Day passed after day. One day I walked through a birch forest, the next through a desert. Sometimes my body froze from the cold, and other times it burned with heat. I no longer remembered where I was going or why. The only thing I knew for certain was that my name was Daen and that I could not stop.
I was on a path winding through a deciduous forest. I had no idea where it led, but I kept going. I took the last of the hard bread from my bag and bit into it with some satisfaction. It was no feast, but I had the feeling things could be worse. I traveled light, carrying only a few spare clothes, a sword, a dagger, and a few other small items necessary for survival in the wild.
When I reached a fork in the road, I headed toward the village. I passed a few peasants on carts. As I approached, I spotted a craftsman riding a wagon just beyond the slope. In a matter of moments, five bandits rushed him from behind the trees. The craftsman panicked and tried to urge his horse onward, but it was too late. One of the bandits jumped onto the wagon and pressed a knife to the man's throat.
"Take everything valuable," the bandit shouted to the others.
They did not hesitate. They surrounded the wagon and began taking anything of worth.
I could fight, but I had no desire to risk my life for no reason. Maybe if the roads were patrolled regularly, something like this could have been prevented, but I had not seen a patrol in quite some time.
I stopped watching the ambush and went around them instead. It was not long before I reached the village. It consisted of about fifteen houses surrounded by a fence. It could hardly be called proper fortification, since it would not have slowed down any real enemy, but it was enough to keep local predators away from the homes.
The gate stood open. No one guarded it. Only two dogs tied to a post raised their heads as I passed. One growled, the other only watched. The village was quiet. As soon as I stepped inside, several people looked my way. A man repairing a wagon wheel paused for a moment. Two women at the well lowered their voices. No one said anything, but they all noticed me. The sword at my waist spoke for me more than I would have liked.
I stopped by the well. I took out my purse and set it on the edge of the stone where it could be seen.
"I'm looking for a place to stay," I said calmly.
One of the women looked me over. It was not fear in her eyes, only caution.
"At Harlen's," she said at last, nodding toward the largest house in the middle of the village. "If you can pay."
I nodded and put the purse away.
The house was larger than the others, but not grand in any way. I knocked and waited. A man with broad shoulders and a graying beard opened the door. His gaze moved from my head to my boots, lingered on the sword, and then settled on my eyes.
"What do you want?"
"Food and a place to sleep," I answered plainly.
He looked at me with hesitation.
I took out my purse again.
Harlen nodded and stepped back from the doorway.
"One night. No trouble."
"Of course," I replied.
He did not seem to believe me, but he did not turn me away either.
It was warm inside, and the smell of smoke clung to the ceiling. A young girl sat at the table, eating from a ceramic bowl. Harlen placed a bowl of soup and a piece of bread in front of me. It looked as though he had done the same thing a hundred times before.
I ate slowly. I could feel their eyes on me, but no one spoke until Harlen sat down across from me.
"You're not from around here," he said.
"I'm from Detruisia," I replied. It was one of the few things I was sure of.
"Heading out to recruit for the army?" he asked, glancing at the sword at my side.
"That would be suicide."
"I agree. I would not go to war again either. I was lucky to come back with only a few missing fingers." A moment of silence followed. "So where are you headed?"
"I don't know. Somewhere the wind takes me, I suppose."
"The roads are full of mercenaries and bandits."
"I noticed," I said.
"The soldiers can't drive them off?" I asked.
"That's the problem. They could," he replied dryly. "But word is the Empire is preparing an invasion, so they're needed elsewhere."
The soup was thin, but it was warm. I finished every last drop.
"War attracts filth," I said, more to myself than to him.
"War only sets it in motion," he corrected me. "The filth was already here."
When I was done eating, he led me to the stable. The hay was dry and the floor was hard. Good enough for me.
"When you get back on the road," he added, "be careful."
"I'm always careful."
He closed the door and left me alone.
I lay down in the hay and closed my eyes. Sleep came almost immediately.
My mind sank into darkness. I did not know that darkness, and yet it felt familiar. Through it I heard people screaming in pain. It was a familiar feeling, a nightmare that kept following me. I could smell ash and blood. Someone cried out a name I did not know.
I tried to open my eyes, but I could not. It was a dream I could not wake from. I tried again and again, until at last the darkness around me loosened for a moment.
The outline of a house began to take shape before my eyes. The wooden beams were blackened with smoke, and the roof sagged inward. The air was heavy and acrid. I tried to breathe, but instead of air I could smell only smoke.
Someone ran past me. They struck my shoulder as if I were truly standing there. I turned, but I could not make out a face. Only a blur of movement and blood on their sleeves.
That scream again.
Closer this time.
I heard my name. Or thought I did. The voice was distorted and broken, as if it were coming through water.
I wanted to move. To step forward. To do anything.
My legs would not move.
The flames rose higher. The heat scorched my face. Tears burned in my eyes, but not a single one fell.
I stood in the middle of ash and dead bodies.
This has to be just a dream, I told myself.
After a while, the sound stopped. The fire vanished.
And darkness returned.