Chapter 6

6.
         It was stepping out into a charnelhouse. Smells and sights assualted his senses, as if a veil had been struck away from his face. Tristian didn't know where to look first. The sword felt heavy and awkward in his hand, having none of the grace and lightness of his laser sword. If it wasn't for the fact that he would have attacked the creatures bare handed, he would have cast the damn thing away completely.
         Behind him there was a flicker at the edges of his vision as the Agent's shield sealed the house away again. He wished he could have the Agents seal the entire town off, have them fix everything and put it right again. Turn back the clock. They had the power he knew, even if they pretended otherwise, he knew it was a front. There weren't any rules here, home, or anywhere. Only the rules that they themselves had set and those could be easily broken. To save lives, he wouldn't hesitate to break them. But then he didn't have the same perspective. His all too frail human perspective said save them all. He never listened to the voice that said he couldn't.
         There were already several bodies bleeding themselves all over the dirt, both human and otherwise. Some died locked in combat, falling over each other as they tried to fight for things that most people found hard to grasp. Dying didn't make it any easier to think about. He could hear clangs and snarls and growls and screams all around him. It was too much to focus on. Tristian forced himself to relax. The sword was too heavy.
         It was still chaos around them. People ran back and forth, either rushing to or from a battle, some probably not even sure where they were running from. Most were bleeding from something, or had blood on them.
         He felt rather than heard Johan's indrawn breath, sharp and quiet. It had been that way for Tristian the first time as well. Fighting something totally alien and not knowing if you were going to live or die. But you just found yourself doing it to survive.
         "What is going on here?" Johan asked quietly, his voice vacant, trying to believe everything around him and not wanting to. In the distance came the reek of smoke. They must be setting fires now. "How did this happen?"
         People were still running all over, some eerily silent, some screaming like an army was after them. He stopped one, keeping one eye on Tristian as he surveyed the area.
         "What happened?" he nearly screamed at the grim faced person in front of him. "Where did they come from?"
         "Not sure," the man said shakily. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. His eyes didn't seem to see Johan. "They came . . . from the mountains and just started . . . killing . . . don't know why, things were fine for . . . for years . . . they just keep killing, they keep . . . my . . ." tears suddenly sprang to the man's eyes and he pushed away from Johan to stumble away. "Excuse me, I have to . . . to go check . . ." and then he was gone.
         Johan turned to look at Tristian. The other man only regarded him silently.
         "This isn't your fight," he said to Tristian after a moment. "You don't have to stay."
         "I'd rather you stayed in your house with your wife," Tristian replied. "At least I'd know you were safe."
         "Dammit, man!" Johan nearly snarled back, not caring that people were dying around him. A creature trotted past and then stopped noticing them. With a roar it ran at them, swinging a sword about its head.
         Tristian spun and kicked it square in the chest, his entire body a sudden blur. There was an audible crack and the thing stood there dumbly for a second, some light flickering out in its eyes. Blood trickled from the corner of its mouth and it swayed before hitting the ground, dead. The entire affair had taken less than three seconds.
         "Yes?" Tristian asked calmly.
         "What don't you understand," Johan asked him, "what don't you understand about me wanting to defend my own village. Why is it okay for a man who lives here to cower in his house while someone who doesn't have any connection to this place risks his life. You don't have to do this!"
         "Yes. I do," Tristian replied simply.
         A scream in the near distance caused them both to look at each other. Something passed between them in that moment and without another word they ran in the direction of the sound.

* * * * *
         Mari by this point had learned not to jump when a shadow passed in front of the window. Even the glass now seemed to glisten red, probably from the Agent's power. The Agent himself had been silent so far, pacing around the room as if wondering something. Or pondering.
         Something hit the wall with a vaguely human scream and this time she did jump. Taking deep breaths to calm herself down, she hugged herself even though she wasn't cold and thought talking might help the situation a bit more.
         "They keep circling the house," she said, wanting to just break the silence, tear apart the tension.
         "Yeah," Agent Two sighed, acting like he was answering a totally different question. "But they won't get in." He laughed, a sharp, angled sound. "They can't get in." Then he abruptly turned serious. He was running his hand along the table. "The craftsmenship here is excellent, I must say. Like it was cut from living wood."
         Mari was taken aback by the change in subject matter but felt it was better to talk about that then to think about what was going on outside. Walking over, she touched the table as well and said, "Johan is talented, he really is. People realize it too, whenever he goes to the city he sells everything he has."
