The village seemed normal enough as the pair approached it. There were no plague posts or warning signs, and people milled about the village center tending to their business. The most abnormal thing was the presence of a plague doctor and a ranger in the villagers’ midst, and the glances the villagers gave the pair made that much clear.
“They don’t seem fond of you,” Sparrow remarked.
“At least they’re not spitting at me,” Owl shrugged. “Quiet disdain is better than vocal disgust.”
“You Sodalists really have a rotten lot, don’t you?” Sparrow laughed awkwardly.
“Ranger!” A villager greeted. “What brings our local Lodger to town?”
“Escorting a traveler in need, Nyle,” Sparrow explained, gesturing to Owl.
“A plague-bird here?” Nyle rose a bushy eyebrow. He was an older man with a large gut, and smoked a pipe. “Was it that church-man what sent you?”
“I know of no church-man, sir,” Owl said politely, remembering the rider’s request. “I am simply passing through. Unless there is need of my services, of course…”
“Well, not for me to say,” Nyle shrugged. “There’s that girl what fell under some fainting spell the other day, Feli. But her folks have got her under their roof and behind a closed door and all. Doubt they’d care to pay for a bird.”
“Speaking of pay,” Sparrow said, stretching her arms, “think you could whip up something with meat in it for us, Nyle-sum?”
“Aye, I’ve got some fresh beef stock I can toss some chunks of this-and-that into,” Nyle nodded, putting out his pipe. “Can’t promise much actual meat, though. Nearly out of beef, and I’m not getting more chicken until Farmer Yak comes to town next.”
“Fine, stiff your Lodger,” Sparrow shrugged comically. “Next time some foul beast comes sniffing at your inn I’ll just remember you’re short on any meat for it to poach.”
“Oh, fine,” Nyle huffed as he made his way into his inn. “I can give a bit of cheek and tongue.”
“Into the soup, I hope,” Owl joked quietly. Sparrow guffawed at the quiet vulgarity from the Sodalist.
“Didn’t think you birds could crack like that!” Sparrow laughed.
“We’re people too,” Owl said simply. “I’m curious about this girl, Feli.”
“What about her?” Sparrow asked, leaning against a post holding up the inn’s awning.
“Fainting spells are a rare symptom,” Owl said. “Usually psychosomatically induced, but if they’re physiomatic in nature…”
“You’re losing me, birdie,” Sparrow smiled sadly.
“Faints usually come because of stress or strong emotion,” Owl simplified. “But if they’re caused by bodily functions… they’re usually quite serious.”
“Well,” Sparrow said, “do you see any plague floating about?”
Owl looked around. Her vision showed the usual faint iridescence and swirls of non-colors floating around that indicated normal amounts of miasma. Common colds, simple coughs, bouts of fatigue; most miasma was relatively harmless. As her mutant eyes glanced about, she could see no indication of more dangerous or exotic miasmas.
“Nothing special, no,” the Owl said. “But that only means there’s no impending epidemic.”
“That rider mentioned folks being worried about an outbreak,” Sparrow said.
“Everybody worries about an outbreak,” Owl pointed out. “My mentor has told me numerous stories about hysteria regarding miasma leading to more serious psychosomatic symptoms than any actual physical infection in the area.”
“Meaning…?”
“Fear of plague can create more problems than plague itself,” Owl clarified.
At that moment, Nyle returned from the inn, with two bowls in hand. He gave one to Sparrow, before looking at the Owl.
“None for me, thank you sir,” Owl nodded.
“Say,” Nyle said, scratching his chin, “How do you plaguelings eat your portions?”
“They don’t,” a stranger commented. “They’ve got leeches in their tums that feed them, like the mutants they are.”
The Owl sighed. “Eat your stew,” she whispered to Sparrow. “It would be best for us to keep going.”
“Now,” Nyle said to the stranger, “there’s no need for rudeness—this bird’s vouched by our Lodger, and she’s behaving herself just fine. You leave her be, now.”
