1.

Dawn

The Forest

         She had long wandered off the trail, but Navette still recognized this part of the wood. Specific trees that she had picked out years ago acted as personal landmarks, winding her around the forest and through blossoming groves. The crisp, mossy smell of the fresh morning dew on the grass and fallen leaves permeated through her senses as Maple’s hooves dug into the damp dirt, flinging brown, muddy specks up onto her boots. Navette let her hair billow back in the wind, an auburn cascade waving behind her with the edges of her dirtied cloak following suit. In these moments, she felt free. At least, more free than she felt within the town’s walls. A twisted grin crossed her face as she pushed her horse faster and they soared through the woods and around the trees. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, relentlessly pushing them further and further on. Sun streaks fell through the canopy as they passed and provided patches of warmth to the early morning spring chill. Navette let out a pure laugh as they flew, high on the combination of power and freedom and bliss. The forest was a place of the gods, something that the Varyish people knew without doubt. The trees were sacred and ancient, holding stories from eras far beyond that of their people, and beckoned Navette further on with every passing step. Overcome with a nameless emotion, a grin spread across her face as she let out a trill that echoed through the forest and she pushed Maple faster still. She had never felt so alive.

         Navette wasn’t sure how much time had passed as they rode on, only that the sun loomed high in the sky as the soft bubbling of a stream approached and her heart regained its rhythm. She dismounted Maple as it came into view before them, her boots landing softly on the leaves of the damp forest floor and her necklace bouncing off her chest. Her limbs still tingled with the remnants of movement as she stood still in the beams of the early sun, the energy pulsing through her arms as she shook them out. The water was clear before her; a few small fish could be seen swimming along with the current, and the stones at the bottom glistened like jewels in the tender sunlight. Navette dipped her fingers in, the water cold to the touch, and splashed a handful against her face. Wildflowers grew in the banks around her feet, deep purple and spotted white muscari and violets in a gradient of color that reminded her of her elder sister Ivy. She would always wander the forest on her own, collecting flowers and plants and journaling about her findings, but Ivy was much too apprehensive to wander far from the road, much to Navette’s frustration. For a fleeting moment she wished that her sister could enjoy the grove as well, even just once, to share a place that she loved with somebody that she loved, but she was also grateful to have a place to call her own. Something that no one else knew about. A place where Navette could lay down and let go of the world, a place that understood her more than anyone else could.

         The trees within her grove whispered secrets to one another, songs that spoke to Navette’s soul and awakened a melody inside of her. None other save the denizens of the forest and the fae that lived within the flowers knew of this place, and she was determined to keep these songs to herself. She knew, after all, that if she were to bring Ivy to this grove, that her sister would pluck these flowers just as she did all the others, and her grove would become little more than a site to study or to harvest from.

Navette grasped at the deep green stone that laid across her chest. Forest stone, the Varyish people called it. When held to sunlight, the green webbing resembled the branches of a forest canopy as viewed by the saplings. Inlaid in the center of the gem was a white piece of moonstone that glowed blue in the moonlight and under the stars. Navette never came to know her mother, but the necklace was the one possession of hers that she owned. Her godmother, Nuari, had given it to her when she was a child, a last remembrance of her only forgotten family.

         Navette took her time at the river, stretching her legs and enjoying the feeling of the early sun gentle on her cloaked shoulders, despite the excitement of the forest still coursing through her veins. Between the treetops, the sun streaks of morning shone through the leaves and mist above. A light breeze blew, carrying bird song from the distance through the wood, the treetops dancing in rhythm around them. Nuthatches and chickadees, she thought to herself. The forest was sacred to the people of Varyn, surpassing even their dedication to the temples and shrines where the gothi and those closest to the gods resided. The gods themselves had even come from the forests. It protected its people, and the people gave back to the forest in gratitude, with offerings and reverence and dedication. Navette could almost feel them here. The calls of the birds and the breeze itself was just as sacred as the statues and offerings left at their stone feet.

         Navette took one last glance around the stream before remounting her horse. She guided Maple onwards and down the hidden path, the ever-dense trees beginning to block out the sun and the forest becoming much darker than Navette was accustomed to. She enjoyed the depth and the looming, maternal presence that the trees provided, like the watchful eyes of the gods themselves, and the deep mossy and Varyish smell that enveloped her senses, but it was off. Something felt just slightly wrong. Maple slowed down, growing wary of their surroundings and reluctantly moving forward with Navette’s nudges.