         Agent Two glanced over at the shelves on the walls, all adorned with various wood carvings. "Mm, I can see why. These are all his, I take it."
         "Yes, they are," she answered. For some reason she was feeling weird, hollow almost. As if the air was still.
         For comfort she hugged herself again and turned to the window. For once there was nothing there staring in. "That's how we met, you know. In the city. I was in the marketplace and I saw his stand and I was looking at his stuff and we started talking and something . . ." she laughed a little bit, the sound unnerving in the silence. "Something just clicked, I guess. I could see the work he did, and they were all . . . they were all extensions of him. He put a small piece of himself in every one and I realized that he wasn't doing it for the money or for fame, but because he had to. Like he didn't have a choice." She closed her eyes tightly and seemed to withdraw within herself. "I hope he's okay." And then, with some anger. "I wish I was out there."
         "So does he," Agent Two replied softly. Then he started laughing again, almost hysterically, until he was curled up over the table, almost like he was in pain. "Such a funny thing . . ." he managed to gasp out, shaking in apparent mirth, "I never knew that . . . that bit about how you met your husband. All this time and I'm just learning that now. Isn't that a funny thing? Isn't it?"
         "I . . . I guess . . ." Mari answered, not sure what to do.
         And then suddenly he was sober again, staring at her with a face that appeared to be on the verge of crying. "It's okay," he said softly, insistently, and she wasn't sure who he was supposed to be reassuring. "It's okay," he said again. "I don't get the joke either. Sometimes. I just don't."
         A shadow passed in front of the window again.

* * * * *
         A cut and then a scream. An endless succession. Tristian jumped back and then sliced upwards, watching with detachment as the sword bit into the tough skin and peeled it apart like so much paper. Something hit the ground in a wet splash and the beast staggered three steps and turned before hitting the ground.
         Tristian didn't see any of that though. His senses felt something coming behind him, a smell not unlike sweat and musk, a sound not unlike the stomping of an oxen, a sound completely bestial. He whirled around and back, slashing with the sword, cutting the air in front of him, causing his attacker to stagger back, bleeding from a dozen cuts.
         He stared it down grimly and pressed forward, feeling his arm moving of its own volition, an extension of his weapon, the sword an extension of him. It jumped out, slashed down, out and then plunged into the neck, feeling the opening even as his eyes registered it, jumping back again to avoid the rank fountain of blood that came from the gaping wound even as he thought he should move back to avoid getting it all over him.
         The sword no longer felt heavy in his hand.
         He wasn't sure how many he had killed so far. His arms were covered in blood, up to his elbows, as much as he had tried to keep the tainted substance off his body it stayed there anyway. Unless it was all in his head, some sort of mental penance for his part in this slaughter. The pitched battles around him seemed even so far, the humans and the creatures were holding their own together, almost like some awkward balance was being kept.
         Another screamed and came at him and he dove down, cutting at the tendons in the leg, jumping back up to catch it in the throat as it started to topple for the ground. He did it without breaking his stride. Tristian was vaguely aware of Johan not being near him anymore, he just knew that the man wasn't there anymore. What that meant, he couldn't find the capacity to care about. It was just killing. Some part of him damned the Agents for this but part of him wanted to make a difference, that everyone of these . . . things that he killed kept someone else alive. It had to mean something. If it didn't, then what was the point. It was just killing. It was just living. Scrambling around like rabbits and rodents for no other reason than the fact that you lived and breathed and ate. There had to be something more than that. There had to be.
         One came at him too quickly for Tristian to stab, and trying to swing the sword back overbalanced him and he staggered. Not the laser sword, it was something totally different. This one was weighted with lives. The creature pressed the attack and Tristian leapt in the air, kicking it across the face, somehow managing to land neatly on the ground just in time to parry an attack from a particularly dirty one that had come up to him during the fight. Not going for sublety he aimed a kick at the knee, feeling the bony knee resisting even as he applied all the force he had and more against it. Bone clattered against the ground and something screamed. Tristian spun and backhanded the other one across the face, breaking the already shattered cheekbones into even more fragments before running his sword through the heart. The remaining one was whimpering softly behind him but without even pausing he swung, feeling the sword cut through bone and muscle and neck. Something bounced on the ground with eyes that would never see again.
         Tristian forged on, not knowing his destination. He wished these things would talk, or say something to him other than primal and subhuman growls and pants. Like fighting giant dogs. Giant and deadly and dangerous. More than once he passed a crowd of flies already feasting on a mangled body. Some barely looked human anymore.
