Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I stare in shock for a single breath. My soul leaves my body. The sounds of the world vanish and there's nothing but the sharp inhale of air through my nose.

Suppressing the scream, I begin running down the hill. The boots I bartered for from the cobbler are rolling alongside my frantic feet. I am nearly at the house when the walls give in with a series of cracks and a resounding snap that feels as if my spine itself has broken in two. The roof collapses, tumbling down. A wave of heat staggers me.

"Aurora? Aurora!" I scream, wondering if I am now beholding a second funeral pyre. She said she was immortal, didn't she? So she should have been able to get out, right? How did this even happen? Folost should have— "Folost!"

I round the crumpled building, calling out to the spirits that are, were, are bound to me. The entities I was responsible for. Who were entrusted to me to keep them safe.

"Mary, Folost, Aurora…" I stagger and half collapse at the edge of the burning remnants of my home. It feels as if I am the one who is ablaze; my skin is poked through and consumed by fire. The magic that was built into the very foundation of our home evaporates into the late afternoon air with a sigh. My lineage and legacy—what Grandma entrusted to me—all in flames. "Grandma…" I choke out. "Grandma!"

Burying my face into my hands, I weep. The well out back is too small. The stream is too far. And even if they were not, what could be done? The house is little more than cinders and, with it, so is everything I had once held dear.

Were I an older witch, a stronger one in a different time, I would've been able to summon the water to me. Or perhaps I would've had a spirit of winds or rain bound to me that could bring a storm. But I have none of these things.

Still, I lift my hands and hold my palm to the fire; the other grabs for a stitched shape of a flame on my cloak. "Folost, please, lend me your strength." I will the blaze to heed my commands.

But no magic comes. Even with a small spirit of flame and whatever power of Aurora's that's within me to magnify, I can't command the blaze. So all I can do is try to quench the fire with my angry tears.

It is dusk when the fire finally begins to exhaust itself. The ground was too wet for the flames to jump to the grasses. The trees were too far. All that remains is a smoldering square of blackened earth. Tiny flames still greedily consuming the last remnants. One flame rises higher than the rest, like a last gasp, mocking me.

But then it does it again. The same way and in the same spot.

I rub my eyes to make sure I didn't imagine it. Nothing. Then, a third ribbon of orange-red. Flickering. Fading. I did not imagine the two gold eyes that swung my way.

"Folost?" I scramble to the edge of the embers. There are circles of fire dotting the remains. The nearest is within arm's reach, where a withered marigold has spilled out of a fallen clay pot.

I inhale sharply and rush to the well, immediately drawing a bucket and returning as quickly as I can without spilling. Slowly, I tip the bucket, quenching the earth with a hiss, cooling down a path safe enough for me to tread to where Folost burns—careful not to get him wet in the process.

The ground in Folost's ring is singed…but it is not as burnt as the rest. Flooring I recognize is covered in blackened soot. The little fire spirit wasn't strong enough to save the house, but he protected what he could.

"Folost, you're incredible." I crouch down, wiping my face with the heels of my hands. The grief is passing, taken over by motivation.

Mary's pot has been cracked and is hot to the touch. She's limp. Shriveled by the heat and losing petals. But I can still feel her presence.

"Hang in there. Both of you." I carefully collect Marigold from the hot dirt, leaving the pot, for now. I rush her away from the smoldering ruin and settle her in the cool, damp earth. "I know you need water, but if I doused you now, it'd be a shock. Just wait a moment to cool some first," I tell her before going back to Folost. "Thank you for saving her. Are you all right?"

Two eyes appear, then disappear, then appear. A blink, as I understand it. One blink means yes. I can almost feel the word echoing within me with pride.

"Thank you for doing what you could." Even though my cheeks are still streaked with tears for all I've lost, I won't lose sight of what I have. I thought everything was gone. But what was truly important was spared—my friends, the cape around my shoulders, the sewing satchel safely tucked underneath it against my hip. "This is a debt of gratitude I'll never be able to repay, Folost."

He burns a little brighter and higher, like a child puffing out his chest.

"Did Aurora get out?"

Yes .

I heave a sigh of relief at the blink of his eyes. "Where did she go?"

Tongues of fire point to the woods, as if blown in that direction by an unfelt breeze.

"Did she…start the fire?"

A blink. Another. No .

Another monumental sigh of relief. I was afraid that somehow she didn't believe or trust me. That she thought I might try to keep her as trapped as the wolf king.

"She really is a spirit, too, right?"

One blink. Yes .

"I didn't think she was lying, for the record," I say with a side-eye to Folost that threatens to turn into a scolding if he ever told Aurora about my even asking. "How did the fire start?"

The little flames go rigid, the wobbling and variance small and tight. Four narrow pillars extend up, fanning out. At first, I think Folost is making trees. Something about the woods? No . The truth becomes as clear as daylight when another bit of flame extends from rear haunches. A column stretches to a snout and pointed ears.

Wolf .

Confusion is smothered by a rage unlike any I've ever known. For centuries, my family honored the treaty made with the ancient lykin. We preserved their lands, as agreed, performed the rites and kept well the spirits as best we could. We allowed the lykin to hunt in the woods to their stomachs' content, free of human meddling.

