The rat-infested warehouse looked rather like…well, a warehouse. Three stories of gray, uninteresting stone, towering high into the sky with a long row of small windows across the top. The street where they stood, a dusty avenue wide enough for three horse-carts, curved around the warehouse and down towards what looked to be a riverfront glistening in the distance.

  Amaryll and Zev stood silently at the large metal door, contemplating…

  Well, Amaryll wasn’t quite sure what Zev might have been contemplating, but she was trying to figure out how they were supposed to clear a rat infestation from a locked warehouse with no key.

  “Do we-oh.”

  Zev pounded his fist against the door.

  Amaryll lowered her voice. “Do you think anyone’s actually in there?”

  “No.”

  It was the first word he’d said to Amaryll the entire morning. She raised her brows and waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “So…how do we get in?”

  “Dunno.” Zev glared at the door and, for a moment, Amaryll half expected it to burst into flames.

  “Do we have a key?”

  “No.” His fist swung again. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “What about-” Bang! “-the owners-” Bang! “-and, uhm-”

  Creeeeaaaaaaaaak.

  The door swung inwards.

  Amaryll’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Well, would you look at that.” For the first time since she’d approached their table that morning, Zev glanced her way. Was that a smile? Did his lips twitch? If they did, it was gone before she had a chance to say anything. Instead, Amaryll twitched a gloved hand. “Shall we?”

  Zev just grunted and pushed the door wider.

  “Right.” She stepped into the dark warehouse.

  She caught a brief glimpse of a large indoor room at least the size of two grazing fields and monstrous stacks of crates and other goods piled teeteringly high before the door swung closed.

  “Zev?” Her voice sounded almost muffled in the dimly-lit space. The light filtering in from the small row of windows high over their heads illuminated just the tops of the crates. Amaryll waited for her eyes to adjust. “Zev?” she asked again.

  “I’m here.” His annoyed grumble brought with it a small measure of comfort. I’m not alone.

  She blinked and a few tall crate-ish shapes loomed out of the darkness. Perfect. “Good. Awesome. Just checking.”

  Her companion grunted and brushed past her, moving deeper into the warehouse.

  Amaryll straightened her spine. This was her test job. Damned if she’d let Mister Grumpy do all the work. She hurried after him.

  “So, do you do this a lot?” she asked, once her short legs finally caught up. They were walking down a long aisle, towering goods stretching for the sky on either side of them.

  Zev said nothing.

  “I’m just curious ‘cause, you know, this is my first job with the Fractured Fate.” She paused, stared at a shadow that seemed to move. Nothing. “Actually, it’s my first adventuring job, period.” She hopped over what looked to be a rolled-up rug. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected it to be all glitz and glamor…but rat hunting just isn’t very exciting, you know?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Amaryll started. She’d almost forgotten Zev was there.

  Her face swiveled up to stare at his profile, the strange magenta of her eyes gleaming in the low light. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say all morning!” She tugged on one long, ruddy braid. “I mean, it’s not that I’m not happy to be here. I am,” she added with extra emphasis. “It’s just, the stories my mo- uhm- the stories I’ve heard about the Fractured Fate were so dramatic. Monster hunting and sword fighting and pirates and-what’s that smell?”

  If Zev noticed the smell, he didn’t say anything. But his steps did slow down ever-so-slightly and he looked briefly over at Amaryll. She’d paused in the middle of the aisle, nose in the air, looking rather like a hound tracking its prey.

  A malnourished, overly-cheery hound with a propensity to talk way too much.

  She turned a slow circle, eyes closed. “Rose,” she murmured. An eye cracked open. “Yellow rose.”

  “Yellow?” There was a quizzical tilt to Zev’s head.

  She bobbed her chin and peered around the space. Did it seem lighter? Small specks of dust floated through the air, sparkling ever-so-slightly when they hit the soft beams of sunlight from the windows. A thin layer of dirt coated the floor and the rims of her boots. A sweet scent tickled her nose. Yellow rose. She couldn’t quite explain how she knew…only that she’d grown up around every plant under the sun and this was definitely yellow rose.

  She sniffed and moved to pass Zev, but he held out a hand. “Where’s your weapon?”

  “What?”

  The look he gave her was slightly incredulous, mixed with his standard frown. “Your weapon.” He jutted his head at the greataxe on his shoulder, and the strange square box-and-tube hanging from his hip. “You can’t go in without a weapon.”

