A Look Beyond the Mist (The Secrets of Arizaya Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

The soft feeling of cool grass on the soles of my bare feet sends a familiar sensation through my body, leaving tiny dew drops between my toes as I pick up my skirts and step over a moss-carpeted log.

My mother always told me to put on shoes when I left the house as a child, but I couldn’t give up the feeling of being so close to the earth, of letting my skin feel every rumble in the soil, and every blade of grass underfoot.

It’s a feeling I love even now—the crunch of a fallen leaf in autumn, the trickle of water in a stream.

It’s not the same as merely looking at it. I have to feel it.

It’s something that’s never left me.

It may be the only thing that I haven’t lost in the last five years.

In uncertain times, the earth seems to be the one thing that grounds me.

My eyes catch on the drooping shape of snowdrop flowers blooming at the base of the gigantic oak tree providing cover to this corner of the forest. I tuck a strand of my auburn curls behind my ear before kneeling down on my skirts.

Breaking the stems off at the base, I carefully place them in my basket on top of the calendula I collected six trees south of here.

With the way sickness is plaguing Tarragon this season, my supplies have been vanishing at a startling rate.

One would think I’m supplying for the entire continent of Nameria compared to the way things were last season.

And as one of the only apothecaries south of the province, running out of supplies is the last thing I need in this moment.

There are only a few weeks until spring—or what people who live in provinces like Rynwood or Sunridge would call spring, but it’s not much of a change down here in Tarragon.

Just a scattering of flowers blooming at the base of old trees, a few more birds taking their first flight, but if you weren’t looking, you would seldom think anything had changed. I just happen to be one of the people who look.

So when I woke this morning to a daisy sprouting through my bedchamber window, I left the small wooden sign on my shop door turned to “Closed” and set out to spend an uninterrupted day foraging like I used to—but somehow it doesn’t quite feel the same anymore.

My small apothecary keeps me far busier than it once did. With every setting sun across Tarragon, more people fall ill, and more patrons than ever have passed through my door.

I can’t help but find myself morally conflicted regarding that fact, because although I don’t like to see anyone unwell, I like being the one to help them.

And as things get worse, I want to become better.

I want to expand my knowledge and enhance my mixtures for better results.

I want to be a part of restoring things in the only way I know how.

But I haven’t had enough time to get deep enough into the forest to find what I need.

Until now.

I rise from my knees and venture deeper into the woods, letting my skirts trail in the fallen leaves and forest clutter as I do.

A branch snaps behind me, and my head whips over my shoulder. The sound echoes like a shot signalling the start of a race, but it’s not my feet running the race; it’s my heart.

After what feels like too many moments of surveying the forest for any signs of movement, I close my eyes and place my hand on my chest, willing the race to come to an end.

Perhaps it was merely a mouse burrowing under the debris that blankets the forest floor. I open my eyes once more, and when I see no sign of anyone around me, I continue heading further into the woods.

I couldn’t imagine living in a place where the trees didn’t grow this tall, or even worse, where they were torn down and animals were left homeless in favour of building more homes for the all-powerful councilmen and their families.

This town was built around the forest, around the nature—the entire province was—in spaces where the earth left gaps for us. In return, the animals visit us instead of running from us. Or at least they don’t run from me.

My cabin is a sanctuary, tucked away in a moment of peace where the canopy gives way to rays of sunshine on a good day. Not that there is an abundance of those; our town lives under an almost permanent cloud.

I’ve lived in Sylvan since I was born. My parents were among the first to call this place home. Since then, it has grown slowly, the population still rather small, yet now we have our very own councilmen, and a new mayor headed our way.

And I don’t have my family anymore.

It’s scary really, the way things can change so quickly.

I’ve accepted the fact that the universe obviously means for me to be alone with the earth, considering that everyone I’ve loved has been taken from me in one way or another.

In my parents’ case, it was an accident with their horse and cart, one that left them with injuries no local healers could mend. One moment I was a teenage girl wrapped up in her family, and the next I was an orphan.

It’s been five years since that day, but I still feel like that. Like an orphan.

The sound of yet another stick breaking leaves my head spinning before I can even blink.

I gasp when I see a figure between the trees, and my hand flies to my chest before I recognise the short brown hair and slim frame. “Oh, gods.” I sigh, my hand dropping to my side. “Hazel! You scared me. What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, Everleigh, I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” she says before making her way towards me.

She stops close enough that I can see the dark freckles painted from one rich brown cheek to the other.

“I went for a walk, but I simply found myself not wanting to turn around and go back. I didn’t realise how far I had wandered. ”

Hazel has always been like that, finding herself so wrapped up in her thoughts she could walk all the way to Evergreen without noticing.

I reach out, grabbing her hand in mine. “You need to be careful, especially with everything that is going on now.”

Hazel looks away, her eyes vacant. “This new mayor.” She shakes her head. “Why do we need a mayor, anyway? We were doing fine just on our own.” Anger coats her words, and her once vacant stare now brims with fury.

Hazel travelled here four years ago, finding comfort in the stillness of Sylvan. So her frustration about a new mayor moving to town is anything but surprising. In fact, I don’t think anyone here particularly likes the idea of it.

I shrug. “The world is changing.” I don’t know what else to say.

