Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Brannoch Forest
Shadows of the Hunters
Dawn unfurled slowly through the trees, painting the forest in muted hues of gray and silver.
Brannoch Forest was vast, older than any village of men, its trees tall and close as sentinels guarding ancient secrets.
Mist coiled around their roots, clinging to the damp earth, and the air carried a scent of pine, wet moss, and the faint sweetness of wood sorrel.
Elara had heard that birds never sang in Brannoch Forest before the sun rose, as though they, too, waited for permission to breathe.
Beyond the woods lay the Rowan Reach, a stretch of land marked by low hills and the red-berried trees from which it took its name.
Even from here, Elara could almost picture them, the flashes of crimson bright against gray stone and green shadow.
The healers of Leighfeld often said that where the rowan grew, the old gods still lingered, watching over those who carried the light of life in their hands.
But this morning, even the thought of those sacred trees brought little comfort. The forest felt heavier than usual, as if it bore witness to too many things left unspoken.
Elara adjusted her cloak, tucking a stray lock of silver hair beneath the hood. Dar walked a few paces behind her, his steps measured and sure. He said little, his eyes alert, constantly moving from shadow to shadow, his every sense attuned to movement.
Neither had spoken since breaking camp.
Elara’s thoughts were too full: the tale Etta had told, the Hunters’ laughter echoing faintly in her mind, and the strange voice she’d heard after they’d gone. She had not told Dar. Some things were best kept to oneself until one understood them.
The sound of her own breathing seemed loud in the stillness. She looked back once and caught Dar studying her, not with suspicion, but the wary interest of a man trying to understand a woman.
“The forest troubles you?” he asked quietly.
“It listens,” she replied. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
His brow furrowed slightly. “I’d rather trust what I can see and hear.”
Before she could respond, a sharp cry split the air, human and desperate, and as fast as it had been heard, it vanished.
Dar’s hand went instinctively to his dagger as he turned toward where he believed the sound came from. “Stay here.”
Elara didn’t listen. She followed close behind.
Dar cast an annoyed glance her way. “I told you—”
“I stay with you,” she said with a strength that brooked no argument.
“Stubborn woman,” Dar mumbled.
“Determined,” Elara corrected and followed close behind him.
Words he suspected would be exchanged between them much too often.
A narrow glade opened before them, shrouded in morning mist. Seven women stumbled through the far side, their clothes torn and faces streaked with dirt.
The youngest couldn’t have been more than eight years, the oldest, wrinkled with age.
One carried a bundle strapped to her back, another limped, supported by two others.
When they saw Dar, they froze, fear flashing in their eyes.
“Please,” one cried, her voice hoarse, “we have no extraordinary healing skills.”
Elara pushed past him, raising her hands. “You’ve nothing to fear. He is not a Hunter.”
The women hesitated. Then one of them, a small, wiry woman with wind-tangled hair, let out a sob of relief.
“They came before dawn,” she gasped. “Rathmor’s half in ruin, tossing things aside needlessly in their search, as if we hid what they looked for. They dragged healers with the slightest difference, those who stood out, young and old alike, even one with child.”
Elara’s breath hitched. “How did you escape?”
“Through the north edge, near the Reach. A man shouted from the fields for us to run, one of our own, just before the Hunters arrived. We ran and didn’t look back.”
“Some were caught,” another woman said, “which is why we can’t linger long. They will search the woods.”
Four more women stumbled into the glade, stragglers who had fallen behind the first group.
An elderly woman weathered with age sank to a fallen log, breathing hard. Elara moved to her side, kneeling beside her.
“You need to rest at least for a moment,” she said softly.
The woman shook her head. “They’ll not be far behind. We need to keep moving.”
They all were aware of how relentless the Hunters were, and Elara shared in their fear and pain.
“Before you go,” Elara said gently, “the Hunters, they search for a healer who can defy death. Have you heard such a tale?”
The old woman’s eyes lifted to hers, pale gray, clouded with sorrow. “Aye. I’ve heard many tell such a tale, but few understand it.”
Elara leaned closer. “Please spare a moment and tell me. It could help to end this torment brought upon the healers, if proven only a tale.”
“A tale… maybe,” the old woman said, “or maybe not. There are different versions, some to entertain, some to frighten. The one I heard says a healer fled her home heavy with child, conceived from forbidden fruit. Some say she gave the bairn away so no one could ever find her—her powers never known.”
“And others?” Elara asked.
“Others believe the healer didn’t hide the child at all. They say she raised the girl in secret, and when her rare powers became known, schooled her as best she could until she surpassed anything ever known. When the time was right, she sent her into the world to take her rightful place.”
