None of us could help but stare at what laid ahead of us. The fires in the lower square only became brighter and brighter, as they incinerated the pile of wood and climbed up the stake to the poor soul tied to it. Oddly, they didn't seem especially bothered by the pyre, simply staring up towards the rainy sky and closing their eyes as they were immolated.

Griffin put a shocked hand over their mouth, their wings twitching like they just wanted to launch into the air. «We—We have to help them!» they cried.

«It's too late,» I said. «By the time we make it, they'll have fatal burns at the least. Not to mention that we might need to fight off the villagers.»

"Maybe they were evil, anyway," said Brand. "A warlock, or a murderer, or something."

«Maybe?» said Arthur. «That's a terrible way to go, though, even if they are a—wait, what is that?»

He leaned forward, squinting at the large well on the upper level of the hamlet. Despite the squat wooden houses and ramshackle appearance of the village, their well more resembled a gargantuan bath, with a stone brick rim set in a perfect circle, and a deep reservoir within that was filled all the way to the top. I wasn't that familiar with swampy land, but I guessed that it was a way to catch rainwater rather than rely on the polluted and diseased groundwater below the foetid soil. The water's surface was stirred by the heavy droplets pouring down, rendering what would otherwise be a mirror surface opaque.

But among the tiny ripples of rain, larger waves broke the surface. Splashes spilled out over the sides, and where they did, the water formed into small, rounded rivulets that slithered along the ground like snakes. Then a figure rose from the depths. It was humanoid in broad strokes, but with proportions that no ordinary human could have. It was easily eight feet tall and nearly as wide, clad in rotund metal plate armour and a dark cloth hood pulled to hide its face. A long poleaxe was held in one hand, used like a walking stick as the thing was lifted up and out of the well and trudged towards the pyre.

«That…can't be a person, can it?» Griffin asked nervously.

«Oh, no,» said Arthur. «No chance. I guess it could be a fiend, or maybe some kind of local spirit? Which would make it the recipient of the sacrifice they're doing right now.»

«Either way, it's distracted,» I pointed out. «As distracted as the villagers are. If we're going to search this place for Dulin's key, we need to do it now.» I started forward down the hill towards the nearest clump of houses. The others crept along behind me, keeping close to the ground with their wings furled tightly to their backs.

«How are we going to search the whole village?» whispered Griffin. «There's a lot of houses. It could take hours to go through them all.»

I jerked my head towards a hill on the opposite end. Now that we were paying attention, we could see a series of windmills on the hills surrounding the hamlet that were lit up by torches at their base. None of them were turning, save for one, which stood over a wooden house on a nearby hill, a house at least twice as large as all the others. The windmill and shack were the only buildings here that didn't seem to be suffering from the same degree of rot as the rest of the village; they had to be important.

«We'll start with anywhere that sticks out,» I said. «Honestly, I wouldn't be shocked if they dropped whatever it is down the well as an offering to that thing that crawled out of it, but we'll cross that bridge later.»

We stayed to the back ridge, keeping out of the firelight as much as possible. I cursed my orange hide for standing out so much among the dark greens, blues, and blacks of the forest night, but none of the villagers were close enough that I was at risk of being seen. As we moved behind house after house, I caught enough glances through the many, many holes in the walls that I could cross off these buildings as possible hiding places for Dulin's key. The only furnishings they had were mouldering cots, some small tables, and bloodstained weapon racks. Oddly, none of the homes we passed seemed to have any food, or even anywhere to store it.

As we began walking back up towards the working windmill, there was a loud, wet crunch that sounded from the courtyard below. Griffin winced and glanced nervously in the direction it came from. I reared up on my hind legs, craning my neck to get as good of a look as I could at what was going on.

