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Malodore opened its beak in a relieved smile. "Ah, si? I would be delighted..."


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The distraction had worked well - Malodore had been at its ease until Fedele returned, bringing only a single word in reply. Venire.

And so they had packed, and booked passage, and now Malodore was fidgeting in the back of a warg-pulled wagon, the scent of road-dust thick around it. The caravan was taking foodstuffs and supplies, and both plague doctor and mindflayer had been instructed to bunk down amidst barrels and bags that hung from the wagon's spars. Everything in this province of Halloween was more antiquated. This was the home of those who spurned progress - or honored tradition. It was all a matter of perspective.

Only a few more minutes, now. It was beginning to recognize the area, just a little, and the breeze brought the so-familiar reek of the swamp. Perhaps if it looked out the back of the wagon it would see the looming silhouette of the swamp on the horizon, with the crumbling towers of the Casa beyond it, wavering and thinned by distance.

It wasn't sure it wanted to.

"Are you well, mia cara?" it asked, for perhaps the twentieth time in as many minutes. It glanced up, looking at Fedele's shadow through the cloth overhead. The crow was perched above, shifting occasionally, but if the bird detected any approach of Malodore's people it gave no sign.

It let out a sigh and melted into her arms, as it always did - as it couldn't help but do. "I... believe so." It shifted, holding up one of its own hands before it, assessing its own mental state. The hand did not tremble... much.

"We will be there soon," it said quietly. "Very soon. Do you smell it on the wind? The ancestral swamp?" If the swamp had a name, Malodore did not know it; there was only one swamp the plague doctors of the Casa Cirurgien would ever encounter, so why was there a need to name or even disclose the existence of others? As it closed its eyes and inhaled to taste the air, it felt again that vivid sensation of unreality it had felt when it left the swamplands before. The horizon had always been distant and vague; it had half expected the world to lose all cohesion past a certain point, as things fell away into the blur of distance and became just smudges and smears of color. And yet it had not done so.

For a moment, its unbeating heart squeezed with pain at the memory.

And then Fedele flapped down, landing on a barrel, tilting its head at the two of them. "Prompt as always," it said, its voice thick with another presence - for Fedele did not normally speak, unless its beak was being used to give voice to someone else. "Good day to you, wicked child." The crow's head turned, and then that gaze fixed on Riley. "Mmm..."

"Armida-" The breath it had taken caught in its throat.

How Riley's mental voice managed to translate through Fedele's mind and to Armida, Malodore didn't know - but it seemed that it worked, as the crow opened its beak in a raspy chuckle. "It has been some time since anyone has felt honored by being in my presence, slight and crow-bodied though it might be," it said. Fedele's head moved to focus its gaze on Malodore.

"Come closer, wicked child."

It shifted forward, but Fedele fluffed up its feathers and tilted away, beginning to preen itself. The sense of Armida's presence was gone as quickly as it arrived. "Ah... she must mean we're almost there," Malodore said, a little shakily. It leaned against Riley for support. "This is... I feel very silly," it confessed. "To be so, ah... so affected. It was not so when I met them near Amityville." Though it had had much bigger things to worry about at that time; its emotions had been so in turmoil then that more ripples would hardly have made a difference. "Perhaps it is also returning."

It took a deep breath again, dragging in the scent of swamp, coming ever closer. "This scent... this air. All of it. As if Amityville were nothing but a dream, and I am a plagueling again. Perhaps I will wake up in the Casa - except you are here, so I know I am not dreaming. I know there is a world beyond this horizon." Its emotions were many, but there was a surge of gratitude within it. All centered on her.

And then the wagon lurched to a stop; Fedele spread its wings for balance and let out an irritated caw. There was a thumping of footsteps as someone came around the side of the wagon. "Your stop," the centaur caravan-master said.

"Grazie," Malodore said, getting up and moving to exit as the centaur opened up the back of the wagon for them. It could feel the centaur's eyes on it, knew what he was thinking even without being Riley - one of them, out of that House. Strange. Yes, very strange indeed.

Outside, the swamp loomed large, and the scent of it overwhelmed everything. The air was thick here, the breezes alternately warm and cool depending on their source. And there-

"There," Malodore said, its throat tightening up. Above the swamp, which now dominated the landscape, in the distance, were towers. At this vantage they were just black silhouettes, but it knew them. So strange, to see them from this angle. "The Casa..."

