Forgotten Kingdoms Forums

Another year, another Rotter raised and felled, another price paid.

They sent a new one this time. Gods, but he's little more than a boy. We're lucky it wasn't too bad this year, or we'd have been sending the young lad back to his folks in a box.

This year’s Rotter turned out to be Veryk. He’d left years ago to Zhentil Keep and came home to care for his nan, by his telling. I don’t know, the man seemed a bit funny to me just as soon as he made it here. Hard to explain. Whatever he was really up to, he found more than he bargained for. The Rot found him not two days into his stay, and the first soul to suffer was his nan, stabbed and turned into some sort of undead. Well, the boy showed up only two days after that, and Veryk was no more. It weren’t a clean one. Reckon the boy’s folks didn’t tell him why we call it the Rot. He found out as soon as he cleaved old Veryk’s head open and the decay went spilling out, worms and all.

Anyway, the boy slew him and he took his pay. Just a handful of dirt from beneath the temple. Why'd he want dirt? I'm not for knowing, and I'm trying not to care. It’s unsettling, like there’s something I don’t know, but he insisted that's what he wanted so that's what he got.

Seemed like he didn’t really know what he was doing here, but that’s not my problem. The deed is done, and the price is paid. I'll be praying they send someone with a little more wit next year.

Signed,
Sheriff Hargrave

Another year's past, and the ancient pact binds us still.

They sent the same one as last year. Apparently he’s a squire. Alas for whatever knight took him under their wing. The boy talks too much and too slow. I can't be sitting around blabbing with him all day. I've got a town to run.

Anyway, the church must see something in him to have made him a squire. Reckon he wields a sword well enough, for he found and cut down this year's Rotter quickly, and it sure caused a fair bit of trouble this time. One of the elders of the Silveroak clan, slaughtered and animated nearly a score of the family’s chickens and hens in the night and ran off to hide. The ghouls did a number on the Silveroaks' home and livestock both, but the rest of the family itself got out before they could be injured or worse. The boy found the Rotter right quick, and didn’t even make a mess of it like he did last year.

The price this year, as the squire boy demanded, was one of the chickens' carcasses. If I didn't know any better, I'd wonder that the boy might not be fixing to learn a little necromancy himself. I don't really know why he took it. All I know is that this new Church of Death is a good deal kinder to the town's coffers and its people, and that's all I need to know. Some of the townsfolk, the old ones who’ve long since caught on to the cycle of things, have been growing a little suspicious of the church over the last few years. Saying that Kelemvor's been taking little now, only to save up for some sort of terrible price later. I think that's foolishness. He's a gentler god than the Mad One and Myrkul were, simple as that. Reckon it won't hurt to keep a close watch, still.

So we're back to peace again, and we're rebuilding the Silveroaks' farm as I write this. We're going to be low on the usual supply of eggs this year. Might have to see if we can do some business with Scardale, or else hope that the crops are real plentiful. But now we're safe for a while, as long as this new death god keeps his predecessor's word.

Signed,
Sheriff Hargrave

The Day of Ascension brought its Rot again, like clockwork.

They sent the same one. Same one who's been coming here for years and years now, only there's none of the boy left in him. Ever since the year he came bearing the title "sir" he's been growing more and more dangerous. Now he’s seeming more like an executioner than a knight these days, with that big headsman's axe and those judging eyes. Like he knows you belong on the block, he just don’t know why yet.

It were bad this year, and almost worse. It started like any other time. The Rotter, Heff the blacksmith, started acting a bit funny, folks told me. Got a little quiet, with a far-off sort of look. I went to check on him but found the shop empty, with a project left half-finished on the workbench. And so I knew we'd lose him this year. I wish he'd been the only one.

The knight had returned to us the day Heff disappeared and I let him know who to be looking for. The Rotter showed itself a little while later, not long after sunset, by a great burst of flame that lit the night from inside the healers' house. A bunch of us ran straight away to help, but there weren't much to be helped. I came to the house and saw the knight already there, wreathed in grey flames that seemed to battle the fire's own. It was like Kelemvor himself was guiding the lad as he'd torn out a section of wall and dove into the blaze. He came out with the healers’ twin girls in his arms and was followed by these great flaming skulls that were trying to get at the babes with their gnashing burning fangs. He shouted something at me that I couldn't quite make out over the roaring of the fire and the mad cackling of those damned skulls. The fury in his voice gave the message well enough and I quick took the infants from him and got them away just as he turned right around and started cleaving and caving skulls. Except for the last one he came to, for he learned long ago to keep the Rotters' heads intact.

