Chapter 6
Chapter six
Honey and crushed herbs thickened the air as Gisela cleaned a villager’s wound.
“Those animals ain’t right,” he said.
“When you were hunting?” she asked, wrapping his arm in a bandage.
“Right. And it ain’t just the beasts,” he said. “The greens . . . they’re dyin’ faster than they oughta.”
Gisela bit her lip, narrowing her focus on her task.
“I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve never seen ‘em actin’ like this, and I used to hunt in Rockridge. Makin’ me question if we should be eatin’ ‘em anymore.”
“What’d their eyes look like?”
The man cocked his head. “You’ve seen ‘em too?”
Ivy poked her head out of one of the treatment rooms at the shop. “Gisela, we’re out of hearthsage and dewdrops. Can you go to the Snowdrifts? Noah can take over.”
A small boy groaned from inside the room, shivering and clutching his stomach.
Gisela’s gaze softened. “Yeah, I got it. I’m about done here anyway. You’re good to go, Sal.”
Noah walked up from the back of the shop, scratching his head. “I swear we restocked last week.”
“I thought so too,” Gisela said, grabbing her foraging bag from the hook. “But fall is here. You know how many kids come in with illnesses this time of year. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“Thanks again, Gisela,” Sal called. “Stay near the edge. It ain’t safe in that forest anymore.”
Gisela hurried down the street, toward the edge of the forest.
Days had passed since she had last seen Thorne. Days since Vaughn was taken by the King’s guard. Days in which the Elder’s prophecy gnawed at the edges of every waking thought.
Vaughn’s family paraded their new wealth through the village in new cloaks with brighter dyes. Others offered themselves up, desperate to prove they bore the Mystic mark. It made her sick.
The farms were failing. Frosthaven’s soil only produced hardy crops like turnips, beets, potatoes, and rough grains.
They relied heavily on the other villages for salt, fish, and the delicate fruits and vegetables Frosthaven could never grow.
If their farms were already dying, the thought of the others failing too stabbed her like the edge of a dagger.
A farmer smacked his shovel against the dirt, cursing.
She lifted her gaze to the sky—no raven in sight.
The Stones were truly bound to the realm’s balance. If it was ever a question, that doubt could be put to rest.
Tristan jogged up, brushing leaves from his tunic. “I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t go in there alone. We’re bringing the recommendation to the council—to your father.”
“I think I’d much rather encounter a rabid animal than be anywhere near you.”
Tristan sighed, shoulders dropping. “I know. But really, Gisela—the forest is changing.”
“I’ll take her from here,” Thorne’s voice rumbled behind them. He stepped in beside her, and the urge to tell him to leave didn’t come. There was relief, both alarming and welcome.
Tristan looked at Thorne with disdain. “Why? You hate each other.”
“And I still prefer him to walk me there over you, Tristan. Would you look at that,” she said, voice laced with venom. She turned and continued walking, feeling Thorne behind her.
Tristan stomped away, grumbling.
Gisela hid a smirk behind her frown.
The forest air was damp with the scent of rot.
Where Gisela once found green leaves and blooming herbs, only brittle brown remained.
They moved on hesitantly, scanning the path beyond for any sign of animals.
The crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet was loud in her ears.
Her eyes swept the usual patches of dewdrop ferns.
Gone. All of them. Ashen soil crumbled between her fingers as she knelt in the dying patch.
“There’s a sick child back at the shop who needs these,” she said. “It’s too early in the year for this. They won’t make it through winter. How are we supposed to heal our people when the world itself is dying?”
Thorne bent down beside her, voice low. “This is what the Elder meant. The Stones . . . without them, everything we rely on is dying.”
Her eyes flicked to him, searching.
“What’s the point of being a Mystic then?” he asked and stood up. “I don’t even feel anything. No power. None of the shit they tried to scare us with. Maybe if we felt something, we could do something worthwhile.”
Gisela tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the dead earth. “Maybe it’s not about feeling it yet. Maybe it’s about knowing we could do something . . . and being willing to try.” The words left her lips and lingered, echoing the prophecy:
“. . . To mend the divide, the willing must find . . .”
