Some questions had no answers, or at least none that we wanted to hear. "I don't know, Silvanus. I don't know."

He hugged her to his chest, his one good arm tight against her back. The missing arm was longer, and the stump helped hold her in place. The sight of the growing stump made Jonathan's stomach clench. Nausea burned at the back of his throat. He took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed. He would not let his own fears make this hideous scene worse.

"We have to tend the dead before dark," the doctor said. His voice sounded ordinary enough. Jonathan wondered why he himself felt so startled. He had seen many scenes of grief before.

Silvanus shook his head, rocking faster. Averil's hand slapped the bedframe with a meaty thunk.

Every few moments; thunk-thunk-thunk. That one sound seemed worse than all the others.

Randwulf rushed forward, grabbing both the elf and his dead daughter in his arms. Hugging them both. He held them close and the awful sound stopped.

Randwulf's head was bent over Silvanus's shoulder. There was a large bump at the top of the boy's spine. Jonathan couldn't remember it being there before, when he saw Elaine heal the old wound.

He shook his head. Now was not the time.

"We have sent for the undertaker," the doctor said.

Silvanus's head snapped up, rage sparkling through the tears. "No, not yet."

"We must have her out of doors by dark," the doctor said.

"Why?" Silvanus asked.

Jonathan made a movement to attract the doctor's attention. He gave a small shake of his head. The doctor frowned, not seeming to understand.

Jonathan walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, directing him toward the door. "I think we should give Silvanus a few moments alone with his grief."

"But we can't have a dead body inside…"

"I know that," Jonathan said softly, "but it is an hour past sunup. We have time."

The doctor shook his head, eyes wide with what Jonathan now recognized as fear. "The undertaker is on his way. We must…"

Jonathan practically shoved the doctor through the door, pushing the crowd aside. When they were in the hallway, he spoke, low and urgent, "They do not know that all dead in this cursed village rise to walk the night. And you will not be the one to tell them."

The doctor's mouth made a little O of surprise. "It is my duty to protect this town."

"And a fine job you're doing. Now get out."

The doctor sputtered, protesting. "I am the doctor here. You are to find the source of this evil, but I am to protect the living."

Thordin had come up. He stood at Jonathan's side, simply staring at the doctor. There was really nothing in the look that Jonathan found frightening. It was just Thordin, but the doctor paled.

"I think you had better leave," Thordin said in a low, careful voice.

The doctor's eyes widened, then without another word, he fled down the stairs.

"You must be a great deal more frightening than I think you are," Jonathan said.

Thordin shrugged. "The doctor scares easy."

"That he does," Jonathan said. "It might be interesting to find out why."

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. It was enough, no words needed. Thordin went to follow the doctor or perhaps to question him, Jonathan didn't care which. Who better to corrupt the dead and dying than a doctor? The village had only one. Who would question him?

He heard Tereza calling his name faintly through the other door. He opened the door with a smile that was all lies. Averil's death was one more reminder of their own loss.

"The girl's dead, isn't she?" Tereza asked.

Jonathan nodded, leaving the door half open behind him. "I may be needed in the other room. Silvanus does not know …" He let the thought trail off.

"That all dead rise again as zombies," she finished.

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her offered hand.

"We must try and find their bodies, Jonathan. We can use fire to destroy them so they won't rise."

Jonathan could not meet her eyes.

"Husband, look at me," she said.

He raised his head and met her dark gaze. "You were always braver than I."

"I am more practical. That isn't the same thing at all, Jonathan. The thought of … of watching them burn. A new zombie looks living. It would be like burning them alive."

"They won't be alive, Tereza."

"We must do it for the sakes of their souls, but…"

"You are too ill to move from this bed. I will do what is necessary."

She squeezed his hand. "Averil must be treated the same way."

"What I can't understand is why the villagers haven't been burning the bodies, themselves."

"They may not know that fire destroys the body completely," she said.

"The undertaker should have known. Any keeper of the dead in Kartakass has to be aware of how to keep the dead from rising."

"Perhaps it is the old dead that fill the streets."

Jonathan shook his head. "I will find out today. Before another night falls, I will have answers."

"So quickly?"

"We have lost a great deal in one night. I will not lose anyone else. We will find who is behind this."

"You have some ideas. I can see it in your face."

"Yes, I have some suspects."

"Who?"

He glanced back at the open door. "Later. Let me see how Silvanus fairs. I promise to come back and tell you all my theories. You know that I do my best thinking while explaining things to you."

She gave a small smile. "I know."

He kissed her cheek and left, closing the door behind him.

Konrad had shooed the idle gawkers away. He stood guard over the door, hands on chest, and wore a forbidding expression. Suddenly, his face changed, a look of astonishment crumbled it into lines of shock. He was staring at something over Jonathan's shoulder, something coming up the stairs.

Jonathan turned. Elaine was ascending. He felt his own mouth drop open with surprise. She looked as she always looked. Clothes covered in dirt and blood, but it was her.

She was a few steps from the top when Konrad broke and ran for her. He lifted her bodily up the last steps, whirling her around in the narrow hallway. He put her down, and they were both laughing. Konrad was laughing. It was the first joy Jonathan had seen in him since his wife died.

Konrad set her on the floor and hugged her again. "Elaine, Elaine, Elaine." He seemed unwilling to let her go.

Jonathan stood there with tears running down his face, mingling with his beard. Her blue eyes glanced at him. He held his arms wide, and she ran to him. He hugged her to his chest, burying his face in the top of her hair. Her arms held him as if she would never let him go.

"I am so sorry for all I said, Elaine."

"It doesn't matter." She pushed away from him, enough to look up into his face. There was something in her eyes, some knowledge that left Jonathan frightened. He was suddenly cold all over as if he'd been dropped in icy water.

"Where's Blaine?" His voice was choked and soft. He knew the answer. It was there in her eyes.

"Gone," she said. One word, not even the right word. Gone, not dead. Mustn't say that word aloud. Gone.

"Are you sure?" Konrad was with them, hand on Elaine's back. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, burying her face against Jonathan's chest. She did not cry, as dry inside as a seashell left on a high shelf to gather dust and dream of lost paradises.

He had believed them both dead, or said he did, but Jonathan realized now it was a lie. He hadn't really believed. It was true for one of them, and he couldn't think. One question came to his mind. "How?" he asked. Somehow that seemed important.

She took a deep shuddering breath and stepped away from him. She stood in the center of the hallway, hands close against her body, tight as if afraid to touch anything. "He was trying to save me. He died saving me." She raised her face and looked at them. The hatred in her eyes pierced him to his soul. Self-hatred was the hardest wound to heal.