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— The Watching Fire

This is the night for watching. The threshold has already been crossed, and what entered did not come alone. Tonight, the fires are not stoked for warmth, only vigilance. But your fire cannot protect you from what has already taken root. What has crossed the veil from the Otherworld on the first night will now demand to be seen.

The veil is thinning.

Silence is now where sound once echoed. This is the night of wakefulness. If you close your eyes, make sure the watchman is a mortal you trust. Because what hunts you in your sleep this night might already know your name.

Beware the fire that you let falter.

The Ashen Grimoire

10

I was trapped in a moving wooden box. Was it my coffin? My hands found the smooth, polished wood on either side of me. I pushed hard against it, but it was solid and well-made. My legs kicked out, trying to break through the bottom, needing air… I needed air…

Crawling panic constricted my chest, and my body shuddered. My lungs refused to fill with air.

No. No. NO!

Not again. I couldn’t… be caged again.

For one stuttering heartbeat, I was thirteen again and back inside the bird cage suspended beneath a black phoenix. Ember had buried her face against my shoulder, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Eleven-year-old Thorn sat rigid beside us, silent and pale, trying desperately to be brave.

My sweaty palms pushed harder against the wood, and my nails scratched at the joins in the planks, but nothing gave way. As my back ignited in pain, I thumped on the ceiling of my confinement, only inches above my head, and kicked out at the base. This time I would not go quietly.

“Stop that,” an old woman’s croaky voice whispered. “We ain’t far enough away yet. One hour and we’ll stop before the night is full.”

“How long was I out? Where’s my friend? Who are you?” I kept my voice low, but I couldn’t contain the panic. “Let me out.”

“She said. Shut. It.” A man’s voice accompanied a loud thump on the side of my box, which echoed around in my sore head. “Or I’ll have her put you out.”

“You’re lucky that we came when we did.” Her voice was soothing and quiet. “Some Celt was going to be selling you off to those Barren Riders, so I had to remind him of the magic I possessed. He thinks you fled back into the city. You need to stay out of sight until we can find a way to contact the Ruckus.”

The Ruckus? The Celts were the Ruckus! Why would the Ruckus want me? Did they know who I truly was? Questions raced through my mind, but I regulated my breathing and conserved my energy. I hoped that sooner or later they would open the lid, and then I would fight my way out.

For the first time since we were captured, my cousins and I were now truly separated. I knew this day would come, but I didn’t expect the huge hollowness opening up inside me. I swallowed down my pain and then rasped, “Where’s my… friend?”

“When we went back for her, she was gone. Maybe she fled? You cursed us all, arriving when you did. But the book wanted you, so here you are. Now, enough.” A thud hit the wooden box, and it vibrated again, making my head spark with pain.

Whatever Earthworld magic these fairground people had, it was strong, which made sense, as they needed a lot of it to fuel the rides, provide all the stalls with light, and to journey between the kingdoms with protection. I closed my eyes and listened for clues as to where I was.

I woke as someone opened my coffin-like cage, and blinding light streamed in. I covered my eyes with one hand as my other went into the false pocket in my dress and gripped the hilt of the blade that was belted around my thigh.

“What?” I squinted in the lamplight at a silhouette of a woman with wild, curly hair that blocked out the glare.

“Shhh…” she hissed. “You were never here. We parked at the back and sent a note to the Ruckus. But you got the Flockers after ya, and there is rogues flying around… One is an Ash, and that’s a bad, bad omen on a night of Yule. They’re all crazed by the tinkering of magic in the air.”

I hadn’t heard them called the Flockers for years; it was Earthworld witches’ slang.

She reached in and put a hand on my shoulder to stop me as voices approached. “Go well on Mother’s Night,” a man called.

“And to your mother, and then to your lover.” The woman waved someone away and then gestured for me to hurry. On her wrist was the same green glowing circle that Gisel had, same place, same size. Perhaps it was the same oath, and that was why she was helping me. “Sky-loving imbecile,” she muttered as she tugged on the arm of my dress. “The fair always attracts the nutters.”

When I sat up, we were at the edge of twenty wagons with people bustling about, moving horses and lighting campfires. They had hidden me in a secret compartment under the seat on which they sat to drive the horses, but I still didn’t know who ‘they’ were.

I climbed down slowly, every muscle stiff and aching, and followed the woman, who was bent almost double with age, to the back of the wagon and a fire that blazed there. A man in his seventies sat on a stool and stirred a pot of stew, and the stew smelled better than anything I had ever had.

“You got her up then? Better change her look before she’s seen.” He spoke without looking at me.