The Curse of Griken （Part 2）
"What spirits? How did they do that?" Rowena whispered back.
The woman's eyes darted to the shadowy corners of the tavern.
She shook her head, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "You're an outsider. You wouldn't understand."
Rowena gently placed her hand over the woman's on the bar. "Please, I won't judge."
The woman's shoulders sagged, the weight of her secrets pulling her down. Words slipped from her lips as if she could no longer hold them back.
"Have you heard of the Goldhaven soil?" she asked.
Rowena nodded. Everyone knew about the Goldhaven soil.
The soil was so fertile, entire trees could grow from sprout to harvest in a single season. This phenomenon was seen only in the Great Forest around Gold Haven and the forbidden jungles deep within Dor'xyreth.
"We always wanted to believe it was just superstition, a bedtime story to explain the soil.
But as children, we were forbidden from playing in the forest. Our parents warned us, whispering that the spirits awakened at night—whispering to the roots, coaxing the trees to grow.
We were told never to look out the window after sunset, lest we see them moving between the trunks. "
"What made the spirits angry?" Rowena asked, gently coaxing her to continue.
"They say our people were woodsmen from the west, driven from home long ago and forced to wander.
When we found these woods, we did what we knew best—we tried to collect lumber.
But the forest was already home to spirits who didn't take kindly to axes in their trees.
Still, seeing we were desperate, the spirits showed us mercy.
They offered a pact: we could harvest from a tiny patch and build a road through the forest, so we might trade with the wealthy kingdoms beyond.
In return, they asked three things: guard their forest, use the road only for our kin, and never stray from the path or cut beyond the boundary.
We honored that promise—until the Greater Empire came and. .."
She trailed off, steadying herself. "Our warriors were sent to fight in the war for Etheria.
When the kingdom fell, we were left defenseless.
Invaders came, burned our homes, took our governor, and demanded lumber.
We gave all we could, but it was never enough.
The threats kept coming until we had no choice but to take what was forbidden—crossing the boundary.
The moment we did, the curse fell upon us.
That's why folks call this place Griken now. We are forsaken."
The Dissolver listened intently.
Even Gareth, who usually ignored such superstitions, was intrigued.
The boy spoke up, voice tinged with fear. "What was the curse?"
"First, it was the trees," she whispered. "The saplings refused to grow. Then people began to vanish—men, women, anyone who stepped beyond the boundary. It was as if the forest swallowed them whole, leaving not even a footprint behind."
"I'm sorry," Rowena said, not knowing what else to say. "That's horrifying."
"It's not as bad as what the overseer will do to us tomorrow when he sees we haven't produced any lumber," she said, shuddering, choking back tears.
"What will you do?" Rowena asked.
The woman gestured to the crowded tables. "The men, I think, have a plan. But you, outsider, should leave. These aren't your mistakes, but if you stay here, you'll die for them all the same."
"I wish it were that simple," Rowena admitted. "Do you know a way we can leave? Somewhere not guarded?"
Suddenly, the tavern's warmth evaporated as the doors crashed open. Guards spilled inside, boots pounding the floor, eyes glinting with malice.
They drove men from tables, claiming seats like wolves marking territory. The bartender fell silent, hands trembling as she poured their drinks. The air thickened with dread. One by one, villagers slipped away, leaving the travelers alone—surrounded by the enemy.
They waited in tense silence for the sun to set. Just as they stood to leave, the bartender grabbed Rowena's arm and whispered, "Take the old road that passes through the woods. It's dangerous, but it might be your only shot. Remember, you must stay on the path."
Rowena thanked her with a gentle smile, careful not to rouse suspicion. Then they hurried outside.
Rowena explained to the others what the woman had told her. With no other choice, they slipped down to the timberline under cover of darkness.
They crept through the eerie, abandoned lumberyard until endless rows of saplings stretched before them. In the gloom, a narrow cobblestone path beckoned.
At the entrance, bowls overflowed with tarnished coins, broken trinkets, and scraps of cloth—desperate offerings left in haste. Melted candles trailed wax like dried tears. Letters and prayers, never answered, lay scattered and sodden on the cold earth.
The Dissolver reached for a coin, but Rowena caught his hand.
"Don't," she said. "These are the people's offerings to the forest spirits. A penance for breaking the treaty."
The boy recoiled, glancing around, suddenly feeling exposed and paranoid.
"Come on," Gareth urged. "We shouldn't linger here, in case there are guards nearby."
They followed him, one by one, down the narrow path—disappearing into darkness.