Ariel would give a great deal to be on one of those carriages as they hasten back over the ridge. No hope for that. Looking ahead, it's just them, orcs, and leagues upon leagues of desolation.

“Here's what's left of the village.” says Brant. Cold smoke still drifts from burned huts and charred fields eked out on the edge of arable land. Ariel steps over the trampled remnants of a fence to investigate a shed isolated from the wreckage. Its base is blackened but the structure seems unharmed. Pushing open the door reveals smashed vats and a soaked floor. The air inside is sharp and makes Ariel's eyes water. Scattered animal hides have been torn and rent as though in malice, to ensure none could use them.

“Anything in there?” asks Salaya.

“No, just the village tannery.” says Ariel.

“It smells like shit.” Salaya leaves, and Ariel is just about to follow when something in the corner catches her eye. A small yellow object is hidden under a scrap of hide. It's a deep rich gold, but transparent, and small enough to fit in her palm. There's something inside, but the thing is solid. How can that be? Stepping outside, she holds it to the light. Encased in the object is an insect of some sort no bigger than her thumbnail. It has bright red legs, a solid black body with spread wings as though trying to fly away, and a white mark on its underside. Ariel raps the object, scratches it, even sniffs it, but comes no closer to understanding it. “Ariel, come on.” calls Salaya to her. Ariel puts the object in a pocket and follows her.

Further in the village, the teams are searching, pushing against the walls of huts to verify their strength, then poking inside. Garsun warned Ariel about this, battles and fighting, but nothing could prepare her for the emptiness. Inside the huts lie fragments of beds and tables, clothes strewn floors, sacks of grain spilled. The bandits are a childish caper in her memory. “No corpses, huh. I guess the evacuations were timely.” Brant kicks at an empty bucket. It rolls down the village road, beaten with the heavy steps of orc feet, stopping at the base of the well. “There's nothing in these homes. It's either been burnt or smashed.”

“How was it burnt? It's not like orcs know how to manipulate fire.” says Salaya.

“Could have been an accident, or the orcs just started tossing torches around. Even they can figure out what those do.”

“There were no evacuations though.” says Eje, looking up. “Nobody remembers to warn so isolated a place.” She's squatting on the ground and chewing on, what is that? A few heads of garden lettuce poke out of an unscorched corner.

“Ew, don't eat that, Eje.” says Salaya.

“Why not? It's perfectly good.”

“There was no evacuation.” agrees Esthen, the tracker for Team Eleven. “The people died here.” He points to black stains on the ground. “What about the village tomes?”

“They're gone.” Amiel and a couple others exit the village hall, the only building spared by the fire. “All the books in the hall are missing.”

“Well where'd they go? Did the orcs take them for bedtime reading?” Esthen smirks at the thought.

“It's more likely that the books were taken by the villagers.” suggests Salaya. “They hid them, or survivors fled with the books. The village magic must have been powerful if they were this intent on preserving it.” She looks around. “Maybe they're still buried around here.” They search for signs that the earth was dug up, but soon tire of it.

“Then where are the survivors?” demands Brant. “They would have run toward the larger settlements and we would have encountered them on the road. Don't tell me the orcs ate them and kept their bones.”

“Wouldn't surprise me.” says Amiel, brushing dust off his tunic.

“What do you think, Octave?” asks Brant. He's been trying to get her attention since they set out from the castle, but Octave hasn't given him much beyond one word answers. Here she only shrugs. “Maybe the orcs took the villagers prisoner.” he suggests.

“Orcs don't take prisoners.” says Esthen. “The scent of the dead permeates this place. I can smell it. I can feel it.” He gives the bucket at the base of the well a kick, then glances in. “Here they are.” Ariel's stomach knots and unknots. Something assaults her nostrils as she steps up the stone structure. It's not the smoke, or the disturbed soil or the tannery. It's heavy, almost like an old pot or suit of armour. Soon all three teams are gathered around the stone well, peering in and then shrinking back. The noon sun shines overhead directly down its shaft, illuminating the corpses inside, the water hidden beneath piles of bloody bodies and clothing. Eje retches and spits out a mouthful of lettuce. Octave only looks down once then back up at the sky for birds. People exchange looks and open their mouths to speak, but utter no words. Ariel's head swims from the scent of blood and death, but she peeks down again and again, the sight so horrible she isn't sure if she's imagining it or not. Every time she looks, the same child, his face caked in blood, mouth open as if still screaming silently his horror up at the sky.

