No sooner had Rhea slipped into the dingey bedroom, thrown her pack in the corner and her robe onto the moss filled mattress, then there was a knock on the door. Exhausted after their long journey, the prospect of a night indoors, even in the ratty pub, was one she was looking forward to. Irritably, she pulled the robe back over her head, careful to cover every inch of her scarred flesh before calling through the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Az.”

“What do you want?”

“May I come in? I have something I must ask.”

The candle was still lit, and Rhea begrudgingly opened the door to let the man inside.

“It’s late,” she said, closing the door after him. “Can’t this wait till the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Rhea,” said Az. “But I couldn’t sleep until I got this off my chest. You heard Venali speak of what is happening in the east. And you know enough of my story to know that I must go there. That I must find the General, and face him. But of course, I cannot ask you to come to war with me. Nor can I leave you here. And so, I am at a loss. I do not know how to do right by you and by all those people whose lives Naberius will undoubtedly ruin if left to his own devices.”

Rhea could feel anger and betrayal bubbling up in her breast and fought to keep it down. “What happened to the west?” she said. “What happened to going somewhere where no one knows your name? To starting fresh? Is racing back to face your past not the exact opposite of what we were planning? Are the people of the east really so impotent that only you can save them?”

She glared up at him, the pain in his eyes serving only to make her angrier still.

“I’m sorry, Rhea. Please, tell me what I can do to make it right.”

“Don’t go. Leave your past behind just like I left mine.”

“I can’t do that. I have not the strength to forget. If we went west, I would be able to think of nothing else.”

Rhea bit her lip. “Fine,” she snapped. “Then promise me this. Once Naberius is dead, it is over. Promise me you will not go in search of new monsters to slay. That you will be content with the blood already on your hands, and go in search of peace – not conflict.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” said Rhea. “And good night. I’m exhausted. Get out.”

“But that still leaves the question of you. What will you do while I am in the east?”

Rhea sucked her teeth, Az’s density pressing on her final nerve. “Oh, shut up,” she said. “You already know.”

That night, as she slipped into sleep, Rhea was joined by the spirits. Surrounding her bed, they gripped her arms and legs, pinning her in paralysis. In the blackness of the room, she screamed silently, willing her limbs to move. For her voice to make a sound. She could feel fingers gripping her throat. Hands pressing down on her chest, threatening to press the air from her lungs. To suffocate her. The faces of those long dead peering down, coming to avenge themselves for all they have suffered. Coming to take revenge on she who had glimpsed them, provided them with avenue back to the world of the living.

Rhea awoke to the sound of another knock at the door. For a moment, she became angry. The room was dark as a crypt. Forgetting that deep in the bowls of the city there would be no natural light, she thought Az was waking her once more in the night. Blinking her mind into focus, she drove away the memory of last nights dreams. They were coming more frequently now. For all the harm she had done, Eris had helped to keep the spirits at bay. Known the brews and powders needed to stop the visions, as well as bring them on.

Lazily, Rhea rolled out of bed. Az would not have known, but this was her first night inside of doors in many months. Dreams aside, she felt as though she might have slept for a week on the soft mattress. Casting around in the darkness, she found her robe and pulled it on. Feeling her way to the door, she opened it and was met with the dim light of the far away sun. A column of light passed from a skylight in the ceiling down through another in the floor, thereby making its way from story to story, slowly diminishing as it progressed down towards the lowest levels.

Standing at the door was not Az, as Rhea had expected, but the barmaid from the night before. “Morning, love,” said the woman, handing her a small pail of water and a washcloth as she pushed by and went to light the candle. “Your friend asked me to rouse you. Once you’re all washed up, let me know if you’d like some breakfast.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Rhea, unaccustomed to this motherly treatment.

A few minutes later, Rhea emerged into the main room of the pub. Az was sitting by the door, evidently eager to get out and start his day. He smiled as Rhea approached, tossing her a small coin purse.

“What’s this?”

“I spoke to Venali this morning. Told him we would take him up on his offer. Sail east with him to Quarryhold. I asked him if he knew a trustworthy moneychanger who could break a gold coin, and he offered to do it himself, there on the spot. He gave me eight silvers and a dozen coppers. Not a great rate but certainly worth it for the convenience. That’s half.”

Rhea frowned. “What are you giving it to me for?”

“Because you deserve it. The money is as much yours as it is mine. I believe it was you who…” Az cleared his throat. “Who, uh, earned it.”

“I mean, what am I supposed to do with it? Give it all away? I wanted to give the girl a copper not half a gold coin.”

Az laughed. “You can give it away if you’d like. But I want you to see something first. We’re going to the bazaar.”

Leaving their packs in their rooms but taking their weapons with them, the two stepped back out in the passage by which they had come. Now, passed the initial excitement that had accompanied their arrival in Islandnest, Rhea found the place unbearably cramped and almost suffocating. The air was full of the smells of humans and animals, mixed with the smoke from the thick yellow candles that lined the walls.

Rhea paused to looked at the candles. “The most amazing thing about this city is that it hasn’t burned to the ground yet,” she said.

A half-step in front of her, Az laughed. “The great gears of the ancient gristmill feed a reservoir at the peek of the roof. It then feeds the pipes that run throughout the city. If a section ever catches on fire, they simply flood it.”

The route back to the central hall was well marked, and it was not long before they reached it. The hall itself was organized roughly by floor, with heavy industry and livestock on the bottom, textiles and bulk grain merchants on the second, and the large mass of food huts and small family stalls on floors three and above. This was the grand bazaar, where goods from all over the north and beyond were shipped and traded. Where curiosities from every known ruin could be stumbled upon and purchased. And where Az and Rhea found themselves, their pockets bulging with precious coins.

