Free Ferran's Map by T. L. Shreffler

darkened rooms.
    Sora and Ferran walked through the ghost
town without incident. As they neared the far side of the village,
Sora could see the building Crash first indicated. It was by far
the most complex structure: a full-sized townhouse that must have
served many purposes: meeting hall, schoolhouse, hospice. The brick
walls looked sturdy and fairly new; mismatched tin sheets covered
the roof. A wooden emblem of the Wind Goddess hung above the large
oak double doors, and several wind chimes adorned the roof’s
overhang, clanging hollowly in the breeze. The emblem and bells
looked much newer than the rest of the building. Sora wondered if
the townsfolk had gathered here after the plague broke out, and had
prayed to the Goddess for mercy and healing.
    She wasn’t as superstitious as most country
folk. She knew a body must be healed through medicine; prayer was a
spiritual reprieve, but miracles were not always granted. At least
not the kind the townsfolk needed.
    As they approached, she saw the figure of a
man collapsed outside the front door. From a distance, he appeared
more like a sack of flour or grain, so covered in dirt that his
entire face was brown. Caprion must have missed him from
above , she thought. As they neared, she could make out a wild
bush of red hair and a fierce, tangled beard. Sora wavered in shock
as she recognized the first of the two missing Dracians. His body
was slumped to one side, half-fallen on the ground as though he was
asleep, and his skin had the pale-white hue of a fresh corpse.
    Her stomach churned as she neared him. She
had seen corpses before, far too many, especially during her battle
with Volcrian. She didn’t need to check the Dracian’s body to know
he was dead. As she paused next to him, a great pit of sadness
opened within her. She recognized him from the ship, though she
didn’t know him by name. One of Tristan’s friends. He died
within hours of contracting the plague, she thought. How was
that possible? When she first came across the disease, it took a
week or more before a man’s life ended.
    And where was the second Dracian?
    She and Ferran turned to look at the front
door of the building, which swung slightly on its hinges. The wind
chimes clinked above them, a lonely, muffled sound. Sora’s skin
prickled. She had the sudden desire to leave the village as quickly
as possible and never return. Somewhere deep in her mind, she felt
her Cat’s Eye stir, but it quickly returned to silence.
    She didn’t want to open those doors.
    Luckily, Ferran did. With a sigh that said Well, nothing else for it, he reached up, took the heavy
brass handle and dragged the door open as it screeched
terribly.
    Sora was immediately struck by a sickening
smell, far worse than the decaying forest. This stench of rotting
bodies, damp, sullen and bitter immediately brought bile to her
throat. A burst of flies escaped through the door, swarming up
around the rooftops. Several flies immediately dropped to the
ground, as though struck dead by the light of the sun.
    Ferran met her gaze. “You don’t have to come
in,” he offered.
    Sora considered for a moment. She really
didn’t want to see any more corpses. Yet a morbid curiosity grew
within her, a question she couldn’t deny. What happened
here?
    She shook her head and wordlessly followed
him.
    They entered the building gingerly and stood
just inside the front doorway. Bleak midday light filtered through
a series of tall, slanted windows. Once inside the dusty room, she
could see long rows of benches stacked near the walls. The floor
was filled with cots and cushions, blankets and pillows. Wind
chimes hung from the rafters and burned incense stained the
floor.
    Everywhere, there were corpses. Men, women,
and children; infants, adolescents, elderly. Pets—over a dozen cats
and dogs, a few goats and pigs. All killed by the plague.
    Sora took a step back. Families of the sick
must have gathered here, trying to care for their loved