Two weeks had passed, and Zen had missed every opportunity to thank Ito for the paper magnolia. In truth, the gift—if that’s what it was—baffled him, and the words of gratitude he would think up would turn to nonsense on his tongue. Did he make this because he saw that scribble in my notebook, or is it a coincidence? Is he trying to be friendly? Most of all, why was Zen always slightly uneasy, like Ito’s paper butterflies were fluttering against the walls of his stomach, every time he thought to bring it up?

And now, he would have to endure hours of sitting across from that odd prince in a cramped wagon, wallowing in his confusion. It had been six months since his arrival to the capital, so the most promising recruits were finally allowed to accompany official patrols. Most of them sounded routine—escorting new trainees to Tanac, guarding the Sovereign Prince’s and his family’s sedans, travelling to villages to collect—extort—taxes. When Zen had heard that there would be a patrol investigating a series of killings in a western village, he had practically frothed at the mouth. Finally something interesting! The patrol leader had refused him at first, but only hours later seemed to have changed his mind. Zen suspected the prince had something to do with it, especially once he saw him waiting in the wagon. Is he even supposed to go on patrols?

Zen had actually asked that aloud when he climbed into the wagon. The prince had given him a funny look and replied, “Yes. I’m expected to be an officer soon, anyway.”

Somehow, Auring—that girl from his village—had weaseled her way into the expedition as well. The three were joined by one of the prince’s sullen bodyguards. Zen swore this bodyguard shot him nasty glances every so often, as if he were unworthy of even being in His Highness’ presence, let alone being transported so luxuriously. The rest of the patrol rode on horseback alongside the wagon.

Auring was chatty the entire ride to the village, clearly overjoyed at having the opportunity to speak to Ito. Zen couldn’t help but be reminded of why the two weren’t friends; he couldn’t bear the burden of having two overly talkative friends. He wanted to lean his head back and close his eyes, to let the rocking of the wagon lull him to sleep, but Auring was peppering the prince with questions about everything and anything.

“Are you close with the Sovereign Prince? What is he like? Does he live in the palace too? Is he married? Have you been to every village in the realm? What’s your favorite stall in the market? Do you like to read? How many languages do you speak?”

His answers were short but polite. “Relatively.” “He is...sincere.” “No.” “...Yes.” And so on.

“Will the Sovereign Prince ever grace us with his presence during training? I’ve improved so much, I’d love to impress him. Aren’t we the future of his realm? Shouldn’t he show interest in us?”

For an incredibly brief moment, the prince’s mouth twitched. “That is true. Maybe when your friend here can put up a good fight against me. I’m sure Arlen would love nothing more than to see me bested.”

Zen felt his ears go hot. Somehow he doubted that. He swore Ito’s voice had a teasing lilt to it, and this suspicion stunned him into silence.

Auring huffed beside him. “When would that be?” she exclaimed. Her tone suggested that she didn’t believe such a thing possible.

Ito raised an eyebrow at her. He didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “Give it six months,” he replied coolly. He then turned his head to look at Zen, his voice light again. “You think you’ll be ready then?”

Zen was unable to hold his gaze. “Yeah, no problem,” he mumbled. Probably not. The prince had the advantage of years of training over him, and he only occasionally even broke a sweat during their sessions.

Auring was satisfied with that response and moved on to interrogate him about other things. Zen sighed with relief and stared out the window, letting their two voices blur together in his ears.

—

The patrol reached the village around noon. Though the air was alive with a cool fall breeze, the sun was beating down from above. The trees here were sparse, cleared to make way for crop fields and pastures. The village—aptly named Goat’s Song for the dozens of goats housed within—was also sparse. Small wooden huts dotted the landscape. Humble gardens and animal pens filled the spaces in between, and fields of carrots, radishes, and potatoes surrounded them. There were people working the fields, kneeling in the soil, dirt splattered across their plain clothing.

The leader of the patrol walked over to the nearest house and approached an elderly woman who was milking a goat. Her thin gray hair was messily tied in a bun, and her hands slightly shook as they lowered to rest on the bucket slowly filling with milk. She gave a thin smile to the guard.

He cleared his throat gently and bowed slightly. “Ma’am, I am Officer Cai from Tanac. We have come to investigate the recent killings here. With whom may I speak to learn more of this matter?”

Silently, she pointed a bony finger towards a house further into the village. The group walked over in silence; though there was nothing to suggest that this village wasn’t peaceful and quaint, everyone felt unsettled to some degree. The old lady’s eyes had been dark and unkind, and even the goats were quiet, their eyes following the patrol. Sweat was beading on the back of Zen’s neck, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead as if nothing were amiss.

The remainder of the patrol stood a few meters away from the house as Cai knocked on the door. It slowly creaked open, and a girl still in her teens stepped out from it to greet him. In her arms was a baby. Its face was red and wrinkled, and its hands were curled into small fists on its chest. It must have been only weeks old. Zen heard Auring gasp slightly. He knew exactly what she was thinking: is that her child? The girl was probably around their age; the thought of being a parent so young was a little disquieting.

