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11 TAINTED 🙜 E mber was surprised—and somewhat relieved—when Ky slunk out of sight through the branches and he brushed them aside to find himself standing in a little gully beside one of the main roads.

"We'll be following manmade paths?" he concluded, stepping out of the brambles and readjusting the basket on his arm.

"For a while," she said, smiling at him. The moon silvered a few errant strands of her hair, and he noted that it had an oily shine even when she wasn't dripping wet.

"When we reach the end of this one, there are other paths we may take." He had just opened his mouth to ask what sort of paths those might be when a shout startled him into silence.

"Ember!" Ky's head swiveled at the same time as Ember's and he snatched the spear from his back. It was a woman's voice.

"Ember, where are you?" The call echoed from some distance away, nearer his cabin. Stricken, he glanced at Ky, who widened her glossy eyes at him.

"Emberrrrr!" Isabel. His gut wrenched. Something was terribly awry if Isabel Irasdaughter was looking for him, of all people, in the dead of night.

"Over here!" he shouted back, taking a step back the way they had come. A loud hiss yanked his attention back to Ky Veli, who bared her fangs and wrinkled her nose at him. The sudden switch in demeanor chilled him to the bone. He shoved his tattered blanket into her arms; she accepted it without a word, but her black stare accused him—of what, he wasn't sure.

"I have to be certain everything's all right," he explained.

"Cover yourself. Hurry!" Twigs snapped in the distance and a light bobbed into view, flickering between the trees.

"Ember?" she called faintly.

"Is that you?" Some part of Ember still wished to snatch the sirena's hand and run as far away from this place as he could, but he couldn't decide if it was the more or less reasonable part of him. So, without stopping to think, he handed Ky the basket and unslung his fishing spear from his shoulders, hurrying back into the undergrowth to meet Isabel.

"It's me," he assured her, keeping the spear lowered.

"What are you doing here?" Her face was as white as a ghost in the lantern light, and she held the little flame before her like a shield.

"Ember," Isabel whispered, hurrying through the thickets. Her hair had been hastily piled up on her head, dark strands flying loose around her face, and she was wearing a rumpled frock that looked as if she had flown out of bed and fastened it up on her way out the door.

"Ember, you…" He noticed something glinting at her hip; she had slipped a cutlery knife under her belt.

"Is there trouble?" Isabel took a deep breath and put a hand on her hip.

"Yes… Wilifrey's been all over town this afternoon spreading rumors…" She paused to collect herself, swallowing once, and her eyes narrowed.

"He says he saw one of the river-folk yesterday." Ember couldn't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder. Ky stood tall and still as a sapling rooted in the middle of the road, the blanket cowling her head and shoulders and her claws digging into the material. The latticework of low-hanging branches somewhat obscured her, but the moment his eyes met the shadow where hers should have been, her grip on the blanket tightened warningly. When he turned back to Isabel, her face had gone several shades whiter.

He moved to block her view.

"What else did he say?" Ember demanded, more harshly than he meant to. She put a hand on the knife and flattened her mouth.

"That it put a spell on you." Ember's heart dropped in his chest. The owl hooted again, echoing from the river, and Isabel flinched.

"With all your 'strange talk' of late, it's no surprise they took him at his word. He described the creature in great detail." She brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes and craned her neck to peer around Ember.

"Alden riled them up," she muttered.

"He said you brought the river-folk to our village, that you have their taint upon you, and that you'd be the death of us. I'll wager they're at your doorstep right now, and Ember—I'm afraid they may do something irrational." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Ember took a step back, lifting the spear. His heart drummed in his ears, masking the sound of the crickets and rustling leaves underfoot.

"They're farmers, not bandits," he scoffed.

"I've known them all for years."

"Not this side of them, you haven't," snapped Isabel, waving a hand toward the road; he glanced back and noticed that Ky had moved closer, half-hidden behind one of the trees. She observed the two of them from beneath the blanket, quiet and watchful.

"I try to stay out of such matters, but common sense failed me tonight. If you hadn't gone wagging your tongue all over town, they might have laughed at Wilifrey and gone back to their drinks."

"What about you?" Ember hesitated, now thoroughly upset; he still wasn't entirely convinced that Ky had his best interests at heart, but now that the townsfolk knew of her existence (and it was at least partly his own fault) he felt obligated to shield her from further scrutiny.

"They don't know I ran ahead," she said stiffly, her eyes flitting to the road again.

"I'll take the long way back to my farm." A torch flickered into view behind Isabel and something heavy crunched through the underbrush. She sucked in a breath and swatted a few cobwebs out of her path, sidling closer to Ember.