He saved the girls, and he saved us all. But he couldn't save the parents. Myrkul's Blood, for all we know, the parents were already dead by the time he got the twins out. So now we've got no healers, a home and two people dead, and two orphaned babes. Just more bodies to keep the pact. I overheard some of the young ones in the tavern, muttering to themselves about how they’re leaving town. They won’t. We didn’t.

Almost forgot to mention this year's price, the price for a year of safety and two girls' lives in ashes. An odd one again, as it always is for this knight. He asked for the key to the family's home. Now what would he be doing with a scorched key that's not got a lock to fit in anymore? Well, it's what he wanted, so it's what we gave him. He looked strange when I handed it over, just sort of stared at it for a long while there in the palm of his gauntlet, like he was holding the remains of those girls’ parents rather than a bit of scrap.

Old Heff’s remains were burned as the Rotters always are, and the knight stood to watch from atop the hill as he has a habit of doing. We've passed the girls on to the care of the school's headmaster for now. I'm not sure what else we can do. Maybe we'll have something of a memorial built on the ashes of the house if we can find coin or charity enough. Aye, that'd be nice I think. What else can we do but to remember?

Signed,
Sheriff Hargrave

Dear Diary,

The great big dark man came back again! Headmaster says we're not to bother him and not to ask questions. He's called a knight and he's very busy. Sister says he looks mean and scary, but I don't think so. I think he's great! I wonder why he comes every year, just for a day or two. I wonder what knights do. I wonder how he got so big and strong. I think I'd like to be strong like that someday, then I'd be able to protect my sister from the headmaster and those mean boys in class.

Well, we were outside collecting veggies from the school garden for tonight's supper, and I saw the big knight leaving the sheriff's office nearby, and I just had to go say hi. Headmaster wouldn't see. So I told my sister I'd be right back and ran off and waved my hand at him to make him see me. He did and he stopped and looked at me funny for a bit and I looked at him. He was even bigger than he looked from the school house. I told him my name, and he said he knew me! Isn't that weird? Maybe the headmaster told him about me. I hope not, or he might not like me so much, like the headmaster does.

But he seemed to like me. He got down on his knee and told me his name, it's something funny that I can't spell. I asked him what he's doing, and he said he's here to fix the town. I didn't know the town was broken. But he said he fixed it, so that's good. I sure would like to be able to fix towns like that someday. He couldn't stay long, but he gave me a few little fruity cakey sort of things and said to share them with my sister. He knows about her too, I guess. I asked him how he knew, and he said we all met a long long time ago. I don't remember that, but he seems nice, anyway, for giving us these treats. The school never lets us have things like that.

It turned out that the headmaster did see me, for I got a whipping later on for bothering the knight. I tried to tell that the knight liked me, but he didn't want to hear any of it. I don't really mind. I liked the big man, and I really liked getting to bring some good snacks back to sister. I love her so much, but she never wants to sneak away like that. Maybe next time I'll get her to come along with me to see the knight again. I think she'd like him too.

With much love,
M

Dear Diary,

Something sort of strange happened today. The knight with the funny name came back again, and like I promised last year, I got my sister to come with me after school to find him. She still thinks he looks scary, but I promised he's nice and I'd protect her if he was mean.

We looked around after class, but couldn't find him anywhere. Then I remembered where I saw him last year, and I told sister we should look around the sheriff's place. We're not supposed to go too near there, but I really wanted sis to see him up close, and we wouldn't go inside anyway.

We looked around some and were about to leave when sister pointed and said she saw him! He was coming to the sheriff's. Only the sheriff came out to talk to him, and I didn't want him to see us, so I took my sister's hand and we hid out around the side of the house. We could sort of hear them talking there, if we were quiet. He said he done something, got rid of some rotten person. I don't know who that was, but I guess they did something bad.

The sheriff asked what he wanted and they did some grownup trading like you hear in the shop. Sheriff Hargrave said that he never takes from us like Myrkul's people used to do. I don't know much about Myrkul, the headmaster always tells us not to ask questions about him, we'll learn when we're older. Anyway, the knight sounds nicer than Myrkul, and sister thought so too.