         He wanted this to be over more than he could say. Even as his blood sang at the thought of more combat, he was trembling inside. It had to end soon. Something had to happen. He felt so strange. Just let something happen.
         It did. At the point where Tristian thought he had exited the combat entirely, when the ringing clangs of swords and the crunching of bone against metal had nearly faded, he turned the corner and ran into an entire group of the creatures. Almost ten.
         There was a smaller, spindly one standing in front of them. The expression on its face was ugly. Half his height, it stared up at Tristian, big bloodshot seeming to widen as it took in his bloodsoaked form, his red sword, his entire body. Tristian could have picked it up and broken it in two if he felt like it.
         The small creature suddenly seemed to remember that it had ten much larger creatures backing it up. And smiled, showing pointy, yellow, needle-like teeth.
         "Kill him," it rasped, the voice high and yet menacing.
         Tristian returned the smile.

* * * * *
         "The battle has to be over soon," Mari whispered, trying to see if she could see anything out her window. But spider cracks dotted it, distorting every image into a funhouse of shattered pictures. "How long can it go on?"
         "S'not true," Agent Two replied, his voice slurred and sounding like it was coming from very far away. He stumbled over to Mari and leaned his head against the window. "Come on, dammit, get it together. You've still got time. There's still time."
         "Are you all right?" Mari asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. The fabric of his robe was smoother than silk and the skin underneath it seemed horribly warm to the touch. The hand was even more so when it moved to touch hers. She pulled her hand back surprised and the Agent stared at it, as if surprised to find he had one.
         "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, smiling weakly. "Everything's going to be-" and then he jerked to the side, hitting the wall with a thud, almost seeming to slide into the wall like some sort of ghost. She ran over to help him up, starting to worry even more now.
         He waved her away and jumped to his feet nimbly, like he was made of rubber. "Everything is going to be fine. Really." But his face didn't lend any sincerity to the words at all. The Agent still looked on the verge of crying. "Really fine." His voice was now a near flat monotone though and he kept shaking his head.
         "How are you feeling, Mari?" he asked suddenly. He didn't even seem to see her there. "Are you scared? Worried? Anxious?" His hand darted to her stomach and his touch was almost painfully warm, almost tingling. Agent Two closed his eyes, almost with an effort. "He'll never know. Ah."
         "What's going on, are you-" but he waved a hand again to cut her off. Angerily she pushed the hand down, turning him to face her. "Don't evade me any longer, just tell me what's going on. What is happening to you?"
         "Life. Death." Agent Two sighed and seemed to shake inside. For a second Mari thought she could see through him. He rolled his eyes and looked around. "This is a nice place you have here. Very nice. Very very . . ." and then he trailed off and sank down on the table. "Ah! Why do I have to go through this? Dammit, why?" He seemed almost anguished. Each word he said seemed like it had to be ripped out of him.
         Suddenly he jumped to his feet again, almost with renewed energy. Then he turned sad again. "Can't you feel it?" he whispered and his form seemed to waver briefly. His eyes were constantly darting around, not centering on one object. Then they focused on her. "You're very beautiful," he said with some great effort. "People don't . . . they never thought so and I know because I . . ." the words had to be forced from his mouth, "I can read . . . minds and . . . some of them don't think so but I . . . do . . . and . . . argh!" and he spun trying to get himself back together. "Stop it! It won't happen this time! Not again! You hear me, dammit! Not again . . ." but his voice got weaker and fainter and he started to sink to the floor.
         He managed to stay on his feet. "I never get to know you," came his soft comment. One hand gently reached out to just barely touch her face. Tenderly. Then the arm limply dropped to his side, brushing against the folds of his robes and seeming to pass through them. He seemed so pale. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Mari? Your plans for the future and such. If you want."
         "I . . . guess, if you want." Her heart was pounding in her chest and her voice seemed too high and frightened to her own ears. This was the unknown but everyday was the unknown. She had faced worse before, she would face worse in the future she was sure. "I really don't know, I guess live as best we can, raise a bunch of kids, something to pass on, you know. Just . . . live, that's the only future I can think of."
         Agent Two nodded rapidly. Almost like his head was stuck loosely on a pole. "That's good. That's . . . that's a good plan. Really it is." Swaying on his feet now, he staggered back to the table. There was no focus in his eyes. "Tell me, do you love your husband?"
         "Yes," came the almost instant reply.
