Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Nina
By the time we made it home, dusk had fallen, and the evening chill had already crept in, working its way through the cracks in the walls. Soon, the mist would follow, thick, biting, the kind that seeped into your bones.
Autumn always brought that miserable damp.
It left Tobias feverish and worsened the aches in my hip and leg.
The trick was to nestle my hands in my armpits and wiggle my toes, hoping to keep the chills at bay.
When the cold turned brutal, there was nothing else to do except bar the door and sit by the fire.
A breeze from the mountains stirred the trees. I froze, eyes on the door, heart pounding. Was it only the leaves, or the red-eyed beast that roamed the forbidden zone, wandering too far from its home to find me?
I tried to shake the fear away and crouched by the hearth, layering brittle branches for kindling. The smoke would always sting my eyes until the blaze caught, but I didn’t mind. It was a sign that warmth wasn’t far off.
Tobias knelt beside me, flint in one hand, steel in the other.
He struck once, twice, again and again. Sparks flashed, died.
He muttered curses under his breath, as if pure willpower could conjure the flames.
His mood had lifted since supper (boiled swamp reeds and little else) but neither of us mentioned Confession.
Tobias didn’t share.
I didn’t ask.
After a dozen failed strikes, Tobias slumped back on his heels and handed me the tools. “I can’t manage it. You should take over.”
I accepted them gently. “It’s a good thing I’m here to keep you alive,” I teased, nudging his shoulder.
A quiet huff that might have been a laugh escaped him as he rubbed soot from his brow. “Go on, rub it in.”
Three strikes later, the kindling caught. Smoke curled, fire ignited. I leaned in and blew softly, coaxing it to bloom.
“The fire just likes me better.”
He rolled his eyes, though there wasn’t much force in it. His gaze stayed on the flame, watching as it licked at the leaves. The flickering light made the shadows under his eyes seem more black and purple.
I set the tools aside. “You can manage plenty of things. Just not this one. You’d never pull off arson.”
That pulled a real laugh from him, brief, breathless.
Our home felt less damp, and we warmed ourselves quietly, comforting smoke filling the air.
Distant voices broke the silence, and I sighed. I’d grown tired of Firstfire and sick of making conversation that was always centred on doom and gloom. It drained me to show up.
I prayed silently to the Mother to hurry the night along.
“I can tell the Cunning Folk you’re ill,” Tobias said. “Blame it on Barnard’s whiskey. They’d believe it.”
“You’d lie for me?”
“That’s what we do, right? You and me against the world, remember?”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “But I’ll manage. I always do.”
“That’s the spirit.” His grin softened. “Warm beds tonight, a sleeping tincture to knock me out. You’ll have a night free from my snoring.”
The wind and voices faded, and the fire crackled pleasantly.
“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Tobias said.
I looked at him expectantly.
“The Cunning Folk were asking around for offerings . . .” He trailed off.
“More offerings, okay . . .” I didn’t like where this was headed.
“I promised them some of our lavender. I told them we could even make a wreath with it and donate it to the newcomers.”
“You said what?”
His brows knitted together. “Well, we have plenty.”
“Mother take me,” I groaned. “Why would you tell them that Tobias?”
Frustration rose in my chest.
We had lavender, yes, but not enough to be generous.
“Because we’re supposed to help people,” he said. “There have been more and more strays lately. You’re more vulnerable on your own, you know that. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have family.”
Typical Tobias. Just like him to feel guilt over everyone’s misfortune.
He acted like we were to blame for the dangers in the village.
As much as I wanted to argue, I knew my brother had a soft spot for others. He had empathy where I had armour.
The fire eased the pain in my hip to a dull ache, relaxing me just a little.
“I wouldn’t call myself lucky,” I said, smirking.
Tobias smiled, and the tension slipped away. He always got his own way in the end. I’d rather agree to him giving away our lavender than let another rift open between us.
“Fine,” I exhaled. “I guess we can spare a handful.”
His face lit up with gratitude, but he had no idea. No idea how thin our reserves ran, or how much we leaned on the forbidden zone to keep us alive. No idea that the strange, monstrous creature might have cut us off for good.
I sank back on my heels beside Tobias as the fire chased away the chill. And somewhere deep in the woods, the ceremony waited.
An hour later, we were on the forest trail. The mist was dense, our burning lamp was dim, and giant oak trees towered like menacing guardians. It was a night that made you look over your shoulder, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.
