Five days. Each step drove glass through the burst blisters on his feet. Blood seeped through stolen boots, leaving red prints on dusty stone.
Twenty kilometers to the rumored camp. But which rumor was true? Every traveler told different stories.
"Camps move monthly," the merchant had said, accepting Kael's last copper for stale bread. "Never same place twice."
"Saw black wagons heading east," the farmer's wife whispered. "Don't go east, boy."
"Don't go looking for what finds you." The old peddler's eyes held too much knowledge. "Some things eat more than flesh."
Should he trust any of them? No. But gathered lies might point toward truth. East. Monthly moves. Things that ate more than flesh. It all painted a picture he didn't want to see.
This... his body was failing. The cough started two days ago. Dry at first. Now wet. Productive. He'd seen enough street deaths to recognize the sound.
Was this how Tom felt? The rattle in his chest. The fever that came and went. The way breathing became conscious work instead of automatic function.
At least Tom had friends to hold him at the end. Kael would die alone on an empty road, chasing ghosts and rumors.
No. Not yet. Mya had... how many days left? He'd lost count. Seven? Six? Time blurred when you barely slept, rarely ate, always moved.
The landscape changed from farmland to wilderness. Fewer travelers. No more merchants or farmers. Just him and the bitter road and the birthmark that burned constant now.
Why did it burn? Proximity to camps? To spirits? To his own approaching death?
"Still walking?"
Kael spun, hand finding his knife. A fellow traveler stood ten paces back. Where had he come from? The road was empty moments ago...
"Easy, boy. Just observing." The man looked ordinary. Travel-worn cloak. Weathered face. But his eyes... "Long road to nowhere out here."
"I'm meeting someone." The lie came automatic. Never admit vulnerability. Never show weakness.
"Meeting someone at the camps?" The stranger smiled. "Yes, I can smell it on you. The desperation. The questions. The need to know what happened to someone taken."
How did he...?
"Lucky guess." The man stepped closer. "We get your type every few months. Someone loses family, friends, lovers. They chase rumors north. They find empty fields and abandoned buildings. Then they go home. If they're smart."
"And if they're not smart?"
"Then they find what they're looking for." The smile widened. "And wish they hadn't."
This felt like a test. Or a warning. Or both.
"You know where Camp Seven is."
Not a question. The stranger nodded slowly.
"I know where it was. Three weeks ago. But they moved after some children saw too much. Warehouse 47 was compromised. Very inconvenient."
Mya. He meant Mya's infiltration. Their discovery had forced the camp to relocate.
"Where did they move?"
"That would be telling." The stranger pulled out a pipe. Lit it with steady hands. "And telling costs."
Everything cost. Truth. Lies. Hope. All had price tags in this dying kingdom.
"I have nothing left to pay with."
"No?" Smoke wreathed the man's head. "What about that interesting birthmark? The one that burns so bright to proper sight?"
Kael's hand flew to his neck. The birthmark pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"Ah. Protective, are we?" The stranger's eyes gleamed. "Good instinct. But I'm not here to take. Just to observe. And perhaps... direct."
"Direct to where?"
"To someone who might help. For the right price. For the right person. For the right..." He paused, studying Kael. "Potential."
Another test. Another game. But what choice did he have?
"Tell me."
"East of here. Two hours if you can manage it on those bleeding feet. Cave marked with the warning hand. Old man lives there. Calls himself Garrett. Mad as moonlight but knows things. Old things. Dangerous things."
The same name the information broker had given. Confirmation or trap?
"Why help me?"
"Help?" The stranger laughed. "Boy, I'm not helping. I'm selecting. Garrett needs... students. Test subjects. Call them what you will. I find candidates. Direct them his way. What happens after?" A shrug. "Not my concern."
"And if I don't go?"
"Then you wander empty fields until you collapse. Your friend dies in thirteen nights... oh wait, it's been five days? So eight nights now. You die shortly after from that wet cough. Everyone loses."
Eight nights. Mya had eight nights. The number echoed in his skull.
"East. Two hours. Warning hand." Kael memorized the directions. "What then?"
"Then you convince a mad hermit to teach you impossible things. Or you die trying. Either way, more interesting than collapsing on this road."
The stranger turned to leave. Paused. Looked back.
"Word of advice? When you meet Garrett, don't lie. He'll know. Don't beg. He hates it. Just... be what you are. Desperate enough to risk everything for someone else. That might intrigue him."
Then he was gone. Not walking away. Just... gone. As if he'd never been.
Spirit? Kiratashi? Something else? Did it matter?
East. Two hours. Warning hand.
Kael forced his bleeding feet to move. Each step agony. Each breath a battle. But Mya had eight nights. He had two hours to find a mad hermit.
The math was simple. The execution was pain.
But pain was just another currency in this broken kingdom. And he'd learned to pay whatever prices the world demanded.
One step. Two. Hundred. Thousand. The cave had to be close. Had to be...
There. Carved into stone. A hand, palm out, fingers spread. Universal symbol for 'stay away.' Below it, smaller carvings. Words in old script.
'Here dwells one who paid too much for truth.'
Perfect. Exactly the kind of person he needed.
"Garrett?" His voice cracked. When had he last drunk water? "Garrett the Wise? Garrett the Mad? I need..."
"I know what you need."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Then an old man materialized from shadow. How did people keep doing that?
"You need power. Need knowledge. Need to save someone." Garrett looked like every beggar ever. Rags. Wild hair. But his eyes burned with terrible clarity. "Everyone who finds me needs the same things."
"Can you help?"
"Help?" Garrett laughed. It sounded like breaking glass. "Boy, I can teach you to bind spirits. To become Kiratashi without their permission. To wield power that breaks natural law. But help? No. I don't help. I create weapons. Whether those weapons save or damn their wielders..." Another shrug. "Not my concern."
"I'll pay any price."
"Yes. You will." Garrett studied him with those burning eyes. "Because you have someone waiting. Someone counting days. Someone who trusted you to watch their back."
How did everyone know everything?
"Eight nights," Kael said simply. "She has eight nights."
"Then we'd best begin." Garrett turned toward the cave. "First lesson starts now. Everything you thought you knew? Wrong. Everything you thought impossible? Achievable. Everything you thought safe? Deadly. Welcome to the real world, boy. Welcome to hell."
The cave swallowed them. Darkness closed in. And somewhere to the north, Mya counted another sunset.
Seven nights remaining.