2

And then another sharp, pointy, dangerous thing pokes my other cheek.

This isn’t good.

Villagers crowd around us, everyone glowing amber.

Life isn’t going so well for them, either.

Will any of us be left standing at the end of this day?

Some villagers close their eyes and pray:

“Strike down this creature, Supreme.”

“Banish it from our presence, in Your name…”

Cold sweat creeps across my forehead.

Strike down? They’re praying for my death!

“Sweep this pestilence from this earth.”

“Protect us from this vile one.”

I just want my things. Why can’t I just have my things? My stomach roils again, and that surge of sickness I’d experienced earlier makes me close my eyes.

“You move again, and you die,” the gruff-voiced man warns. “Now. Slowly. Take your hands off her.” But his voice doesn’t sound as solid as his swords.

Still, I’m not interested in dying today. I growl at the girl trapped beneath me, then slowly release my grip around her neck, leaving behind two scarlet bands on her pale skin.

The man sheathes one of his swords, yanks me by my elbow to my feet, and spins me around to face him. He shudders as he looks up at me, then shrinks back until he squares his shoulders, remembering that he’s the one with dual blades.

The faces of the traders manning the closest carts are twisted in fear and shock. They move in front of their trade, arms folded, to protect their potatoes and pottery from being destroyed or stolen in the commotion. Other traders are closing up shop altogether, shaking their heads and glaring at me for causing a disturbance.

“Those eyes!” a tinkly-voiced woman behind him exclaims. “Do you see her eyes? They’re gold, like a cat’s.” She tugs at his filthy tunic and cries, “You’re the guard, Johny! Do something! Stop her!”

Stop me? From doing what? He’s the one holding a weapon on me.

Johny sheathes his second blade, tightens his grip around my arm, then pridefully lifts his lantern jaw. “We don’t like mudscrapers in this town.”

Mudscraper? I’m no mudscraper .

If anyone looks like they’ve been scraping mud, it’s this man, with his goofy rusted helmet and shabby, stained smock.

Be better than them, Johny. You can do it! I need you to be better!

“That Gorga attacked Olivia for no good reason!” Copperhair yells as she tries to pull Olivia to her feet.

I snort, then say, “Oh, I have a very good reason.”

Olivia falls back on her rear, out of breath. She manages to croak, “She assaulted me!”

“Don’t look at her eyes,” that tinkly-voiced woman insists. “You’ll be cursed if you look at her eyes!”

Everyone ignores Tinkly Voice’s warning as they gape at me.

Coil-haired Nightstar Sparkle, who’d stood by the basket weaver, now comes to stand beside me. She’s stooped, older, as I see her this close. She quickly sweeps her hand over my ear. “You can’t be here,” she whispers. But she isn’t whispering—she hasn’t even opened her mouth.

What new trick is this, and why can I hear…?

As she gathers the shawl around her thin shoulders, the woman’s voice buzzes in my head. “You don’t belong here.”

My jaw goes slack. How can I hear her?

“This is a gift,” she says—no, she thinks . “Don’t expect any others from me.”

My shock quickly converts to ire, and I now glare at her.

First of all, I didn’t ask her for any gifts, especially to hear the thoughts of others.

And second: “No shit I don’t belong here.”

I mean…these people are praying for my death.

The woman gives me the smallest headshake. “I know.”

I shudder. She heard me?

Her lips become a tight line. “Yes, I heard you. Now, listen: leave as soon as you can.”

I lift my eyebrows. “How am I supposed to do that ?”

Above us, the sky turns heavy and those puffy white clouds roll back to let charcoal ones roll in. Around me, some villagers and traders gape at the sky as an excited hush settles over a town that hasn’t seen rain in ages.

“I said , what’s your name?” Johny the guard shouts, shaking me by my arm. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

My mind spins at his question but stays blank. I can’t even suggest one possibility. My mind stops spinning, leaving me with the soft noise of empty space.

Not good.

Still, I lift my chin and stick out my chest. “You may call me… Call me…” Sweat now beads along my forehead, and my mind starts wheeling around my head again. “My name is…”

Cassandra? Rose? Marget?

None of those sound right . None of those feel right .

Why do I know these names but I can’t remember my own?

Johny squeezes my arm.

Yeow! My knees buckle.

“And where are your clothes?” His beady eyes linger on my thin bandeau and the curves beneath it. His gaze sits like a boulder on my chest.

I nod toward the thief named Olivia. “ She has my clothes. She stole my clothes.”

Here I’d hoped that Johny would be better than them. By the way his leer claws at my skin, though, I see that he’s worse.

I yearn to scratch out his eyes. And I will. Sooner rather than later. First, I need my stuff.