Emerging already on the fourth floor, Az led the way to a broad staircase and up several more stories. “Most tourists stick to the lower floors. Access to traffic by the gates makes the stalls lower down more coveted, but also drives the prices up. The seventh floor was my favourite when I was here last. It is full of trinkets and curiosos. But watch yourself, it is not without its thieves and bandits.”

Reaching the seventh floor, the two wandered between the stalls and shops, with Az making small talk with the clerks and storeowners. Following close behind him, Rhea felt thoroughly overwhelmed. Unable to pick the signal from the noise, she had hardly even begun to look at products when something in the distance caught Az’s eye. Rhea tried to follow his gaze, but wasn’t tall enough to see over the throng.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” said Az. “But how do you feel, can you shop on your own for a bit?”

Rhea was immediately hit with a pang of anxiety. “Of course,” she said. “But why, what are you going to see?”

“Oh, just a little something. Stick to this area and I’ll be back in a few minutes. If anything goes wrong, just make your way back to the staircase and I’ll do the same.”

With that, Az began making his way, leaving Rhea standing alone in a crowd of shoppers. Watching him go, she cursed him silently before taking stalk of her surroundings, wandering slowly down a row of shops.

To either side of her were people at work. Shirtless men gutting and washing fish in tubs filled with bloody water. Women standing over tiny stoves, cooking stacks of steaming flatbreads. Nimble fingered youngsters, weaving rugs and garments of cheap cloth. Metalworkers, sharpening nails and grinding arrowheads of tin. Row after row of strange objects, the likes of which she had never seen. Shoppers crowded around, haggling and inspecting wares. While merchants called out, catching eyes and tugging sleeves.

There were people all around her. Too many. Too close. Rhea could feel the knife inside her robes hanging by her breast. It reassured her. She wanted to slip a hand inside and walk with its handle gripped firmly. But no, that would only make her more conspicuous. Put those around her on edge. Increase the chance of conflict.

Beside her, an old woman with a long wooden pipe let out a billowing plume of smoke. Swirling in the air around her, the smoke sent Rhea hurtling back through time and space. Back to the witches’ hut, its walls swimming as brew took hold. The light of the fire dancing as the spirits approached. Shivering, she blinked her way back to the present.

The old woman smiled at Rhea. “You have the look of the seer about you, child. Can I interest you in-”

“No,” said Rhea quietly.

The woman’s smile only broadened. Standing, she reached out and gingerly took Rhea’s hand. Hobbling, she led the way back into her stall. “I have herbs and powders to heal and to relax. To sleep. To block the dreams, as well as to form them. Come now, our craft is not all ill. You know that.”

Rhea looked back over her shoulder. Az was nowhere in sight. Reluctantly, she followed the woman into the stall.

Without waiting for Rhea to speak, the woman began shuffling around, opening small sacks and jars, scooping their contents into pouches and folded leaves. As she did so she muttered to herself, the pipe bobbing in her mouth. “A pinch of powder, sleep the night. A root to make a coward fight. A leaf to kill a raging rat. Together in the boiling vat. Take a sip and taste the stars. Converse with distant ancestors. Then settle in and light your pipe. A pinch of powder, sleep the night.’

When she had finished, the woman gave Rhea all she had gathered. Half in a trance, Rhea pulled out her purse and handed it to the woman. Smiling, the woman opened it and took out a single silver coin, then returned the purse. “Don’t worry, child. It gets easier.” Reaching up with one long finger, the woman placed it under Rhea’s chin, drawing her forwards. Then she kissed her gently on the forehead, and sent her back out into the crowded street.

Taking a few uncertain steps, Rhea glanced back as if to be sure that the woman and her stall were really there. Then, holding her new bought possessions, she began walking back the way she had come, scanning the crowd in search of Az.

No sooner had she gone a dozen steps, then her path was blocked by the wide chest of one of the men from the night before. Recognizing him instantly, Rhea turned to double back, only to find the other man behind her. The two had brought a friend with them, and together they crowded around her, forcing her back into a shallow corner between two huts.

Dropping the pouches and folded leaves, Rhea’s hand shot into her robes and gripped the handle of her knife. Surrounded and outnumbered, one teenaged girl besieged by three large men, she tried her best not to let the fear show on her face.

“Easy there,” said the short man who had threatened her the night before. “We mean you no harm. We got off on the wrong foot. Our quarrel is with Venali, not you.”

“Alright,” said Rhea, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Then why don’t you back off. Give me some room to breath.”

“Hear me out and we’ll let you be,” said the man. “We know you and your friend signed on to go east with Venali. Well, until recently we were the oarsmen on his old ship, The Windswill. A week ago, when we docked Islandnest, Venali met an arms trader who had just blown in from the east. The man offered to buy The Windswill at a good price and to sell Venali a ship for almost nothing. He agreed, and the new owner broke up the crew and replaced them with street-urchins and last-leggers. The ship Venali bought, The Katorga, is floating out in bay. Rumour is, that the Islandnest dock-guards won’t let it land, because of the smell. Supposedly it reeks of shit and death. Gods only know who-”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Rhea cut in.

“Get in bed with serpents, wake up with snake bites,” said the man. “As long as you and your friend are intent on sailing with Venali, his problems are yours. All we want is to give you fair warning. The spirits of the lake will not permit a ship as foul as the Katorga to long remain on its surface. The lake will seek to cleanse itself. As far as I’m concerned, Venali is headed straight for the bottom, weighted down by all his precious gold. Try your best not to join him. Or don’t. The choice is yours.”

With that, the man nudged his companions, and the three turned and shuffled off between the stalls. Rhea was left standing with a shaking hand still inside her robes, the herbs and powders laying in a pile by her feat.