From The Ashes

Chapter Ten - Severin

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The ash stirred under the feet of a spindle-shanked elderly woman, her raw boned form stooped by a noticeable hunch, one she had even when her back was not laden with the jingling clutter of the overburdened bag currently slung over her back. Her gangly arms outstretched as her spindly fingered hands roved over the debris, the charred skeletons of what were once homes. Her dark beady eyes lit up as she lifted the remains of what was hardly a wooden plank anymore and slid her hand under it.

She had found something.

She clamped her fingers around the find, for it to surprise her by it's soft, compressible texture. She pulled on it, finding it of light weight and easy to relieve from the rubble. It emerged, coated in a mask of flaking white ashes, it's limp floppy form tiny and almost human in shape, with distinctive legs and arms. Curious, she dusted it off by dragging her plain brown sleeve across it, starting with what turned out to be the head. Dull button eyes gazed up at her, vacant and somehow, unbearably sad.

A child's abandoned doll.

She cleaned it off a bit more, revealing more of the toy. It wore a simple white, now gray, dress. It had become ragged over time, certainly not only during the fire. It must have been held a lot, played with a lot, very well loved by some poor child that had owned it before.

She stood a little while longer, eyeing the doll. Staring at the torn hems of the dress, the empty button eyes, the limp limbs, and the lank, matted hair.

Eventually, she simply shrugged and put it in the bag on her back. She could maybe sell it when the market reopened, and get a coin or two from selling it off. Maybe enough for a slab of fish, or a loaf of brown bread. Even if she couldn't sell it for anything, she could still keep it as another part of her collection. So long as she didn't think too hard about where it came from, she could keep it guilt-free.

She whipped around, abruptly pulling her arms away from the debris she was searching. Oily strands of stringy gray hair fell loose from her wimple as she stared into the thick mist at the end of the road. Clear echoing footsteps could be heard issuing from it, growing louder as their owner drew closer.

She wiped her ash coated hands on one of the five aprons tied about her narrow waist, and watched apprehensively as a figure rose in the mist. She paled as they grew larger, as they were thrown into clearer shape.

She saw the long coat, and the hooded head, that told her everything she needed to know about the approaching man.

The approaching Duskguide.

She inhaled sharply and held the breath in, hoping against hope he would simply pass her by, would take no notice of her scrounging around through the rubble. If he did stop and acknowledge her, she prayed he wouldn't ask her what she was doing, or be observant enough to figure it out for himself. Then there was always the chance he'd be suspicious of her, and take her in for 'questioning.'

She shuddered at that prospect. She didn't know exactly what kind of treatment the 'questioning' entailed, but she knew roughly how people came out of it. They were never the same as they were before the ordeal. If they came back home, they were glassy eyed and quiet, their minds tainted by the sight of so much of their own blood, the sensation of so much pain, their skin forever marred by deep white ridges. Scars that would never fade and never stop hurting. Their dreams forever filled by a bloody red haze and the impatient shouts of interrogators, hardly discernible over their own anguished howls and screams.

Well, that's what they said on the streets, anyway.

She wasn't sure like many, of how much credence she could put into the rumors circling about the Duskguides and their whole guild. There were so many surrounding them, and as was the nature of gossip, having that many rumors surrounding you led to many being contradictory to another, or many others.