“That one there looks like my big sister.” says Salaya after a long silence. “The same short hair. She looks so peaceful, even in death.” Eje is staring off at the ground, too distraught to offer comfort.

“Hey!” Brant calls down the well. “Is anyone still alive down there?” No response. “I'm not going down there.” he mutters, tearing himself away. Even his bravado can't withstand such a sight. “Best to get going. Esthen, where do their tracks lead?”

“Over here.” They follow Esthen to the northern side of the village where a breeze blows fresh air. Ariel blows her nose in a handful of grass to get the lingering scent out. Arrigos hacks and heaves until the remains of his lunch glisten on the ground. Ariel looks away lest she join him on her knees. Amidst a clearing where the foundations of a new house have been built then torn apart, massive four-toed tracks meet.

“Why did they put the bodies in the well?” asks Salaya.

Esthen spits on the ground. “To poison the water, no doubt. Look, they've broken into two groups. One going out east, the other north-west.”

“We should go east toward civilisation. The other way leads nowhere.”

“True,” says Esthen, “but the eastern tracks are leaner. Only a few went this way. About six or seven. If I had to guess, there was an argument over where to go next and the party split.” In the other direction, a host of tracks trample over the grass until they plow a furrow through the grey-blue earth of the desolation. “They wandered to this village, and fled through the desolation, but a few wanted to stay behind to continue raiding.”

“What's our plan?”

Esthen looks over to the rest of Team Eleven. They're already tightening their scabbards to their belts and adjusting their boots. He reaches into his quiver and plants a black-shafted arrow in the ground. “Team Eleven will take the smaller group. They'll fade into the forests and harass the outskirts of civilisation until someone stops them. Teams Four and Twenty-Four go after the main body. They'll be easier to follow, so you won't need me for it. If you can find the village tomes, get them, but I doubt anything'll be left.”

“How many are there?” asks Salaya. “Our job wasn't to go into the desolation itself. We could always wait for reinfor–”

“No time for that.” declares Eje. She grabs a stick off the ground and snaps it, then snaps the pieces. “We're going after them and we're wiping them out. I don't care if it was orcs, people, or little fairies with silver wands. I'm going to rip their fucking limbs off.” She's pale but her jaw is set.

“However many there are is how many will fall.” agrees Brant, slightly taken aback at having been beaten to it. Team Four shoulders their packs. Brant, Amiel, Arrigos Ariel remembers. Their fourth, Irprinon, had become a war hero during a battle with troops from Gaskaback Kingdom. He'd held off an entire squadron until reinforcements could arrive, or so he claimed. No wonder he fit in so well on Team Four; Octave just rolled her eyes at him. Ariel adjusts the straps on her own pack, her legs still sore from their last mission to Felsdown.

The two teams walk along the trail carved out by the orcs. “I'm still not sure about the bodies in the well.” says Salaya. “Can orcs really understand about disease and rot? How could they think enough to throw the bodies down a well?”

“Maybe it was a ritual of theirs.”

“But orcs are savage animals.” protests Salaya. “They don't have rituals beyond smashing and eating. How could they think to pile the bodies in a well?”

“Who knows?” says Eje. “Maybe they thought it was funny. Maybe the well scared them so they tried to cover it. We can ask them when we catch up.”

“Speaking of catching up,” says Brant, “we'll never manage that at the pace we're going. I know you girls aren't used to moving with urgency, but you'll have to try to show some.” He quickens his pace, and Ariel's legs burn in protest. She nearly jogs, her boots sinking ever so slightly as they cross the threshold into the desolation. It's a clear boundary: grass and shrubs on one side, soil on the other.

