Around it, the Shosebury Forest clustered thickly. This time of the year, the trees stood together with their naked branches starkly jutting out into the gray sky overhead. The shrubs were denuded of greenery, and where the snow had not yet taken hold, vast swathes of mud and ice instead clung. Here, far from the bustle of the city, a heavy silence fell. There was a feeling of watchfulness.
Following the general direction given by Ian, we found a small settlement of houses, but the few catkin there refused to give us much beyond the time of the day. No one would answer our questions about ancient mollies who brewed potions. There might have been a flicker of recognition at our words, but it was clear from their deadpan expressions and morose countenances that our presence was far from welcome.
“Wait—“
Alan clutched my arm. We had dismounted, moving from home to home. Now, he raised a mitt and pointed at what looked like an older molly moving away from one of the homes into the forest.
“Oi!”
I shouted. Before I could run after her, however, Alan grunted behind me. His hand dragged on my cloak as he reeled under the blow of a catkin passing by. The unwashed scoundrel had deliberately walked into our path and hit Alan. I knew instantly what the tactic was—an attempt to grab Alan’s satchel. I hauled the mage back and inserted myself in between them threateningly. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, the rogue retreated.
“Are you alright, Alan?” I asked.
“I am fine,” said Alan a bit breathlessly. “What is wrong with the cat? Is he blind? I was clearly right beside you! There was so much room on the road too!”
I shook my head.
“Alan, he was trying to rob you!”
“He was?” Alan looked even more alarmed.
Then he twisted about and stared at the direction that he had pointed. The old molly had long disappeared. He cursed briefly, causing me to raise my eyebrow a little at his uncharacteristic colorful language. Alan pushed past me, uncaring, and stomped in the direction we had seen the molly. Leading the horses behind him, I followed as he slowly trailed the footprints into a morass of mud. Beyond that point, it was impossible to track the molly’s footsteps. That would require a set of hounds. Still, Alan pushed through the clearing’s furthest bushes.
“There’s a small path here. Let’s see…”
After ten minutes of walking among the trees, pushing past bushes and shrubs, we entered another small clearing. This one was empty, but there were signs of life here—a bonfire in the middle, an engraved circle carved into the mud on the ground, the carcass of something like a deer stretched on stones at the northern end of the circle, and markings around the trees. Alan flitted from one tree to another, carefully noting each of the markings and muttering to himself. On the last, he laid a mitt thoughtfully and nodded.
“I know this,” he finally said, turning to me with a brilliant grin on his face. “This is where it took place, Hugh. Where the curse had been loosed. And I know what it is… Maybe, just maybe, we can attempt a forced reversal, a rending.”
“Rending?” I recalled the Crone’s words.
“Yes,” Alan nodded. “I can call on the energies of the Earth and appeal to the Nyria, Meryn’s sister, the Goddess of Fertility.”
“I see.”
I didn’t, but Alan sounded rather excited, so I felt a surge of hope.
“What do we have to do for this, er, forced reversal?”
“Nothing too out of the ordinary for this kind of ritual.” Alan shrugged. “Drinking potions, of course. Infusing sigils. Presenting a proper offering of flesh. Dancing… and, er, well, physical consummation.”
“Physical consummation? You mean, coupling?”
“Yes.”
Alan’s voice was light as though he were unconcerned about the words emerging from him, but for some reason, his gaze avoided my own. I smirked to myself.
“In fact,” Alan continued, “I think we could attempt it tonight or tomorrow night. Whenever you are free really.”
“Oh,” I grinned as I realized that my plans for the day were finally coming to fruition. “I am free for that anytime, Alan. Any. Time.”
Chapter 10
Alan
Of course, Hugh’s interest was more than piqued by the mention of sex-filled rituals. When anyone discusses moon magic and the more quaint traditions of rural folks and peasant conjuring, they immediately think of burying silver, slicing off warts, dancing around bonfires, and having sex. Of course. Like most city-bred Sunna, Hugh was no doubt entertaining all manners of misplaced imaginings.
I was tempted to correct his misconceptions, but recognizing that there was a mild bounce to his step and an excited flick to his tail, I held my tongue. The glimmer in his light brown eyes told it all. Hugh was clearly cheered up… and I preferred him that way. We need as much cheer as possible given what lay ahead of us: investigations and more investigations.
