I siphoned the Vigor from my sword, and the flames extinguished from around the blade. My pulse raced as I followed Tolin further into the village. A wooden cart with damaged wheels sagged beside the bonfire. I glanced at Tolin, but his face was a cold mask of calm.
“Something stirs the tides of fate here,” Yono whispered. “Something tainted.”
“I don’t see a Lost Shrine,” I said to Tolin.
“We haven’t reached it yet,” he said. For the first time since I’d met him, he sounded addled. “This village shouldn’t be here.”
One of the hut’s doors banged open, and a skinny man with blackened teeth staggered drunkenly down to meet us. He wore a silly grin, and his bloodshot eyes swept over us with gleeful excitement. He started toward Tolin, arms spread wide, but I intercepted the stranger’s attempted hug with a palm to the chest.
“Visitors! Welcome!” the villager slurred. “Have you come to worship?”
“Worship?” an excited voice called from another house.
More doors swung open, and an assortment of 12 starved villagers came out of the broken-down shacks. Faryn and Kumi took up a subtle defensive stance to cover my back, and I rapidly took in details. Each stranger wore the same dopey grin, dilated pupils, and lines of drool dripping from their jaws. They barely looked human.
“You have come to worship?” an old woman asked insistently.
“We’re looking for monks,” I said. “Red robes, shaved heads. Were they here?”
“Ah, yes, the monks. They of the bright eyes and sweet words. They passed through here a few nights ago.” The first man laughed. “Left us many great gifts, food, and worship. Praise be to their robes and bright eyes.”
“And pretty words.” The old woman sighed.
Unease gnawed at my gut as I scanned the village for the source of rotting flesh. I could still smell it, and despite the filthy state of the villagers, it wasn’t coming from them.
“I’m going to have a look around,” I said to Tolin.
He nodded. “See to it that you don’t sheath your sword.”
I went to the cart, two or three of the villagers following me, and my eyes widened when I saw what was inside.
The remnants of emerald wisps lay in a pool of green blood. Beast cores shone through their skeletal corrals, and the stench of rotting flesh struck me like a punch. The implication hit me a moment later, and I turned to face the nearest villager.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“The guardians, they bring us food,” a man said. “So much food, such good food.”
“Do you mean the demons? The creatures carved into the trees?”
“The guardians,” another insisted. “So much food, and lovely lights to warm our souls.”
“They’re eating monsters?” Choshi asked. “Creatures from the Vigorous Zone?”
“It’s an abomination,” Yono whispered. “Such magic should not be consumed as food. It does terrible things to the mind. You have to leave, Master. These villagers are—”
“Wrong,” Nydarth interrupted with a feral snarl. “Strike them down, Master.”
A spidery hand found my robe, and I caught the owner’s wrist. Fetid breath washed over me as the man giggled at me and leaned in close. Sickly green flesh poked from the gaps in his blackened teeth. I fought off a wave of nausea.
“The Lost Shrine,” I said. “Where is it? Where are the monks?”
“Over there,” the man slurred.
He pointed to the other side of the clearing, to the second source of light that I’d seen earlier. I released his wrist and forced myself not to shiver as I pushed past him back to my friends.
Tolin’s face was still a mask of calm, but Faryn’s mouth was drawn back in an uneasy grimace. Kumi soothed her with a firm grasp on her arm and a whisper in her ear.
“There’s nothing you can do for them now,” Kumi said. “We’ll come back for them.”
“Well, Swordslinger,” Tolin said, “have you seen your fill? Found your monks? They weren’t . . . in there, were they?” He motioned toward the cart.
I shook my head. “The villagers have been eating ember sprites.”
Faryn gasped, and Kumi’s mouth dropped.
“I feared that might be the case,” Tolin said as he chewed his cheek. “But we’ve still to find the shrine.”
“You worship?” a villager asked as he held up his hands. Inside his palms were an assortment of raw organs that had likely once belonged to a sprite. The other villagers crowded behind him, their mouths upturned in idiot grins.
“Ethan,” Faryn said, in a hollow voice, “we need to help them.”
“We can’t,” I said. “Not yet at least. Once we’ve found the monks, we’ll find a way to help these people.”
“They couldn’t have done this to these poor people, surely,” Kumi whispered.
“If they did, then we’ll make them pay.”
We left the rundown village behind, and Tolin took us down a winding path beside a bubbling stream until we came to another clearing.
Surrounded by torches sputtering eldritch green flames, a pagoda stood about 10 feet wide. It was encircled by full-sized demon statues, carved from a blackened wood. Inside, on an altar of gnarled wood, two ritual daggers sat beside bowls of foul-smelling incense.
“The Lost Shrine,” Tolin spat the words like it were a curse. “It’s been corrupted.”
A single figure stepped out from behind the altar. Filthy red robes drooped over his body and marked him as a Dying Sun monk. A mustache framed his mouth and dropped to his chin. His hollow cheeks suggested he hadn’t eaten for a good while.
“Do you recognize him?” I asked Tolin.
“Barely. But he’s one of those who visited my temple.”
He had left Tolin two days ago, and that wasn’t long enough to show signs of starvation, so his emaciated appearance had to be magical in nature.
The monk smiled at us, and an oily sensation curled in