Cai bowed to her gently. “Miss, I hope we aren’t disturbing you. We’ve come to inquire about the recent killings. May I ask for your name?”

She gently rocked the baby in her arms. It cooed slightly, but its eyes remained closed. “My name is Pila,” she replied softly. “I don’t have much to tell you.” She glanced nervously at the group of people huddled outside the house and back at Cai. “Four days ago, my older sister and her husband were killed in their sleep. They...they were beaten to death with a cooking pot. I don’t know who did it. The neighbors didn’t see anyone, and the door and windows were all intact.” Her voice was trembling as she continued, “They left the babe alone. She’s just ten weeks old, and already…”

Cai made a sympathetic sound but continued his line of questioning. “I heard there were other victims. Who were they?”

“It was an older couple, a husband and wife. I didn’t know them too well; they were rather withdrawn. My sister, she didn’t know them well either. I wouldn’t think it’d be related, but that couple also died mysteriously, one week before my sister did. I don’t know how, but they say the bodies were battered beyond recognition. And again, no one saw anything out of the ordinary that night.” She was clutching the baby, her eyes wide and fearful. “Please, you’ll help us?”

The soldier gave her a reassuring nod. “That’s why we’re here. Thank you for your assistance. I will let you know once all is taken care of.” He bowed again and returned to the rest of the patrol.

“It is as I thought,” Cai began. “I believe we’re dealing with a spirit. A village this small, such crimes could not be carried out with no one knowing otherwise. Moreover, no sign of forced entry?”

Zen’s hand went to the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. They didn’t even give me or Auring an enchanted sword that could destroy a spirit. We’re useless. I...I don’t even know how to find a spirit.

Luckily for Zen, Auring was willing to ask the questions he kept silent. “How do we track down a spirit? And kill it?” Somehow, her voice was tinged with excitement, despite the grim tale they had all heard.

Cai inclined his head towards her. “Unfortunately, only those with...the appropriate weaponry can kill a spirit. These swords will also force the spirit to reveal itself when we approach. The most difficult part is finding it. Spirits often dwell in places of magical significance or places related to its past life. It seems this one has only left at night, so it should be there—wherever that may be—now.”

“Hmm...so spirits are invisible normally?” Auring must never have paid attention to Ayue back home. Ayue might strangle me out of jealousy when I tell him we got to track down a spirit.

“They leave slight traces behind, but to an untrained eye, they are invisible. They can choose to appear to us, at their discretion.” Cai paused, surveying the group. “I think we should split in two. I suspect the killings were unrelated to its resentment, seeing as there was no connection between them, but I want one group to survey the two crime scenes nonetheless. The other group will go into the woods; I know of some caves where sorcerers used to hide out in. The magical remains lingering there may have attracted this spirit.”

Cai decided to lead the group into the woods, taking along Auring and the other two junior soldiers. Ito’s bodyguard led the rest—Ito, Zen, and one other young soldier.

“Let’s check the house of the first killing,” the bodyguard said, the first words he had spoken the entire trip.

Zen fell into step at the back of the group as they walked in the direction of the house. They had to walk nearly two kilometers to reach it. Zen found himself wiping the sweat off his forehead discreetly; the wind had stilled, and the sun had become more overbearing. He focused on the rhythmic clinks of the soldiers’ scabbards against their armor as a distraction.

The house was built in a hilly part of the landscape, and Zen found that his calves were aching by the time they reached it. Like the rest of the village, it was small and unimpressive. The animal pen to its side was empty, and the garden had been picked dry. It was as if the place had long been abandoned.

They approached the door. As they did so, they were met with a wailing sound that made Zen’s heart tighten in his chest. It sounded like a young boy—and then the voice grew deeper, though the scream was unbroken. The voice would grow hoarse and choke off, then begin anew, piercing, agonizing. All four men stood frozen in place. Looks like we found the right place.

After listening to the scream trail off again, the bodyguard shook his head vigorously, as if shaking the sound out of his head, and grasped the door handle. The door opened easily, and he walked inside, the other soldier following close behind.

Ito turned to Zen. “You shouldn’t go in,” he whispered. “Your sword won’t work against it.”

Zen glared at him. “Like hell I won’t go in.” He shouldered his way past Ito and stepped into the house. He regretted it immediately, met with the shrieking sound at its peak once more. It was so much louder from inside the house, so loud that he wouldn’t be able to hear his own voice were he to speak. He drew his sword, like the two before him, and took in his surroundings.

