It was never clear to me how the lake the Foot revolved around functioned. Despite the combination of farmers and the general lack of rain in the desert conspiring to empty it, the oasis always appeared to remain relatively full. The older I got, the more that fact struck me as bizarre. Amongst everyone I knew, only Stitch, Jasmine and Sash seemed to understand how it avoided drying out. My sister had tried to explain the process to me dozens of times – something about groundwater and regular maintenance – but I never truly understood how the large deposit of water could exist in such a dry and desolate place. The lake was like magic to me, as arcane as any of the Owl’s machinations, waxing and waning according to the beat of some inaudible tune.

I recalled a day, years ago, when I had visited the market to find the oasis closer to a puddle than a body of water. A stupor fell on me, then, which slowly transformed into a potent combination of fear and anger. Incensed, I had proceeded to find Blake and explain, in an incoherent tumble of words, how the Foot was being cursed; telling him we needed to stop whatever Owlblood was doing this. I think my friend understood that I had no clue what was happening, yet decided to search with me anyway; right up until a stranger explained to us that the city was in a drought. The story would be funny, were it not so embarrassing.

Much like that moment of uncomprehending fear all those years ago, when I entered the market, I shook. Except this time, I understood exactly what was happening – yet my terror was no better for it. Gone were the uncountable stalls, the diverse masses, the worn clothes of labourers and the faded dyes of the merchants. Gone were the crowds.

The heart of the city was silent. Most stalls were absent, and the journey over had been surrounded by shuttered buildings, their brick facades concealing barren stores. My surroundings were empty of all but a few dozen people, going about their business with hunched backs and haunted eyes. Some wore the same expressions of mute horror that I did.

The Foot was dying. This time, I was aware of the caster of this curse. It was a god.

I shivered despite the morning’s heat.

There was one upside to the barren market: it was easier to locate my destination. Miss Tran’s stall stood proudly in the centre, littered with containers filled with stinking concoctions. The crone in question exposed her few remaining teeth in a rictus grin. The lack of customers, the bedridden Jackson reposing in her house and the encroaching god didn’t seem to bother her; instead, she appeared inordinately pleased at having gained such a good spot.

Her eyes snapped to mine with a predatory intensity. “Ah, Little Crow!” she shouted in her bizarre accent, cutting through the silence like a puppy through a funeral. “Come, come! What do you need? Healing potions? Something for skin? Unique spices? I have cures for sickness – very good for Lizard coming. Or has cheap Maja broken more pots?”

I smiled – at least some things remained the same. “I’m in need of some sleeping draughts, Miss Tran. The kind that can keep a man asleep for as long as he drinks them.”

Her hairless brows fell. “Not usual, not usual. What are they for?”

I scratched my head. There didn’t seem to be much point in lying. “We’ve got this guy in a basement. He’s not very nice, and we don’t have that many people with the… right mental state to guard him.”

“Hmm.” Miss Tran frowned. I shifted nervously. “I have none prepared.” She interrupted my sigh almost immediately. “But! I can make some in a few moments. You do not care if this man gets liver damage, no?”

“Uh…”

“Eck!” she turned her head to spit at the dirt. “So squeamish, Little Crow! Poor Ox is nearly dead, and you worry for a bad man?”

It took me a few seconds to parse who she was talking about. “How is Jackson?” The stolen memory of his bloodied body flashed, and I winced. “Is he okay?”

“Eh.” The aged alchemist grunted. “He is a big boy. He will be fine.”

"No, but-"

"Ox is fine if I say he is!" she barked, spraying spittle over my face. "Now, to business!"

She picked up several of the wooden cups, mixing their contents together in an empty bottle – one of the only pieces of glassware on her table. I stepped back several paces.

“Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Bah!” Miss Tran exclaimed. Her yellowed fingers moved with surprising dexterity. “Nothing is safe! You eat fish – could choke on bone. You forge knifes – could burn hands. You… ehm… what is the word…”

I waited patiently; whatever term she was thinking of would be outside my expectations.

“You persuade for love with farmer girl! Could be buried by her father.”

Suddenly, her words became extremely relevant. “That is..." I chewed a fingernail. "It's only theoretical, right?” I blurted out.

She waved her hands, nearly toppling several flasks. I flinched. “Does not matter. Point is, nothing is safe.”