So when the sheriff went back inside we ran out to catch the big knight and say hi, even sis. He asked us what we were doing out and how we'd been and was school going well. I told him we weren't really supposed to see him, the headmaster might whip me again like last time. I kinda felt bad because then he did look scary, and he took us to the school, and went alone inside with the headmaster for a while. We tried listening through the door but couldn't hear much. But he must've put it all straight because the headmaster looked white as a ghost when they came out and told us we wouldn't have to work anymore to pay for our schooling. He even said he was sorry he ever hit us!

The knight looked nice again as we left the school. He gave us some more tarts like last time and said he'd be back to visit us and make sure the headmaster kept his word. I told sister he was nice. And she believes me now. I wish I could be strong and nice like him so I can fix rotten people and share my treats with hungry kids someday.

Love,
M

Dear Diary,

We were let out of classes early today. I didn't know why at first, but when sister and me went out to play, we saw the knight came back! The big dark one that comes every year. He must be an even better baker than ours, because he brought us more yummy tarts! There was something else, too. A few shiny silver pieces, so we could go shopping for toys! Isn't that exciting?

He stayed with us a tiny bit longer than last time. I told him we missed him and asked if he missed us, and he said yes! He said he wanted to know we were both happy. I definitely was, and I think sister was too, but she still looked a little shy like always. He asked if we wanted to walk around town a little, and so we did. He even let me climb on him and gave me a piggyback ride around! I felt just as big as he is! Sister was a little scared to go so high, so she went along beside him and was swinging from his hand sometimes. I pretended he was my horse and I was riding him into battle showing him where to go like the knights do in the stories I told you about.

Sister used her coins to get a couple dollies to play with and hug. One looks like a pretty princess and the other is a big cuddly birdy. I like them, but I wanted to get something to help me get stronger. So I rode my horse to the carpenter and got that little wood sword I saw in the window a while ago! The knight wanted to know why I wanted a sword, and I told him. I want to be a knight some day, and protect people, and make the world better, because it's sort of hard. He said I'd need to work real real hard if that's what I want, and I will. I'll practice every day with this new sword. I asked if he'd show me how to be strong like him. I don't know if he will, he only comes around once in a while, but he said maybe if I work hard and do good in school and keep sis safe. I swung around the sword to show him what I could do, and he said I look like a real lady-knight already. I think he was joking though. He didn’t smile or anything, but I can tell. Still, Lady Marya sounds pretty doesn't it?

The knight needed to leave us to go fix the town again. He wouldn't let me come along, said it was still too dangerous. But I'll practice, I promise. For him and you and my sweet sister and the town and for all the world. I promise I'll get strong.

With love,
M

Something is wrong.

I want to tell someone, but I can't. It won’t let me, but it's letting me write. You amuse me.

It is as if my every move requires another's permission. It almost has full control. I want to be with Mavis, but I can’t let her see me like this. She will see us before long.

I can smell the rot in my own head, feel the worms wriggling, hear the sloshing. Embrace it.

I know the plan: to make me a monster, to put something into Mavis. I'm scared. I want to cry, but it won't let me. Strong little knights do not cry.

I want to yell out, but my voice won't work. Enough of this. Let us go find her.

