Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Nina
Itook the shortcut by the old well, following the coloured threads home. I slowed my pace to ease the drag in my hip, but each step still stabbed. There’d be no relief today.
Our cottage came into view, a fragile haven at the foot of the mountains. It had been patched together from oak, the wood weathered to a pale grey, with moss clinging to the sides. A charm of twine and dried lavender hung from the door, swaying gently as I stepped inside.
Dust coated everything, and the cottage barely stood upright.
Two small cots lined the walls, and a rickety table sat between them with mismatched chairs.
The thatched roof sagged, and the door, which was little more than planks bound together, let in draughts no matter how much my brother fussed with it.
But it was ours.
Tobias lay sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light seeping through the cracks. A faint trace of drool glistened in the corner of his mouth. I’d heard him stumble in after midnight, so I let him sleep while I fetched kindling and sorted the morning’s forage into jars.
By the time I finished, it was early afternoon. Tobias stirred as I ladled the last of the water into two cups. He blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, then turned a sleepy grin on me.
“What day is it?” he mumbled.
I rolled my eyes and passed him a cup. “Firstfire. Confession starts soon.”
Tobias groaned and gulped his water greedily.
"Don’t look at me like that, Nina. We're barely twenty-five,” Tobias declared. “These years are meant for sleeping late.” Then he froze, eyes snapping to the cuts on my hands. “What happened to you?”
“Slipped down a bank,” I muttered.
He winced. “You’ve got scratches all over you.”
If only he knew.
“Worth it,” I said. “I found sicklewort. It’s the best thing to make your sleeping tincture.”
“You’re too good to me,” he said, rubbing his temples. “The pyre always gives me a headache.”
“I know.” My brother suffered from a variety of ailments. If not fever, then some new kind of ache or phantom pain. But it wasn’t just his body that was failing. Most days, he moved as if he had a broken heart.
I set the sicklewort in the mortar and began to crush.
Tobias eyed the jars. “Got anything for those cuts?”
“I’ll mix something after your tincture.”
He didn't push. He rarely did. He cared, but in the end, it was always my hands that tended for the wounds, foraged herbs, and stitched up the tears. Nobody else would look after me if I didn't. Tobias couldn't take care of himself, so I did it for both of us.
“Looks like you had a good haul.”
His forest-green eyes – same shade as mine – bulged as he studied the jars. We also shared the same red hair; his was trimmed short, mine was forever slipping out of its long braid.
“Guess so,” I said.
He moved to the table. “That’s all the excitement I get?”
I smiled. “Luck was on my side. I found herbs and those wild roots you like.”
“We’ll live like kings,” he said.
“For a week, maybe two.” I didn’t tell him the woods felt wrong now, or how close the red-eyed beast had come.
“Where’d you go?” he asked, stretching until his back popped. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever.
I fiddled with my leg brace, tightening the strap around my thigh. “To the old well and back.”
The less he knew about the forbidden zone, the better. My brother couldn’t shoulder much these days. The last thing he needed was more reason to fall apart.
“You always come back with more than anyone else.”
“Experience,” I said. “I know where to look.”
“Or maybe the forest likes you,” he teased. “Wild things recognise their own, and you’re as feral as the squirrels, and just about as twitchy.”
I scoffed. “Shut up and make the beds.”
He laughed, stretching again. “You haven’t been sneaking to Undercity, have you?”
My stomach dropped. So that’s where this was going. “Really?” I snapped. “You think I’d trade there? Even starving, I wouldn’t risk going to Undercity. It’s forbidden for a reason.”
“You don’t always follow the rules.”
“Me?” I feigned offence.
He smiled. “I just wanted to check. You know it’s dangerous.”
Undercity sat to the east, past our forest, and pushed into the drylands, where little grew and water was scarce. The place always thrummed with noise.
When truly wicked people arrived in our village, they never stayed long. They drifted east, drawn to Undercity, where they could revel in their debauchery.
Even when hunger gnawed at me, hollowing me out, I still didn’t go to Undercity. But how long would that last? If the forbidden zone was too dangerous, Undercity might be the only choice left.
