They retrieved their horses and started making their way out of the ruined city. He could see however that Jeanne was distraught, her face twisted in something like disappointment and resignation.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her after a moment.

“The woman,” she said. “You really didn’t have to kill her.”

He nodded, but he had a feeling that wasn’t all she was worried about, but decided to let it go, instead considering what he would say to her. That peace was better than suffering, that taking her with them would only prolong her pain and make whatever she had left miserable. And yet, Hondem couldn’t help but think that he perhaps could have handled the situation a little better; the world around them was harsh and it needed hard and hardened men to face it. But what did it mean if he gave up his humanity in the process? Would salvation find him then? Or would the Herald turn him away because he succumbed to his environment, allowing it to shape him into something with scant mercy and remorse for the dead. But he had shown her peace, alas not the one she might have hoped for, the poor woman, but an end to her suffering. She would be reborn, he hoped, and live out life once more without the pain of loss and agony.

“What was I to do?” He asked her. “If we took her she would have died miserably and if we left her, she would have died the same. I offered her mercy, Jeanne, in the only way I could.”

He could see his answer didn’t satisfy her as a stubborn look entered her face. “And what of this city, Seeker? Are you going to leave it behind without giving the people who died justice?”

“How are we going to give justice to the dead?” Cristobal asked. “They are gone, let them rest and let us move on with our lives.”

“So if your loved ones were murdered, you’d just [i]let them rest[/i]?”

Cristobal answered in a dark, humourless laugh. 

Hondem stopped his horse and turned to Jeanne. “And how would you seek justice, Jeanne?”

“This scout,” she said nodding to the man who had been sent by the monastery. “He was able to find us, he could help us find who did this to these people and bring vengeance to those who were wronged.”

“Didn’t you hear, [i]chica[/i]?” Said Cristobal, “these were followers of the Adversary, what justice do we bring to those who would oppose us?”

“You’d be a fool to think these were agents of the Adversary,” Remus said, who had been silent up until that point. 

“And how do you know they’re not?”

“Whether they were or weren’t,” Hondem said, “they will find their justice, be it vengeance or punishment, when we find the Herald. Nothing we do otherwise will change the situation of these people and the countless others like them.” He looked to Jeanne. “Don’t you agree?”

She said nothing for a while but then gave a resigned nod.

Hondem sighed and turned to the scout. “Lead on, then,” he said and they set off, out of the settlement and back into the surrounding country and wild lands. They traveled through ravines, around hills, and over long, flat plains of dried, brown-grey grass that stalked all the way up to their knees; and as they crossed the plains, Hondem could see from a distance, massive mind-bending creatures surface from the tall grasses as though they were woken from deep slumber and stalk away, their limbs moving at queer angles until they settled in the grass once more, paying them little heed as they passed through. Festren growling as they approached relatively close to one as though to challenge it.

After several days’ hard travel they made it to the edge of the forest, beyond which he saw mountain ranges and deep stone valleys.

“We’ll have to cross through this forest to make it to the monastery,” the scout said.

“That place doesn’t look foreboding at all,” said Jayden.

“The dreaded People of Decay are within,” said the scout.

“The who?” Cristobal asked. 

“People of Decay,” the scout repeated. “I don’t know what they are, except that I think they used to be humans.”

“Used to be humans?” asked Jayden, his eyes taking on a worried look. “Herald’s breath man, what does that even mean?”

“I’m not exactly sure but I think they’re dead, and yet not. Nothing I did could stop them save severing their heads from their bodies.”

“Oh great,” Jayden said, throwing up his hands. “Undead. That’s [i]fucking[/i] great.”

Festren bared his teeth in a particularly savage grin, his dark, beady eyes gleaming as though he were eager to enter.

“At least one of us is finding this amusing,” Remus said. “Is there any other way to the monastery?”

“I’m afraid not. If there is, then I do not know it.”

Miranda spat. “Let’s just get it over with then, shall we? No point in bitching about it.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Miranda,” Hondem said. “Before we enter, scout, do you know anything else about them? Something that could give us an advantage?”

“I know nothing else, Seeker,” he said. “I tried to avoid them as best I could, and those I came across I swiftly dealt with.”

“Very well. Lead on, scout,” he said and they rode into the forest. The place had an unnaturally dark atmosphere around it. The moment they entered the smell of dying and decaying foliage hit them in the face along with the distinct smell of wet, putrid mud. They rode behind the scout in silence, and all the fine hair on Hondem’s back were stiff and on end; he had the feeling someone or something was watching them, keeping their eyes on them as they slowly moved past, like a predator patiently watching its prey before pouncing for the kill.