“Arrest that mudscraper!” a woman wearing a dirty bonnet shrieks. “Arrest her for attempted murder! For indecency!”

The air turns even thicker as the clouds push down and the villagers press closer around me. I’m overwhelmed by the pungent scent of a hundred bodies, their sweat and fear mingling with the smells of sheep, dust, and rotting vegetables. Market days are supposed to smell of spices, fruits, and freshly baked bread. Not shit and sheep.

The villagers continue to babble.

“Nothing good ever happens when strangers come here.”

“She’s cursed by Supreme. Just look at her!”

“Them circles on her bandeau! Witchcraft.”

“Can you see the drawings of elk and whirly things on her pants?”

Some think their thoughts while others whisper to one another and to the skies like they’re wishing upon a star. So many judgments against me, in fear of me, a witch and now a sorceress, and their words collide in my head and burst my heart. All of it hurts and threatens to rip me apart. All this glowing amber light makes my eyelids twitch, and this noise makes recalling my name impossible, and I want to close my eyes for relief and to remember. But there’s no time or space for that.

I don’t belong here? No shit.

Once they quit whispering and take a breath, once they let me explain, they’ll understand. They’ll say, “Oh, well, that’s reasonable,” and then they’ll turn to Olivia and say, “Stop being an ass. Return her things at once.” And then Olivia will give me every item that she stole. Then I’ll leave their grubby little village, fully dressed, and I’ll never come back.

Johny shakes me by the arm. “You wanna act tough in my town? We’ll see how tough you are.”

I desperately lock eyes with Nightstar Sparkle, the only person in this village who might be on my side. But she merely tilts her head and watches. “They do not understand, child. They are dying and desperate. They will see you dead, too, if you continue this path.” Her thoughts stand as bright and apart from the others as the daystar.

“That’s why they’re glowing amber, isn’t it?” I ask, directing my thought to her.

The woman gives a small nod.

“Come on, stop dawdling.” Johny yanks me away from the market and pulls me down a dirt path that becomes rockier with each step. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Copperhair using the tail of a cloak, my cloak, to dry tears from the bandit’s pink cheeks.

Obviously, I didn’t choke Olivia enough—she’s still standing here, breathing.

Why isn’t Nightstar Sparkle speaking up for me? She knows that I’ve done nothing wrong. Why was she kind only to abandon me now? I’d rather have her speak on my behalf than give me the “gift” of hearing the thoughts of dunderheads.

With some of the villagers following us, Johny pulls me to a squalid bungalow that thrums with death glow. A bronze oared circle is nailed above the door of this windowless hut, and the soil around it is thick with brown and putrid green clots. Fat, happy flies bumble around the iron door. By the smell of it, there’s plenty here for them to eat.

Many people have died in this rancid shack. Many people are still dying in this rancid shack, and though I can’t see them through the open doorway, I see their amber silhouettes crammed together like this guard’s teeth. I can’t hear their thoughts, though. Perhaps that’s because the people jailed within these rotting timber walls are barely alive.

“This one’s well-fed,” a villager remarks. “She’ll last a nice long time in the clink.” Then she spits at me and thrusts a totem of that symbolic circle in front of my face.

“No sores on her skin, either,” Dirty Bonnet adds, clutching a smaller totem but reluctant to hold it out. Amber glows brightest around this woman. The sore on her top lip weeps with pus and feeds the other poisons streaming in her blood. She needs to worry about her failing heart instead of tormenting me.

“That’ll change in the clink,” Spitter says.

They laugh.

Where is Nightstar Sparkle? I search for her in the crowd. She’s gone.

Panic rises in my chest. This is worse than cold-emptiness. I know cold-emptiness. But this feeling is terrifying. I know of panic, but I’ve never panicked. Until now. Between the ire of these villagers and my inability to remember one damned thing, I’m…overwhelmed.

“Is it safe to keep this one locked up with the other prisoners?” an older man with rotten teeth asks. “If she’s a wraith, she might suck the life out of them in there.”

“But wraiths don’t look like that,” Spitter says. “Wraiths got that crinkly skin and them pointy fingers. They don’t touch the ground, neither. This one, though. Look at her. Stompin’ around on them big feet she got.”

“So, what is she?” the man asks.

I try to take deep breaths, but no deep breaths come. I want to scream, “I’m no one, I’m nothing, just let me go,” but I need to breathe to scream. I can’t breathe, I can’t scream, and I can’t think because I’m panicking because I can’t breathe. Overwhelmed .

“She’s Gorga,” Dirty Bonnet says.

Gorga? That verbal slap stops my mind’s spiraling.

“Gorga aren’t real no more.”