  Amaryll’s brows shot up. “Are you worried about me?” She grinned. “Zev-”

  “Forget it,” he grunted, and moved further into the warehouse.

  Amaryll practically hopped after him. “No, no- it’s sweet! But seriously, don’t worry.” She spread her gloved hands. “I’m covered.”

  Zev just grunted and kept moving.

  Amaryll followed.

  The further they moved through the stacks upon stacks of unused goods, the stronger the sweet smell grew…and the stranger it got. Yellow rose and…something far more pungent and far less pleasant. It was there, under the sweet smell of the rose…sharp…and…

  Zev came to a sudden stop.

  They’d emerged into an open space at the far end of the warehouse. Light streamed in — not only from the windows above, Amaryll realized, but also from cracks along the wall twenty feet ahead. And between them and the wall…

  Amaryll sucked in a breath. “That’s a lot of rats.”

  A grunt.

  There had to be hundreds of rats, she realized belatedly. Little brown and silver things teeming and writhing across the ground, packed in so tightly it was impossible to see the floor. They sprouted from the cracks in the wall, from the piles of straw and other debris. Hundreds of beady little eyes and wriggling little tails flashing in the dim light.

  Zev swore under his breath. He stepped forward and reached for the strange device hanging from his hip. A smoker, Amaryll realized. She frowned at the rats. Why weren’t they attacking?

  As she watched, two of the rats squirmed away from the swarm. Wait. No. Just one rat. One rat, and two- “Wait,” she called at Zev, who paused, smoker in hand.

  “What?” he grunted.

  And then several things happened all at once.

  First, the lone rat lunged for Zev, who had turned back to stare at Amaryll. Its first head, a decomposing, rotting mass of sinew and bone, latched onto Zev’s arm, teeth sinking deep into his bicep. The other head, a silvery transparent facsimile of a very very angry rat, bared its fangs and hissed.

  “Shit!” Zev flapped his arm — doing a rather excellent impression of a flackbird, Amaryll noted later on — and, in one terrible moment, the thing soared through the air and landed in the writhing mass of monsters.

  In that instant, hundreds of little heads — half of them dripping blood and rot, the other half glimmering a soft ethereal silver — swiveled towards the intruder.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Shit,” Zev said again, hefting his smoker.

  Tucked behind the hulking figure of her companion, Amaryll pulled her scarf up over her mouth and eased off her gloves.

  And then the rats attacked.

  ·??·

  Yellow, Amaryll decided not more than two seconds after the warehouse finally — finally — fell quiet, is an overrated color.

  Limp figures lay strewn across the warehouse floor. Clumps of fur and rotting flesh decorated the nearby boxes, and a strange black goo oozed slowly across the floor towards the tip of Amaryll’s boot. She shifted away.

  She and Zev stood, wild-eyed, chests heaving, in the center of the storm, a ring of strange mottled bodies splayed open across their feet. One half of Zev’s tunic dangled from his shoulder, and the hems of Amaryll’s skirts hung in tattered, splattered rags around her ankles.

  Amaryll nudged a twitching rat with her foot. It spasmed, then went still.

  “How…” Zev shook his head. He didn’t even sound out of breath, Amaryll noted with a twinge of jealousy. “How did you do that?”

  She just stuffed her gloves back onto her hands and flashed him a grin. “I told you I was covered.” Then turned back to the body of the rat…if it could still be called that. “What are these things?”

  “Rats.” At her look, Zev just shrugged. “At some point.”

  “Hm. But how did they get like that? And were they always like that? And did the owners know they were sending us into the rat’s nest from nightmares?” A million other questions swirled through her brain, but Zev made a curious sound in the back of his throat. Something had caught his attention in the mass of debris that made up the rat’s nest. “What? What is it?”

  His massive boot nudged something. Metal clinked and rolled away. “Rat bombs.”

  “Rat bombs? Like-”

  His narrowed gaze slid to Amaryll. “Bombs. For rats.”

  “But what about the-is that a rosebush?” Amaryll sidled up to Zev’s side. If she noticed him jolt and shift away, she said nothing. “A yellow rosebush!” She grinned up at Zev. “Well that explains it!”

  For a moment, the only sound was the soft distant shouts of workers outside the warehouse.

  “How,” Zev grumbled after a moment, stepping around masses of rat bodies to make his way back towards the entrance, “does that explain anything?”