“I’ve heard that they’re all just leech under those masks,” another passerby commented, a young man. “Take the mask off and it’s all just writhing bloodsuckers that learned to talk and walk like a person.”
“That’s something, coming from a horse’s ass that learned to do the same like you,” Sparrow mocked. Owl cringed under her mask.
“What did you say to me, wench?” The young man seethed.
“She’s a Lodger, man,” the first stranger said. “No manners.”
“Now see here, boys,” Nyle interrupted. “The ranger here is good stock.”
But I’m not, Owl thought to herself.
“I bet she’s fucking the bird,” the young man sneered. “Likes the leeches in her—”
At that moment, the young man trailed off. His entire face fell blank, the anger and cruelty falling off like water. He swayed about a moment as if drunk, and his companion looked at him with sudden concern.
“Falk?” His friend asked. “Falk, what—”
Falk suddenly lurched forward, and did not catch himself. He fell fast and face-first onto the ground. His friend immediately went to check on him, and gasps went up around the village center as people saw what was happening. Others rushed to his side as the Owl sighed and began to slowly approach.
“He’s breathing,” someone said. “He’s alright.”
“Let me see him,” Owl said calmly.
“Like the pit we will!” Falk’s friend swore. “You’re not coming near him, bird!”
“He may be ill,” Owl said.
“Because of your sorcery!” Someone accused. “You reached out with your evil and struck him, didn’t you?”
The Owl stood still, trying to determine how to navigate this. She was no Crow, she lacked the diplomacy to handle this, and she didn’t have a Raven’s martial training to defend herself non-lethally.
She thought of the vial at her hip. If this got violent…
“Can it, and let the good doctor see the patient,” Sparrow suddenly said, stepping forward.
The crowd regarded the ranger with suspicion, but ultimately relented, until only Falk’s friend stood at his unconscious side. The Owl approached, and nobody stopped her; even as she kneeled at Falk’s side, his friend did not leave him, but remained silent as she examined him.
“No miasma,” she remarked, gazing over him. “May be humorous in origin.”
She took his pulse, and found it slow but steady. As if he were resting. His breath was even and strong. When she opened his eye lid, his pupil responded to stimulus. For all intents and purposes, he was healthy, aside from a sudden loss of consciousness. She looked to his friend.
“I am going to take a small amount of his blood,” she explained slowly and calmly. “I need to examine it to see if I can find what is causing this.”
He took a knife out from his belt and pointed it at her.
“You so much as poke him,” he said, “and I’ll gut you.”
The sound of a bow being drawn cut through the silence.
“Try it,” Sparrow dared.
They all sat like that for a moment. Owl slowly took out a syringe from the right side of her belt. The young man did not shift, but kept the knife pointed at her, face resolute.
She slowly placed the syringe into his wrist, drew barely enough blood to test with, and removed the needle. In proper form, she immediately bandaged the puncture with a leaf of crownroot and a stretch of cloth. She plucked the vial of blood from the syringe and placed the syringe into the left side of her belt, to be cleaned. The blood she slipped into a belt pouch before standing up.
“I will examine this with the tools I have available,” she said. “I will see if I cannot determine what has caused it.”
“My eyes are on you, whore,” the young man said. “If you work your curse on anybody else…”
The Owl rolled her eyes and turned to go. She had no time to listen to blind superstition.
She just wished she had a Crow here to keep the people calm. Or a Raven to keep them cowed.
Instead, she could feel the malice of the crowd, especially as Sparrow put her bow away. She heard the whispering, the muttering, the contemplation of what to do about her. Already the seeds of an angry mob were forming.
That night, an Owl and a Sparrow huddled about a campfire. Neither carried much, certainly not a tent; but the Sparrow had constructed a simple shelter next to the road, and her arrows had bought them quail to eat. Not that the Owl was eating.
“So,” Sparrow started through a mouthful of fowl, “your order never eats?”
“No,” the Owl said. “Our mutations render us self-sufficient.”
“What about water?”
“We must drink three buckets of water every year – and no sodalist goes an entire year without returning to some holding or haven to drink their buckets at.”
“Why three?”
