The mass grave was dug just outside the eastern edge of Cragmore, in a clearing where the grass met the treeline. There was no time for individual burials. The ground was soft enough after recent rains, and the militia worked in grim silence with shovels and picks. By midday they had a long, deep trench ready.
Seven bodies were carried out on stretchers and laid side by side. Tomas, split nearly in half. Jarek with his neck broken. The two farmers and the retired guard, their wounds still ugly even after Petra had tried to clean them. Two more villagers who had been caught in the initial panic — a woman who tried to protect her child and an old merchant who had simply been in the wrong place.
Relatives stood in a ragged line, faces wet with tears. Tomas's mother collapsed to her knees, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She reached out as if she could pull her son back from the edge of the grave. Jarek's father stood stone-faced, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white, while his wife wailed beside him.
One by one the bodies were lowered into the trench. No fancy rites. No long speeches. Just a simple prayer from Brother Aldwin, the traveling monk who had appeared from nowhere as he sometimes did.
"May the road take you gently," he said quietly, sprinkling a handful of dirt over each body. "And may strength find you in whatever comes next."
The villagers began shoveling dirt back in. The sound of earth hitting bodies was heavy and final. Some people turned away. Others watched every scoop, as if committing the moment to memory.
Garret stood at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, face blank. Black demon blood still stained his clothes from yesterday. He hadn't bothered changing. The ribs on his left side ached with every breath, but he ignored it.
Petra's clinic had been overflowing since the attack. She moved between beds like a woman possessed, stitching wounds, setting bones, mixing poultices until her hands shook. Pip lay on one of the cots, pale and quiet, the long cut across her ribs freshly bandaged. She had lost some blood but would live. Petra had barely slept, checking on her daughter between every other patient.
When the last shovel of dirt was patted down, the crowd slowly made its way back to the village hall for the meeting. The air inside felt thick with grief and fear.
Mayor Elias stood at the front, looking ten years older than he had a week ago. His voice was rough when he spoke.
"I sent a rider to the capital yesterday with a full report. Asked for soldiers, supplies, anything they could spare." He paused, jaw tight. "The reply came back this morning. They said it didn't matter. The borderlands have always been dangerous. They're focused on the main threat farther east. We're on our own."
Angry murmurs rose. Someone shouted, "They're leaving us to die!"
Elias raised his hands. "We knew this might happen. The capital has its own problems. That means we have to stand for ourselves."
Sable stepped forward. She moved stiffly, her own wounds still healing, but her eyes were hard with determination.
"I watched seven good people die yesterday," she said. Her voice carried clearly through the hall. "They died because we weren't ready. Because one strong demon could walk in at noon and slaughter us like sheep. I won't let that happen again. I promise you — I will get stronger. I will train anyone who wants to learn. But I can't do it alone."
She looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as she could.
"I ask every able body to join the militia. Not for glory. Not for revenge. For survival. We train harder. We watch the forest closer. We fight together or we fall separately."
The hall stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then skepticism broke the silence.
Old Henk spoke first, voice bitter. "Easy for you to say, wandering knight. You'll move on when this gets too hot. We live here. We've seen what happens when villagers play soldier. Most of us end up in graves like the one we just dug."
A middle-aged woman with a bandaged arm nodded. "My husband is dead because he tried to fight. What makes you think more training will change anything against things like that demon?"
Another man called out, "The capital abandoned us. Why should we bleed for a fight we can't win?"
Sable's expression didn't waver. "Because the alternative is waiting to be slaughtered in our beds or while we work the fields. Yesterday proved they can come in daylight. Tomorrow it might be more than one. I'm not asking you to become heroes. I'm asking you to stay alive."
Garret sat near the back again, saying nothing. His ribs throbbed. The image of Tomas being split open kept flashing behind his eyes. He could still taste the coppery smell of blood and the foul stench of the demon's wounds.
Petra stood up slowly, exhaustion clear in every line of her face. "My daughter almost died yesterday. She's lying in my clinic right now with stitches in her side. I spent all night trying to keep the injured from bleeding out. I can't do that again if more come. I'll support the militia. I'll patch you up when you get hurt. But I won't pretend this will be easy."
Pip, who had been allowed to attend despite her injuries, spoke from her seat. Her voice was small but steady. "I was scared. But running didn't help. We have to try."
More voices rose — some agreeing, some arguing, some simply weeping quietly for the dead.
Elias finally raised his hand for quiet. "We'll vote at the end of the meeting. But training continues tomorrow at dawn for anyone who wants to come. Those who don't… I understand. Just stay close to the village and keep your eyes open."
The meeting dragged on for another hour with heated discussion. Some people signed up again with grim faces. Others left early, shoulders slumped.
Garret slipped out before the vote. He walked back to his farm in the fading light of the two suns, the fresh mound of the mass grave visible in the distance.
He sat on his porch with a jug of ale, staring at nothing.
Seven people gone in minutes. A mother on her knees sobbing. Pip bleeding on the ground. Sable promising strength she might not be able to deliver.
The forest looked darker than ever.
Garret took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Still not my circus," he muttered.
But even he could hear how hollow the words sounded now.
Tomorrow training would start again. The howls would keep coming closer. And the capital had already written them off.
Cragmore was running out of time.
End of Chapter 14