  Amaryll hurried to follow him. Her boots practically hopped excitedly across the stone floor. “Yellow roses are necroflorics! Plants with necromantic abilities,” she explained when Zev said nothing. “Now, I’m only guessing here but they probably tried to blow up the rats — a horribly ineffective pest control method, by the way, because-”

  “The roses?” Zev cut in. He wove around a toppled-over crate that Amaryll had barely even noticed in the low light. She maneuvered her path around it at the last second.

  “Right. They probably tried to blow up the rats without knowing there was a yellow rosebush behind the wall. Yellow rose powder, plus a hundred freshly dead rats, equals…well, whatever those things were.” A shudder worked its way up Amaryll’s spine. “If I never see a half-decomposed rat head ever again, it’ll be too soon.”

  “Forget the rotting heads,” Zev frowned. “The other heads-”

  “The other heads were just ghosts.”

  “Rat ghosts.”

  Amaryll’s lips twitched upwards. She could see the aisle open up just ahead, and the door to the warehouse beyond that. “You know, for a big scary adventurer…you’re pretty squeamish about rats.” To be fair, she had a feeling she was also going to be squeamish about rats now.

  “Ghost rats. Zombie rats.” Zev shook his head. “Never again.”

  Amaryll grinned and picked up her pace. Almost at the door. She could practically smell the fresh city air again.

  She was only feet away when she realized Zev was no longer at her side. She spun on her heel. Where had he gone? She hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped walking. For a hulking figure of a man, he sure knew how to be annoyingly quiet when he- “Zev?”

  He had an unreadable look on his face — and Amaryll liked to believe she’d gotten rather good at deciphering his unreadable looks. His dark eyes stared down at his arm, which had taken on a pallid sort of glow. “I…I don’t…”

  “You don’t what?” Amaryll moved closer. “What is it?”

  And then his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor.

  ·??·

  The two figures who stumbled into Loreweaver’s Alehouse barely past midday looked far worse for wear than they had only several hours earlier.

  With the sun high in the sky and the dreary mist of the previous night’s storm chased away, the Alehouse welcomed a host of the strangest midday visitors the city of Golton had ever seen. Of the crowd, the most notable were these: at a table by the window, what looked to be two older women with tall feathered hats and leather traveling jackets faced off in an intense game of cards. At the bar top there was a freckled boy, who looked to be no more than fourteen or fifteen, hunched over a plate of eggs, a strange wooden staff propped up against his hip.

  And then there was The Loreweaver herself — her silver hair shining softly in the candlelit interior of the Alehouse. The stained leather apron wrapped around her waist fluttered softly in the breeze from the open window. She nodded along to something the man in front of her said.

  “It was like this,” Ronan was saying, and the boy a few chairs down swiveled his head to listen. “Zev and I were-”

  But that was as far as he got, because just then the door to the Alehouse swung open with such force it slammed against the far wall. Two figures stumbled in, and the entire Alehouse paused to stare.

  Amaryll and Zev stood there, silhouetted in the doorway. Their clothes hung in tatters around their shoulders — the torn half of Zev’s tunic now dangled completely loose around his waist. A long, bloody scratch carved its way down Amaryll’s face. Tufts of hair had come loose from her braids and stuck out at odd angles.

  Zev’s eyes were closed and his whole upper torso was draped over Amaryll’s shoulders. Amaryll panted heavily. “A little…help…” she groaned.

  That jolted Ronan from his stupor. In an instant, he was at their side, swiping off the contents of the nearest table, and hefting his brother onto it. Zev groaned.

  “What happened?” Ronan could barely push the words out. Could barely breathe.

  The glare of absolute disgust Amaryll shot at him didn’t help at all. “It wasn’t just rats,” she growled through gritted teeth, doing a rather excellent impression of his unconscious brother.

  Right.

  She was rifling through the pouches at her waist, mumbling something about ghosts and zombies, but Ronan could barely hear past the ringing in his ears. He stared at his brother, motionless on the table.

  “Found it.” Amaryll’s voice echoed strangely through his head. She clutched a jar of something in her hand. The label read The Lethal Lily: Anti-necrotic Poultice.

  “The Lethal Lily?” Ronan read. He’d heard that name before. “Where-”

  “Is that really important right now?” Amaryll snapped. Her magenta eyes were wild, but she took a deep breath and popped open the top of the jar.