Thorne turned toward her. “Poetic.” He walked a few paces down the path, a branch crumbling at his touch. “My father and the Blackwells are leaving Frosthaven. He took the position.”
Gisela stood up. “Ruby too?”
He nodded. “Her and her mother will leave eventually. My mother is staying. She somehow found a way to convince my father that she’ll come after he’s settled. But he wants me to go with him.”
“Are you going?” Her stomach dropped and she flinched at the feeling.
He studied her for a moment, like he was weighing something. “I don’t want to.”
“They just get to leave and not deal with what’s happening here?”
“Looks that way.”
Gisela took a deep breath and ran her hands down her face. “I need to get back. Maybe look around and see if I have dewdrops somewhere else.”
“I’ll walk you.” He didn’t wait for her answer, falling into step beside her.
She returned to the shop. The emptiness in her satchel mirrored the hollowness in her chest. She’d gone searching for herbs and brought back proof—proof that Frosthaven was running out of time. Fast.
Noah glanced up from the counter, concern widening his eyes.
Gisela entered the room where the boy was now sound asleep in his mother’s arms.
“We were able to cool him off and stop the vomiting,” Ivy said, gathering up cool towels from the child’s body. She turned to the boy’s mother. “Keep him cool. Small sips of water, nothing heavy. If the fever spikes again, bring him back.”
“Thank you, Ivy, thank you.” The mother dressed her child and slipped out of the room.
Ivy turned to Gisela expectantly.
“Nothing, Mother. There is nothing left in that forest.”
Ivy brought her hands to her temples as she paced.
“We can’t treat the villagers. Pretty soon, we won’t be able to eat. The farms . . . have you seen them?”
Ivy stayed silent, wringing her hands.
“Mother!”
Ivy looked up, her blue eyes flaring. She took her apron off and threw it over her shoulder. “I’m going to the Council. I’ll be back.”
Gisela stood rooted to the spot. She had never seen her mother panic like this. Ivy understood how dire this was, even if she didn’t yet know what to do. But there was one person in Frosthaven who might.
“Elysande?” Gisela’s knuckles rapped against the scribe’s front door.
When Elysande opened it, her face went from pleasant surprise to concern.
Gisela hurried inside and shut the door behind her.
“Are you okay, dear?” Elysande asked, resting her hand on Gisela’s back.
“The herbs are gone. We won’t have what we need for winter,” Gisela said.
Elysande’s face went pale as she guided Gisela further into her home.
“We can’t survive without the Stone, Ely. The King—”
“The King has summoned all of the scribes,” Elysande interrupted.
Gisela froze. “Why?”
“The letter didn’t say. I’m supposed to leave in a few days.”
“Please, don’t.”
Elysande hesitated before pulling a book from her shelves. She ran a finger along the cover, as if weighing the burden it carried. She handed it over with a heavy sigh.
“I worry for your safety. Not mine,” Elysande whispered.
“I fear for the future. Things are changing quickly. This is what he wants. Chaos. It makes it easier when the people are distracted. But this . . . this may help you understand your path, but it may reveal things you’re not ready to face.
” Her eyes met Gisela’s, shadows of worry evident in their depths.
Gisela took the book and sat down in her usual chair at Elysande’s table. “My path?”
“I’m going to the market. I’ll be back in an hour,” Elysande said with a pointed look. She opened the front door and stepped out, leaving Gisela alone with her thoughts and the mysterious book.
The house was impossibly silent once Elysande left.
A draft stirred the candle flames, casting shadows across the walls.
Gisela immediately opened the book and skimmed the pages.
Faded ink and blurred lines made some passages nearly impossible to read.
One line, darker than the rest, caught her eye.
“ . . . for what lies within the god-marked is not power alone, but aware.”
Another passage, smudged but legible, followed beneath it.
“. . . those who endure the trials of the hidden cave of Kharos shall awaken what slumbers within . . .”
The Trials of Kharos.
Thorne had mentioned them that day in the alleyway.
She pressed a finger to her lips, heart fluttering as she continued reading.
“Mount Kharos waits for the willing, yet the path is fraught with truths too difficult to bear.”