They had walked into the entryway, which was connected to both the kitchen and the bedroom. The doors to both rooms were ajar, and the furniture had been flung around wildly. Cracked pots and pans made of iron were strewn across the floor, and the kitchen chairs had been smashed into splinters. From the bedroom came the unmistakable scent of rot, of death. Zen felt his eyes watering, and one hand clutched his stomach as he held back a wave of nausea. Though his head swam, he followed the others into the bedroom. He could feel Ito standing close behind him; though he couldn’t hear his breaths over the sound of the wailing, he could feel it coming in uneven bursts, as if he were choking on the rank air.

Zen stepped through the doorway. Two newly-decomposing bodies were splayed across the bed. Dirt clung to their naked skin and their tangled hair, and the smell of freshly-dug soil mixed in with the smell of their corpses. The bodies were bruised black and blue, and broken bones pierced through flesh and skin, exposed to light for the first time. Zen felt his head go faint, and before he could process a thought, he was stumbling into the corner and retching.

Zen felt something pinch his nose, and he looked up, spit dribbling down his chin, painful tears welling up in his eyes. Ito was holding his sword in one hand and Zen’s nose between the fingers of the other. “Don’t breathe it in.” Zen couldn’t hear him, but could read his lips nonetheless.

Zen, still bent over, spat onto the ground and straightened up, swatting the prince’s hand away. He took his advice, though, wrinkling his nose and just barely opening his mouth to filter the air through. Still feeling light-headed, he propped himself up against the wall. His fingers were immediately coated in dust. With his other hand, he clenched the hilt of his sword and looked around warily. The spirit was nowhere to be seen, but its voice was still fading in and out.

At that moment, the voice transformed from an incoherent scream into something intelligible. “No! Please!” It was the high-pitched sound of a young boy. “What did I do?! Mama, make him stop!” The voice grew slightly deeper. “Do you want me dead? Why don’t you love me?”

Something hurtled through the air towards the two boys. Zen was about to step backward, but Ito grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to the side. Zen was about to protest, but realized that Ito had, ah, prevented him from stepping in his own vomit. They had only just dodged the frying pan. Zen’s eyes were glued to the pan, which had broken apart upon impact and splattered in that shameful corner. If that had hit us… Zen almost caressed his scalp instinctively.

“What have I done wrong?” the spirit squealed, the voice of a young boy again. It sounded more...lifelike, less hollow than it had before. But that hoarse desperation of its cries was the same. In the split second of silence that followed, something white and translucent flitted past them. Before Zen could react, a sword had been thrown from across the room, nailing the hazy figure to the wall.

Ito’s bodyguard walked over. He pulled his sword out from the wall and looked down at the shape slumped over at the floor. Once it had been hit by the sword, the spirit had become more opaque. It almost looked like a human again. The spirit looked like a boy of Zen’s age. As his head lolled back, his neck was exposed; his skin had been rubbed raw in a circle around his throat, and his head seemed to hang loosely from its joints.

“The job is done,” the bodyguard said matter-of-factly. “Let’s bury the bodies and this spirit and find the others.”

—

Zen didn’t say a word until after they had hopped into the wagon and began the journey back to the capital again. Pila had thanked them softly, peeking out from the door of her house as her niece cried in the background. Her cry reminded him of the spirit, and a shudder had traveled down his spine. The shudder was only prolonged by Pila’s strange reaction to Cai’s explanation. Where Zen had expected shock, she had expressed resignation, perhaps even regret. She hadn’t known the couple well, but it seemed she had known their rotten secret. Had known of the suffering of a young boy for whom help never came.

Zen’s throat was still stinging, and his eyes were stinging, too. He was remembering the smell of the corpses, and the blotched, red skin burned by rope on the spirit’s neck, and the sound of the boy as he cried for his parents. At his parents.

Ito was quietly explaining to Auring what he believed had happened. Even she was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened. “It was a child spirit. We think he must’ve been abused by his parents ever since he was young. He killed himself because of it. His resentment towards his parents turned him into a spirit.”

“Why did he kill the other couple?” Auring asked.

It was Zen who replied. “The birth of the other child must have awakened his killing intent. He went for his parents first, but must have been driven to madness by his vengeance that he mistook that baby for himself.” Ayue’s careful study of the spirit world had come in handy. It was a bitter thought.

“Mm. Perhaps,” Ito said quietly.

“This happened so recently, though,” Zen continued. “I thought spirits have to come into contact with sorcery before their death in order to transform.” Zen would come to regret these remarks in time. At the moment, he thought only of the young boy his age, who had taken his own life and was cursed to relive his painful memories in death.

The prince gritted his teeth. “That is indeed the case. Perhaps our efforts have not been as thorough as we believed.”

Zen just glanced down at his hands, which were clasped together. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. For the rest of the ride, he tried his best to block out the spirit’s cries for its mother and father, and the taste of vomit on his tongue, and the quiet bitterness of the prince’s tone that reminded him of his parents’ warnings about the Tangi. Above all, he tried to suppress the memories of his own dear parents who he had not seen in half a year...and his lingering resentment at being torn apart from them.