CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
Statues lined the main path. Towering, still, with blank faces that gave nothing away.
They weren’t beautiful, not in the way people might expect.
They were unsettling. Like they'd been watching the village for centuries, keeping it safe perhaps. It felt like stepping into another world. As if we’d wandered through some invisible doorway and ended up a hundred years in the past.
As we walked, I caught pieces of conversation in a language I didn’t know. The words held no meaning for me, but the sound of them did. The cadence. The lull of it. It was the language my mother had spoken. When she whispered to gods she swore had a plan for us. Gods she thought would keep us safe.
It stopped me cold. The ache came so fast I didn’t have time to brace. It felt like being pulled underwater, familiar and cruel.
It felt like home.
And I hated that. Because home was gone. Burned. Buried. And that place, that language, had no right to bring it back.
I kept walking, mostly because I didn’t want Aran to see me unravel. He didn’t say much, and the air between us was thick with things we weren’t saying.
A woman stood by a stall cluttered with trinkets.
Not the cheap kind you find in every market, but the sort of things that felt older than the town itself.
Polished stones stacked in careful little towers, wax-sealed jars, candles, charms, and strange carved pillars that looked more like something you'd find in a temple than at a market.
And she didn’t look like a merchant. Her hair was silver streaked, braided loosely over one shoulder, with wisps escaping to frame a face with a look that told me she hadn’t cared what people thought of her in a long time.
Her green dress shimmered in the sunlight, threads of gold twisting through the fabric like winding rivers.
Then her eyes landed on me. And it felt like she’d been expecting me.
“This is the girl I told you about,” Aran said.
My heart dropped. What had he told her?
I turned toward him, slowly. “You didn’t.”
Even Aran wouldn’t be that reckless?
The woman smiled, her expression soft and unreadable.
“Ah, yes,” she said, her gaze sliding fully to me. “Your friend mentioned you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Feeling... ungrounded.”
Friends. That’s what she thought we were. That’s what she saw.
Not a liar and a traitor.
Not a murderer and a monster.
Friends.
The woman turned back to her table and picked up a small glass bottle, holding it to the light.
“Moon drops,” she said. “Collected on the night of the last full moon. Soaked in lavender petals and morning dew. It brings clarity. Calms the spirit.”
It looked like water. Pretty, shimmering, but still just water in a bottle.
Aran, of course, was already pawing through the table like a child in a candy shop. Turning over charms, poking at wax-sealed jars, holding up a string of beads. That’s Aran. Always touching things he shouldn’t.
The woman didn’t stop him. She just lifted the bottle between two fingers and tilted it toward me like a dare.
“One sip,” the woman murmured. “And you’ll dream sweetly. But drink too much…” she leaned in slightly, her gaze locked on mine, unwavering. “…and you may never wake at all.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t laugh. Just placed the bottle in my hand like she hadn’t just told me it could kill me. As if I was desperate enough for sleep that I might risk it anyway.
She wasn’t wrong.
Then she turned back to the table, like it wasn’t a conversation worth lingering on. Picked up two small stones—violet, blue—and held them in her palm.
“Crystals,” she said. “Each with its own purpose. This one helps focus.”
She held up the deep purple one, letting it catch the light, and it sparkled beautifully. “This one soothes restless minds. Worn close to the heart, they do what words cannot.” She held the small pointy blue stone between her fingers.
It should’ve felt strange. All of it. But compared to what I’d already lived through? This wasn’t too unbelievable. And yet there was something about her calmness that made my skin itch. Not because she seemed wrong, but because she spoke like someone who knew.
“It’s the old way.” The woman didn’t blink. “We’ve practiced it here in Moon Creek since before time had name. We trust what we feel.”
And somehow, I believed her.
Aran leaned forward, all friendly charm. “So… we’ll get the stones? Maybe a bottle of moon drops?”
She smiled.
Aran asked her how much, already reaching for his pouch, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I couldn’t stop staring at the stall next to us. Four hooded men stood there, cloaked in dark fabric that looked worn from travel.
They weren’t bartering. Weren’t even pretending to glance at the wares. They were just standing there.
Watching us.
I looked back at him, trying to catch his eye, trying to will him into being more discreet.
But it was in vain. I don’t think discreet was even in his vocabulary.
Aran started counting out the silvers, fingers fumbling a bit, and the coins caught the sunlight, flashing like bait.
He might as well have painted a target on his back.
The woman took the money without a word, nodding once before wrapping the items in soft cloth, tying them neatly with twine. But her eyes also kept flicking sideways, and the men still hadn’t moved.
Aran tucked the pouch back onto his belt and reached for the bundle, despite the fact we were being watched. I was already turning away, but before I could take a single step, the woman’s hand caught my wrist. Her grip was firm. Not rough, but enough to stop me.
“You should come see me again.” Her eyes lingered on mine, like she knew something I didn’t. “I live up the hill. Past the Murkwoods.”
“We’d love to,” Aran answered for me, his tone all sunshine and ease.
Perfect. Now the cloaked men knew where we’d be, too. The woman was still watching me, waiting for my response. So I did the only thing I could when I wasn’t sure if someone was a threat or not.
I smiled politely.