Even last night, when the wolf king had us in his sights, he could not cross the barriers. Or, perhaps he could, but he chose not to. He wanted me to think the barriers stood and to feel safe. This act was one of spite—meant to threaten and scare me into quiet submission.

The wolf king toyed with us then destroyed my home and stole Aurora.

I dig my hands into the ash and soot. The wet, burnt wood, brittle from the flames and my dousing. My anger shifts, narrowing on the forest.

"I am going to get her back. I won't let them have her." Aurora's haunted eyes still fill my vision. I can't abandon her to them. Not when her magic is still within me. I made a promise to her, one I intend to keep.

The wolf king wanted to subdue me. To have me cowering in fear. All he's done is removed all reason for me to stay. If the barriers cannot hold them back, there's little point in maintaining them. If the lykin care not for our treaties and the goodwill of our ancestors, then neither will I. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by going after him and Aurora.

Folost sways eagerly at my proclamation.

"You want to come?"

More swaying.

Behind me is the bright aroma of a marigold in full bloom. Mary has rooted herself into the earth, no doubt drawing on its moisture. Her petals are outstretched as far as they can reach. The missing ones have regrown.

"You, too?" I ask her.

She goes stick-straight.

"All right, then." I lightly touch Mary's small, clay pot. It's almost cool enough to handle. "Folost, we're getting you ready to go first."

He flickers out of existence, reappearing in the remnants of the hearth.

The majority of the embers are still too hot to walk over without making trips back to the well to douse my path. But that's a good thing right now—I'm counting on the heat.

I carry one last bucket to the remnants of the hearth. One brick is different from the rest—handmade and fired from the same river clay as Mary's pot. It also bears Grandma's thumbprint in its center.

"Folost, go burn somewhere else for a minute. I'll be quick," I command. He hesitates, staying in the hearth near his brick. "I promise, it'll be all right." I hope.

Putting his faith in me, the little fire spirit flickers to life elsewhere in the remnants of the home. Taking a breath, I dump the bucket of water on top of the still scorching bricks of the hearth.

The second the cool water meets the hot brick, it lets out an almost screeching hiss. Cracking and snapping sounds fill the air. I return to the well, and repeat the process once to ensure that the cracks run good and deep and the pieces are now cool enough to handle. I sift through them, finding one small shard that has the edge of Grandma's thumbprint.

The sliver of brick in hand, I race back through the pathway of mud and ash, to the firmer ground, and up the hill. Along the way I collect Aurora's boots that had fallen, re-slinging them over the strap of my satchel. I hastily rummage around the base of the nearest tree, looking for the sturdiest stick I can find that's slightly larger than the shard of brick. On my return to the burnt patch, I retrieve my knife from my bag and notch a spot for the piece to wedge within.

Kneeling once more, I coat the top of the stick in wet mud. Ideally, I'd have some other clay. But Folost is mindful of where he burns; he shouldn't jump to the wood.

"All right, come along." I hold out the stick to a still flickering ember.

Folost jumps from burning patch to burning patch with sparks trailing behind him. He's all too eager to return to the little token that helps ground him in this world. The small crackling seems to whisper, Thank you .

"You're welcome," I reply. Then, my focus shifts. "Right, Mary, your turn." I cross back to her, sticking Folost's little torch into the ground near her. Then I retrieve her pot, now cooled. I safely replant her and then, using some plain twine from the sewing satchel, I affix it to the heavy belt at my hips, making sure she won't easily fall.

My friends situated, I allow myself to catch my breath, taking stock of what I have. If the house was going to burn down, this was the time for it to happen. I emptied the hutch of bundles this morning. Because I'd gone into market, I had my cape and both my satchels. One of which is still laden with supplies for the road.

The empty boots at my side are a reminder of who's still missing.

"Right." I scoop up the tiny torch that gives off all the light of a candle. But Folost has never looked mightier to me. I focus on the tiny flame. "You've done so much, friend, but can you sense where Aurora is?"

A pause. A shift as the flame circles the sliver of brick. Then two eyes. A single blink. Yes .

"Can you lead the way?"

Yes .

"Mary, tell me if we are walking into danger." I trust the small plant to commune with her larger counterparts as we ascend the hillside.

There's a burst of floral aroma that smells like affirmation. I wonder if I'm having an easier time communing with both thanks to Aurora's magic. It might not have been enough to save my home, but it will be enough to save her.

I start up the usual path, but a streak of compressed grasses distracts me. Diverting course, I head for the track, kneeling beside it. Sure enough, it has the markers of large and heavy feet—eight of them. Two lykin. I follow the trail up to the edge of the woods.

Branches are broken. Split and dangling at uncomfortable angles. Folost illuminates the singes that blacken the trees where woven ribbons should have proudly fluttered in the breeze, and the claw marks that dig trenches into the earth. But the most stomach-churning thing that Folost's light lands on is the drops of blood.

One of the lykin, or Aurora's?

I fear I already know the answer. But for the lykin's sakes…I hope I'm wrong.