"We are in the eastern Stellar region," Aksha announced, planting her feet on the grass, "you were right. The trail should lead us to a town with good hospitality and decent food." A faint furrow appeared between her brows. She was squinting her eyes at the trail in the distance that led out of the meadow.
"Is anything the matter?" Bali asked, taking a step closer to Aksha. The worrisome cast on her face was impossible to ignore. She quickly shook her head.
The two of them, the asura prince and the mysterious maiden, wadded out of the sea of tall grass and stepped out on the trail that took them eastwards. They entered the dark forest, where the branches hung dangerously low, waiting to smack the face or cuff the neck.
Aksha walked as if she was the forest nymph, as if the trees were magically parting for her, showing the path. The fallen leaves brushed against the lower hem of her robe like they were kissing her feet. Bali followed her with little choice. When they came out of the woods, the sun was grazing the western horizon. He gave a sigh, free from the forest's grip, and surveyed the open field in front of them.
"There!" Bali exclaimed, pointing to a settlement far off. It looked like a cluster of mud huts, auburn in the light of the setting sun and guarded by a row of stunted trees. "We must hurry. Folks in these parts do not welcome guests after dark." The lands are rife with superstitious fear of strangers and tales of ghosts knocking on doors at night.
Aksha slowed down, watching the huts in the distance, and then nodded her head uneasily. Her loose dark veil was cast off her head by a wild rush of the wind, but she seemed to care less, moving carefully towards the village. The sudden doubt was puzzling, but Bali hurried along. Four long strides, and he was soon approaching the village, too silent and too still for a place of dwelling.
"I needn't tell you that we must be alert," Aksha said in a hushed, suspicious tone when she caught up with him. Her breath came out as eerie steam. Bali hadn't realized how cold it was in that place until then.
"You needn't say that to an agni asura. We are always watching our backs," Bali proclaimed.
Once they crossed the circle of trees, a terrible stench hit the nose, like that of a rotting corpse. It was the same smell of his mother's sick room, of the afflicted souls when they attacked the serpent tribe. Bali rushed ahead.
The village huts were scattered haphazardly, some almost on top of one another, others standing lonely and secluded. The last rays of the setting sun cast long shadows of the low trees, lighting the mud walls of the huts one last time before it went entirely dark.
They made their way towards the huts. There were no lanterns lit in the homes, no sound of evening prayers, no clamor of little children, but Bali felt the eyes peering through the windows. That was when Bali stopped in his tracks. An afflicted was sitting quietly on the porch of one of the hits. Aksha pulled the side of her veil across her nose and mouth.
"We must leave," she urgently whispered into Bali's ear, "We have walked into hell."
All of a sudden, a child's agonizing cry pierced through the dusk air. Another figure hobbled out of a hut and limped its way onto the street, towards a shrine in the middle of the village square. It slowly sat down before the shrine and laid its head against it. Aksha's hand fell on Bali's elbow.
"We must turn back," she said once again, looking around warily. "There is no help we can seek from them; neither is there any that we can offer to ease their misery. And you must remember, this disease has a taste for the souls of the asuras."
Bali turned and regarded the concerned look on her face. "Then we must end their misery," he uttered, struggling to hide the quiver in his voice.
The dark, gray huts, the shrine, the tormented figures blurred before Bali. He realized then his eyes were brimming with tears threatening to well over. He blinked stiffly, trying to force the tears away, and shook off Aksha's hand from his elbow.
Bali carefully approached the figure, sitting against the shrine. The disease had eaten awat its scalp and right hand, and what remained was speckled with boils and red, weeping sores all over.
"Are you in pain?" Bali asked in the gentlest voice.
The figure lifted its face. It was grotesque, with two empty holes staring back at Bali. It was a young girl, in her teenage years.
"She is too weak to speak," a man's voice called out from behind him.
Bali wheeled around and found a middle-aged man walking towards them with a pile of sawn logs carried on his shoulder. The man crossed the village square and dumped the pile beside a heap of timber. He then walked over to where Bali and Aksha were standing, by the shrine, and looked them up and down for a good measure. "Two highborn in this forsaken place? If you are here to rescue these poor wretches, they are beyond saving."
"What happened?" Bali asked, but he already had a thought what had consumed the poor villagers.
The woodcutter pulled down the cloth of his turban and wiped the sweat off his deeply wrinkled brow. He had a weather-beaten face as if the sun and worry had aged him beyond his years, but his arms were that of a man who used a weapon often. He trudged over to an empty porch nearby and sat down on edge, setting aside his axe.
"There is only one thing in OneRealm that is worse than death," the woodcutter professed, deep despair churning his voice, "They were cursed by the afflicted."