  “No. You’re right.”

  Amaryll dipped one gloved finger into the jar and scooped out a glob of something black and foul-smelling. “His arm. Give me his arm.”

  “His-” Ronan lifted Zev’s arm, ignoring his brother’s groans. He peeled back the sleeve and gaped.

  Zev’s entire arm, from bicep to wrist, was wrapped in curling black veins. The rest of his skin had turned a strange tannish-grey. Black goo oozed out of two small punctures at the inside of his elbow.

  Without ceremony, Amaryll smeared the two holes with the foul-smelling black stuff. Zev flinched. Ronan flinched in sympathy.

  Amaryll waited, her breath short and loud in her own ears. She was vaguely aware of others standing around her — watching, waiting. But all she could hear was her breath and her heartbeat.

  She stared at the wound. And then stared some more, as if by the power of her stare, her mother’s poultice would work.

  It would work. It had to work. She couldn’t let Zev die, not after-

  Zev groaned and shifted.

  Her breath caught. She heard Ronan suck in a breath.

  One of Zev’s eyes cracked open. “Ronan?” he murmured weakly.

  Ronan shifted into Zev’s view, grasping his shoulder softly. “What the hell, Zev. It was supposed to be just rats.”

  “Ghost rats,” came the answering grumble.

  “Ghost rats?” Still clutching his brother’s shoulder, Ronan looked over at Amaryll.

  Amaryll was too busy staring at Zev, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “You’re alive.” Her hands latched onto Zev’s forearm and squeezed.

  She went to let go, but found her small hand grasped in Zev’s large one. “Amaryll,” he rumbled softly. “Thank you.” And then let go.

  “Oh, well.” Amaryll fought the blush pushing into her pale cheeks. “Call me Amy. All my friends do.”

  Zev just closed his eyes.

  It was only then that she noticed the sound — a thunderous pounding all around her, shaking the walls and the table and the chairs. And cheering.

  People were clapping and cheering…for her?

  Before she could fully internalize that The Fractured Fate — The Fractured Fate — was clapping and cheering for her — her — they parted and a figure made its way to stand in front of Amaryll.

  The Loreweaver smiled then, and Amaryll felt the warmth of that smile all the way to her tingling toes. It felt like sunlight after a long day working in her lab. And when she spoke, her voice sounded like Argila’s, soft and lilting, reading to her about the properties of niperus communis before tucking her into bed with a featherlight kiss. “What you’ve done tonight,” The Loreweaver said, her words twisting through the air like a song, “Amaryll Sarran, has made you more than just a member of the Fractured Fate.” She held in her upturned palms something small and glinting. A pin, Amaryll realized. A small, curved thing, with two letters swirling around a sword. FF.

  Fractured Fate.

  The Keeper of the Fractured Fate pressed the pin into Amaryll’s hands. “Welcome to the family.” And then, in a low voice for Amaryll’s ears alone, “your mother will be very proud.”

  Amaryll just closed her fist around the pin and smiled.

  She was picturing how to write to her mother with the good news when, for the second time that afternoon, the door to the Alehouse slammed open, clattering against its hinges.

  A young woman appeared in the doorway, hunched over, hands on her knees. Her frizzy red hair obscured her face, but her words were loud enough to send a shocked silence rippling over the room like a wave of icy water.

  “Body… dead… Brimstone Ward…”

  The Loreweaver pushed forward. “Who?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to grate nails. “Who’s dead?”

  Two bright blue eyes pierced the room. “The Keeper of Helshine.”

  ·??·

  So, dearest mother, if I never have to work with that horrible Ronan ever again, it will be too soon. His brother and I, on the other hand, I think make a wonderful team.

  Give my niperus a kiss for me, and write back soon!

  All my love,

  Amaryll

  P.S. You may want to move our yellow rosebush into Greenhouse Three, next to the Foxglove and Stinging Sumac and away from the cattle pasture. Trust me.

  Hey there! Thank you for joining us for part 2 of Foxglove's Test (Tales of the Fractured Fate, 02).

  The latest installment will release in 2-3 parts in the second week of each month. Don't feel like waiting? You can read 'advance stories' up to 3 months ahead of time on Patreon

  Join Amaryll, Ronan, Zev, and all the other misfit members of The Fractured Fate in this exciting collection of short dark fantasy adventures.