As they enter the desolation, Ariel is surprised to find trees, trees in a land where life is cursed. Seeds blow in on the wind from faraway climes, and they bury themselves in the moist soil. Small green saplings, poke up here and there, tiny green leaves reaching for the sun as though straining for escape. She passes one at knee height that isn't rotting, yet its withered limbs already fruit with clusters of fungus. Another lies defeated on the tainted earth that bore it, neither its rotted roots nor its bare branches capable of sustaining it. But it yet sustains life of a different sort.

“How far in are we going to go?” asks Salaya.

“As far in as necessary.” says Eje. Salaya grimaces but keeps walking.

The desolation quivers with silence. Ariel can feel the movement, feel the life stirring from within. Then they'll hear a small creek flowing, its crystal water visible from afar with no vegetation. The water leaks into pools from which none dare drink, but clouds of flies hang around, quivering in tune with the land. Even the moss on wet rocks is blue instead of green. The land rolls gently up denuded hills and down into shallow valleys. They pass the corpse of a deer that must have wandered in and slowly succumbed. Flies buzz eagerly about, and mushrooms sprout from rotting flesh and pale bones. Small lines of ants march to and from the corpse, harvesting it for their underground colonies. Soon nothing will be left to mark its grave.

Hours go by. Ariel's pack is an iron weight digging into her back and dragging at her shoulders. The flies are growing thicker, and raising her arm to brush them away is becoming more taxing. Brant's pace at the head of the pack lags and he falls behind Irprinon. Octave, whose pace never changes, gradually moves up from the back to the front, while Salaya, who tried to keep up at the start, gradually falls to the back, nearly thirty paces behind. No birds fly overhead; even the buzzards know to avoid this place. Maybe that's why Octave is looking less distracted.

“Like mushrooms?” Brant asks Octave. The two are walking nearly side by side.

Octave regards Brant for a moment. “I do.”

“I knew of a guy,” says Brant, “who was down south in the desolation near Catsbay.”

“You must be popular.”

“I am, but he tried eating desolation mushrooms. Crazy, right? Everyone said he was crazy. You know what happened to him?”

“What?”

“Nothing. He was fine. Picked nearly a quart of them, fried them up in butter, and ate them for lunch just to see what would happen.”

“You're sure nothing happened?”

“Well, I think he got a bit of indigestion from eating so many damn mushrooms. But apart from that, he was fine. Didn't rot, didn't turn blue, didn't even die. But the strangest thing of all? Nobody ever tried to eat those mushrooms again. Even when they were starving for food, nobody would just walk over into the desolation and pick some mushrooms.”

“Because they tasted bad?”

“Nah, they tasted fine. He said he'd never liked mushrooms much to begin with and now he was done with them. But he still insisted they were safe to eat. People didn't care though. He might as well have told them to try cannibalism. People can't overcome their inhibitions even when they know they're wrong.” Ariel isn't sure if Brant is trying to impress Octave, or if he's having trouble breathing the thick air.

“That reminds me of dreamer's mushrooms. Have you ever tried them?”

“No, aren't they poisonous?”

“Marginally. But that's part of the fun.”

“Stay away from mushrooms, Brant.” warns Irprinon. “They're nasty, filthy things. Bottom feeders of the plant world. I wouldn't eat mushrooms any more than I'd eat maggots.”

“Some people eat maggots too.” muses Octave.

When the teams finally stop on a patch of dry ground, Ariel is ready to die. Everything below her neck aches. The scent of decay, which began as damp mossy soil, has become dizzying, cloying, and finally forgettable. Just a part of life, like the quivering landscape. She flops down onto a smooth bit of rock. The buzz of flies, the trickle of water, the setting sun all lull her into blackness.

“Ariel! Wake up, Ariel.” Something stings Ariel's cheek. She opens her eyes to see a blurry figure shaking her by the shoulders.

“Ow. Did you slap me?” Ariel sits up.

“I had to wake you.” says Eje. “You drifted off.”

“Silly girl.” chuckles Brant. “She thinks she can sleep.”

“What's going on?” grumbles Ariel. The teams are seated roughly in a ring, a couple torches planted in the middle burning.

“You can't sleep in the desolation.” chides Eje. “If you'd been out much longer, we might not've been able to wake you.”

“Nobody told me that.” protests Ariel. “Are we going to have to track down the orcs with no sleep?”

