Amy Cross - Persona

I pause for a moment, but it’s clear that he has no intention of making his move right now.

“I have to get on with burying Harry,” I mutter, turning and grabbing the old man’s arms.

“Do you need help?”

Ignoring him, I continue to drag Harry away from the town. I know he’s right, I know the people of Steadfall need a leader who can inspire them. I just don’t think that I can be that leader. When I get to the next ridge, I glance back the way I came and see that Deckard is already walking toward town, and suddenly it strikes me that I might have been wrong about him. Somehow I’ve become a simmering ball of defensive anger, and I need to calm down before I explode.

Once I reach the makeshift cemetery, I start digging a grave for Harry. At least when I’m working, I have less time to over-think things.

Standing in the center of the clearing, I look around and see the horrific truth.

Ruins.

This town is nothing but ruins.

There were clearly several wooden structures here once, not entirely dissimilar to the huts that Asher and the others built at Steadfall. All that’s left of them, however, are some charred beams loosely tied together. As I make my way over to take a closer look at one of the structures, I feel something loose and dry against my bare feet, and I look down to see that there’s ash everywhere. A few burned knives have been left scattered around as well, along with crude wooden pots and bowls. Reaching the nearest structure, I put a hand on the wall and give it a gentle push. It’s still fairly sturdy, despite the inferno that must have raged at some point.

“What happened here?” Della asks. “It must have been something bad, mustn’t it?”

Judging by the size and sheer number of these old wooden buildings, I’m certain this must be the town that I heard about. For the past couple of years, new arrivals at Steadfall have occasionally mentioned an unnamed town out here near the foot of the mountain, a town that sounded even larger and more successful than the settlement that Asher had built. Asher and Deckard told me the stories couldn’t be true, but over time I began to think that there had to be some truth to what we were hearing. When I set out to locate that town, I expected to find either a thriving community or nothing at all. It never occurred to me that I might discover, instead, that the town had been destroyed.

Who would do such a terrible thing? And how?

“I don’t like this,” Della’s voice whispers. “Turn around, Iris.”

Stepping around the wooden structure, I lean through what’s left of the doorway, figuring that—

I freeze as soon as I see them.

Huddled inside on the floor with a series of thick ropes tied around them, there are several dead bodies. Most of them have been burned so badly, there’s nothing left but their bones, although a few have scraps of flesh still clinging to their skeletal faces and one even has some singed hair that somehow survived. As I take a cautious step forward, I start counting the skulls, and I realize that there are at least fifteen corpses here. While taking care not to get too close, I crouch down and take a closer look at one of the bodies, and for a moment I stare into the empty, hollow sockets of its skull. Its mouth is hanging slightly open, and I can’t help wondering how these people ended up being tied together like this.

“This’ll be you one day,” Della says.

She’s right.

Ever since I arrived on the island, I’ve known that there’s a brutal death waiting for me. I doubt anyone ever gets to live out a peaceful life here. Whether it’s Tash or the old man, everyone dies in agony.

Just like these people.

One day it’ll be my turn.

Spotting some scraps of wood in the corner, I make my way over and see that a series of deep scratches have been carved through the surface of each piece. When I pick one up and take a closer look, however, I realize that the scratches seem to have been designed to obscure some text that had earlier been carved into the same wood. It’s hard to make out too much, but after a moment I’m able to make out a few consecutive words:

A little further on, I find another legible passage:

Turning the piece of wood, I see more scratches on the back, along with another section that I can just about read:

After reading a few more scattered sections on the pieces of wood, I start to realize that I’ve found some kind of journal or record, as if the people of this town were taking care to note down their history. Whoever destroyed the place, meanwhile, seems to have gone to great lengths to obliterate everything that was written. It would have been easy to just burn the pieces of wood, of course, but instead they seem to have been broken up and scratched, which strikes me as being kind of dramatic. My guess is that the text was destroyed in front of the people before they were burned, as some kind of demonstration that they were being wiped from history.

It’s almost as if someone enjoyed destroying this town.

After gathering the pieces of wood up, I step back out of the burned hut and take a moment to collect my thoughts. I’ve seen plenty of death since I arrived on the island, of course, but this is the first time I’ve seen death that seems so organized. It’s clear that these people were rounded up and tied together, and then the hut was burned with them inside. That’s not the usual chaos of the island, it’s something more clinical, something that reminds me of the world I thought I’d left behind. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch the nearby forest for a moment, but there’s still no sign of anyone being close and, besides, it’s clear that the fire happened a while ago. The pieces of wood in my hands might very well be all that’s left of this town and its people. I turn and look back into the hut, and for a moment I try to imagine the screams of those people as they were burned to death.

There was a town here, but someone came along and burned it to the ground. Whoever’s responsible, they must still be on the island somewhere.

“You’re in trouble.”

As I make my way through the center of town a short while later, I turn and find to my surprise that Harold is suddenly walking alongside me. He seemed so remote and distant earlier, so it’s a surprise to find that he suddenly wants to talk.

“I am?” I ask cautiously.

“It doesn’t take a genius to understand what’s going on here,” he continues, keeping his voice low so that we won’t be overheard. “You’re in over your head. This Steadfall settlement was never supposed to get so big, but people have gravitated toward it because they’re scared of the forest. The whole thing is getting out of control and you’re struggling to maintain order. Sooner or later—”

“Fine,” I reply, interrupting him, “those are all valid points, but I really don’t need you to spell it all out to me. You’re new here, you don’t understand everything that’s been going on.” We walk on for a moment, and I’m suddenly not so glad that he’s following me. “Let me guess. You and your friends don’t like the way I run things around here. You agree with Ben that there should be a democracy.”

“People are talking about overthrowing you.”

“I’m sure they are, but there’s always—”

“No,” he adds, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me to turn to him, “I don’t mean in general. I mean specific people are talking about a plan to push you out and take control of your town. I’ve heard them.”