         "Ha," was all the Agent said for a second. "That's so nice, Mari. Really. People don't . . . people don't think love counts for anything in the world but it does. Take it from me. It sustains and makes things . . . grow and . . ." he just trailed off, shaking slightly. His body seemed to blink out briefly but Mari heard a tortured howl and he flickered back. Not as strong as before though.
         "What's going on?" she asked again, part of her wishing that Johan hadn't taken the sword. "Is something bad going to happen?"
         The Agent turned hollow eyes on her, his face a mask of saddness. "Oh Mari," he whispered, the words coming across like the crack of eternity. "I'm so sorry, I'm so . . . ah." And it was all he had time for as his entire body seemed to flicker in two directions, like a radio transmission gone horribly wrong and he was allowed one cut off scream before he vanished completely.
         Mari stepped back in shock from this sudden occurance, her mind racing with what might have happened. It didn't make any sense. She hoped it meant everyone outside was okay. She wanted to see her husband again. She wanted him to see his child. She wanted them all to live.
         Shadows fell across her and she suddenly realized that with the Agent gone, there was nothing holding his shields up. With mutely dawning numbness, Mari stared at the shadows in the doorway. They didn't say anything. A quick glance around told her there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to run that they couldn't follow.
         They came forward. Something glowed in the air as they did.
         And, to her credit, she never made a sound the entire time.

* * * * *
         Johan felt sick to his stomach. He was worried about his wife. He was worried about Tristian. He was worried about himself, he didn't know if he was going to die. He didn't want to die, that much was clear. After seeing men, good men, die all around him, he knew that much. Never before had he wanted so much to live, to be with friends, to have a family. Johan wanted it all.
         Blood splashing into his face brought him back to the present. With a shout something hairy and foul fell toward him, though he realized that the shout was coming from his owm lips. Blinking blood and sweat from his eyes he felt his entire body freeze up. Yellow eyes of hatred stared him right in the face and his sword felt so small, so weak. He just wanted to close his eyes and make it all go away.
         At the spur of the moment, he jammed his sword up, feeling it hit something, probably armor, pushing harder and farther and feeling it resist a second longer and bite into skin and beyond. The thing screamed and what seemed like a gallon of blood splattered all over his hands. Slick, they couldn't hold onto the sword anymore and it slid away from him. The creature snarled at him and batted at him with a huge hand. Johan, feeling his stomach rebelling at the sight of so much blood, vaguely tried to dodge and only partially suceeded. Even half dead the thing still had power and the blow caught him across the face, sending him reeling. Stars danced and whirled as he staggered and just when he thought his head was going to hit the ground, something supported him.
         He trembled, trying not to lose his balance, or his breakfast and weakly managed to stand up. Two men were standing on either side of him, their faces grim and dirty. Under the dirt he was sure he would have recognized them had his brain not been so tired. Shakily, he grinned at them, letting them know he was okay. They gave curt nods in reply but didn't move, as if they suspected he might fall again.
         Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the hairy mass that was the creature and instinctively started to jump out of the way. But he felt too weak to even do that.
         "Easy there," one of the men said to him. "You got it."
         Johan turned and saw that he indeed had gotten it. The thing had fallen down on his sword, an eventhickening pool of blood spreading out from beneath the massive body. Flies were already beginning to collect around it, or perhaps they were abandoning a body that once had held such promise for them. Now it was just meat.
         "I did," Johan said quietly. It hadn't been his first, he didn't know how many he had killed, how many times he had nearly been killed. It hurt to think about that.
         The other man was nudging the body with his foot, finally deciding it was dead and kicking it over and reveal the sword impaled in its belly. Bracing one foot against the body, he yanked on the hilt and pulled the blade out. Coming back over, he handed it over to Johan, who almost hesitated in taking it. He could see why Tristian hadn't wanted the sword in the first place. He wasn't even sure he wanted the damn thing anymore.
         "Did we . . . did we win?" he asked numbly.
         "Seems that way," the first man replied, wiping some dirt off his face with a tattered sleeve. "The few thugs that are still running around are being picked off, most of the rest are dead or run off." He shook his head, sliding his own sword back into the sheath. "I've never seen anything like that though, you'd think that something like that would happen in the outer territories, not over here. Sure, we got lawlessness but nothing like this . . ." he turned slowly to indicate the carnage around them. Already people were venturing from their homes. Johan could hear distant cries as people recognized those that wouldn't be coming back that night. Or ever.
