Chapter 5

M oose made my cottage his home. And, much to my surprise, I grew to like it. He sleeps in the bed with me and cuddles extra close when the nightmares strike. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck, and I let him stay there, even though it tickles. I find myself talking aloud to him quite frequently, and I swear that he understands.

He is quickly becoming my first true friend. Gods, that's sad.

A month passed without any further mention of murders or any sightings of prowlers in the forest, and I'm beyond grateful for the monotony that replaced it. I borrowed a book from the library on how to make tinctures from the garden, and I've been studying it intently. The ingredients are hard to come by sometimes, but I'm learning which herbs can be used as replacements for one another.

The rising temperature and rainy days mark the coming of summer. The jasmine is in bloom, and every time I walk outside, I stop to appreciate its sweet perfume. I love this time of year when all of the leaves are shiny and new. Everything feels happier and more manageable when nature comes to life.

On an evening stroll with Moose, I search for a better view of the pink and orange hues painted in the sky. Every time I leave the cottage now, he follows right alongside me, marching his short little legs in step with mine. Together, we wander along side-by-side toward the barrier, and the warm air wraps me into its embrace.

Nobody else is around, and that's just how I like it. I lie down on a grassy spot to count the clouds. Moose gets distracted by a passing bird and starts chasing it like he might somehow gain the wings required to catch it. While he's gallivanting around without a care in the world, I stare up at the fluffy clouds as they parade through the sky, morphing into various forms of animals and objects - deer, rabbits, pies, and swords.

My imagination begins to wander as I ponder what else could be out there, beyond this crippling cage. Mrs. Whitehurst, my old school teacher, told us about the rest of the continent. They say that mountains stretch wide across the kingdom, extending from sea to sea. The gods' favored land, they call it.

I imagine myself as a mountaineer, or a fisherman perhaps. But these are lives that will never claim me, not here. Not when I'm trapped in this flat and land-locked village. The closest thing we have to a mountain is the mesa at the center, but it belongs exclusively to Lord Myles.

A whistle pulls me from that daydream and strikes a bolt of adrenaline-fueled lightning through my veins. A shot of terror nearly makes me scream when I see two, maybe three, men standing dangerously close to the border just past the first line of trees. Close enough for me to see the dirt caked onto their skin.

One of them takes a slow, careful step forward, straining his eyes as he looks right at me. They remind me of the first man that I saw in the woods – equally haggard and emaciated. I can feel them watching me, studying me.

I spring to my feet and pull my cloak tighter around myself as if I might somehow be able to disappear unnoticed.

Two of the men halt.

The third continues to step closer, tilting his head to the side like he's evaluating just how close he can get without the barrier swallowing him whole. If that is the case, then they must have borne witness to their predecessor's previous attempt at crossing. They know better now. They learned, and now they're taking precautions. Coming back smarter and more prepared.

My shoulders stiffen.

The man in the back yells to the first, "Amin! You're getting too close!" Something about that voice stirs something inside of me that I don't understand. It calls to me, nestling in the deepest parts of my being and urging me forward.

I won't listen to it. I can't.

"We need to know," he replies with his eyes still fixed on me. He bends over to grab a fallen stick and tosses it through the barrier. It twirls its way through like no obstacle exists and lands with a thud right next to my feet.

So close. So very close.

Was that a test to see if objects could pass through the barrier unharmed?

I should run. I know that, but a faint voice, soft and barely there in the cracks of my mind, whispers, don't run . Stay. Listen. The voice is a part of me and yet wholly separate. It's chilling, convincing. And so, I listen to the voice that might lead to my downfall, no matter how ill-advised that might be.

"Who are you?" I demand an answer this time.

The man in the back looks like he's concentrating on something so deeply that his mind no longer exists in this realm.

"The better question, girl, is who are you?" The front man's white teeth become visible as his lips pull into a crooked smile. He's older than the other, I think. His hair is flecked with gray and the well-worn lines of his face are deeper. But I don't see any sage wisdom or gentleness behind these marks of age, only violence.

I am a fool for staying here, for engaging in this madness. But I can't seem to run, no matter how firmly every logical bone in my body demands it. Standing still as stone, I eke out the words, "My name is Radya." I inhale a steadying breath, and my toes flex into the dirt as if anchoring me there. "Now it's my turn for a question. What are you doing here?"