“Because our bodies cycle through water very efficiently,” the Owl explained, poking at the fire. “But not perfectly so. Three buckets of water per year is enough to sustain us.”
“Is it magic, then? That lets you do that?”
“No. There’s no such thing as magic.”
“You can see plague and you don’t eat, and you say there’s no magic?”
“Only science,” the Owl noted. “Which I have found to be even more potent and reliable than any magic I’ve seen worked.”
“You’re awful talkative for a bird,” Sparrow observed, swallowing more quail. “I’ve only met three birds before, and they barely ever spoke a word to me.”
“We’re not used to someone speaking to us so much,” the Owl shrugged. “And most of us aren’t interested in conversation.”
“But you are,” Sparrow said.
“I’m interested in education,” the Owl specified. “It’s what Owls do.”
“So as long as I’m asking you questions, you’ll answer them?”
The Owl paused. “Within reason.”
“What’s within reason?”
“I’ll let you know when you cross the line.”
“What’s got you walking the trails to Saras?”
“Personal business.”
“Birds have that?”
“Rarely,” the Owl sighed. “It’s not considered professional.”
“Well, even you folk need a personal life.”
“No, we don’t,” the Owl corrected. “Our vows are for life, and breaching them is a death sentence. We have no life but the work, and that’s the choice each of us make.”
Sparrow gave a low whistle. “And here I thought the rangers were strict… so if personal business is such a taboo, what’s so important that you’re chasing it?”
“It happens to line up with a professional interest,” the Owl answered, stoking the flames more. “Research.”
“Research?”
“Research.”
“What kind of--”
“Crossing the line.” The Owl warned. There was no firmness to her voice. It was soft, almost melodic; informative, not authoritative. Sparrow simply paused, then hummed her understanding.
“Well,” Sparrow said, slogging down some water from the waterskin at her belt, “those of us who need sleep ought to get some.”
“Enjoy your rest,” the Owl said. “I will keep watch, and may spend some time gathering herbs.”
“Careful about straying from the fire,” Sparrow cautioned. “All sorts of beasties in these woods.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Owl nodded. “Good night, Sparrow.”
Sparrow got up and went to her makeshift shelter, and rustled around until she was cozy within her furs. The Owl stared at the fire and took a deep breath. She held her hands out, felt the warmth distantly through her gloves. Idly, she contemplated what it’d feel like on her bare skin.
Child’s fantasy, she knew. With a sigh she brought her hands to her lap.
She thought of Saras. Of the vial at her hip.
The Owl stood and began to search for herbs. By the time she returned, Sparrow was fast asleep. She kept watch, and the night went without incident.
“So,” Sparrow said, mouth full of berries for breakfast, “why become a Sodalist?”
“Why join the Lodge?”
“I like the outdoors and don’t like people.”
“You seem to like me.”
“Sodalists aren’t like most people.”
“Why not join the Sodality yourself, then?”
“Because then I’d have to work with people a lot,” Sparrow rolled her eyes. “Hear them complain about me and my work. At least in the Lodge I don’t have to listen to people I don’t like.”
“You could become an Owl,” the Owl shrugged. “Many of us only work with fellow Sodalists.”
“Yeah? What makes you special like that?”
“We’re academics,” the Owl reminded. “Some of us never leave the archives of a Sodality holding, or only ever work as instructors for new Sodalists.”
“But you’re out and about yourself,” Sparrow pointed out. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
“I didn’t make the choice to join,” the Owl said simply. “But I make the best of what joining has given me.”
“...Didn’t make the choice?” Sparrow paused in her steps. “What, you got thrown at a bunch of birds and they made you one of them?”
“I was in need of family. That’s all I know about it,” the Owl shrugged, not waiting up. Sparrow caught up to her, eyes furrowed and mind racing.
“How old were you?”
“Old enough that I didn’t have to forget whatever name I had before I was an Owl.”
“No,” Sparrow laughed nervously. “No way.”
“It’s perfectly common for small children to join the Sodality. I was younger than my classmates, but not by very much.”
