Chara stared into the mirror as she held a razor to her blond hair, just below her ear. Her grandfather had loved her long locks and so did she, but it only augmented the differences between her and everyone else in town. As the last of the humans living among the warrior race of Ferfolk, Chara knew she’d never truly fit in. She pressed the razor against the closest strands of hair, relaxing her grip when she noticed a nick in the blade. A dull edge might snag against her hair and tug at her scalp, but the pain would only be temporary. A knock on the door distracted her from the dilemma.

She thrust her head out the window to see who had interrupted her grooming. Her neighbor, an old Ferfolk woman, stood at the doorstep holding a small basket.

“Good morning, Chara. I’ve brought over a few extra eggs.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Chara. “I’ll be right there.”

She tossed the razor onto her table and headed for the front door, tripping over a chair that always seemed to be in the way. Chara kicked the chair aside before opening the door.

“Do come in,” she said as she took the basket from her neighbor.

The old woman wore a tan shirt and rugged pants that covered most of her leathery skin, and her short black hair barely made it down to her ears. Many years ago she’d lost all her children in the war against the Arboreals, the long-time enemies of the Ferfolk, yet Chara couldn’t remember seeing her without a smile on her face.

“Are you eating enough?” she asked and wrapped her fingers around Chara’s arm. “You look too thin.”

“Too thin for what?” asked Chara. “I don’t plan to join Aiax’s army, even if they decided to accept me.”

She couldn’t recall any females and certainly no humans allowed into the elite ranks. The Ferfolk had always been a proud race of warriors, slow to change their ancient customs and unwilling to trust anyone different from themselves. Men fought the battles, and women tended to the equipment. Chara would never advocate violence, but she definitely didn’t dream of being subservient to anyone. She brought the basket of eggs into her kitchen and fished around the cabinets for something to eat, finding only part of a stale loaf.

“Would you care for some bread?” she called out. “I’m afraid I don’t have much more to offer.”

“No, dear, I have many chores scheduled for today. Take care.”

Chara rushed back to the door, stubbing her toe against the toppled chair. The old woman had already left, probably gone to make a batch of food to bring over tomorrow. She reminded Chara of her grandfather, always busy and always pushing her to eat more. A massive wave had carried him out to sea along with many Ferfolk from her former home of Luceton. She missed living on the shore but knew it would bring back too many sad memories if she ever returned.

After choking down a few bites of the stale bread, she returned to her bedroom mirror. She ran her fingers down the smooth skin of her face and through strands of hair that rested on her shoulder. Her reflection was the only human she’d ever see. Why bother changing herself to be more like the Ferfolk? They’d never fully accept her into their society. The thought of remaining isolated until she died sent a ripple of depression through her body, forcing her to look away.

Her stomach gurgled, angry at the scant morsels of old bread tumbling around. Chara needed something more substantial to eat but didn’t want to bother her neighbor. She grabbed a pouch of coins and left the house.

The morning sun had long since broken the horizon, although thick white clouds hid it from view. As she strolled along the cobblestones, voices from the busy market nearby echoed throughout the streets. The solidly-built brick houses conveyed a sense of strength as opposed to the ramshackle fishing huts of Luceton. One could never mistake this town for anything other than the home of warriors. She stumbled on a loose stone, kicked it aside, and kept going.

Several blocks away, a young mother pulled her child to the far side of the street so as not to cross paths with the human. Chara was used to sneers and suspicious glances in her direction, but this behavior was a new low. She managed to smile at the pair, who ducked into a swordsmith’s shop to escape any possibility of interaction.

The whispers between Ferfolk increased as Chara approached the center of town. She tried to ignore them but found it harder and harder to maintain her smile. Her cheek muscles ached from forcing her lips to curl upward. Resolved to end this discrimination, she marched toward a group of three men that kept glancing at her during their rounds of hushed words.

“What’s with all the secrets today?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m the same person who moved here a year ago, and I doubt you’re planning a surprise party for me.”