The man who was burned was little more than a charred cadaver by now. The corpse had been taken down from the still-sizzling stake and placed before the thing with the axe, which was taking massive swings to chop the body into pieces, to frenzied cheers from the dancing onlookers. Once the body's legs were in smaller bits, the thing stepped back and took off its gauntlet. Where there should have been a human arm and hand, there was instead the massive neck and head of a snake that sprouted from the shoulder, its body covered in bony growths and its fangs severely elongated. It shouldn't have been able to fit inside the gauntlet, and yet it emerged from it anyway. The serpent writhed before lunging towards the chopped meat, swallowing each piece whole.

I got back down and picked up the pace towards the windmill. Griffin followed, continuously glancing at the courtyard in deep distress. «What happened?» they asked. «What did you see?»

«Nothing I want to repeat,» I said. «That thing is definitely a spirit, though. No curse could possibly twist a human like that. I hope.»

That answer didn't do anything to assuage Griffin's obvious worry, but they pressed on anyway. When we neared the crest of the hill, we slowed down to a crawl, inching forward with our bellies pressed to the ground. A good thing we took such precaution too, because there in front of the cared-for shack was a woman sitting in a wooden rocking chair, her eyes cast towards the courtyard and a too-wide smile on her face. With her expression, it was easy to see that she had fangs and yellowish eyes. Despite her unsettling expression, she wore a crown of woven flowers, wilted from overwatering, in her dark brown hair, and wore a yellow-brown dress made of durable rather than fashionable fabric. To complete the juxtaposition, she was flanked in her chair by two wooden spikes, on which were impaled old and yellowing human skulls.

I let out a quiet, involuntary whimper at the sight, and only hoped that the others hadn't heard. There wasn't any way we'd be able to sneak past her in the front. I moved to the side, backing down the hill until she was out of sight. «We'll try the back,» I whispered, and the others nodded and followed.

«I think everyone here is cursed,» hissed Arthur.

«It certainly looks that way,» I agreed. «We might need to come back with the rest of the flight and burn this place down once we have daylight. Having this many people all cursed and burning others as a sacrifice can't be good.»

«No,» agreed Griffin. «The ground here smells so stale. But…maybe we shouldn't just burn the place.»

«You're right,» said Arthur. «Swampland can spread wildfires really easily. We might torch the whole weald if we set this place on fire.»

«No, I—I meant…» Griffin stuttered. «Maybe they aren't all cursed. And if they are, maybe some of them can still be saved. Burning it seems extreme.»

«Given how much damage Latighern caused, and could have caused, if we weren't there to stop her, I don't think we can afford to just let even a single fiend have enough time to start a massacre,» I argued. «Until we know a cure exists, we don't have the luxury of being so cautious.»

Brand snorted. "How imperial," she muttered.

I stopped dead in my tracks, briefly stunned by that comparison. The others halted behind me until I shook my head and kept walking. «We'll figure it out when we get back,» I said. «We don't have the time or numbers to do anything that big now anyway.» That was true, at least. Brand and Griffin might be right, but I couldn't afford to get distracted. We were among people that would almost certainly kill us if they spotted us. I needed to focus on remaining unseen. Despite having a lot of experience at that, my heart was pounding with uncertain fear. This was even more stressful than sneaking around Yorving Castle.

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We made it around to the rear of the hill and easily hopped over the small fence that hemmed in the now deserted and desolate garden the house here once tended. From here, we were fully out of sight of any villagers, and clear to sneak up to the door. Unlike any of the other buildings in the village, this door had a hefty padlock keeping it shut, but thankfully the windows were merely shuttered. It was a tight squeeze for us to climb inside, but we managed it without much noise.

The inside of the house was even more unnerving than the outside. The room that we climbed into was completely empty. There was no furniture, not even anything build into the walls or floors. Just an unpainted wooden box. There were doors going to other rooms, but from a glance, all but one of them were similarly empty. The only one that wasn't was the one right inside the front door, though from this perspective we couldn't see anything other than the flicker of candlelight.