"No," it said, softly, though there was a twist of longing in its emotions, a twist of something dark and angry, something long buried. "The majority of those in the Casa are innocents. They know only the life they have been permitted - I cannot hate them for that." No, its actual hatred was reserved only for a few... and, well. Armida had warned it about the cost of harboring such bitterness in one's core.

Behind them, the caravan began to rattle away; Fedele flew ahead of them, heading for the swamp itself, drawing Malodore's gaze away from the distant towers and to the crow... and from there, to the figures standing just under the first trees that edged the swamp. Two tall figures. Familiar, at least to it.

It made a soft noise and started forward - then stopped, rocking with aborted momentum for a moment before reaching back and taking Riley's hand so hard it might well hurt.

Io non ho paura, it whispered into her mind, and it was mostly true; if there was fear, it was a trembling sort, a fear not of Armida and Celeste themselves but of wanting to... to please them, to be perceived as having done well. Of having been worth the sacrifice - for a moment, scattered memories of the night of Malodore's own escape from the Casa surged through its mind. Celeste had been exiled for that night.

It had to be worth it.

The two exiled plague doctors stood still as statues at the water's edge; a boat lay behind them, one larger than the small coracle Malodore remembered Armida using in the past. Calculations - was it for them? were they coming back to Corvilla? does it mean something? rippled across the surface of Malodore's thoughts before a soft caw from Ligeia, Armida's speaking-crow, drew it back.

"Welcome back, wicked child," the once-Elder said in Italian, the crow voice slow and deep as ever. Odilia's eyes glittered as the seeing-crow turned to regard Riley. "And love lost, now found again." Armida moved toward them; she reached out one hand and squeezed Malodore's shoulder, lightly, then held out that same hand to Riley. "Walk with me, child."

Malodore took a step forward, but Armida shook her head. "Not yet. Your time will come - for now, Celeste will take you to the visiting-house."

It ducked its head in combined agreement and confusion. "I... yes, of course," it replied, also in Italian; it was a good thing Riley had learned the language thoroughly. It turned to Riley. "Are you..." Its voice trailed off. This is all right with you? A faint prickle of anxiety came with the question.

Armida simply waited patiently, that hand outstretched, like a statue.

The plague doctor nodded, slowly. I trust her. You will be safe with her, it said, firmly. I was just... it was not what I was expecting, it admitted. But she has her reasons, even if I do not know what they are...

It bowed as Riley settled her hand into Armida's own; Armida inclined her own head in response. "It is well. Go with Celeste, my wicked child. You will find much to talk about, I am sure."

"Yes, Zia - thank you," it murmured, then gave Riley one more fond mental caress before withdrawing. Celeste's body language was almost as unreadable as Armida's own... and that was strangely reassuring. "Zia Celeste."

"Loreto," she replied, and stepped back into the boat.

...............

Armida did not squeeze Riley's hand when it was given to her - instead, she kept her palm open, then let her hand fall away after a moment's pause. "They have their paths. Let us take ours," she said, turning; the crows on her shoulders spread their wings slightly for balance, and the seeing-crow turned to track 'forward' rather than looking at Riley. "My wicked child has told me much about you. Irregularly, of course... the world is so much larger than this swamp, or that moldering corpse of a Casa. I am glad it has learned this. It is good, for the world to be so wide and vast. For it to have concerns other than this place."

By this time, the sound of the boat that Celeste and Malodore were on had faded into the distance - all that could be heard was the sound of the living swamp. Armida began to move forward, gesturing Riley to follow; for now, she seemed to be walking along the swamp's edge, though her hooves trod on mud and not into the water. "I am told we are alike, you and I."

The elder plague doctor did not speak for a moment; instead, she reached forward and parted a fall of moss so thick that it made an opaque curtain. All that was visible beyond her was shadow.

"We have tasted death and returned." She stepped through the curtain, then moved aside, holding the moss for Riley so the mindflayer could follow. "There are so many more ways to die than one would think, are there not?" The words were spoken in a smooth, even tone; Ligeia had been at her task for many, many years now, and the speaking-crow was most practiced in conveying her mistress' designs.

"Or say, perhaps, so many ways in which one might be considered dead. Dead to one's culture. To one's family. To one's friends. To one's lover. There are not many who have tasted it and can yet speak of it." There was a glint in Odilia's gaze, the crow now hooded in shadow since Armida had stepped within the mossfall.