Tobias stared ahead, his eyes fixed on the bobbing lanterns, oblivious to how tightly I’d wrapped my arms around myself.
The sound came back to me in pieces: a rasping breath, the guttural inhuman growl behind me in the forbidden zone.
Then there were those inhuman, monstrous red eyes, like none I’d ever seen.
Had the beast stopped chasing me and turned back to the wilderness, or was it still out there, circling closer than I realised?
“Do you think they’ll ever stop?” Tobias asked.
“What?” I looked up at him.
“The disappearances.”
Such a gentle word for what it actually means. . . death.
I lifted our lamp so I could see his face. “Maybe one day things will change.”
But not today.
Those were my unspoken words, because I knew the disappearances would continue, as surely as the sun would rise each morning.
I had been keeping tally when their faces were still fresh in my mind. I’d counted nineteen to have disappeared.
Nineteen villagers lost and forgotten.
I warned Tobias, but he laughed and dismissed it as nonsense. Of course, he was aware that people had gone missing, but he couldn’t figure out who.
For some reason, I remembered.
James was the hardest to forget. At sixteen, he was the village’s youngest resident. He carved small animals from bone. Nobody spoke of him anymore. That was how things worked in this village: people simply disappeared (or perished, tragically, I should say) and everyone forgot about them.
When I mentioned James, everyone stared at me like I had gone mad. So I stopped. I gave up naming them, and I quickly forgot them, too.
Around us, murmurs rose and fell like a tide.
Shadowy forms drifted past, their glances full of nerves.
Weathered strips of white linen hung from branches, fluttering like ghosts.
Someone had strung strings of dried flowers and berries around the tree trunks, their shrivelled shapes barely visible.
My eyes dropped to my outfit: a simple yet ragged shirt, a long skirt and a faded emerald waistcoat.
A belt of dried flowers hung at my waist. A fool’s wish, but Tobias had insisted I wear the token.
Some pair we made, he in his patchwork shirt and tattered waistcoat, looking like he’d lost a fight with a thorn bush.
Clothing was scarce here, so we made do with what we had.
Together, we looked like twins who had survived a storm.
And there, at his waist, was a matching belt of dried flowers.
When we reached the clearing, the mighty pyre came into view. Wood crackled and sparks shot into the night. The evening was ablaze in an amber and crimson light.
Villagers had gathered, a cluster of bodies and whispers. Some knelt with their heads bowed, muttering words – chants or bargains, it was hard to tell. An elderly woman with coarse grey-white hair bowed repeatedly to the fire.
Pray while you can.
No one is truly safe.
The taste of ash stuck to my tongue. I sighed deeply. I’d have done anything for a cup of ale.
“I’ll come find you later,” Tobias said, cutting through my thoughts.
I gave him an encouraging nod before he darted towards a group of familiar faces across the clearing.
I took a deep breath and tried to dampen my worries.
At least Tobias relaxed in the noise of the gathering.
My brother thrived in the energy of a crowd, but we were different in that regard.
He relaxed in chaos, while I craved silence.
The gathering overwhelmed me even now, and I could sense my energy draining away.
I had a clear view of Firstfire at the edge of the clearing. The murmured prayers grated on my ears, but it wasn’t hard to tune out. The pyre had a way of swallowing everything, sound included.
I spotted the offering table with charms, fruit and dried meats.
With everyone distracted, I was free to do what I did best. Blending in had come naturally to me, small enough to go unnoticed and quick enough to avoid lingering glances.
I swerved through the gathering, light on my feet so that no one stopped me for idle chatter.
I passed the table, fingers quick and careful. A few pieces of fruit, a strip of meat – a month’s worth if rationed well. I tucked the food into my skirt pockets.
I turned for the trees—
A hand clamped down around my arm. My heart lurched, and I was ready to bolt into the woods before the snitch could call me out.
“That was almost impressive,” said a smug voice. I snapped my head around and stared at Dominik. His mousy brown hair fell into his eyes like he thought it a charming look. It wasn’t.
“Want to try it yourself?” I cracked a grin. “Knowing your clumsy feet, you’d trip over before the first apple.”
“I’m better with my hands,” he said.
My eyebrows shot into my hairline. “Careful, you’ll trip over your ego next.”
He laughed. “Glad you made it tonight.”