The window from that room was open, but it looked like the woman outside still hadn't spotted us, so I led the way into what I guessed from the size and shape was an abandoned living room. None of the original furniture remained in here either, but a long table had been set up against the wall opposite the door, covered in a pristine white cloth that draped to the floor at the ends. The table held the two candles casting light, as well as what looked like an altar, at which were laid shiny stones, flowers, chunks of cooked shellfish, and even a few coins. None of it looked anything like what I would expect Dulin's key item to be, given he didn't bother giving us a description.

However, at the apex of the altar was something more interesting: a stone idol, carved in the form of a teardrop-shaped vicar's mitre. On the idol, someone had cut jagged, poorly-made words into the stone. The engraving read: "SAINT FORSAKEN BY GODS".

«Saint?» said Griffin. «This altar looks really well-kept. For a village that burns people, I mean. I wouldn't think they stuck to the Church.»

Everyone stayed quiet as we stared at the altar. One thought kept tickling the back of my mind, but I couldn't find the courage to voice it, on the off-chance it was correct. Arthur said it for me. «They can't be worshipping Barbosa, can they?»

"Accursed saint!" a sibilant voice said from behind us. We all whipped around to see the woman in the rocking chair had turned her head to face us—a motion that should have snapped her neck, as she was facing directly behind herself. "Saint of curses!"

Her head moved through the window towards us as her neck stretched out. The sight nearly made me retch. It was like her head and neck were some kind of hellish worm using her body as a shell. She stayed seated as her head snaked through the window to stare us in the eyes.

"Why'd you trespass!?" she hissed. "This is holy ground!"

Despite the unnerving sight, I kept myself still, even as the fiendish woman's head swayed back and forth in the air. We couldn't take on the entire village if this turned into a fight; this was the time to keep our discretion.

«Holy?» I asked, hoping to get some information out of her. «What happened here, that makes it—»

«What in the Pits do you mean holy!?» Arthur snarled. «That corrupt vicar is the exact opposite of holy!»

An impossibly loud hiss escaped the woman's mouth. "Blasphemy!" she shrieked. Her mouth opened far too wide, the skin of her cheeks tearing to accommodate the way the top of her head fell backwards, limited only by the hinge of her jaw. She lunged forward, snapping at Arthur, but he swung his wing, batting her face away and blowing enough wind around the room that all the objects on the altar stormed about. In the brief moment the woman remained stunned, he lashed out with his claws, slicing a deep gash into her serpentine throat. Her body outside finally stood up as her head fell to the floor, choking on blood, gasping, and hissing in a way that made it sound like an entire nest of vipers all at once.

«Arthur!» I said, my voice forceful and commanding. «That was out of line! Don't attack unless I say so!»

His wings folded, a look of shame coming over his face. «I–I'm sorry,» he said. «I just…her praising Barbosa made me angry. I couldn't think straight.»

I leaned away, nodding in commiseration. As much as I didn't want to let that outburst slide, I knew at least a little what he was dealing with when it came to anger.

Brand suddenly jumped to an alert stance, staring down at where the woman's head had fallen. "She's changing!" she cried.

I glance down, then felt myself backing away in horror at what I was looking at. The wound hadn't closed, but the woman was still alive, the chokes changing gradually into more hissing. Her face began to deform, with all her features—her eyes, nose, and mouth—melting away into her head. What remained of her hair fell to the ground, and greenish scales sprouted all along her neck. Pairs of lidless, yellow, slitted eyes sprouted all over her head, and then with a wet tearing sound, her head and neck split into nine hissing, spitting serpents, each one staring at us as her body hurled itself through the window, allowing the snakes to slither closer.

The serpents struck at us, darting forward and snapping at thin air before pulling back as the four of us backed away. The body crawled forward, allowing the snakes more room to lunge. I felt my tail bump against the opposite wall and glanced to the side. The fiend was between us and the nearest door. We'd have to fight it to get out, but even with four of us, it'd be almost impossible for us to kill all the snake heads without getting bitten, and who knew what kind of venom we'd be hit with if that happened. Unless….

«Fire,» I said hurriedly. «Now! Someone!»

