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[PR: Ash]

The sun was starting to set, and a blanket of mist draped itself across the vast valley. The witchers and village chief had arrived at the cemetery plains. Everywhere they looked, little mounds protruded from the ground. Mounds covered in moss and weed. Some had headstones, though it was little more than a rock, and some were just rotting wood.

The bloodstained stake in the entrance only had a little stretch of torn rope hanging from it. There used to be bodies hanging from the rope, but they’d been torn down and scattered on the ground. Some had their heads torn off. Some had their chests, torso, and legs gnawed away, leaving nothing but bones behind.

“Perhaps it’s too late tonight, witchers.” Dawo the village chief held on to his crutch tightly. He stared at the setting sun, his face white, and he turned to the corpses strewn across the ground. It was then he realized he’d been impulsive. He actually came to this place during twilight. The horrendous sight doused his desire to visit his daughter’s grave. Quietly, he suggested, “Why don’t we go back to the village and rest for the night. We can come back tomorrow morning. If the gravediggers aren’t the only ones here, we’d be sitting ducks. What if there are bloodsuckers and ghosts?”

“Ghouls get stronger at night, but don’t worry.” Eskel picked up a wooden sign that read ‘Godforsaken Nilfgaardian spy.’ He pointed at Roy with his chin. “See that guy with the silver eyes?” Roy was checking the corpse before them. “With him here, even if a dragon shows up, he’ll slay it.”

Dawo didn’t think so. Roy only looked like he was in his twenties. He was the youngest among the witchers and the scrawniest too. He’s only good for scaring the villagers. Dealing with a drowner is going to be hard for him, let alone a dragon. Still, he felt relieved that Eskel would brag about his companion’s strength to that degree.

“Sorry, people. No dragon to see today.” Roy tossed a gnawed arm away and stepped into the cemetery hidden behind the mist and darkness. “Only three ghouls going around desecrating graves. Let’s finish them.” He uncorked a silver bottle, swirled it around, and a pungent scent came out of the bottle. It scattered deeper into the cemetery, baiting the monsters hiding within.

Eskel, Aiden, and Kiyan unsheathed their silver swords and made a circle around Dawo. They grinned at him. “Where’s the barber’s place, Dawo?”

“First you go west. That’s where Erin’s grave is. Hey, what are you doing?”

“Sit tight, old man.”

The witchers held up Dawo. To the chief’s amusement, they took him and darted into the cemetery’s depths. He was shocked by how fast everything around him was zipping by. He saw graves that were dug up, the corpses defiled, leaving nothing but strings of flesh and tatters behind. Cadavers lay on the ground, their limbs missing, their bodies gnawed, as if dogs had bitten their flesh off.

“Tell us about Godefroy. How old is he? What’s he like?” The red-eyed man on his left broke Dawo’s train of thoughts.

“He’s about forty years old.” Distracted, Dawo relaxed. He started describing the man named Godefroy. “Lanky, gray hair, has a hook nose like most nobles. Loves wearing a black leather jacket with dozens of pockets for potions sewn on. Doesn’t even look like a village guy. Have you ever seen the tax man before?” Dawo took a deep breath. He smiled, lines creasing the corners of his eyes, as if he were thinking of an old friend. “That’s what he looks like. Harsh on the outside, but get along with him and you’ll see he’s a kind person. All my life, I’ve never seen anyone as kind and selfless as him. He only takes the coins for his herbs every time he heals Erin and the poor villagers.”

Roy slowed down. He thought Godefroy felt familiar.

“He’s a believer of nature or some kindly god?” Aiden picked up a torch and lit it up with Igni. The fire cleared away the darkness. To him, only priests and druids who left their houses of worship on pilgrimages would do acts of charity.

“No. He has never talked about anything related to faith. He’s a pragmatist… Hold on. Now go north.”

“Any special attributes he has? Is he really agile or feels different from most people?” Only people with superhuman speeds can take Gaetan away without anyone noticing.

“I’m too old to even race with him. I don’t know how fast he can go.” The light of reminiscence twinkled in Dawo’s eyes. Then, confused, he said, “Every time I took Erin to him, he would disappear if I even took my eyes off him for a moment. When I would try to find him, he’d show up seemingly out of nowhere. Felt like he was trying to scare me.”

The witchers thought that was an amusing story, and they felt it was weird. Don’t know any barbers who are pranksters.

“And he’s also a great barber and healer.” Dawo ruffled his unkempt hair. Proudly, he said, “This is the hairstyle I got from him last year.”

The witchers stared at the chief. His sparse gray hair was cut into the shape of an orchid. He had beady eyes, a mousy look, and a wrinkled face. They thought the man looked like an albino rooster that had its feathers almost all plucked out.

Eskel raised a thumbs up, praising, “That’s a nice look. Like it’s made for you.”

Dawo beamed, forgetting about the threat of the ghouls. “Godefroy is an even more excellent healer. My girl came down with a bout of high fever when she was then. I took her to Brugge, and they diagnosed her with cancer. Not even the best doctors there could help her. They said she wouldn’t last over a year. I prayed to every god in every temple I could find, but none took pity on my daughter. She wasted away.”

The mention of that memory filled Dawo with sadness. “Until eight years ago. I took her to the cemetery, picking out her final resting place. But then I met Godefroy, who was here harvesting his mandrakes. The barber generously healed Erin. Every summer, he would come over and check up on her. Heal her. I knew he only said he was here to harvest his herbs as an excuse. He didn’t want me to feel guilty or thankful. Thanks to his skills, Erin’s life took a turn for the better. Her condition calmed down. She lived for a year. Then another, Then another. And then she was eighteen. That was earlier this year.”