No. Don't hurt he-

M

The sheriff had been weeping. He was with me when I found them behind the schoolhouse. Mavis was unconscious. Marya darted into the forest, skirting just above the ground, ghoul hounds and wraiths following in her wake. She had been performing a ritual, trying to guide an entity into Mavis. Something old. It slipped back to its plane when she broke from the ritual and fled. The villagers gathered where Mavis lay in the shadow of the school, so I went after the Rotter.
My stomach was in my throat. I felt young again. Not... youthful. Just young. A child in too-heavy maille that stumbled headlong into the river alone. I wasn't ready this time. I could never be ready for this. I couldn't call for fury. I couldn't beg for power or strength. My voice escaped me like a whine when I tried. The child I chased into those woods didn't deserve to die. Knowing she was already dead couldn't save my soul from what had to be done.
Without prayers, the undead tore into me. Bit, thrashed, clawed- but in the end they were defeated and I had Marya in my grasp. I had taken her leg with my bardiche. An arm too, at the wrist. No, not hers. The Rotter’s.
My arms wrapped about her shoulders, her teeth screeched and tore at my bevor but couldn't get through. She snarled and gnashed, bloodying herself against me. I couldn't do it. In my years I was never able to solve the puzzle of this curse. I’d learned so much, but never the answer. There was no saving her, but my heart was too weak to kill her. It lasted only minutes like this.
During that time I begged. I pleaded and screamed, but it was no longer Kelemvor’s way to intervene. The being in her mocked me. Spat on me. Laughed at my faith... at my tears. It stank of decay. The scent of my failure. Then all at once it left and for a moment it was only me, and it was only her.
The remnants of Marya, bound in this broken undead form, struggling to voice her thoughts and her fears... "Al-" she whispered. "Al- I'm dying... aren't I?"
"Yes..." My voice should have broken.
"Will you take... care of her? Of Mavis..?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
With those words a sliver of strength returned. I couldn't let her suffer more. The grey flame consumed the magic that animated her broken form and I watched her spirit slip beyond the Veil. The masked figure upon the Wastes extended a hand to her, but He looked past her at me... He felt my hatred and forgave me. He felt my longing to go with them and He forgave that too. He always forgives me. Always. But He never gives me the strength to forgive myself.

…
I hate that I have to write poorly of him. This man had been a hero to us. A squire we watched grow into a saint. A legend made flesh. After all the refugees from the cataclysm of that wretched dracolich, and the gods know there were too damned few, to us he had become The Avenger of Morrowdale, Farthingdale, and Winterdale. The Slayer of Thalthentoth. He and his companions sacrificed an entire Abbey for the greater good! He knows of sacrifice, he’s seen it every year that he’s come here. He was a stranger to us once, but then we celebrated him and only when he told us no more festivals in his honour did we stop. We loved him. His visits were coloured by fear of the curse, but they became a time to rejoice and mourn as well. Until this time.
We didn’t notice the bastard coming back into the town, we were too busy doing our part just like he’d done. Hells, he was carrying Marya’s corpse across his shoulder, a bloodied bag tied to her waist containing the parts of her that he’d severed off! He’s no better than us no matter how he acts. We’d prepared the noose, dragged the other one to the hangman’s tree, and had nearly finished stringing her up when he was upon us- and in the middle of us! The girl fell back to the ground as he was battering us about, throwing us to the ground, breaking no less than three poor citizens’ bones and roaring outrage in a voice stronger than any I’d heard from him in years! Sweeps of his weapon sundered pitchforks and torches, clattering them to the dirt with us poor townsfolk crying out in pain and fear. Old Benson reports that with his wrist in a sling he won’t be able to manage the harvest this year now without hiring a hand to help, and who’s to pay for that? The last healers we had were the parents of these two girls.
What kind of hero turns on the innocent. Halts justice. Myrkul’s Blood, we told him how this curse works but he just refused to believe us. He ignored the signs, couldn’t or wouldn’t see the changes in that poor girl after what the Rotter had done to her. Black hair turned pale, her skin so white she seemed all but dead already. Somehow in those woods he’d become too weak to do what he knew was right. And what’s more, he stopped us from doing the same.
Instead he pulled the noose from Mavis’s neck. I tried to stop him, but he bellowed, “This is the price!” Then as I grabbed at his arm he hefted that damned bardiche like he would cleave me in two! I looked to the villagers behind me, and more than a few had recovered and were ready to try and stop him, but he says, voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper, “She is the price… if you would rob the Church of Death, say so now and we’ll annul the pact in your blood.”
Cold bastard, he meant it. Something in his eyes, his posture, like he was ready to do it. The fight left us. No chance we could fight something like him, with whatever black magicks he has to put such strength to his arm. He would have slaughtered us to the last. Even if he hadn’t, without the pact, this town would be given a death sentence anyway.
Mavis chose then to wake up. Poor girl, she needed the noose but she’ll never know it now. She was confused. The bastard told her to stand, told her they needed to go, but Mavis saw the ruins of her sister thrown over his shoulder and screamed. We didn’t have it in us to fight him only to kill her ourselves, all we could do was avert our eyes in shame. Even when she tried to run from him we couldn’t bring ourselves to move. He just slung his weapon and snatched her up onto his other shoulder. Then he was pushing through us to leave town by the hillside. He stopped there a moment to look back at us, her little arms flailing in silhouette, then he started onwards again. We could hear her screaming and begging for us to help Marya, for him to leave her be and let her go home with her sister. Her voice carried past the hillside long after they were out of sight.
No one looks forward to his return next year. Hopefully he’ll have killed that wraith-touched waif by then.
…

I slip from nightmare to nightmare.