Arthur stepped up first with little hesitation. White and cerulean blue glowed in his throat for a brief moment before a torrent of bluish-white fire erupted from his mouth, engulfing the snakes. I saw them thrash around in the flames for a few painful seconds as the body tried to pick itself up, but could not balance on two legs any longer. Once the charred serpents laid obviously dead on the ground, Arthur finally stopped, taking a deep breath. The fire was spreading, turning orange as it caught on the wood of the floor and walls.

Somewhere outside, a loud metal bell was rung. My ears twitched, and I heard someone shouting. "The temple! The prophet's home, it's under attack!"

«Shit!» I hissed. «We need to move, to—»

Once again, I was cut off mid-order, but this time, I didn't mind. Brand, backed up and charged directly into the nearest wall, using her head as a battering ram to smash through the well-kept but still fragile wooden boards. The house sagged, and I heard wooden planks creaking under the weight of the roof and the strain of the ongoing fire.

«Good!» I said. «Let's go quietly, the fire should be useful as a distraction.»

The others nodded, and we darted out of the hole that had been made in the side, rushing over to the other side of the windmill nearby. As I leaned around the side, I saw many of the fires in the town moving as more villagers picked up torches and any improvised weapon they could find. Seemingly everyone outside was hurrying towards the burning home. Disturbingly, several of them had their necks stretched up high, evidently with the same kind of mutations as the woman before, and I worried about whether they would all turn into multi-headed snake monsters if we killed them too.

Once the villagers were out of sight from our position, I made a motion with my wing and dashed down the hillside, pointedly avoiding the road. As we ran further down the hills, I kept watching ahead. Out of nowhere, the armoured spirit appeared beside the well, its gauntlet back on and its poleaxe over its shoulder as it climbed up on the stones and stood on the water. Then it sank, too slowly to simply be the act of gravity, lowering directly down until its hood vanished below the surface.

Once we had made it into the village proper, I moved towards that well. It was out in the open, but as I took a glance back up at the house, the blazes had only worsened, and the villagers up there didn't show any sign of paying attention to anything but the burning building, so I felt safe enough to try and get a glimpse of the water.

«What are we doing!?» Griffin asked as we slunk out of the shadows and towards the massive well.

«I…have a hunch,» I admitted. «I think the spirit might have Dulin's item. Maybe it was the one that stole it, or maybe the villagers gave the item to it as an offering. I just…feel like we should check. This well is strange.»

Griffin fidgeted nervously, their eyes continually flicking back towards the extinguished pyre as we got to the side of the well. I leaned over the edge, peering into the deep, dark water. I wasn't entirely sure what I had been expecting. The well was deep, I could tell that much, but the darkness was far too impenetrable for me to see more than a few feet down.

But still…I felt like I could hear something. Something like crying? Or maybe frightened screams? Whatever it was, it was coming from deep below, but I couldn't tell how I was able to hear it from above the surface like this, but it tickled the back of my brain in almost the same way as dragonspeech. Like it was being projected directly to my ears.

«Does anyone else hear that?» I asked aloud.

Griffin took a slow, anxious step closer to the well. «I do…» they said. They leaned over the wall beside me, looking down at the water. «It sounds like someone's in danger.»

Brand scoffed. "Down there? That's not possible. People drown."

«What if it's the spirit?» argued Griffin. «What if the villagers are actually holding it hostage? What if they corrupted it somehow, and it needs help?»

«I'd love to help,» said Arthur, «but how would we get down there? I don't think any of us can hold our breath that long, if there even is anything but the bottom of the well.»

«Maybe…we could just….» Griffin cautiously dipped their head below the water, craning their neck forward as far as they could. There was only a slight glinting of metal beneath them as a warning before a gauntleted hand shot up out of the darkness and wrapped around their neck. Griffin tried to pull away, but the spirit's strength was too great, and their claws were torn from where they were trying to dig into the well's rim as the hand pulled them down and out of sight.

«GRIFFIN!» I screamed, and dove in after them.

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