“Nobody told you that.” snorts Brant. “Are you dense? Did you grow up in the woods? Even a plodder knows not to sleep in the desolation. And we have to work with you.” He looks over at Octave. “Great team you got yourself on.”

“Shut up.” snaps Eje. “Here, Ariel, have some tea.” She passes her a flask. “Try to relax, but not too much, ok?”

Ariel has never wanted to close her eyes so much in her life, but the thought of Brant laughing at her fuels an indignant fire within that soon burns away any desire to sleep.

“Don't worry.” reassures Brant. “Irprinon and I are going to cast a little endurance magic after dinner. That'll keep us awake and going strong.”

Hours more go by. Ariel's legs move without feeling. Her pack no longer weighs on her shoulders. Her body feels nothing. Normally, walking at night is a different experience from day, but here little changes but the lighting. The hills are no more or less unsettling under the moon. The air blows cooler on their sweaty faces, but the silence is broken only by shuffling footsteps. Heads are down, arms swaying back and forth. Ariel trips and falls and gets back up without anyone noticing. The orc tracks continue, sometimes bunching together along a narrow ridge, sometimes spilling out over flat ground, always heading toward the centre of the desolation. At least Ariel has The Wayfarer to watch over her.

“Hey, Salaya.” Ariel falls back a bit and walks alongside her. “Are you fine here?”

“I'm fine. I'd love to sleep, but.” Salaya gives her a tired smile.

“The orcs though. After what we saw in the village you must be worried. I'm so sorry, Salaya, I forgot to ask earlier.”

“Funny, I haven't checked my arm since the village. The desolation does funny things to your mind, I guess. Oh, there's no sense giving me that look, Ariel. I'll be fine.”

The sun should be rising soon, but Ariel can't be sure. She's lost track of time. She gazes up at the stars drifting their dance across the heavens until she is The Wayfarer with each plodding step she takes. Purposeful, not lost; isolated, not alone. A cloud drifts overhead, and even her feet fade from sight. When it blows away, she looks up again for The Wayfarer, but can't make it out. Either the stars are fading or her mind is. Then the greying sky obscures even the moon.

Not long after the sun rises, the teams see their first mushroom. Not the little ones popping up here and there under rocks, but desolation mushrooms. Smaller ones pop out of the ground like freckles, each the size of Ariel's fist. But this one towers as high as any tree. Pure white, its base must measure the width of one of those burnt out huts from the village. Errant wind gusts clouds of spores out of its dark gills. “Now we're entering the core.” says Eje. “Watch your step.” Whereas the outskirts were bare and silent, the core buzzes with life. The quivering intensifies. Their boots squelch through patches of green and blue muck on which flies mate, feed, lay eggs, fight, and die. They skirt another mushroom, blue this time, half the size of the previous but growing so quickly Ariel can see its base expanding and its cap rising. Another one, also blue has reached the end of its life. Its cap sags and teems with voracious insects. As they pass it, its stipe snaps and the thing falls with a splack into the mossy mud from which it had drawn sustenance. Even as she looks back it, tiny mushrooms are sprouting from the broken stipe.

They knock down another mushroom, a fresh one, and settle down in a ring on its enormous cap. As they chew dry rations washed down with sparing sips of water, Ariel can feel the endurance magic wearing off and soreness spreading through her limbs.

“Are these mushrooms safe to touch?” asks Salaya.

“They aren't poisonous.” says Eje. “Nothing here needs poison to survive. But I'm not going to eat it.”

One by one, people leave the party, seeking out areas increasingly isolated from view. They return furtive, checking to make sure nobody was watching. Ariel rummages through her pack. Rations, massive flasks of water, flint and tinder, dry socks. But the one thing she needs most is missing. “You look like you need something.” says Eje, sidling up to her.

“It's just, you know, I think I need to go.” Ariel feels her cheeks reddening.

“Don't worry. Here, take this.” Eje hands her a small bundle of something soft.

“You use paper for this?”

“I do, and I packed in some spongy moss as well. I highly recommend it, especially in emergencies.”

Before setting off again, the teams link hands while Brant and Irprinon recast their endurance magic. “This might not work a third time.” Brant warns them. But it works a second time. The soreness dissipates. Their pace quickens from before.

