Resourceful, Myrtle called me. I had to be. Death has been breathing in my neck since that day at the gallows, and I’ve always managed to be one step ahead.
I have a lifelong experience in avoiding death. And I plan to put it to good use tonight.
“Head to your appointed carriages now,” the old mage orders, her tone dropping to a raspy, tired whisper, “and make the Elders proud.”
Walking past Gale, I pat him on the back, and he flashes me a sad smile. Aeidas is nowhere to be seen.
The ride is not as long as I expected. The heavy carriage rolls to a stop, and the door cracks open. Night air rushes in, along with the whistling of the wind among dead branches and the not-so-distant howling of some tainted creature. My feet sink into a layer of dead leaves and branches.
“We’re here. The Silverbriar Woods,” the guard announces, and the carriage departs. The sound of the wheels dies out in the distance, and the black mass of the forest looms ahead.
The air grows colder under the black, bony canopy of dead ancient trees. The gloom deepens, and the Shadowfeeders should not be far behind. The moonlight barely filters through the thick branches, but I decide to save my scarce arcane energy in case I have to fight and stumble further in the twilight.
Finding the ruins of an old temple in these dead woods, which stretch endlessly in all directions, seems like a daunting task.
The dry branches beneath my boots crack like bones, and night birds call from the wood depths like lost souls. This is a purgatory. There are whispers that the Elders themselves show Mage Aernysse what they desire to see in the Nightfall Trials in visions she receives while meditating over a gap in the floor, deep in the palace’s fundaments. A fiery river runs below it, bringing the roaring voice of Atos himself, the heat and the vapors coming straight from the Underworld. Something that makes me very skeptical. For all I know, the Elders have left this world, dooming us all to a long, painful death.
The trees grow denser deeper into the woods, and I cast my weak light spell. The forest around changes and springs to life, the shadows around dancing. A smile stretches my lips when I notice that life slowly returns to it.
Crickets chirp, low bushes with waxy leaves sprout between the dead tree trunks, and fireflies swirl ahead.
Life.
Life always finds a way.
Many believe that fireflies are a good omen, so I follow them. This direction is as good as any. The heel of my boot kicks something solid. When I bend over to investigate, my fingers brush against the rough, jagged surface of cobblestones, still warm from the sunlight. Finally, a clue and a direction to follow. All roads lead to the temple, Friar Ben used to say. Whatever lies ahead, at least I am on the way to…something.
My heels are hurting, and my eyes are tired from trying to pierce the gloom. The stars are pacing their ethereal roads, the moon is sliding toward the horizon, and the road swirls endlessly before me. The frog croaking I heard some time ago is getting louder. The road leads to a stone bridge arching over a black creek, its surface reflecting the starry sky. When I am about to set foot onto the bridge, the frogs’ choir suddenly mutes, and the black water beneath ripples. Cold sweat rolls down my temples when a dark figure slowly rises from the murky creek.
A damp, musty scent clings to the air, the unmistakable odor of decay and rot permeating everything. I take a cautious step back when something rustles in the tall reed. The stalks of the reed part and a water hag steps out of the thicket, leaving slimy trails on the gravelly bank.
Atos’s warty backside!
Water hags—one of the most ancient Fae. Created by Cymmetra to watch over the creatures in the rivers and creeks, it was believed they were dead when the Hex spread over the world. My curiosity wrestles with my fear and wins. They’re known to be harmless, but what had the Taint done to this one? Arcane sparkles dance around my wrists as I’m preparing to hurl a spell and throw her back if needed.
The scarce moonlight reflects upon milky white eyes and wrinkly pale skin, strands of green hair draping her bony shoulders. No signs of Taint, just an old and tired Fae, who studies me, head cocked.
“So many in the forest tonight,” she hisses through darkened teeth, “a Seelie, an Unseelie, and someone—” She takes another step toward me, and I slightly back up. “What are you?” she asks, sniffing the air through the dark slits at the spot where her nose should be. “Touched by Cymmetra? Why are you hiding what you are?” She takes another step, and chills run down my spine.
“I...I am a human,” I mumble.
“A human.” She cackles loudly, scaring the frogs who have resumed their concert in the reed. “Fine, keep your secrets…human,” she says, pointing at my mother’s bracelet.
“Can you,” my mouth feels suddenly dry, “can you tell me where the old temple is?”
She stares at me for a while, considering. “And what will you give me in exchange?”
“I don’t have much as you see.” The lie, nearly visible, hangs between us. No way I’m giving her the Candle or the Flint.
“That’s all right.” She leans in closer, and the scent of swampy water and rotting algae hits me again. “A promise would suffice. Promise me you will not forget my help when the time comes, touched by Cymmetra.”
Well, that was easy. I was thinking that I’d to part with my hair or even a limb, as the legends say.
“Promised.” I nod solemnly.
“Follow the old road until you reach the ruins of the tower. An old inn it was, for the pilgrims.” She points behind her back, her dark eyes clouded by memories. “Lots of ale and music spilled there in the old times before darkness came. Then you go right. A wider path leads through an orchard with white trees. The temple is beyond it.” She cocks her head, watching me.
“Thank you,” I mumble, and she glides back to the water. “Wait!” Damned be my curiosity. “How come you’re not—”