“By the Church…” Sparrow whistled. “Here I thought the stories about your birds being baby-snatchers were drunken myths…”
“We don’t snatch,” Owl chuckled. “They’re usually orphans, foundlings, or children of poor families trying to get one less mouth to feed.”
“But why not sign them on with some other guild?” Sparrow asked.
“Would the Lodge take in a babe that hasn’t quite grasped that two and two makes four?” Owl asked innocently. “Would the League?”
Sparrow was silent at that. She fell into a thoughtful quietness, until Owl spoke up.
“When did you join the Lodge?”
“Age of 16,” she said. “I’m five years in now.”
“Hmm,” the Owl hummed. “We’re about the same age, then.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been a bird almost that whole time…” Sparrow said thoughtfully. “Can’t imagine being a Ranger my entire life like that.”
“There’s no point in being somber about it,” the Owl assured. “I have no regrets.”
“None?” Sparrow doubted.
“I’d have to have experienced another life to regret choosing this one,” Owl pointed out.
“But it’s sad that you haven’t!” Sparrow argued. “There’s something to regret, not having even had the chance to be something other than a bird.”
“I wouldn’t be able to do the things I do now if I wasn’t a Sodalist,” Owl countered. “See the things I’ve seen, been where I’ve been.”
“And that’s made it all worth it?”
“All of it. Yes,” Owl nodded. “I’ve been places that haven’t had human footsteps in them for generators. Read books that were written before your oldest great-grandparent was born.”
“But have you ever been kissed?” Sparrow asked. “Held a hand?”
Owl paused at that. “No. Why would I want to?”
“I can hear you lying to yourself behind that mask, birdie,” Sparrow smiled with pity.
Before the Owl could respond, a sound wafted down the wind – a horse’s hooves beating on the soil. Looking down the road, the Owl saw a rider on a brown horse turning a corner on the trail, coming more clearly into view without the autumn leaves and forest trunks covering them.
Sparrow and the Owl both stepped to the side, but as the rider approached, they did not pass by without pausing.
“You are a member of the Sodality, if my eyes are true to me,” the rider greeted.
“I am, sir,” the Owl nodded humbly.
“You will find a village in need of your services down the road a ways,” the rider said. “An hour’s walk, I’d say. I just came from there, and there was word of an infection. Folks seemed worried it’d be a new outbreak of something.”
“I will make sure to tend to it, thank you, sir,” the Owl nodded.
“Just be careful not to mention me sending you there,” the gentlemen scratched his beard. “They seemed adverse to my suggestion of calling on a Sodalist.”
The Owl sighed. “Of course sir. Good day.”
“Good day and good luck,” the gentlemen nodded, before riding off on his horse.
“I suppose you’ll get to see an Owl do a Crow’s work,” Owl told Sparrow dryly, marching on towards the work ahead.
“I don’t talk to birds and birdlovers,” the young man said.
“Even if your friend’s life depends on it?” the Owl asked.
The Owl and Sparrow had inquired around the town regarding Falk and Feli, to little avail. Mostly gossip about the two of them being an item, which helped confirm Owl’s theory but did not give them an investigative lead. The only use the questioning had so far was to confirm that they were on the right track—little else but their working theory could explain the ongoing infections.
Now, they had managed to find Falk’s friend, whom village gossips had identified as Kesh. The same one who had tried to keep the Owl away from Falk to take his blood. He was proving predictably difficult.
“You’re the one killing him,” Kesh spat. “If he passes, bird, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Then let me save him,” the Owl argued. “Unless you know of a way to cure him of his ailment.”
“Getting rid of you should help,” he crossed his arms.
“If you truly believed that,” the Owl said, “you would’ve killed me already. Or whipped up a mob to tear me limb from limb. Or paid me to leave this town.”
Kesh didn’t look at her.
“Look, Kesh,” Sparrow said, “you’re scared and feeling powerless and you’re looking for an easy way to help your mate. But there’s no easy way to save him from this. You want to help Falk, you’ve got to help us. We’re on the same side, here.”
