DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Burning Day • A.G.VID

It was a lovely day for a burning.

The weather was warm, which meant that it would not be too cold at sunset, when the burning actually occurred. The ground was good and dry since it had not rained in a fortnight; that would allow the fire to catch. And the lack of clouds against the cerulean sky meant that it wouldn't rain tonight to water down the flames. Nature had set itself up for the burning.

Duras allowed himself to smile for a moment at the thought. His gods, the sun, the stars, the sky--setting themselves up for the murder of monsters, for the purging of the earth by his hand. He had been blessed greatly by them, for if there was ever a blessing, it was for him to carry out his work.

"Duras!"

And the blessed moment stopped. He faced the place where the voice was coming from--the stakes by the Forest of the Dead. It was a worker of middle age with a bald head that shone in the fading sunlight. Why the old men here shaved their heads he didn't understand; he was more than content to live forever with his blond braids trailing down his back.

"What?"

The worker paused. "The Feast'll be starting soon. They'll want ya there, what with the village leader bein' a warlock an' all. You should be the one to step up, ya know?"

"Tell Olga to do it." It was a symbol of status, the way he could speak the blessed Oracle's chosen name. "Have her announce me as their new leader. They won't be surprised at Russell's disloyalty."

The worker bowed. "Right. Well-- a happy Ancestor's Day to ya." He tipped his weather-worn cap and was off.

Soon, the whole crowd of workers dispersed, leaving Duras alone by the Forest of the Dead. The trees looked like they had been forged from shards dark glass and iron, creating a foreboding atmosphere. Perfect for a burning, he had to say.

Raising his hands up to the sky, Duras began to pray. To my stars and my sun, I am your most devoted servant. To my sky--

Something tapped his shoulder, and Duras turned around slower than honey dripping into a jar. If it was a monster, he didn't want to startle it into attacking him. Slower and slower, a few things came into view: a red vest, brown skin in the form of a long-fingered hand, and tall, muddy boots. Archibald.

"What have I done to warrant such a visit, my boy? No, wait. You're not my--"

"Vasilisa." Archibald was made of tensity with his clenched jaw, balled fists, and tight frame. "What have you done with her?"

"Vasilisa? Why, I don't--"

"My wife! You know very well who she is, I know you do, Duras. Now tell me where she is!"

Vasilisa. What a pretty little monster she was, too, to have captured his former apprentice's heart. He smirked, examining his long fingernails. Duras would give the little fireball a couple seconds to cool off before saying anything.

"Duras...."

"Archie, I suggest you don't clench your teeth. They'll be worn to nubs by the end of this meeting." He looked up from his nails. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be at the Feast instead of harassing an innocent man?"

Archibald's lips twisted. "You're not innocent, and you know it."

Duras jabbed a single finger into the boy's chest. "You're talking to the new village leader, Archie. Get off your high horse." Archibald opened his mouth to interject, but Duras continued before he could. "And you have no proof. Who'd believe what you say, anyways? A man who was married to a monster?"