My cuts began to sting, and I knew I had to clean them soon. I reached for the winter fennel I’d hung above the fireplace, but the bundle was gone.
I stared at the empty nail for a long moment and then turned to Tobias. He hummed as he folded his blanket, brighter than he’d been in days. It was good to see. Life left little space for light.
But it was always worse for my brother, and the one thing I couldn’t remember was what exactly had broken him.
“I hung winter fennel just two days ago.”
“Oh, right.” He grinned sheepishly. “I traded it for mead last night.”
He’s hurting. Let it go. The mead is punishment enough.
“It was the last bunch we had, Tobias.” I sighed.
“You’ll find more. You always do.”
My hands ached, shoulders burning, hip throbbing with pain. Tomorrow, I'd have to forage again – pray the red-eyed beast had moved on – and scour the woods for more winter fennel before the cuts festered.
I swallowed my frustration. “At least tell me you didn’t trade our Confession charm.”
“Of course not.” He opened a small box on the table and held up a lumpy wax ball covered in twine and lavender.
I reached for it, but stopped halfway when a painful twinge flared through my leg.
“You should rest,” he said, glancing at my hands.
“I’m fine.” I stuffed the charm into my satchel.
Outside, the wind hissed. My body still thrummed with the aftershock of the chase, and Hazel’s words lingered in my mind. Worse, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was coming for me.
***
Our village wasn’t small. Hundreds of cottages crowded the forest floor, and smoke from chimneys twisted above. It felt endless at times, a whole world hidden beneath the trees.
The mountains soared behind us. Nobody ventured there, and nothing emerged. They stood like stone sentries, impossible to forget. One day, I wanted a home up there, far from the Cunning Folk and their dark rituals.
To the east, the forest stretched half a day’s walk before giving way to Undercity. West, the trees sank into wetlands. South, the river wound past the clearing, trickled over a rocky ford, and carried on through the meadow.
Confession always took place in the meadow.
I studied the rolling green, alive with villagers. My skirt was still damp from the ford as we stepped onwards.
“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered.
Three hooded Cunning Folk waited at the ivy-covered gate. We handed over our charm, and they waved us through without a glance, tossing it onto the heap that would burn in tonight’s pyre.
We joined the end of the queue and waited silently like the other villagers. The Confession hut sagged into the grass, built from uneven slats of wood. Smoke curled from a thin chimney. It had no windows, only a single door, carved with symbols I couldn’t read.
Nearly an hour passed before we reached the front of the line.
“You go on first,” I said.
“If you’re sure.” Tobias hesitated. He seemed afraid to face Confession.
“The sooner you do it, the sooner it’s done.”
He nodded and slipped inside.
It was a few minutes later when Tobias came stumbling out, eyes darting towards the horizon as if something dangerous was waiting there. He didn’t look at me.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
Silence. He seemed shaken, his eyes glassy, like he was entirely elsewhere.
“Wait here,” I said. “I’ll be quick.”
He didn’t acknowledge me. I stepped forward, ready to face the Cunning Folk.
Inside, smoke clung to the beams. A small pile of slow-burning logs provided the only light, turning the bone charms and braided hair along the walls into shifting silhouettes.
The smell was sweet and acrid, like herbs and old breath.
I coughed a few times, like I always did, and inhaled deeply until my lungs adjusted.
Mathias sat cross-legged beyond the fire. He was the oldest of the Cunning Folk. His cowl shadowed most of his face, but I could see the glint of his eyes, cloudy and oddly kind.
“Nina Varek,” he said, his voice a rasp. “What do you have to confess, my dear?”
I swallowed. It was time. We were supposed to tell our truths on Firstfire. It was a cleansing to keep disaster away. But my throat closed around the words.
“We all must share something precious with the Three,” Mathias said. “The Mother offers mercy, the Flame nurtures courage, and the Radiant guards the conscience. You won’t find any of them easy to satisfy. Still, speak. Words left unspoken rot worse than wounds—”
“I’m lying to my brother.” I offered it quickly.