         The shadows watched them from behind the trees.

         The wood grew eerily quiet. No longer could birdsong be heard amongst the branches, no longer did the chatter of squirrels and the rustle of leaves echo around them. Navette’s heart began to beat faster and her palms grew clammy as the tension grew. Excitement and anxiety danced together inside of her, a twisted duet of power. Every word in her mind was telling her to turn around, but her unsatisfied curiosity pushed her forward; the curiosity that Ivy said would one day be Navette’s undoing. She swallowed her fear, straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and carefully searched for any sign of movement around them. A thick fog obscured the ground, and there were no signs of life to be seen. The leaves above rustled, an inaudible whisper in words unknown to her.

         Even the plant life seemed desolate after travelling deep into the forest—the forest that she no longer knew. The sun was blocked out by grey clouds, and the trees were barren of all leaves. They were towering hollow shells of what they could have once been. Maple snorted in distress. It didn’t feel like the life was drawn out of them and they stood in remembrance; it was as if it was never there to begin with.

         The shadows whispered to each other in another language.

         Images swam before her eyes, memories from her childhood when she had wandered too far into the forest and the shadows became curious. Navette swallowed hard, pushing down the visions and memories for a later day. She hadn’t let them resurface for years, and she wasn’t about to let them now. Not while she was in her forest. But this…this is not the place that I know. Where am I?

A light wind blew, seemingly from nowhere—the cold breath of the dead woods. A chord was struck inside of Navette, but it was the wrong note. Before them, the trail was darkened, and she could no longer follow it with her eyes. Her stomach was turning in knots, telling her to turn around, turn around now, but gods, she wanted to know what laid further down the darkened path, despite everything else around them. The two of them stood still, held in the infinity of that moment, looking beyond. If she didn’t move, time didn’t pass.

         All around her, the shadows from deep in the wood began to move, tearing her back to full consciousness and back into her own body. They crawled closer to Navette, a malevolent curiosity that made the hairs on her neck stand on end and shivers draw down her spine. The shadows moved. Navette craned her neck forward, the whispers pulling her in. A figure formed deep within the trees; an unsettling, not quite human shadow climbing between the hollowed trees. Its limbs were made of tree bark and lichen and laid just a little too long. Yellow eyes from within the mass of darkness bore straight into her. Fear chimed through Navette’s bones. She wanted to move, to turn her back and run as fast as she could. Every part of her intuition screamed in distress, but something held her there. Staring. She wanted to leave, but she wanted to push her horse further into the dark. The expanse of the unknown before them beckoned with every passing moment.

         But the moment was broken. The creature began to walk towards them again—walk, shudder, limp, grapple. All around the grotesque figure grew an even thicker fog, swirling at the ground by its feet. Navette swiftly dug her heel into Maple’s side, not thinking twice before turning and running out of the wood with the wind to their backs.

         The shadows laughed.

2.

Rose Thorns

Osala

         They were back on the road, the beat of Maple’s hooves on the cobblestones a steady allegro that carried Navette back home to the town of Osala. Her heart thudded within her chest and her mind raced. Why was the wood...dead? Can I even believe what I saw? The past has come back to repeat itself and haunt me. Her thoughts bounced between the empty shells of the trees and just getting home as fast as Maple can take me.

         They broke from the treeline as Osala loomed before them. The bright sun provided a sense of temporary security, for in its light, no shadows can roam. She was safe, for now.

         Navette took longer than she should have to stable Maple just outside the town’s gates, the owner of the pastures giving her a friendly greeting as Navette parted with five silver coins for the new month’s stable payments. She replayed the scene in the forest over and over in her head while she led Maple to her stall, wondering if what she saw was even true.