Mount Kharos. It was southeast of Frosthaven, forbidden territory.
Then there was The Niva. The woods before Mount Kharos. It was dangerous, full of wild animals and treacherous paths even in normal times. Now, knowing of the Trials of Kharos, she wondered if the mountain’s forbiddance was less about danger and more about keeping people away from it.
All her life, the warning was the same: Mystics were a blight, dangerous by merely existing. Yet here she was, wondering if ignoring her power would kill more than using it ever could.
She never felt the dangerous power they spoke of. But if she could awaken it, maybe she’d have a chance to protect her village and stand against what was coming.
When she finally closed the book, a fragile sense of direction stirred to life within her. It felt like the beginning of something profound. Something that might demand everything of her.
Soaking in her basin, perhaps for the last time in a while, Gisela leaned back and shut her eyes, letting the water cradle her in its quiet stillness. By morning, she would be miles beyond Frosthaven’s gates. She had finally stopped weighing the cost and started looking toward the answer.
She dried herself off with a plush, probably too expensive towel, and slipped into a fresh dress. She moved through the house with light footsteps and a heavy heart, her travel bag waiting behind her bedroom door.
When she reached Vivi’s room, she paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of her little sister nestled under the covers, clutching her wool doll. Gisela walked to her bed and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon . . .” she whispered.
As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with her father.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was coming to check if you were still awake.”
Gisela collected herself, wiping her clammy palms on her dress. “I couldn’t sleep. I was checking on Vivi.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed but he continued. “I haven’t seen you all much and I’m sorry for that, it’s been hectic. But I wanted to apologize to you. I was not myself that day at breakfast. Being the new Lord has been a huge adjustment with all the changes. You didn’t deserve my outburst.”
Her face softened. “It’s okay. I’m just really worried.”
“I sent ravens to the King, Gisela. They’ve all gone unanswered.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Supplies are running low. Frosthaven will always feel it first, being so far north. We haven’t seen a trade cart this week.”
She bit her lip. “Do we send men out? Rockridge is closest.”
“We may have to. But I don’t like the idea since it’s so close to winter. I’ll have them ration what’s left for now, focus on the stores we know will last. And I want hunting parties checking the forest.”
“It’s a good plan.”
He nodded, but the lines in his brow deepened.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, Gisela.” He pulled her in, holding her tightly against him. “I’m off to bed. Your mother will be waiting for me.”
“Yes. I should sleep too.”
Orion paused at his door when she stopped him. “Father . . .”
He looked back, his hand resting on the doorknob.
“You’re a good man,” she said, fearing she might not have another chance to tell him.
He smiled and lowered his head. “And you’re growing into a fine young woman.”
Gisela went back to her room to wait, hoping the house would soon be asleep. She grabbed her bag with essentials for the journey: herbs, plants, and potions from the shop, extra dresses, her knives, and provisions.
When enough time had passed, she crept out of her room, closing the door as quietly as she could.
She made a quick stop at Noah’s room. The door creaked open, revealing him sleeping peacefully.
Gisela reached into her bag and placed a small bundle of wilted plants on his bedside table—a silent message he would understand by morning.
She stared at her brother. Noah was her best friend and leaving him felt like a betrayal.
A lump rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to wake him, to explain.
But she couldn’t. If he woke now, she’d never make it out.
He’d talk her down, remind her of duty and safety.
But her home was exactly what she was trying to save.
He and Ivy would take care of the shop.
Tears blurred the world as Gisela stepped onto the porch and into the night air. She glanced back once, then turned away before doubt could take hold. A few paces in, the back of her neck prickled. She turned—just in time to see a window curtain snap shut.
For a moment, she paused. But no one came running out. No one called her name. The coil of dread in her stomach unspooled, leaving a lightness that felt like a blessing.
Permission to leave.
With a newfound purpose, she approached Frosthaven’s front gates. The guard was asleep at his post, as expected. No danger ever came to these walls. She reached for the lever when a familiar chill crept down her spine.
She closed her eyes. “Thorne.”
He emerged from the shadows. “Going somewhere, Freckles?”