The men looked at one another. Ferfolk would never show fear, especially toward a human female, but they seemed ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Their tough, wrinkled skin made it difficult to determine their age, but two of them had graying hair, old enough to have seen a few battles against the Arboreals.

“No parties,” said the younger man. “We were just…discussing...a new deal with the Teruns.”

The other two nodded, their artificial grins cloaking whatever emotions they tamped down.

Secret business with Teruns? Doubtful. The short gray Teruns lived beneath the Pensorean Mountains, forever expanding their precious mines. All the other races came to them for metal supplies ranging from gardening tools to weapons of the highest quality. Even the beast-like Fracodians traded with them, remaining civilized when in their presence. The Teruns knew they offered the best equipment and signed tough deals even against the most skilled negotiators. These three lunks would give away half the town if they ever tried to match wits with a Terun merchant.

“Well, best of luck to you,” said Chara. “Have a good day.”

She shot her hand up to wave at them, causing the men to jump backward.

“I knew it,” she said. “You were speaking about me. You’re scared of me for some reason, and I doubt it’s because you think I’ll wrestle you to the ground.”

“We’re not scared of anything,” said one of the older men. “We just don’t want to be turned into hideous creatures.”

“That makes even less sense than a secret deal with the Teruns.” Chara stepped closer to them. “What were you saying about me?”

“If we tell you, do you promise to go on your way and leave us alone?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The two non-speakers took another step backward.

“After a funeral last week, the body came back to life at night,” said the older Ferfolk. “Since nobody else in town could have performed such a despicable act, it had to have been you. We’re not judging your motives. We just want to be left alone.”

Only a wizard could have animated a dead body, but with an innate resistance to magic, no Ferfolk had the gift of wizardry. Neither had Chara.

“You think I’m a necromancer?” She chuckled as she walked away from the group. “Go back to your negotiations with the Teruns. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

That put a smile back on her face. She’d never intimidated anything larger than a striped bass caught on her fishing line. More than being amusing, however, the story might have meant that her friend Jarlen had returned. Half human and half Arboreal, Jarlen was the only necromancer in the world. Chara hadn’t seen him in a few years, but such an extended time might have meant nothing to him. The green-skinned race of Arboreals lived far longer than any of the other races. Years to anyone else might have felt like days to them. Still, he and the rest of the Arboreals celebrated life and nature. He’d never defile a grave or turn an innocent Ferfolk into a monster. Perhaps this story was nothing more than a rumor to further alienate her from everyone else in town.

Chara continued down the road, ignoring the secretive stares and hushed voices, until she reached a farm stand attended by a young couple. She assumed they’d be less likely to fall prey to superstitions than the older Ferfolk. A mix of root vegetables and several varieties of apples barely filled half their cart, which sported a broken handle in front. Chara peered over the side to peruse the selection, by far the most meager of the entire outdoor market.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” asked the wife.

The husband edged in front of her without taking his eyes off Chara. He didn’t seem enamored with their new customer. So much for being more tolerant.

“Anything that tastes good,” said Chara, “without having to spend hours preparing it.”

Around them, Ferfolk stood in short lines at each stand, waiting to purchase their produce. These two should be thanking her for even considering their goods, not wondering if she’s going to cast a spell on them.

“Try this one,” said the husband as he handed her a bright yellow apple. “You won’t find anything sweeter outside of the Arboreal Forest.”

“You’ve been there?” asked Chara.

As bitter rivals for the past couple centuries, the Arboreals and Ferfolk didn’t generally intermingle. She took the fruit and brought it up to her nose, breathing in the faint scent of honey.

“I’ve tasted what my competition has to offer,” said the husband, “and I’ve heard stories about the Arboreal gardeners. Go ahead, try it. If it’s not the best you’ve ever had, I’ll dump the rest of these fruits into the street for the rats to enjoy.”

Chara bit into the fruit, receiving a blast of tartness that gave way to a mouthful of sweet juice. The apple, like this Ferfolk farmer, surprised her.