         As she stroked her horse’s flank, the unbidden memory rose to the surface that she had worked hard over the years to kill—but it refused to stay dead. Navette was just a small child, playing in the gardens. Before she knew it, she ended up in the forest and wandering down the trails. She turned back, but the trail was gone, the trees were closing in on her, the shadows wouldn’t stop climbing—

         She stopped, pushing the memory down for the hundredth time, refusing to let it surface again, knowing all too well that she couldn’t deny it for much longer. It would eventually come back to her, whether she liked it or not. Navette closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down at the solid ground below her. She left from Maple’s side and walked up to the towering gates that bordered Osala, a single guard standing watch before them. He stared at her suspiciously and raised an eyebrow, unbothered enough to not approach her nor to move at all, but determined yet to make himself an inconvenience to her.

         “May I enter?” Navette asked almost sarcastically.

         “What business do you have in Osala?”

         “I live here!” she almost shouted and threw her hands up in the air. “You saw me leave this morning and I told you I was just going for a ride in the forest.” The guard scrunched his eyebrow and she groaned in frustration. “I run the bakery. With Ivy Ellysana. I’m Ivy’s sister. I would like to return now. Please.” He considered her again, and reluctantly stepped aside, letting her in. She heaved the doors to the town open, grunting as the irritation in her bones worked for her.

         I’m Ivy’s sister, the words rang in Navette’s ears. I’m always her sister. Just Navette isn’t enough, it’s always Ivy. It’s her house and her bakery and I’m just her younger sister. Too naive to know any better.

         The guards had come one week ago; Osala was self-sufficient enough that regular guards from the capital were unnecessary, and Lady Ibbet Reiva of Osala did a good enough job of protecting its borders, preventing crime, and forcefully sending the capital’s guards away at the tip of her sword. The Xevuran guards, eight of them, had said that there were rumors of threats from another army and that they were keeping the peace. No one in Osala truly believed their words, and no one disliked their presence as much as the Lady, but she had no choice but to accept this time. Queen Ioelena had her ways of persuasion, and a small, but growing number were left wondering what her limits were to achieve her goals.

         Navette was nearly running down the main road of Osala to the house where she knew Ivy still resided. She didn’t really want to see her sister, but Ivy was always the one that she ran to first. If it was anyone, it had to be her. Navette would allow no others to help shoulder her burdens. She swallowed her hurt pride with a gulp and continued down the cobblestone roads.

Today was Emystre, the spring festival of growth and the sowing of seeds, dedicated to the goddess Emarya. Navette had been in the forest since before the sun dawned, saving her energy for the bonfires at night. She had seen twenty-two winters, twenty-two cycles of festivals, and still, she had felt like each one was the first, child-like in her joy and exuberance as the town around her was held in rapture. But now, her mind was preoccupied with one thing only; to get home to her sister, where she could confide her secrets and sit in the safety of the four walls that surrounded their home.

         Even as the panic nipped at her feet, the buzz of the voices and of the people signaled a kind of jubilant life unlike any other. It was a separate world from that of the forest that she so loved. The merchants, bakers, and other craftspeople on the sides of the road and down in the marketplace bargained for attention, bards performed songs in Varyish and poems of old with baskets of gifted coins before them, shrines overflowed with devotees and were laden with offerings of foods, flowers, and personal creations. The air within the town hung heavy with celebration; it was a day unlike any other. The eight major celebrations were always a time when the people of Varyn put aside their normal lives for a day of honoring nature and the cycles that it traverses and the ways in which it sustains its people. Spring was the beginning of the planting season, a celebration of new life and growth after the winter’s chill. It was a time for new beginnings and new growth and marked the start of the Varyish calendar.

         “Navette!” she heard a familiar voice call out her name further down the streets. She looked around and her eyes landed on Llew, the violin player in the orchestra that she belonged to. He held a woven basket full of freshly plucked yellow roses that matched the smaller ones decorating his short blonde braids, and handed one delicately to Navette, a rapturous smile upon his face. His Osalan accent lay thick upon his words, a brogue that flowed evenly with the cadence of song and rolled lightly. She had known Llew since before he had become known as Llew, when he had longer hair, a higher voice, and dreaded coming into womanhood. He had taken his future into his own hands and had no doubt in who he was, and Navette respected him for that. She only wished that she could have the same confidence in fully knowing herself.

         Navette smiled back, accepting the rose with quivering hands that she worked hard to control, but ultimately failed.