         "I heard about something like this," the other man said. Johan noticed blood caking in his mustache. This whole business made him sick. "Years ago, my grandfather was telling me and I think the story was old then, he was telling me about a raid just like this. They come from the mountains sometimes and just start killing. The strangest thing."
         "We should wipe them out up there one day."
         The other man gave a bitter laugh. "Heh, you first my friend. No telling how many of them are up there and people don't have the stomach for killing around here. Something like this, they fight because we've all got family and stuff here to defend." He waved a hand out there to indicate the distant misted mountains. "Up there, there's nothing up there to make anyone want to risk their life."
         "We'd be safe then," came the reply.
         The other man replied with a shrug. "We're safe now, aren't we?" He clapped a hand on the shoulders of the other men. "Come on, now, we beat them now and we'll beat them again if they dare show their face again."
         He stepped away from them, saying, "I'm going to go help with the cleanup, now. You two take care, okay?" And then he was gone, whistling a merry tune that faded eerily in the distance.
         The remaining man stared at Johan, who just stood there with the sword in his hand, barely blinking. "You okay there, friend?"
         "Ah . . ." Johan blinked, and then shook himself. He felt detached and distant and tired. Mostly tired. Tired of fighting for the rest of his life. "Ah yeah I'm fine. This stuff takes a lot out of me, you know?" He gave a weak smile.
         The man nodded sagely. "I know how you feel, I'd never pick up a sword again if it suited me." He looked around, squinting. "Where you off to now, I'll come along if you don't mind. I've got nowhere to go."
         Johan slowly turned to look around as well, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. "I . . . I should see if my wife is okay. And I've got a . . . friend out there that I lost track of during the fighting. I should find him too."
         "Hm," the man mused, stroking his chin, "I figure you'll want to see your wife first. Not to sound morbid, but if you're friend is alive I'm sure you'll see him soon and if he's not, well, there really isn't any hurry to find him, if you know what I mean."
         "I know," Johan said, laughing weakly. He started back in the general direction of his house. He knew his wife was in safe hands with Tristian's friends but he just wanted to see her again. He needed to remind himself that other things existed in this world besides destruction. Almost killed how many times today? It boggled his mind. "Believe me, I know."
         "Trust me, though, this is nothing compared to real battles, from what I hear," the man said, gesturing grandly. "Imagine all of this but on battlefields where the armies just stretch into the horizon. The bodies piled so deep that you have to wade through them to get anywhere."
         "I'd rather not think about it," Johan remarked. He realized that he was letting his sword drag against the ground. But he didn't have anything resembling a sheath, in the chaos he had forgotten to buckle one on. If he just stuck the sword in his belt he'd probably cut his leg and that would be embarrassing. Go back to Mari, hey dear, I didn't get killed but won't you laugh when you hear about what I did after the fighting.
         He found his thoughts turning to Tristian. The man had seemed to be able to take care of himself in a fight, but he had never seen anyone so driven and yet not driven. Someone who hated fighting so much but who threw themselves into it like every battle had to be their last. The Tristian he had seen fighting frankly scared the hell out of him. Just the glimpses he had seen, a sword blur, a blur of a body, each motion fluid and without hesitation, making him feel slow and clumsy. But his expression was the worst. His face was full of grim delight, as if each beast slaughtered was a life saved. But the eyes told a different story. The emotions that lurked behind the eyes weren't things he could easily put words to. Johan wasn't sure he wanted to do that, actually. Let Tristian have his mysteries, he just wanted to pretend that this day was nothing more than a bad dream and crawl into bed with his wife, hopefully washed clean of all this damned grime and blood. Making himself pure again. Innocent. Except it never happened that way.
         "What the hell-" his companion suddenly shouted and Johan forced himself out of his reverie to see something small running toward them. It looked vaguely familiar, and Johan realized he had seen several of them skittering around during the fighting, seeming to direct the larger beasts.
         "Help!" it shouted and Johan could see it was covered in slashes and blood. The look in its eyes was pure panic. "A demon, a demon, he'll-" but the cry ended in a bloody gurgle as something flashed in the air. Johan flinched and leapt back, nearly hitting a nearby house, getting control of his vision and fluttering heart just in time to see the small creature topple to the ground. What seemed to be a broken sword had pierced the back of its throat. The stare of pure terror in its eyes was still there. Johan shuddered and looked away.