“What rightful place?”
“Some believe it is to rule Scotara and heal what the dark had broken.”
Elara’s eyes went wide, the weight of the words settling heavily in her chest. Could that be the ruse she heard the voice speak of in her head? Was the king pretending to search for a healer when he truly was searching for someone who he feared would usurp his reign?
The woman reached out and covered Elara’s hand, her skin cool and papery. “Whichever is true, the healer’s legacy is not gone. You can feel it in the air if you listen long enough. It stirs the Hunters, it stirs the king… and it stirs the land itself.”
“So, you believe it is true,” Elara said.
The woman smiled faintly. “I think every tale holds a seed of truth. How it grows depends on who tends it.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“But remember this, if the gift still walks the land, the king won’t rest until it’s his.
And power born of love is rare and should be cherished, never taken captive. ”
Elara looked away, the words sparking something remembered rather than newly heard, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.
A tall woman with a long dark braid lifted her head and blinked at Elara. Recognition dawned through the grime and exhaustion.
“I know you,” she said. “You were in Birkfell when some of us visited for the midwinter gathering. You are from the village of Cramond, an herb-scribe.”
“Aye, I am Elara,” she acknowledged, though she did not recall meeting the woman.
“You escaped the Hunters? What of Maelis? Did you get her to safety?” she asked anxiously.
“She was taken,” Elara said, guilt and sorrow clear in her voice. “She insisted I warn the other villages, but the Hunters beat me to Thornleigh and now to Rathmor.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Dar said from where he stood off to the side. “Elara’s only thought, only purpose since the Hunters hit Birkfell is to help the healers and find a way to rescue Maelis and all those taken.”
“A hopeless task,” the woman who recognized her said. “Maelis sent you away not just to warn us. Your hair and eye color are vastly different. The Hunters would scoop you up for sure. Maelis sought to protect you. Pay heed and hide.”
Others nodded in agreement.
“Now we need to go and so should you, but first,” the woman who knew her said, “There is something you should know. A healer taken captive at Thornfield escaped and made it to Rathmor. Unfortunately, she was taken captive again when the Hunters hit the village. But she told me she met two captives from Cramond on the march north. Cramond has already been hit by the Hunters.”
Elara paled. Her home. Her family. And even worse… “That could only mean that the Hunters surround most of Leighfeld.”
“Aye,” the woman confirmed with a nod. “They have Leighfeld surrounded.”
The air seemed to grow colder around them. Even the mist hung still, listening.
Elara stared at the woman, her pulse drumming in her ears. “All of Leighfeld…” she whispered, realizing how futile her mission now was. “There’ll be no healer left untouched.”
“Aye,” the woman said again, her eyes glistening. “They’re combing the land like farmers before harvest.”
The comparison struck deep. Elara had grown up among those fields.
She could almost smell the crushed heather and peat smoke that clung to Cramond’s hills.
Now all she could picture were the two Cramond healers’ empty homes and shuttered doors, like her cottage now since her absence.
The two women were the only healers Cramond had.
She didn’t worry about her mum and da’s safety.
Neither would be of interest to the Hunters, her mum a weaver and her da the village record keeper. But they would be worried about her.
She drew in a steady breath. “There is no way for me to reach the various healer villages before Hunters close in.”
The older woman shook her head. “There’s no outrunning the Hunters, lass. They ride for the king’s purpose, and no purpose has ever driven men harder.”
Silence fell with the weight of the inevitability of the situation.
Then the woman stepped forward, her hand firm on Elara’s arm. “But remember what Maelis often says, even the smallest light can keep the dark at bay. Find a way to stay hidden, Elara of Cramond. Maelis would want no less.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “Her sacrifice must mean something.”
Dar moved then, his voice quiet but certain. “We need to go. The longer we stand here, the easier we are to find.”
The tall woman nodded grimly. “Aye. We’ll head north toward the hollows. Pray the trees keep us safe.”
Elara opened her mouth to answer but the words caught in her throat.
The world around her wavered. The sound of the forest dulled to a low hum, then vanished altogether.
A sharp, searing light flared behind her eyes, then came the roar of hooves, the clatter of harness, men shouting.
She saw them, dark shapes slicing through the mist, Hunters driving their mounts hard, faces shadowed beneath their hoods.
The vision came so swiftly it stole her breath away.
“Elara?” Dar’s voice reached her through the haze, distant, muffled. She stood frozen, staring into nothing, her hand pressed to her temple.
“Elara!” He caught her by the arm and gave her a hard shake. “What is it?”
She blinked, her eyes wide with terror.
Then she screamed, the sound raw and breaking from her chest—“RUN! HUNTERS!”