Dawo was sobbing, tears glistening around his bulging eye bags. “Alas, she was living on borrowed time. Last month, Erin’s condition went into its final stages. There was no turning back. The pain was too much, she couldn’t eat or speak. She didn’t even get to see Godefroy one last time.”

Tears fell down the chief’s cheeks, drenching the witchers’ hands. “My girl was reunited with her mother.”

The witchers stopped in their tracks, conflicted looks on their faces. They put the old man down. For most people, disease and illness were nightmares, but for witchers, they would almost never fall sick after they passed their Trial.

“Not long after Erin was buried, the blasted ghouls took over the cemetery for a whole month. I didn’t dare visit her. Sorry excuse for a father I am.” Dawo crouched. He plucked a fresh jasmine from the grass patch and tucked it in his shirt. Guilty and furious, he rubbed his crimson cheeks.

“My condolences, Dawo. Trust us. You will be visiting her grave soon.” Eskel was pensive. He tried to go through all the names he knew, but no famous healer in the North went by the name of Godefroy. Not even the Trial could cure or prevent cancer, so how did the barber extend Erin’s life? Someone with that kind of skill must be famous.

“Godefroy must be rich. Royalty and aristocrats would beg for his help.” Roy’s silver eyes twinkled.

“On the contrary. Godefroy was a simple man. He lived a quiet and secluded life. He told me that if fame ever caught up to him, the rich would steal his time away. He’s a healer who cares for the world—” Dowa stopped like he was strangled. His eyes went wide, and he stared at something nearby in horror.

Within the dark mist was a creature the size of a buffalo, its eyes gleaming with carnage, its maw filled with incisors. “Something’s behind the headstone! A ghoul!”

The quiet sound of a bolt darting through air stopped the old man’s screaming, then the young witcher raised his hand and disappeared into thin air.

The bolt slammed into the ghoul’s head. Like a watermelon getting crushed by a trebuchet, the ghoul behind the headstone had its head exploded.

Roy appeared in midair and swung his blade at the headless body flying away. A silver flash of light cut through the bones and the darkness of the night. Half a bloody head flew into the air and fell with a thud, brains and blood staining the ground.

That was not the end. Two more bolts were fired off. Before Dowa could see what was happening, through the corner of his eye, he saw blood splattering on both sides behind him. In horror, he spun. There were two ghouls hiding behind headstones, and he didn’t notice them. Blood spurted from their necks, and they fell as headless corpses.

Dowa’s right hand shivered, his crutch falling down. Like a statue, he froze up, and his jaw slacked for a long, long time. In mere moments, the monsters that had terrorized Kent for a whole month were dead, and they died before they could make a sound. It’s like he’s a god.

***

“The second mutation gave you a lot of power, Roy,” Kiyan praised. Aiden and Eskel nodded. “I couldn’t even track your movements.”

The disappeared witcher appeared nearby, standing between the graves and gleaming pools of blood. Elegantly, he wiped the blood off his blade. The witcher seemed like he’d just stomped on nothing more than ants. “This is talent. Not everyone gets it,” he joked.

Roy turned to the chief. “Crisis dealt with. Now lead the way. You should be visiting your daughter’s grave now.”

Dowa nodded stiffly. He was now seeing this ‘scrawny’ witcher in a new light. A powerful light.

***

Without the ghouls haunting this cemetery, silence fell upon the air. The group went west for ten minutes. Standing before them was a grave more luxurious than the others. A bouquet of shriveled jasmines sat before the headstone. The headstone was smooth and looked more like an obelisk. On it were a few words engraved.

‘Erin of Kent

My Beloved

1248/4/20 — 1266/6/26′

Dowa crouched before the headstone and took out the jasmine he’d been holding on. He placed it before the headstone and gently touched its engraving. Quietly, he muttered, “I’m sorry I’m late, Erin. I’m useless, but thank goodness those sons of bitches didn’t ruin your resting place. I couldn’t face your mother otherwise.”

***

Five minutes later, the old man was done mourning. He took a deep breath and wiped his tears dry, then he turned around and smiled gratefully at the witchers. What he didn’t notice, however, was the witchers’ looks of surprise. “Sorry you had to see that, witchers. I’ll take you to Godefroy right now. We’ll be there in ten minutes. If we get to see him, I swear I’ll try to convince him all I can.”

“No, let’s put that aside for now. Don’t you think it’s weird?” Roy looked around. All the mounds around were dug out. The dead were all desecrated by the ghouls and their remains were left to the mercy of the elements, but one place was different.

“What’s weird?” Dowa was bemused.

“There are ten graves around here. Aside from Erin’s, the other nine are desecrated,” Aiden answered. “Have you ever wondered why the ghouls spared your daughter’s resting place out of all the graves here?”

“Huh?” Dowa froze, holding his crutch tightly. “Is this not the blessing of the gods? This is luck, isn’t it?”

“No, no.” Kiyan went to a pit on his left. It was circled by rocks. He scanned the headstone. “This person, Brenda, has been dead for ten years. The body’s nothing more than a skeleton now, but the ghouls still dug it out and sucked on its marrow. Your daughter’s only been dead for a month—no offense, I didn’t mean to insult—but there’s no denying that her body’s fresh. Fresh enough to drive those ghouls insane. They have a great sense of smell.”

Roy crouched before Erin’s grave. He scooped up some soil and cocked his eyebrow. “It’s like tossing a piece of fresh meat over to a pack of starving wolves. They’ll never ignore it. It’s in their blood.”

“W-What are you trying to say?” Dowa’s heart sank, his voice quivering. He had an ominous feeling about this, and it sent chills down his spines. He was getting goosebumps.

“If I’m right, your daughter’s remains are no longer in that grave. To be precise, someone else took her away before the ghouls came.”

Chilly winds of the night howled across the plains, freezing Dowa’s blood.