Swallowing, he drew out his sword, its sound muffled by the seemingly heavy atmosphere.

“Herald bless us,” Jayden swore as if in awe. They turned their heads towards where he was looking and Hondem saw black, distorted bodies as though made from vines and trees mixed with human flesh splayed out on the ground slain as though by a small army. Hondem turned his horse to approach the slaughter and when he was close enough he dismounted, his greaves sinking into the mud. 

“Are these the creatures you mentioned, scout?” He asked, looking back. “The People of Decay?”

“These are them, yes.”

Jeanne dismounted from her horse as well and knelt to examine them. Some were on the ground twitching, trying to get up while others were completely still; Festren moved between them like a shadow, spearing those that remained in the head until they moved no more.

“What happened here?” Remus asked

“A Seeker, most likely,” the scout said. “Others were invited to the monastery.”

His companions all looked at him and he shook his head, he knew no one with such skill to slay so many as to leave bodies stretching beyond his vision.  

“We should follow the trail,” Jeanne suggested.

Hondem walked back to his horse and mounted. “As good idea as any,” he said. “If you would, scout.”

The scout led them once more, their horses’ hooves stepping over the dead. Hondem had seen grisly things before, had become incredibly used to them in fact, as though they were little more than a part of life – and in a way, they were in this Purgatory that they were suffered to live in; adaptation came on quick, especially after his first few deaths, and even more so after his endless nightmares. And yet, something about these People of Decay unsettled him. What sort of people did it take to become almost one with the forest they were in, allowing themselves to lose their humanity and to what ends? To protect it? And what sort of protection could the dead offer that the living couldn’t? This world twisted and bastardized the sanctity of life, of what it meant to be human; the simple fact that they could be reborn in and of itself was an affront to nature. The dead were to remain dead, to pass on from life and seek a new journey outside of the realms of the living, and these People of Decay had been cursed for whatever reason, perhaps for no more than surviving in their little corner from the world far removed from everything else. And that thought worried him.

Where they to face the same fate if they failed? If the Herald died would humanity turn into creatures similar to the Decayed, succumbing to whatever forces had twisted these people and turned them into something monstrous, worse than animals, stripped of everything it meant to be human? And what gods had allowed such a fate to befall them? Where were the almighties that countless would cry out to, that swore of having unending power and dominion, where were they now? What powerlessness befell them that they couldn’t save them from this doom? Or had they cursed humanity and given up on them entirely? 

“A fire!” Jeanne said, sitting up on her horse.

The exclamation snapped Hondem out of his thoughts and he looked ahead. There was indeed a fire.

“I say we swerve around it,” Cristobal said. “Some fool must have left their camp fire to burn. It’s sure to bring in more of those creatures.”

“And what if it was set by someone?” Jeanne asked. “To protect them [i]against[/i] the People of Decay?”

Cristobal scoffed. “Who would be so stupid to light a signal fire for the world to see? Going there means our death. Hondem Raz, I strongly suggest we go around.”

“If someone is there,” Jeanne said. “We could help them! This trail of dead leads to that fire. Someone is over there.”

“Then we leave them to their fate,” Cristobal said. “This world has no place for the foolish.”

“If there’s a chance someone is there,” Hondem said, “however small, we have to go.”

“We go and we’re just as dead as them, Hondem Raz,” Cristobal argued, “we go around and, as you said days past, let the Herald of Light avenge them.”

“I have to agree with Cristobal,” Remus said. “To go there would be suicide and you have a responsibility, Hondem to find the Herald. Not to save every unfortunate soul.”

“We have to fight!” Jeanne said almost desperately. “There could be a Seeker over there fighting for their lives! If we leave them to die it could make finding the Herald that much harder.”

“Fight!” Festren said his voice sounding like it came from a talking wolf, earning him a cold stare from Remus. 

“I agree with Jeanne,” Jayden said. “If we leave a Seeker behind, our chances of finding the Herald will be considerably less. Considering how they handled these People of Decay, I want them with us.”

“Aye,” Miranda said.

Hondem was silent for a long moment, considering the arguments that were presented to him. Cristobal, as much as he hated to admit it, was right. He did have a responsibility to find the Herald, it was why he was a Seeker after all. But he also sought Her for redemption, for forgiveness of his atrocious crimes. He doubted She would give him what he sought if it came to light that he turned his back on another Seeker, perhaps more likely She would turn Her back on him just the same.

“We go and fight,” he said and without waiting for further arguments, charged his horse towards the fire, leaving the others no choice but to charging after him. And as he drew near he let out a war cry and slammed into the mass of the Decayed.