"Now take your mysterious friend and get out," she whispered, "before they chase her off and beat you senseless." She reached toward him, as if to give his shoulder a reassuring pat, but drew back at the last moment. Her reticence spoke louder than words; Ember's stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot. Tainted. Shuddering, Isabel hiked up her skirts and hurried away into the bushes, covering the lantern with her cloak and plunging him into darkness and shifting moonbeams again.

He glanced at the torchlight before scrambling out of the dense underwood, back to Ky. A gruff voice shouted his name from the forest, and another shout echoed up the road.

"Hoi! Ember! Where'd you get off to?" Ky reached out and pressed a finger to his wrist—her cool touch calmed him, like water rushing over a smoldering fire.

"Where is she, Ember? You can't hide from us!"

"Where is the river rat?" He slung the spear over his shoulder, snatched the basket away, and dashed up the road toward the crest of the hill. The sirena pattered along beside him, blanket swept back on her shoulders and her hair flying wildly around her face. A rock bounced off a tree to Ember's left and he heard footsteps on the road behind them.

"Traitor!" roared Alden in his familiar baritone.

"Get back here!" He didn't entertain the idea—not for a moment—that he could defeat the burly tavern-keeper and half a dozen grown men with a fishing spear.

"She'll kill you in your sleep!" Lundr screeched.

"Tear the flesh from your bones!" He stumbled. The basket came close to flying out of his hands but Ky reached out with inhuman quickness and saved the contents from hitting the ground, delicate fingers spreading across the basket to preserve his foodstuffs.

"Hurry, Ember, Hurry," she chanted.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry…" Rather than fumbling in his haste, her voice propelled him onward with a lightness of foot that he hadn't known he possessed. His grip on the basket tightened and the hill no longer seemed so steep nor so daunting. She gave a soft and urgent hum that filled the air, leaving no room for the frantic shouts and screams. Another rock pelted the road at his heels, but it seemed peripheral, unworthy of his attention.

The landscape blurred around them as he ran, leaving only two points of focus: the end of the hill where the road met the starry sky, jagged trees rising up on either side, and the shadow of the sirena sprinting beside him on silent feet. ❧ It wasn't until they had left the rocks and torches far behind—and were nearing the top of yet another hill—that Ember at last began to feel safe.

The townsfolk were too superstitious to follow this road much further without turning off onto one of the overgrown paths, most of which led to remote farmhouses. He kept pace with Ky (or Ky kept pace with him), pausing only to brush aside clouds of summer gnats and clamber over a recently downed tree in the road. When they reached the summit, Ember finally slowed down.

"Ky," he said breathlessly, only then aware that his legs were shaking.

"Where are we going?"

"Far from here," she promised. An acrid, pitchy smell stung his nostrils and Ember instinctively looked to the sky. Smoke rose above the trees in a thin column, blotting out the starlight. He stopped in his tracks, the basket sagging in his arms. My cabin. He could barely see the winding river from the top of the hill, and through the trees a faint glow reflected on the water's surface. Ember stared, transfixed, as the curl of smoke grew into a tower. His eyes burned.

"Come away, Ember," Ky whispered, touching his hand again.

"All will be well." But not even a siren's voice could sweep away the vision which beset him. It only twisted the shock—the pain—into a dull, listless grief. His little cabin was burning to the ground, and he could do nothing to stop it. Pointless tears streamed down his face, blurring the far-off flicker of firelight. His nets, his baskets, his bed and his home. All the little trinkets he'd found by the river. The drafty fireplace and the roof that leaked in the winter. His oft-neglected garden beside the cabin.

Hazy memories of warm summer afternoons, sitting on the stoop and making crowns of forest flowers with his sister. I can't go back now, he thought miserably, squeezing his eyes shut. It's all gone… If he ever returned, if he did try to explain, what would they do to him? Burn him alive in the ashes of his own house? Drown him in one of his own nets? Yesterday he could not have imagined either of those fates, much less at the hands of the villagers. But he wouldn't have believed they could torch his cabin, either.

Ky herself said nothing further. She made no apology and offered him no words of consolation. Instead, she readjusted the blanket on her shoulders, discreetly avoiding his gaze and picking at a few loose threads. She paused briefly, tilting her head to listen to a particularly obnoxious cricket, and then pressed one corner of the fabric against her nose and sniffed. He had no words to explain how he felt, and he doubted that she would understand him anyway.

"Let's go," Ember muttered, hugging the basket and turning his back on the burning remnants of his livelihood. Ky fell back to walking at his side, silent and grave. She glanced up at him curiously every now and then, her large eyes dark and full of stars. Perhaps she did not know that—deep in his soul—he blamed her for his loss. He hoped not. For good or ill, this strange creature was now his only friend.