“Lying how?” Mathias asked.
“I’m not telling him how I truly feel.”
“Then tell me,” he said gently. “What is true?”
I baulked at the question. “My brother tires me,” I whispered. “He’s slipping away. Every time I reach for him, he has drifted further. I’m pretending it doesn’t scare me.”
Mathias paused for a while, then said, “And what draws you, child?”
“I keep wondering if I can pull him back. But part of me wonders if I’m even meant to. If maybe he’s not meant to come back.”
Mathias’s chin dipped, eyes locked on me, waiting silently.
“I don’t want to give up on him,” I said quietly.
“But you’re tempted.”
I didn’t answer. A lump grew in my throat.
He smiled, the lines around his mouth crinkling. “You may lie with kindness, but you still lie. That makes you kin to the fallen.”
Something inside me shivered.
"Let him sink.” Mathias cocked his head, and shadows fell across his face, distorting his expression. "If your brother is strong, he will learn how to survive. But if not, so be it. Some are destined to drown. Will you let him take you, too?”
The smoke was thicker now, or maybe I noticed it more. “He needs me.” My voice sounded small and husky.
Mathias hummed. “Is that another lie?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Perhaps you don’t realise you lie to yourself,” he said. “Perhaps you need your brother more than he needs you.”
The fire crackled softly between us. Beneath the shadow of his hood, I caught the curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You are cleansed, child. Go with light.”
I sprang to my feet and shuffled out of the hut. The last light of day was slipping away when I stepped back into the meadow and let the door groan shut. The next soul in line stepped up and into the hut.
I strode towards the gate, past the queue of drained faces, the long grass tugging at my skirt. The sun dropped behind the clouds, leaving the fields in a dull, dim light that made our village feel half-asleep.
At the far end of the meadow, I spotted Tobias. He stood talking to the Cunning Folk. They turned to me as I approached.
“We were just talking about you,” Tobias said.
I tried to match his smile, but mine didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I hope it was all good things.”
“Mostly.”
I elbowed him in the side.
“I trust you had a fulfilling confession, Nina,” said one of the Cunning Folk.
I glanced at the woman, Merelda. She was younger than most of the Cunning Folk, with no silver in her raven-black hair or sag to her cheeks. Her eyes chilled me most: ghostly white, as though years of use had bleached them of colour.
“It was fine.”
“Tobias was just telling us his confession with Mathias was quite revealing.”
I arched a brow at my brother. It took all my control to settle the urge to snap at him.
I cleared my dry throat. “Well, you know better than any of us, we don’t discuss the details of our confession.”
“Quite right.” Merelda pointed a long finger at me. “What are those cuts on your hands, dear girl?”
I tucked my hands behind me quickly.
“Nina’s clumsy,” Tobias said. “She fell down a bank this morning while she was foraging.” I shot him a glare.
Merelda’s white eyes narrowed. “They look like they’re festering.”
Tobias nodded. “I’ll make sure that we see to them.”
I didn’t like them talking as if I wasn’t there.
I can look after myself, as I always do, thank you very much.
Merelda’s smile was thin. “I know it can be tempting to forage everything the earth offers. But what the Mother gives, the Mother takes. And I can’t help but wonder if you forget the risks.”
“I tell her all the time, but she’s wild, my sister.”
Merelda straightened. “Our forest has a way of humbling wild things.”
Tobias hummed softly in agreement. He didn’t hear the threat in the Cunning Folk’s words, but I saw them for what they were.
Merelda smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s good that Firstfire lets you speak your confessions, and the pyre tonight helps keep the lurking misfortunes in mind.”
“We’re glad for it,” my brother agreed. I fought the urge to frown at him.
I looped my arm through his, a gesture that looked casual but wasn’t. “We should get back.”
Merelda inclined her head. “Go with light.”
We drifted back to our cottage in cold, weary silence, and all I could think of was how the Cunning Folk seemed to enjoy the thought of misfortune. It was as though they didn’t want us to find peace at all.