“Maybe she’s Jundum. They’ve cursed this town before. Brought in the Miasma.”

Jundum? Mias—what? What are these people talking about? This is outrageous. This is preposterous. But this detour into the absurd offers me something to grasp. What ridiculous notions of who and what I am will I hear now? I may not know much about myself, but I do know that I’m not a fucking troll or a Gorga.

Spitter says, “She’s one of the Vile.”

Dirty Bonnet sucks her teeth. “But aren’t the Vile the most beautiful of them all? She’s not beautiful.”

“Not at all,” Johny says.

I can’t believe these horrible people are saying such horrible things. I can’t believe these horrible people with their rotten teeth and dirty hair, their bleeding sores and warty noses are calling me vile. A small part of me wants to laugh, but most of me wants to weep.

Their noise and their smell make my knees weak, and not one person in the crowd says, “Maybe we’re being too hasty,” or “I think we should hear her out,” or any word that would make them stand apart from their hive.

I wobble in Johny’s hold. His hands burn my skin, and his touch twists something deeper, something untouchable down in my core. Despite the almost overwhelming stink of this jail, I want to lean against its closest wall just to remain upright. Just to find balance before figuring out my next steps, figuring out a way to escape this monster’s grip.

But Johny won’t let me go, and so I have no place to rest except against him .

I grit my jaw. No. Never. I’d rather sink here, right outside this prison, and let all of the crap from every village in this realm ooze over me until I’ve drowned and awakened in the presence of their beloved Supreme.

Far-off thunder rumbles across the hills, and the breeze picks up to become wind, distracting the crowd. Those clouds that followed me to this village at last open, and rain drifts like shredded veils from the sky and softens the hard air. Soon, raindrops pebble on top of the villagers’ amber glow. The water hits me, too, and I feel heavier, weaker.

The crowd gapes at the weeping clouds. Spitter cries, “Hurry! Get the buckets!”

The now-muddied pathways clear as villagers run to houses and return outdoors to set pails on the gravel paths, on the dried grass, and beneath the eaves of every building. C link-clink-clink. Fading colors darken because of the falling water. Tree leaves swell as the parched earth sucks up raindrops the moment they hit the dirt.

The traveling merchants shift nervously before their carts. A naked wraith and now rain? They find tarps and canvas to cover their wares, then return to gawking at me.

Johny’s grip never loosens around my arm, despite the commotion. Not a single drop of drought-quenching rain distracts him from his job. He whistles, then shouts, “Narder! Got another one for you.”

“You can’t arrest me,” I spit. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A man with a rusted key tied to his waistcoat clomps through the rain toward us. His thick eyebrows slash down, and his eyes scratch like talons across my skin. His long, pockmarked face needs soap and water. Flies swarm around him like pets.

“Johny!” he booms. “What do we have here?” His voice rattles with phlegm and evil.

“A new plaything for you,” the guard says. “Isn’t she a sight? This one’s goin’ around town, scaring people, and bein’ a real nuisance. We can hold her here in the clink for now.”

“Why are you punishing me ?” I point to the bandit and Copperhair, who are now gaping at the wet sky. “ She’s the thief! Arrest her!”

Johny tightens his grip around my arm even more, and I wince.

“This isn’t right,” I protest.

No one backs me up.

My heart drops to my stomach—if I go into this building, I know I’ll never come out again. At least not as the me I’m supposed to be. But there’s nothing more I can do beyond shout, “Let me go!” and thrash against the guard as I try to break out of his hold.

Johny’s hold, though, is too tight and too sure.

Fury and fear surge in my chest once Narder grabs hold of my other arm. My legs sag in strength, and though I’m fighting to hold my ground, my bare feet slip in the new mud. I want to wail out of anger, out of frustration and bewilderment, but I refuse to shed a single tear even as the two men drag me closer to my doom.

“Oh yeah,” Narder the jailer says. “She’s definitely a feisty one.”

“And I’m gonna tear her apart,” he thinks.

“You touch me,” I snap, “and I’ll—”

“And you’ll what?” Johny squeezes my arm until I squeal. To Narder, he says, “She’s mouthy, too. I know you like ’em with a bit of fire.”

Okay, so I’ll slay Johny first, and then I’ll slay Narder, but only after I slay—

“Stop!” a woman shouts.

Only after I slay her.

The thief—Olivia—charges down the muddy path, her expression panicked but petulant. Somehow, she’s quickly changed her clothes and is now wearing a black brocaded cloak and a blue dress with a waist cinched just below her breasts. That isn’t my cloak across her shoulders. What did she do with my vest and pendant? Those black boots on her feet belong to me. And those hot-pink handprints around her pale neck? Those belong to me, too. A stuffed leather satchel hangs off Copperhair’s shoulder. Did they hide my things in that bag?