“No, but, would the farmer girl’s dad get mad?” I asked, taking a few more steps back. “The question is purely for my own edification.”

The old proprietor shot me a blank look. I should’ve known she didn’t know what ‘edification’ meant, seeing as the exact definition remained vague even to me. An echo of Bab’s knowledge approved of the use, but it was always possible that I had used the word incorrectly. I would have to ask Sash when our brother calmed down.

Visible fumes wafted into her nose as she glared at me. Her face scrunched, then erupted in a volcanic sneeze. “Be tough, Little Crow. Back in Korla-“ the name was one she threw around often “-it takes more than dirt to stop a man.”

“Did your husband rise from the grave, then?”

Miss Tran scowled. “He can barely rise from bed. Useless, useless! I tell you, Little Crow, never marry a useless man.”

I indulged her with a nod. “I’ll be sure to take that under advisement.”

“Tell Maja too. She’s the type.” She dropped what looked like a purple chili into her brew. I took a few more steps back. “Like me when I was younger. Slightly taller, less pretty, but mostly the same. Anyway, this done.”

The crone poured the angry-looking potion into a wooden container, punching a cork into the top. “Now. Three-hundred chits for me.” She nodded, self-satisfied. “Excellent deal.”

“You’re killing me, Miss Tran. I don’t even have that much.” This was one of the few times during a haggle I wasn’t lying; the savings I had squirreled away numbered less than half that.

“Puah. Two-fifty, and that is because Maja is an old friend.”

“Look, I can do one-twenty-five. I’ll throw in a few pieces of silverware, too.” I was loath to part with a member of my hoard, however the drought was slightly more important.

“And a few of your nice rocks.”

“What?” I was incensed – the silver was a good offer, especially for an alchemist. “No! How do you even know about my stones?”

She cackled. “You traded me one when you were little.”

“Leave my rocks out of this!” They were the most venerable members of my stash – the first I had collected.

“Then I will take this and drink it myself.”

I swore. It would be in character, even with the liver damage she had warned me about. “Alright, alright. I’ll bring one – just one – next time I buy something.” Miss Tran treated me to a wide smile in response.

She hummed as I whacked the chits and a handful of spoons on the table, counting them with a mocking lethargy. I tapped my foot. She pointed to each chit individually, muttering numbers under he breath. Supressing an exasperated sigh was a monumental effort.

After a minute of watching her count less than a fifth of the chits, I spoke. “Hey, Miss Tran?”

The old lady looked up. “Yes, Little Crow?”

“Could I go… do something else, just while you count the money?”

She waved me off.

Now with leave to do more interesting things, I set myself to examining the space where the market used to be. The strange interaction with Miss Tran had left me calm enough to view it through clearer eyes. Unsurprisingly, in the clarity emptiness delivered, the place was absolutely filthy. Carrot and potato peels, spilled cabbage, strips of rotten meat and other miscellaneous substances had been pounded into the ground by the near constant hammering of boots. The peppery stench of sweat lingered, despite the absence of many people. Without any inhabitants, the area was a sad, dirty thing.

Idly, I kicked my way through the various scraps littered throughout my surroundings, occasionally glancing at the lake; somehow, it remained unaffected by the approaching god. I supposed that, to water, a man with a bucket was as much threat as the Lizard.

I was prodding at a particularly promising pile of detritus – the feeling of grease and kebab skewers against my bare foot was disgusting, however there was something gleaming beneath all the garbage – when a familiar voice called out to me.

“Orvi!” Jasmine’s voice was pleasant, but my admiration was quashed by the circumstances. “You’re a tad early for your order.”

I approached her stall, still rife with an impressive assortment of fruits and vegetables. It was far less welcoming without her guards being concealed by a crowd, but the evil-eyes they shot towards me were undercut by a hearty wave from the gap-toothed guard I had talked to during my last visit. My long-time crush seemed even more done-up than usual; her braided hair shone with some sort of lotion, her black skin seemed looked after, and her tunic was dyed a vibrant green – the whole ensemble was probably worth at least a hundred of Miss Tran’s sleeping draughts.

I stopped a few paces away from her, fighting the unseemly glee encroaching on my bad mood. “Jasmine. Hi.” I tried to figure out how to phrase my next question politely. “Why haven’t you left the Foot?”