I don't know where I am. Everything looks funny. People are all around me, shouting and cursing. Al is there, telling me to stand up and go with him. It's cold and my neck hurts. I can't remember anything.

I look around for Marya and realize that she's the bloody little thing slung over Al's shoulder. She's in pieces. A broken doll. She's not moving. I think I start to scream, but I don't hear what I say. I try to run away, but he snatches me up and starts to leave.

I kick and punch and claw and bite and beg. I was never as strong as Marya. Al's too big and too mean anyway. Fuzzy glimpses of people I've known forever. The headmaster, the sheriff, the baker, the carpenter - all just stand there, doing nothing, watching him steal us away. Me and Marya. Marya, who smells like blood and death... No, that is the smell of the monster carrying us off. It can’t be Marya - she always liked to smell of sunflowers.

My vision begins to fade as we reach the hillside, but I still scream for Marya...

I’m awake again. I don’t know how much time has passed.

I lie in the dirt, near some woods. Everything looks strange, blurred and grey. I don’t know where I am. So much of me hurts.

I look around and see Al. His habit is torn and bloody. He’s working on something on the ground in front of him. It’s Marya. He’s... trying to put her back together. After what he did to her. He has no right!

I try to yell at him, but my voice won’t work anymore. I can barely breathe. I try to get closer, to push him away from her. There is a string and a needle in his hands. I start to throw up, and the greyness takes me again...

I wake again. He’s shaking me out of the haze.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and I don’t know where I am. My eyes feel raw, and my heart feels split in two.

I look up at him. Our friend who used to bring us tarts. The knight who always fixed things for us. I always knew he looked mean, but Marya trusted him. He won’t look back at me. He just pulls me up and turns me to face Marya there on the ground and tells me to say something for her. He begins to light a fire at her feet.

I want to scream. My voice won’t make noise. I want to cry. I can’t make any more tears. I want to run away. My legs feel like jelly.

Then I see something poking out behind her head, and a little rush of strength lets me pull it out. Draw it from the back scabbard I’d sewn for her. Her wooden sword. I stare at it. I remember a flash of the day she bought it and told him she wanted to be like him. No. She would never have been like him. She was better than him. He’s just a monster.

He comes and stands next to me and growls at me again to say something. He holds my shoulder, keeping me there and upright before her. I look away, but a sound from him, judging when he has no right to judge, brings my eyes back to her. He watches with me, pretending like he cares.

I feel the sword in my hand, and I wish I could cut him with it. I finally say something. My voice sounds like someone else’s - low and hoarse and hurting. “I’ll... I’ll be the strong one for us now, Mar.”

The wind blows toward me. It blows the smell of smoke and my burning sister into my face. I begin to cough. My throat and eyes burn. I fall back into the dark...

It’s like I’m floating in fog, all grey and quiet. I don’t know where I am. For a time, nothing hurts anymore.

I see a big man with a silver mask far off, getting closer, like he’s floating through my dream. He reaches out to me, and I start to reach out to him.

Before I can touch his hand, he starts to fade away, along with the greyness. Al is holding me in his lap, his hand on my chest covered in weird colorless fire. It’s too dark to see his face in that hood. I feel a raindrop on my cheek. He turns his head away. He still won’t look at me.

He lays me down and tells me to rest. I don’t want to sleep. I want Marya. He tells me we will leave in the morning. I wonder what he’s going to do with me. I hope he kills me too. Then I could be with her again.

He ties my ankle to his so I can’t run away. So I lie there, turned away from him. I can’t sleep, so I think. About what’s going to happen. About the home and people I guess I’ll never see again. About Marya, murdered. About Alitar, her killer. He took her away from me. I decide that one day, if he doesn’t kill me, when I get strong enough like Marya wanted, I’ll help fix the broken parts of the world like she would’ve done. Starting with him.

My eyes drift, and a short ways from where we lie, I notice something sticking out of the dirt. A cross-shaped marking at a burial mound. I lift my head to get a better look in the moonlight. It’s her sword, its tip dug into the earth. If I squint my eyes I can see something that the monster must have carved onto it.