The energy has shifted around Sylvan ever since we found out about Mayor Hawthorne on the first night of the new moon. There was meant to be a celebration, but when the news reached us that the king had sent Sir Hawthorne to Sylvan, few people wanted to celebrate.

A small gust of wind sends gooseflesh up my neck, and I will my mind to calm, but it refuses to listen. In fact, my thoughts haven’t stopped spinning since the first time I heard the words witch hunt whispered in town square.

Since then, it’s been spoken about more and more, rumours coming from all corners of Nameria. And until now, that’s all they were—whispers. But with Mayor Hawthorne’s arrival due any day now, it feels more real than ever.

“I only fear it’s changing for the worse, Everleigh,” Hazel says. “Did you hear that King Wyndbrook has granted Hawthorne jurisdiction over more than just Sylvan? Two women were arrested just two days ago in Lenthara for dark magic and witchcraft.”

My heart sinks, partly for the women, and partly for us. Lenthara is two days' ride from here, meaning Sir Hawthorne will grace us with his presence soon. My stomach churns at the mere thought.

In the last few months, there’s been a rise in captures, torture, and murders of people accused of performing witchcraft, all under the king’s orders.

He believes there are witches all around us, disguising themselves as common people, and that it’s his responsibility to rid Nameria of dark magic before it seizes the entire continent.

It all sounds ludicrous to me, to everyone here, but the reality of the consequences is no laughing matter.

“He caught them on his way through town, on the journey that’s bringing him to our doorstep, into our town, our home. It’s sickening.”

I squeeze Hazel’s hand, not having the right words to make any of this better.

King Wyndbrook sits on his throne far from Sylvan, in the capital of Zorindale at the core of Rynwood. The witch-hunts started there. Since then, all it has done is spread, further and further into our communities. The fear of capture is a larger plague than these supposed witches have ever been.

Most of the people who have been captured have been nothing more than healers or apothecaries, using natural remedies to cure what otherwise couldn’t be cured.

Or midwives said to be using rituals. Even people who had coincidentally argued with their neighbours the day before a heavy rain that drowned their crops.

I don’t like to think too much of it. The rumour mill is working hard, with stories swirling and contorting from town to town, and no one knows what is true or false. But with every story of capture comes loved ones left behind who claim the accused are innocent.

The idea of people performing dark magic doesn’t sound like the people of Sylvan, or any of Nameria. But with the imminent presence of the new mayor and his councilmen, the string of tension in Sylvan has been pulled taut.

It feels like it might take only one incident before someone snaps, and maybe that’s what has happened to these other people. They simply snapped.

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t be aimlessly wandering in the woods, Hazel,” I say, letting my soft voice flood with concern for my friend.

She looks me up and down. “You can hardly speak on that subject.”

I tilt my head. “You know exactly what I’m doing. And you’ll be grateful when I bring a basket of remedies to your door at the end of this week.”

Hazel is one of the best healers in Sylvan, helping many of the townspeople with her knowledge of natural remedies. If anyone is at risk of being targeted in witch hunts here in Sylvan, it’s the healers. It’s Hazel. And it could even be me.

“And what you’re doing could easily get you dragged away by a band of soldiers!” She sighs, looking away. I know her outburst is of pure concern, so I just squeeze her hand once more.

While I may have lost the family I was born into, there are still people in Sylvan I care for, people I consider family, and Hazel is one of them.

“Okay, fine, we are equally at risk,” I say. I meant it as a light joke, but it fell out of my mouth a bit more seriously than I had intended it to be, leaving the two of us in silence.

The leaves shuffle above us as a breeze floats overhead, the dense trees guarding us from the chill. Hazel’s eyes meet mine again, her gaze holding a hint of worry. “Do you want company for the walk back?”

I smile, looking down at my basket and deciding that what I found today is enough for now. “Sure.”

She links her arm in mine and leads me back in the direction of my cabin. “They got burned,” she whispers after a long moment of silence. “The witches.” She shakes her head. “The women. Burned in the town centre on a pyre so everyone could watch. As if it’s a sport, a show.”

“I could never do that,” I mutter.

“What? Watch them?” she asks, stepping over a huddle of mushrooms, careful not to crush them.

I nod in response.

“If it’s all we can do to watch, then I think I would. Even if they catch only a glimpse of my face, they’ll know there was someone else there beyond the depraved men who did this to them. I wouldn’t want their faces to be the last ones I see if it were me.”

Her words throw my mind to a place I never thought it would go.

My feet and hands go numb as I imagine myself staring out into a crowd as a fire is lit beneath me.

I tighten my grip on Hazel’s hand, interlacing our fingers.

“It won’t ever be you, and it won’t ever be me. That’s not how our stories end.”

She gives me a measly smile before saying, “Some people aren’t so lucky.”

I try to imagine the faces of those who have suffered so far, but all I can imagine are the people I care about. My brother’s face appears in my mind, and I shake away the memory of his bright smile, of his delicate touch as he healed my young wounds.

Hazel squeezes my hand back, dragging me from my memories. “Let’s just hope this mayor finds Sylvan too quiet for his liking.”

Mustering a smile I don’t feel, all I can say is, “Yes, let’s hope.”