The orc tracks are increasingly following the hills and ridges, avoiding lower, wetter ground. It provides the teams with a clearer view of the landscape. “Look over there.” It's the remnants of old houses from before. The wood and plaster is long gone, but stone foundations, covered in blue moss, still mark where half a dozen houses once stood.

“How old are those?”

“From before the celestials fell.”

“Do you really believe in celestials?”

“I do.” declares Brant. “Celestials fell, and their dying gasps drained the magic from the earth and sickened it. They caused the desolations.”

“Nah.” says Amiel, “The celestials burned to ash, and from those ashes, the first orcs grew.”

“I thought it was the first people who grew from the ashes.” says Arrigos.

“The celestials never burned or died.” says Eje. “They still live here, disguised.”

“I'm glad that's all cleared up then.” says Octave.

“Everyone else seems to know what happened. What do you think?” asks Brant.

“I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't be a mercenary.”

“Well I do know. Maybe that's why I'm not one.” Brant laughs at his wit. “When they were cast down, the celestials burned and fell, their fire destroying everything green. They took in magic from the land trying to stay alive, but they failed and this is the result.”

“A fanciful tale.”

Brant's eyes narrow, but before he can respond, an orc is spotted. “Look at what we have here.” says Eje, hopping down a small bluff to a dry patch. A single figure, as tall as Brant but heftier, lies face down on the ground. Dark matted hair covers its head and shoulders. Rolling it over reveals fangs poking out between heavy lips, a thick snout-like nose, and a grey face tinged green. Ariel's first orc.

“Is it dead?” asks Salaya hanging back.

“He's not. Look. Though its eyes are shut, its nostrils flicker and its chest rises and falls with faint breath. “He's asleep.” Eje looks around. “He must have either fallen asleep or lain down for a rest and nodded off. The others kept going. They knew better.”

“Will it ever wake up?”

“No.” Eje kicks it in the face. No response. She takes a knife from her belt and cuts the orc's throat. Even its blood is tinged green. Salaya looks away, as does Ariel. There's something wrong with killing a sleeping foe, no matter how foul. Then she thinks back to the well and isn't so sure. “So, Octave.” Eje cleans her blade on the orc's ragged shirt and straightens up. “Still think orcs aren't real?”

Octave shakes her head. “It would seem they are.”

“Right. Glad we cleared that up.” Team Four is exchanging looks, but then Eje notices something else odd. “Octave, you're unarmed.”

“Nonsense. Both my arms are intact.”

“But you have no weapons. Not even a sword at your side. Even Ariel has a sword.”

“I still have my charming personality.”

“Hey, I know how to use a sword.” protests Ariel.

“See? Ariel's an expert with a sword. And I know how to wield my personality. We're both dangerous.”

But concern is seeping into the party, and they continue on. There isn't time to waste energy arguing. They'll soon have been in the desolation for a full day and night, and Ariel can feel the fatigue sitting like a weight on the edge of her mind, pulling her back just a minute bit on every step. The question of whether orcs sleep seems to have been answered, and is answered again as they find another orc lying at the bottom of a rocky hill, as though he fell asleep and slid down. Then another one, this time in a bubbling pool. Small mushrooms are already sprouting on his pebble-like toes. The cry goes out, but there's no need for it: everyone moves faster. The orcs must be close.

It's well past noon, and Ariel chokes on a bite of bread. No stopping for lunch. No slowing the pace. The endurance spell is recast, but its effective is less noticeable. Up a hill, then down a bluff. Across a plain where purple flowers sprout like wheat heads, only to reveal themselves as more fungus when they draw near. The orc trail seeks dry ground. It avoids still water. And the odour of decay only grows stronger, the stench of wet things left for days in the sun. One mushroom they come across is so big it wouldn't fit in the castle dining hall, but even as they walk past, it reveals itself to be festering with rot and worms. The sun lowers in the sky. Then they see it. From atop a hill where water trickles down in dozens of rivulets spilling over groves of giant caps, they see movement. Beyond them stretches a vast dark plain dotted with clusters of red, blue, purple, and white. Across the plain, small dark figures are swarming.