“Here lies Lady Marya, Strong Little Knight”

I slip away again into blackness.

They entered the town without being challenged. Her little legs kept a quick pace to match his ground-eating stride, keeping him in line on her left as she'd been taught. Their reception was cold. Quiet. The town dared not turn them away, but they surely did not welcome their saviours- this Grey Knight and the Wraith-Touched Waif they'd tried to hang just a year before.
She carried a spear. It wasn't meant for her. She had learned that it was going to be her sister's, but fate had intervened. It was heavy, sure, but after a year of carrying it about she didn't think of its weight much anymore; she just kept it shouldered as she walked alongside the silent man towards the sheriff's office. She was equal parts nervous, angry, and eager. She was going to watch her mentor fix the town this year.
The Sheriff kept civil, but was gruff. Not as civil as her mentor, but not as gruff as her mentor either. Her mentor was good at saying polite words that sound scary. The Sheriff glanced at her a few times, but each time when he looked back to the man in front of him he shrank a little under the weight of his gaze. She tried to remember his attempt to hang her, but only remembered the moments of waking up. When the Sheriff finished providing a list of strange events, clues to find the Rotter, she mirrored her mentor's bow and then stepped back outside the office with him.
The sun was still up, but not for long. She walked with the man in a circuit of the town. He was focusing, she could tell. Feeling something. Finding something. They stopped before the ruins of a burned out home. Her home, once, not anymore. Her sister had become her home, and when she was gone it became him. She watched the ruins, an eerie feeling drawing at the back of her neck. The sun fell below the top of the building behind her, and as her skin cooled, it crawled. She dropped low with her spear held forward just as her mentor did, the bardiche held alongside him with its head resting just before her. He always insisted she stand to his right. He would protect her. The quick growl of his prayers made it clear he was ready.
The beasts exploded out of the ruins, ghoulhounds and wraiths, the Headmaster floating behind them, wreathed in a radiant green energy that seemed to decay the grass below him when touched. She felt fear, but she felt fury too. Her mentor radiated it. He met the undead with a hand upraised. Waves of the grey flame that had begun to envelope him burst forward, again and again, tearing the animating magic from the quicker ghoulhounds before the bardiche passed through the first of the wraiths. If it was surprised that the weapon could touch it, it did not show it as it burst into mist.
She watched him fight, careful and ready to try to help even though she was told long before arriving not to engage. When a wraith slipped past her mentor, the magic and length of her spear kept it at bay long enough for the man to react and cleave it into mist as well. Then only the Rotter remained.
Their eyes met in an instant that seemed to stretch into minutes - her wide, dull, colorless eyes and the gaze of the nearly tyrannical Headmaster she’d known for so long. The latter’s eyes were unrecognizable now, as drained of colour as her own but with not a flicker of life in them. The girl couldn’t help but think of her sister then, of how those dead eyes must have looked in her beloved Marya’s face. Revulsion shook her frame, and despite all the years of mutual dislike between these two, the girl could feel only sorrow for the lost man’s soul.
The Rotter didn't bother to run. It charged at her - but did not make it past her mentor intact. She looked down at its body, unmoving, and felt a pull to act, to see it for herself. She pushed her spear into its skull. She regretted it when she recoiled from the stench of decay, but she’d needed to know. The Rotters were well named - you couldn't fix the Rot. Her sister had been beyond saving.
The Church’s price that year was simple: a slightly ratty, but still familiar, stuffed songbird. It had been tossed in carelessly with the school’s scant collection of toys and games after the waif had been carried off. Even as she collected it, she offered a teacher a donation from the purse a kind priest had given her earlier that year. Enough, she hoped, to make the school better for the children and staff who remained. Then at her mentor’s familiar place atop the hill, she held the bird in hand opposite her spear as she watched the pyre burn in the town below. When the flames grew low, they turned without a word and were walking to another familiar place.
At the place of Marya’s burial, the mentor and pupil were father and daughter again. The bird’s final resting place was to be with the Strong Little Knight, left perched against the cracked, weather-worn blade of the wooden sword that bore her name in faded etchings. Her father tidied those etchings with a knife, making sure they could be read clearly. An old dirge was sung by the girl’s sweet soprano, and answered by the man’s shredded baritone. Prayers, older still, were spoken for each and every victim of the curse in their order. Tears and raindrops soaked into the earth and the cremated remains it cradled.