the body was a small wooden sign with words written in the victim’s blood. I sounded out words I’d never seen or heard before, but I recognized Molochai’s name. My knapsack dropped off my shoulder to the ground. I needed to remove a tangible weight so I wouldn’t buckle under the rest.

“‘Molochai is king,’” Finn translated. “Insidions only use the ancient language to spite the Selvaren.”

“Likely tried to resist Molochai’s men,” Caz sighed. “Left as an example for the others.”

Hope couldn’t trounce logic even in the most optimistic parts of my brain. Caz’s nonchalance implied that a scene like this—though the first I’d seen—was all too common.

“Is this what’s happening in my world?” Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes, but I refused to blink them away. “My… kingdom.” The sound of that—my kingdom—felt ridiculous but true. “While I’ve been sitting in my cabin.”

“Not your fault, Ary.” Caz squeezed my shoulder.

But for the first time, I began to truly feel like this was mine to change.

“You don’t need to see any more of this today.” Gavin placed his hand on my lower back to usher me away. “Unfortunately, there may be plenty more of this to come.”

“Let’s not pretend ignorance is a privilege I still have,” I replied, voice trembling.

He frowned but didn’t force me to move, nor did he obstruct my view of the unsightly carnage.

“Can’t be more than a day old,” Finn noted, scowling at the corpse.

“It’s recent,” agreed Caz.

“That means Molochai’s Insidions could be close.” Gavin lifted my bag from the ground and threw it over his shoulder, next to his. “We need to keep moving.”

“I want to bury him,” I announced, feeling five sets of incredulous eyes slicing into me.

“He’s long gone, Ary.” Caz gave me a sad smile. “Smyth is right, we have to keep—”

“What if it was someone you loved?” I demanded, trembling with unbridled rage. I thought of Marin, but didn’t dare say her name or put that image in his head. “Wouldn’t you pray a stranger might be kind enough to lay them to rest rather than leave them hanged, humiliated, splayed open like a pig at the butcher? Take him down.”

Gavin’s concerned gaze lingered on me before he nodded to Finn and Caz. “Dig a grave.”

Gemma groaned. As Finn and Caz moved the body, the rotten stench of death intensified.

I wanted to help, but Caz and Finn didn’t let me. Instead, I stood and watched, letting my anger simmer. I wasn’t convinced that justice for myself—for my loneliness, for being unfairly pushed into this role—would be enough to motivate me. A sad truth, but a very real one. But this… this infuriated me.

I would not let myself forget sacrifices made by others for a better world. If this man had suffered and died for what was right, the least I could do was memorize every inch of his pain. Make it my own. Make it my catalyst.