         “Thank you,” she stuttered, staring past Llew and down the street behind him. “I wish I could stay and talk, I really do, but I have to go. I have...urgent business with my sister. I’ll see you tonight at the fires!” She smiled towards Llew as she walked around him and turned, tripping on the ends of her cloak and resuming her pace down the stone streets. Llew stared after her, knowing that something was amiss, but also knowing the difficulties that came along with trying to persuade Navette away from her path.

         She felt her chest begin to burn with the effort of running by the time she reached the bakery that Ivy and herself shared. Nuari had run the bakery until her elder days, but gifted the management to Ivy when she passed, who shared the work with Navette. Had today not been Emystre, she would be picking up as much grain as her cart could carry from the farmers’ fields to turn into flour.

         “Ivy!” Navette called out as she burst through the doors and into the second floor above the bakery. Ivy was sitting at the table, quill in hand, papers and books and various harvested plants, berries, and flowers in vessels before her. Her long, black hair fell in tight curls down her back, shielding her face as she studied. Lit candles illuminated the room where the streaks of sunlight didn’t reach, Ivy’s dark skin glowing in the soft light. Surprise lay upon her face as she saw Navette burst in, but her expression quickly turned to concern upon examining Navette’s. Despite the minor fight that they had shared the previous day, Ivy’s only emotions in those moments were concern and fear.

         “What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She began to push towards her adoptive sister with embracing arms, but Navette gently pushed her off as she approached.

         “There...there was something in the forest,” Navette huffed, her hands gesturing wildly as she worked to settle her mind from its panic. When her lungs and words finally caught up to her, she placed the rose that Llew had given to her on the table and recounted to her older sister the story of what she had seen in the woods. The plague of the forest, the creature in the branches that haunted the empty trees and stared right through her. Ivy’s mouth was parted in speechless shock as a moment of silence passed between them. Navette was scared. Ivy and Nuari hadn’t believed in the shadows when Navette wandered far into the forest the first time—it was a tale of a scared child’s imagination. But now, it was something more. Navette stared into Ivy’s eyes, her expression determined and hard as stone.

         “Are you sure of what you saw?” Ivy’s voice was soft as she asked, pitch rising only at the end. “Are you okay?”

         “I’m...sure,” Navette responded after a moment. She still felt the fluttering remnants of panic within her chest that now mixed with anger both at her sister’s assumptions and at her own mind playing tricks on her. She pushed it down, but it reared its ugly head and demanded to be felt. She was a child in the forest again, head down and eyes puffy and overcome with fear. “This isn’t in my head.”

         “What you are describing,” Ivy said as she led Navette back to the table with a touch of her arm, “sounds a lot like the skáiga from legend. I’ve been reading about them in my books. Stories upon stories. Many people say that it was the skáiga that attacked Xevura all those years ago. Twenty-seven years in this world, and I’m still learning something new every day.”

         “What stories? What are you talking about?”

         “The ones recently traveling around the valley.” She stood up to prepare fresh tea for them both in the conjoined kitchen, dumping out of the window the remnants of her own mug of brew that had gone cold hours earlier. “The merchants and travelers who come to Osala arrive with tales of shadows in the forest. Of plagues killing the wood and leaving empty shells behind. Those of us that hear the stories regard them as nothing more than a traveler’s tale, just like the battle for Xevura, but after hearing yours,” she returned to the table with mugs of warm water, lightly colored from the flower petals and leaves, “I’m tempted to believe that even my books might be wrong.” She rested a hand over top of one of the tomes. Ivy had always found a home with the books, and now, as a student of the college, it was not a rare sight to find her coming home with an armful of them by the week. “It’s not impossible. Improbable, but not impossible.”

         “This can’t be real,” Navette whispered with a shaky laugh. “There’s no way. Monsters didn’t attack the capital.” Ivy just stared at Navette as she pushed the steaming cup towards her. “But...but if it is...Ivy, what does this mean?”

         Ivy smiled somberly and let out a puff of air. “I have absolutely no idea. I didn’t know until recently, but there are accounts of similar stories throughout Varyn. If these are to be believed, it seems that the skáiga had disappeared for eras and didn’t come back until now. Or, if it was really them at Xevura, then they returned twenty-some years ago, and we didn’t even know. How can that be possible?”