“This is none of your business, Olivia,” Narder growls.

“I wish to drop the charges.” Olivia’s eyes look wild in the rain, and she’s gained a shitload of composure and authority since we shared space moments ago. Now, with her shoulders back and chin high, she glares at the men standing before her. “Didn’t you hear me? I’d like for you to stand down, please.”

The guard and jailer look at each other, then throw their heads back and laugh.

“She’s talking like she’s the queen,” Johny says, snickering.

“Stand down, please,” Narder mocks, his voice high.

The crowd laughs. The death-glows that had been glaring around their bodies and around the guard and jailer have nearly faded, thanks to the rain.

“This isn’t a joke,” Olivia sniffs. “Release this young woman immediately. Please . ”

“Under whose authority?” the guard sneers, all humor gone. “Oh. That’s right. You have none, you simpleminded liar. You’re not fooling me again. Not after that last time.”

Olivia flushes as she shakes her head. “This is all one big misunderstanding. She thought I’d stolen something of hers, which I hadn’t, of course.”

“Empty your pockets,” I demand. “Empty that bag! She’s hiding my amulet.”

The guard yanks me. “Quiet.”

Olivia throws me an annoyed glance, and I hear her thoughts more clearly than I hear my own: “Sweet Supreme, lady. Just shut up and let me handle this.”

To Olivia, the guard says, “You know the drill. Empty your pockets. Now .”

Olivia pulls out one of the cloak’s pockets. Empty. “Satisfied?”

“Lemme see the other one,” the guard demands.

Olivia hesitates, grumbles, “Fine, whatever,” then pulls my pendant from the cloak’s second pocket. Her cheeks and ears grow hot pink.

“I told you! That’s mine!” I lunge for my necklace, but the guard jerks me back.

Icy-blue lightning sizzles across the sky, turning those dark clouds lilac. In the distance, villagers whoop and throw down more buckets. Clink-clink-clink.

Maybe my captors will be struck by a bolt or two.

Johny laughs as he taps at my pendant. “All this commotion over this piece of trash? This necklace looks like something my granny would wear.”

The jailer joins in the laughter.

Even Olivia cracks a smile.

“Stop,” I plead, near tears. “Just give me what’s mine and I’ll go.” My legs weaken even more, and I go limp and slip out of Johny’s hold, sinking to my knees. Feels like lightning is crackling across my scalp. At least the rain brings some relief.

Olivia observes me with concern before turning to the guard. “Let’s make a deal, just like before. You let this woman go, and I’ll sell the pendant in Pethorp and split the geld with you. With everything happening right now because of the drought, I know you need geld. And you know that I need geld—”

“It’s not yours to sell,” I yell from the mud. “You can’t sell it. I won’t let you.”

“Shut yer trap.” The guard tosses the pendant to Olivia, then kicks my arm, sending me facedown in the wet earth. And just like that, I am a mudscraper.

“Stop,” Olivia begs. “You’re hurting her.”

Narder scoffs. “She’s Dashmala. They don’t feel no pain.” He kicks me in the side. “See? She didn’t feel that.”

I definitely felt that. Heat sizzles into my bones and burns my breath away. The hurt in my ribs radiates in every direction—from my smallest toes all the way to my teeth. Defiant, I push myself and sit back on my heels to glare at the guards.

“Never seen no Dashmala warriors anywhere in Maford or in Pethorp,” Narder says. “Looks like she’s dying, full of disease. She looks dry . You know, like how dirt turns hard right before it stops growin’ carrots and tatos? Same thing with this one. I know hard dirt when I see it, and trust me. This girl’s hard dirt.”

Olivia’s expression flashes quickly from alarm to anger. “That’s clearly not true. She’s not hard dirt! Look at her!” She pushes Narder away from me. “Please stop.”

With his palms up, Narder backs off, chuckling at Olivia’s efforts. “Can you believe that one?” the jailer asks the guard.

“Okay, you’ll release her now?” Olivia slips my necklace back into her cloak pocket. “On my honor, she won’t give you any more problems. You must believe me.”

“Believe you?” Johny says, his eyes wide. “Your honor ?” He flicks his hand at her. “You’re nineteen years old. You don’t have no honor. And those bronze cups you sold me last week never did hold water.”

Olivia shakes her head. “This is different, though—”

Johny runs his tongue over his fleshy lips as he regards Olivia. “Did you hear me? I’m not taking part in your little rackets no more. So why don’t you go play with your needles and threads before I arrest you for disturbin’ the peace.”

“Yeah,” Narder says, “you don’t got no say around here.”

“But I do,” a deep voice rumbles from the crowd.