She cocked a pruned eyebrow. “How have you been Jasmine? It’s been so long.” Her tone was mocking. The sarcasm might have been amusing if the delivery was less brutal.

“Do you treat all your long-time customers this way?”

The sigh she let out was strained. “No. Sorry. It’s been a bad week. I wanted my whole family to leave, but Bobar has the final say.”

I tsked. “You shouldn’t let your dad get in the way of, y’know, life.”

The young woman waved her hand. “I understand where he’s coming from. Our fortune is invested entirely in the oasis. We lose everything if we run away.”

Rebuttals balanced on the tip of my tongue, but I knew Jasmine would be aware of all of them. She was smart, and entirely overeducated for her role as a produce saleswoman. It was too late for any of her circumstances to change anyway. The future was a kinder topic to discuss. “What are you Fronds doing to prep for Dure?”

“We’re going to hide wherever the Lizard isn’t,” she answered. “Though, if we’re not doing anything to combat its plague, we may as well not exist.”

I squinted. “Why’s your dad so insistent on staying if he’s not going to do anything?”

“He couldn’t change his mind even if we wanted to. Dure's too close; there's no direction to run in that won't see us diseased or dead.”

“You’re rich, though.” I stated blandly.

Jasmine snorted. “Money can only buy Blooded if some are around.”

The Foot’s Blooded could be counted on one hand. I thought for a moment. There had to be a better way for the Fronds to use their resources. The idea of them doing nothing was ridiculous.

I snapped my fingers. “You should talk to Ma.”

“Your mother.” Her response was flat.

“Look, even if I don’t know the right spots for you to shove your chits, Ma will.”

“Orvi…” She spoke condescendingly. “What can your mother do? I get she’s an Oxblood, but…”

I frowned. “She’s not just any Oxblood, Jasmine. Ma is short for Maja.”

Jasmine blinked once. Then a second time. “General Maja? Maja the Headsman?”

“Oi,” I snapped, “that’s an incredibly rude thing to call one of the soldiers who saved the city.”

‘Headsman’ was a reference to Ma killing most of the surviving Godslayers in the aftermath of the battle. Some bard had bestowed the title onto her, and it had stuck. The name portrayed her as some sort of villain; incredibly ignorant given someone else would’ve had to kill the soldiers she had, had Ma had rejected the duty. Most inhabitants of the Foot were torn between begrudging respect and a full-bodied hatred for her – it was why none of us went around advertising her past, despite the reputation it may have lent.

“Ah. Okay.” This was the first time I had ever seen Jasmine at a loss for words. “I’m sorry.” She looked out at the lake. Almost immediately, her eyes flicked back to me. “Are you sure?”

I stared at her. “Yes, I’m sure. There aren’t that many women over ten-feet walking around.”

“Ma isn’t ten feet, though.” She retorted, slightly confused.

“She was. She’s just given most of that height to Jackson.”

The young woman nodded, slowly. I was finally getting through to her. “She’s so nice, though.”

I groaned. “I met her immediately after the Raven died, Jasmine; I can assure you she was very much a general at that point.”

The young woman squinted. “What do you mean, you ‘met’ her?”

“I’m adopted,” I claimed, entirely past exasperation. “Do I look like an Oxblood? Have you secretly thought I was uglier than oatmeal, and that Ma had broken the law to give birth to me?”

Jasmine flicked her luxurious braid, frowning slightly. “Of course I know a Blooded giving birth is illegal – I just never gave it much thought. There are no Albrights out here to punish the act, anyway. Ma could have decided to have a child, if she wanted.”

“How do you know about the Albrights?”

My crush squinted at me. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I scowled in an attempt to hide my embarrassment. I hadn’t, up until a few days ago.

The ploy failed. “Did you not know who they were?” A smile began to dawn on Jasmine’s face, radiant as the sun. Her delight promised to burn my ego to ashes.

“I did.” I answered, feigning nonchalance. “I just know several who don’t.”

“You don’t know them!” she beamed at me.

I looked at the lake, light reflecting of its waters like dancing spirits. At that moment, I felt a kind of kinship with it: being trod on by beautiful things was something it and I had in common. “I think Dure is a far more pressing topic of conversation, right now.”

“Aww.” She grinned down at me. “That’s so cute, Orvi.”

Never had more hurtful words been uttered. I closed my eyes, trying to prevent myself from screaming.