         Looked up, in fact, just in time to see something disappear around the next corner. He glanced at his companion, who only shrugged and drew his sword. Not sure why he was doing so, Johan ran around the corner. The other man was first and Johan nearly slammed into him when the man suddenly stopped short.
         "Holy-" he heard the man whisper before he turned and forced himself past Johan, feet scrambling on dirt like it was a wax floor, vanishing back around the corner. Johan heard the sound of someone vomiting, a heaving, grinding sound that made his own stomach want to follow suit.
         Johan let himself take in the entire scene and part of him realized why the man had reacted so. Feeling himself become pale, he tried to swallow and not breath too deeply.
         Bodies were everywhere, all of the large creatures. All were dead, strewn around like so much baggage. Most had multiple slash marks on them but from the way some were lying, Johan could tell, in a detached sort of way that didn't let him feel any of the reality of the situation at all, that some of the bodies had died strictly from being beaten to death. All in all he counted about ten.
         "So much blood . . ." he found himself whispering and then found that whisper nearly becoming a scream when something moved nearby.
         "Nothing's changed," the man muttered, his voice faint and Johan realized with a start that it was Tristian. The man looked completely wasted, his eyes sunken and dark, his body covered from head to toe in blood, small cuts and bruises all over his body. "Nothing ever does," Tristian said again.
         "What does, Tristian?" Johan found himself asking, feeling like they both needed something solid to grasp, something safe to grab hold of and reel themselves back to sanity. Tristian nearly flinched when he heard Johan's voice but then relaxed when he recognized the other man.
         "Oh . . . oh it's you, Johan. Hello." He sounded tired and there was a tremor underscoring his voice. "They came at me, Johan, and I couldn't stop them. Ten of them. And I knew I could beat them, I just knew. God I hate that feeling." He ran a dirty hand through hair artificially darkened by blood. "The worst part was, do you know what the worst part was . . ." he paused and swallowed heavily, blinking. Johan thought the other man wanted to cry but for some reason had long ago lost the ability to do so. "The worst part was right in the beginning of the battle, the little one, he did something to my sword . . . the whole world went grey and then it broke right in two. Magic, I know now. It's all magic. But . . . but it didn't even slow me down. I beat the rest with . . ." he looked down at his hands, perhaps recognizing them for the weapons they were and just said, "Oh God. Oh my God. I hate this."
         "I know, Tristian, really I do," Johan said, stepping closer to the other man. "But it's over now. We don't have to worry about it."
         Tristian gave a grim smile and there was the light in his eyes that Johan had seen before. "Oh, it's never over, I'm afraid. For me at any rate. Until the day I die, this . . ." he indicated the broken and battered bodies, "this is my life."
         "It doesn't have to be."
         "I thought so once too, but . . ." he shook his head sadly. "I don't know if I can ever feel that way again. I wish I could. Life was so much simpler." He seemed to shake himself and when he looked up at Johan whatever demons had been tormenting him he seemed to have shoved far enough down where they wouldn't bother him for a while. Not gone though, just hidden. "Have you found your wife yet?"
         "N-no," Johan stammered, not aback by the sudden shift in conversation. "I was just going there now. To check on her."
         "We might as well go then, if she doesn't mind my appearance." The joke was feeble and nobody laughed. Tristian's voice didn't lend itself to humor anyway, thin and flat, worked over by strain.
         "I'm sure she'll be happy to see us both alive," Johan replied and they startd out toward his house. The walk there wasn't actually that far, they had been closer than he had realized. As he got there he remarked mentally that it was fairly quiet.
         "Oh," was all Tristian said when they made it to the house and Johan thought he might have said more but he wasn't paying attention. Not at that point. As he reflected later, there were several hints to tell him what he found before he did find it. The barriers that had been there when they left were gone now. The windows were broken. From the inside, as if someone had just wanted to show what they could do. Or they had thrown something against it during a fight. Or something. Or something. He didn't know.
         Instead he just walked, nearly shuffling, into a dark house, Tristian following behind. His stride must have been fast because he remembered Tristian trying to shoulder past him to get in first. Johan just shoved him aside with strength he didn't know he had anymore.
         All strength left him when he got inside.
         And he saw.
         He saw the man in the red robes still there, bent over something that looked like his wife but couldn't be because his wife was bright and shining and wonderfully alive and never had that much blood in her body and he just knew something wasn't right.
         And the man in the red robes looked up at him with unspeakable saddness in his eyes and maybe said something but that really wasn't important.
         Because in that moment Johan's entire world fell away.