“Don’t you dare say that!” Kesh roared, spitting at their feet. “I’d rather die than be on the same side as a walking plague bag!”
Sparrow slapped him.
“Get yourself together, boy,” Sparrow yelled. “This isn’t some game with teams, this is life and death!”
“You bitch,” Kesh swore, holding his tenderized cheek.
“Mind your tongue, boy,” Sparrow warned. “I’m a vowed Ranger of the Lodge. We don’t take to disrespect so easily as our fellows in the Sodality.”
“Do what you want,” Kesh hissed. “You’re not going to make me sell out Falk to your witchcraft.”
“Fine,” the Owl said quietly. “Just tell me if he and Feli fuck in the woods.”
Kesh blinked twice at that, mouth gaping. His rage and indignity fell away in a moment of genuine shock.
“...What?” Kesh asked. “Why would you ask something like that?”
“All the villagers are convinced they’re an affair,” Owl shrugged. “And our current suspicion is that the two of them contracted a forest parasite by bedding one another in the roots and leaves.”
“What?” Kesh repeated.
“The two of them fuck,” Sparrow said plainly, “and they fuck in the dirt, where nasty tiny critters can crawl into their ears and infest them.”
“No,” Kesh said. “No, no, that’s not true.”
“You’re certain?” Owl said. “If not the woods, then perhaps some other nearby place close to the ground.”
“No,” Kesh said more firmly. “No, they don’t… they’re not…”
“If they’re not an item,” Owl said, “then we have no leads as to why they, and they only, are afflicted.”
Kesh huffed and crossed his arms. “Then you’ve got nothing,” he said plainly, looking away.
The Owl tensed with frustration, but turned to go. Sparrow, however, caught her arm, and held her. Owl looked, and saw Sparrow staring at Kesh intensely.
“What makes you so sure?” Sparrow asked.
Kesh did not answer, but the Owl could see the pooling of sanguinous humors in his face. He was flushing.
“You’re with one of them, aren’t you?” Sparrow guessed. Kesh did not answer. “The girl?” No answer. “The boy.” His flush deepened.
Sparrow nodded. “That’s why you’re so protective of him…”
“Just leave us alone,” Kesh whispered.
“If we do,” the Owl said, “they will both die. We need to know how they were infected, so that we can determine the nature of the infection. Otherwise, it will progress and they will die from the infestation.”
Kesh tensed further, then punched the wall he had been leaning against. He stood still a moment.
“There’s a cave,” Kesh said. “Down at the base of Kol Mum Hill.”
“Think I know the place,” Sparrow said. “I’ve seen it on the Lodge’s maps, and I’ve hiked by the hill before.”
“Falk was walking Feli home after they visited me,” Kesh explained. “They said there was a slick of mud and they slipped and tumbled down the hill.”
“She was telling the truth,” the Owl scratched her mask.
“They said they both took a whack to the head,” Kesh said, “and came to inside the cave a little bit later.”
“They fell into the cave?” Sparrow doubted.
“No,” Kesh said, “that’s why they got scared when they realized somebody had to have brought them in there.”
“So then they ran home?” Sparrow asked. Kesh nodded.
“That was three days ago,” Kesh said. “Feli fainted the first time two days ago. And Falk fainted today.”
“Rapid progression,” Owl pondered. “Must be a particularly virulent parasite. Or parasitoid…”
“Then we’d best figure out what it is,” Sparrow said. “I only know a few bugs that could work that fast, but there’s too much on the list to know what the cure is.”
“We’ll have to visit this cave,” Owl said. “See if we can’t find a sample.”
“Just help them,” Kesh said quietly. “And… don’t tell anybody.”
“We’re not interested in your village’s gossip cycle,” Owl assured. “Come, Sparrow. Take me to this cave.”
“Not that I care about birds,” Kesh spoke up, “but… be careful. Falk and Feli are counting on you, and that cave… I don’t like the sound of it.”
The Owl merely nodded, then looked to Sparrow, who took the lead and guided them away from the village and towards Kol Mum Cave.