The front man inches closer, scoping out the barrier's limits and tempting fate with every breath, while the others pull back into the shadows. Twigs and dried leaves crunch beneath their feet. It is a fool's game they're playing. The forest looms behind them like towering prey, hoping to see the barrier claim its next victims and their souls fed back into the land.

I have to stop him.

If not for fear that they might somehow succeed in passing through, then for my own self-preservation. I couldn't bear to witness another person lose their life to this menacing magic. I shout with the commanding force of a toddler to an adult, "Don't come closer. If you step too close to the barrier, the magic will take your life."

"Yes, I saw what your magic did to Perry," the man with the crooked smile spits. Perry must have been the first man that I saw. The image of the barrier zapping like lightning flashes behind my eyes, carrying with it the smell of charred flesh and smoke.

"My magic? This is no magic of mine," I assure him.

"You live in this village, do you not?" The man closest to me asks, though the answer to that question should be obvious.

"This magic is as much a cage for me as it is a barrier to you," I say defensively. Do they not know that this magic traps all of us here?

The men exchange a look, the meaning of which I do not understand. "So, we cannot pass through to your side, nor can you cross to our side," the front man confirms.

I nod and, in doing so, my hood shakes free. I go to grab it, to pull it closer around my head, even though I know it is of no use. It serves no better protection than a passing puff of air. In doing so, his gaze catches on my left hand, where my barely visible birthmark peeks out from beneath my sleeve. A smile curls on his lips. "What is that on your hand?"

"Why do you ask?" The other man, Perry, asked a similar question. Their shared interest in my birthmark makes me even more uneasy.

"Do you know what that symbol means?"

I shake my head in a small but definite no. Is it even a symbol?

"Have you had it since birth?"

"Yes. I don't understand your fascination with it." My mother told me that I was blessed to have such a beautiful birthmark. My special, special daughter with her special, special mark. She was trying to ease my shame over the object of many teasing jokes. Tana, in particular, liked to lead those taunts when we were young.

One of the men in the back steps forward with more hesitation than the other. Though he's too far away to make out any defining features, I notice his tall frame and ragged breaths. His stare is heavy as he lets out a gasp.

The front man holds out a hand to signal a stop to his comrade behind him. And with a crooked smile, he says, "Thank you, Radya. It was an honor to meet you." He bows to me and then moves to pull the other man away, and it's as if he's using all of his force to remove him from that spot.

"Wait!" I shout, sticking my hands out in an unconvincing plea. "You never answered me! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

But I'm too late. They disappear into the dark forest, and my questions hang in the air, unheard and unanswered.

* * *

Who were these men? Where did they come from? Why do they seem so keenly interested in me? Years passed without such disturbances. Why is it all happening now?

Breathe, Radya. Calm yourself. Think logically. Breathe in… and out…

Do I need to warn someone? Or do I keep the information to myself? They seemed harmless, but how could I be sure? A wolf doesn't always bare its teeth when stalking its prey. What if they were using me to plan an attack? What if I somehow gave them the information that they need to do so successfully? What if my silence leads to bloodshed?

I could go to Tana and let her warn the rest of the village, gods know how she loves to talk. That way everyone is on their guard and prepared if something were to happen. But would that create a needless panic? I'm not sure if it's worth the risk.

Oren, then? He did say that I could talk to him anytime. He may provide another perspective, or perhaps some protection. But what would he know? The memory of our last conversation resurfaces, and I veto that idea, too. I'd rather not dig up the past by facing him again.

Okay, if not Tana and not Oren, then whom do I tell?

Lord Myles?

He is the only one with knowledge of how the border works, and he communicates with the king. He may know what these men want, or, at the very least, he can establish a plan to prevent an attack without causing panic.

That seems logical. But how do I go about it? How do I explain what happened when it hardly makes sense to me?

‘I made friends with the prowlers stalking our village' makes me sound guilty, like I'm aiding in some not-yet-committed crime. These men haven't proven themselves to be dangerous or in any way capable of piercing the barrier. Nor have they proven themselves to be friendly.

Something needs to be said.

I will go to Lord Myles tomorrow morning and tell him what I saw. It's up to him to draw his own conclusions.

Moose curls up on the foot of the bed. Hardly a minute later, he lets out an explosive snore that reminds me of his namesake. It is impressive how quickly he can fall asleep, even when danger is knocking at the door.

Tomorrow it is. I'll go to the mesa and let Lord Myles decide what to do.