The others look to see what he’s talking about. “What do you think made them do that?” one of his companions asks.

“I don’t know,” he replies. Putting his hand across his forehead to keep the sun off his eyes, he tries to get a clearer view. Then movement catches his eye. Six figures are running away from the wagons back the way they came. “They are running away,” he says nervously.

“What should we do?” asks the man next to him. Despite his attempt to sound calm, fear has crept into his voice.

“I’m not sure but we better find out what’s going on,” he says. Kicking his horse in the sides he bolts toward the fleeing men. Before he has gone half the distance, three of the men fall and don’t get up. Then another falls and then another.

He reaches the last man just as he hits the ground. “Stay back!” Zyrn orders the others. Moving closer he watches as the man writhes upon the ground. Not a sound does the man make other than that of his limbs moving in the dirt. A spasm rips through him and he flips onto his back.

Most of his skin has turned gray and is beginning to sag in the same manner as the young men they found. One pupil is gray and the other is almost there. The man’s jaw opens and closes as if he’s trying to say something. Then another spasm tears through him before his body becomes still.

“Zyrn,” one man says with barely controlled fear evident in his voice, “let’s get out of here.”

“But we haven’t found my son,” another man argues.

“He’s dead!” the scared man exclaims. “They all are!”

“I’m not leaving here until I find my son!” the man shouts.

They look to Zyrn for a decision.

He glances from one to the others and then says, “I’ll stay here with Zaki. The rest of you return to the village and tell them what is going on.”

The fearful man immediately turns his horse and heads in a straight line home. The others turn to follow him.