“I’ll take a dozen,” she said. “Do you have anything to carry them?”

“You may borrow one of our baskets,” said the husband, “but please return it. We can’t afford to buy a replacement.”

“That’s very trusting of you,” said Chara, “especially since I’m human.”

She handed a few coins to the wife in exchange for a wicker basket with so many loose strands it appeared ready to unravel at any moment. This couple had obviously put all their effort into their crops. Their home was probably in shambles, as well. Chara had to do something for them, and she knew just what would help.

After piling the apples into the basket, she walked around the marketplace and handed out samples to the Ferfolk at the back of each line. Many refused to accept anything from her, probably thinking the fruit was cursed, but the few who took bites immediately headed for the young couple’s cart. She still had a few apples left when several of the other farmers surrounded her.

“Stay away from our customers,” said a Ferfolk with particularly leathery skin. “You have no right to sell anything here.”

“I’m not selling the apples,” said Chara. “I’m giving them away for free. Since when can’t someone give food to the hungry.”

“They’re not hungry.”

Chara tried to squeeze through the group of men, but they crowded together, cutting off any chance to escape. Another farmer knocked the basket out of her hands. He clearly intended to intimidate her, but she neither flinched nor struck back. She’d lived among the Ferfolk long enough to become used to their childish behavior. The apples rolled along the street until a flurry of angry feet stomped on them.

“I expect you to pay for those,” said Chara.

The farmer laughed. “You said you were giving them away for free...so I took them. I’ll take the basket, as well.”

He latched onto the basket handle, but Chara didn’t let go when he pulled. The wicker flew apart, sending out a spray of fine, wooden hairs.

“What’s the problem here,” came a familiar voice from outside the circle of farmers. “Step aside.”

A hole opened up between two of the men, and a tall figure capped by raven hair squeezed through. Tyraz! She hadn’t seen him in more than a year. Whiskers covered most of his cheeks and chin, and he’d upgraded his armor from well-worn leather to shiny chain links.

“Chara,” said the young Ferfolk warrior. “I didn’t expect you to be causing trouble.”

“I’m not responsible for this mess,” she said. “These...men...destroyed my basket and trampled my fruit.”

She kicked a flattened apple at the feet of the farmers.

Tyraz pushed a couple of the men aside. He’d grown a few inches recently and added a lot more muscle, so when he told the farmers to return to their stands, they obeyed.

“What about my fruit?” asked Chara. “You’re just going to let them get away with it?”

“It would be your word against theirs,” said Tyraz as he opened his belt pouch and dug out a few gold coins. “Is this enough?”

“Keep your money. I don’t need it.”

Chara returned to the young couple, who now had a line of their own, and offered them a gold coin of her own for the basket. They refused, thanking her for sending them so much new business. She bumped into Tyraz when she turned around.

“This is new,” he said as he fingered the fishhook attached to a thin chain around her neck.

“It reminds me of home. What are you doing here anyway?” she asked. “Isn’t this too small a village for such an important member of the Ferfolk army?”

“I’m trying a more efficient patrolling route,” said Tyraz.

He’d shaved his head to be as close-cropped as that of Aiax, the tough commander of the Ferfolk army. Tyraz and Aiax had differing opinions in the past, but he admired the old veteran. Unfortunately, he was no longer the same young man that Chara had befriended before they defeated the lyche, an evil spirit that had vowed to destroy all life. Instead of a cooper’s son hoping for a future in the army, he was now a seasoned warrior.

A smile lit his face. “My men will cover more ground in less time,” he said. “Everyone in town will be safer.”

“Safe from what?” asked Chara. “There’s peace between the Ferfolk and the Arboreals, and the lyche is gone. Don’t you think it’s time to put more effort into helping your citizens?”

She dragged him around the crowd of people to show him the young couple’s broken cart.

“What about sending a few warriors to become carpenters’ apprentices?” She dug her foot between two cobblestones until one of them loosened. “Or masons.”

Tyraz pulled his sleeve from her grip and stepped away from the crowd.

“I’m thankful there’s peace now,” he said, “but you never know what the future will bring. We have to be prepared.”

“So go prepare yourself.”

Chara headed back toward her house. She’d lost her appetite.

“It was good seeing you again,” Tyraz called out behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

If he was unwilling to compromise on his dedication to violence and war, then why should she yield on her pursuit of peace. A flurry of footsteps approached her from behind, followed by a hand on her shoulder.

“Chara,” said Tyraz.

Her heart fluttered, expecting an apology or at least an admission of guilt.

“Has Jarlen been in town recently?” he asked.

“Not that I know. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Tyraz. “Sorry to bother you.”

He turned to leave, but Chara grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“Why did you ask about Jarlen now, of all times?”

“There were rumors about a dead man coming back to life,” said Tyraz. “I’m sure they were only exaggerations, probably someone close to death recovering from whatever had sickened him.”

“I heard the same rumors, but it was after a funeral. Unless his family buried him alive, I doubt he recovered on his own and dug himself out of his grave.”

Tyraz’s cheeks went pale, but he shook off whatever had spooked him.

“I suppose this warrants further investigation,” he said. “Many good thanks for your help.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Chara.

“This is none of your concern. Besides, you’ve made it clear how much you detest violence.”

“Most of these citizens think I’m to blame for the body coming back to life,” said Chara. “And if Jarlen has returned, I’m as much his friend as you are. Where do we start?”

The scowl on Tyraz’s face faded when Chara showed no sign of yielding.

“We trace the rumors to their origin,” he said.

Excited to be on another adventure, Chara ushered him to the group of men that had confronted her on the way to the market. The worried looks on their faces meant they thought she’d brought a warrior to rough them up. Humans might have shied away, but as proud Ferfolk, they held their ground with fists clenched.

“We only came to ask you a question,” said Chara, bringing instant relief to the group. “Where did you hear the story about the corpse coming back to life?”

Neither Chara nor Tyraz recognized the name they offered, but one of the men agreed to introduce them to the person. Unfortunately, he’d heard the rumor from someone else, but after several hours of tracking down one gossiping Ferfolk after another, they met the farmer who’d started it all.

An older man with callused hands and cracked nails, he swore he saw his neighbor walking through the fields a day after the funeral. Although there could have been many explanations, the tremble in his voice as he relayed the story had convinced Chara of its truth.

“He clearly saw someone who resembled his neighbor,” said Tyraz. “I can’t believe I wasted the day on this nonsense.”

Chara glared at him. “So spending any time with me is a waste.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tyraz. “Aiax will think my new patrolling plan was a failure. I should have continued my rounds and ignored this silly rumor.”

“Well, we’re here already. We should check out his story.”

Chara turned to the farmer. “Where did you see this creature?”

He led them to a distant set of wheat fields, overgrown with weeds.

“I promised to help his family with the harvest,” he said, “but I’ve been so busy with my own crops. I really should get to it before those weeds take over.”

After a brief word of thanks, Chara and Tyraz sent the farmer home and entered the wheat field. The thick undergrowth made their progress difficult until Tyraz unsheathed his sword to clear a path. Aiax had given him the special weapon, primarily composed of vistrium, a metal harder and more durable than steel. The sharp blade effortlessly sliced through stems, allowing them to search a larger portion of the field and find their way out when they were done.

They’d gone a few score paces when the pliable wheat stalks turned brittle and the green weeds turned brown.

“Perhaps this part of the field hasn’t received as much water,” said Chara.

“That may be,” said Tyraz as he knelt, “but this might be of importance.”

Chara joined him beside the partially decomposed body of an old Ferfolk. She turned her head and held her hand in front of her nose.

“The neighbor?” she asked.

“No doubt.”

Tyraz put his arm around her shoulder and ushered her out of the field.

“I’ll have my men retrieve the body,” he said, “but we have to find out how a dead body made its way here from the graveyard.”

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