         “What are you even talking about?” Navette asked sternly. “What is going on? You’re asking yourself questions that I don’t know the prompts to.”

         “I don’t know,” Ivy replied with exasperation, finally giving in to her own doubts. “I need to do more research and study. History has a way of being…elusive when we’re not supposed to know about it.”

         Research and study, Navette thought to herself, it’s all you ever do. You won’t get away from your damn books for one moment to see the world around you. “I don’t even know if the skáiga are real yet, let alone here,” Ivy continued. “Skáiga, magic, gods...I don’t know, Navette. It’s all the stuff of legend. It can’t be true.” She met Navette’s eyes, a dark blue and a bright green at war. “I don’t have the first idea of what is happening here.”

         “But what if it’s not,” Navette said, slamming her hand down on the table and standing up. The yellow rose shifted with the slam. “The things you speak about. What if it’s not just legend? This isn’t a story that I’ve designed just to entertain you.” Ivy sat forward, hands crossed and resting under her chin. The gods were always a contentious topic between the sisters, and Navette was tired of Ivy’s blatant heresy. Even if it meant accepting the skáiga as truth, Navette would fight Ivy tooth and claw on the subject until she went to meet them herself. “The gods are real, Ivy. They created this world and you and I are a part of that. If they are real, then maybe the other things are, too. Why would an Aeyrist army attack be covered up under the guise of the skáiga? Why are we not supposed to know about these things? What is the point to your study?”

         “I don’t know the purpose behind it all, Navette. I only serve to ask the questions in the first place. How can you be so sure of your stance? Have you ever seen the gods with your own eyes?”

         “Ivy,” Navette commanded, “I know what I saw in the forest. I’m not saying it was the skáiga, or a god, or anything beyond a simple shadow for that matter, but it was something. Something that I cannot describe. I saw it and it scared me enough to come back. Just like when you and Nuari found me in the forest.”

         It was that last statement that caught Ivy’s attention and forced her eyebrows down, something changing in her expression—a small mutation, a moment of skepticism in her hard beliefs. Navette never spoke about that day in the forest. There was something severely wrong if she were to bring it up, no matter how fleetingly. Only three times had she heard the story before, and even then, it was never in full. It was a nightmare that still plagued Navette.

         Navette backed away from the table and hardened her voice. “I don’t want to deal with this right now. It tires me. I will be in the town if you need me. Don’t lock yourself away in your studies all day. It’s Emystre.” She walked out of the door and stomped down the stairs into the bakery that remained closed for the holiday. For once, she didn’t care just how loudly her footsteps landed on the floor.

         Navette left the house, heading towards and past the central square of the town where the excitement of the day lay. Her mind was still racing, and she needed a way to quiet her thoughts without staring at Ivy’s stone-like face. Navette’s love for her sister was unwavering and unbreakable, but often her irritation with Ivy threatened to match its strength. If Ivy wasn’t holding it or staring at it straight on, it was just a figment of Navette’s mind. She would not push the burden of her fears upon anyone else, and her eyes frantically darted from each group of people or attraction to another, trying to find a distraction to hold her long enough to regain her equilibrium. She exited the central square, and immediately knew what called her forward.

         The vineyards were near the borders and walls of Osala. The town was recently famous for its wines—with good reason—and the fields lay to the northeastern edge. As Navette approached, she could see Gwynnestri harvesting and tending to the grapevines. Her long blonde hair glowed, catching the sun at just the right angle. Her skin was paler than even Navette’s and shone in the sunlight. Her left arm was wooden, carved designs of roses and thorns detailing it up to where it connected at the shoulder. Gwynnestri’s parents had the wooden arm designed so that she could move the fingers, but it still proved troublesome for their daughter, who was missing the arm at birth.

         “Gwynnestri!” Navette called from the road, a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth despite the events of her morning. Gwyn turned, a woven basket held in her wooden arm, and beamed brightly. Navette’s worries started to lighten. She began to move towards Navette, but stumbled across a fallen vine, the basket and its contents spilling from her arms with a curse and a laugh.

         “Navette! What are you doing here? I thought you were in the forest,” she ran over, ignoring the thorns scraping at her bare legs and leaving the fallen basket and fallen grapes behind. When she smiled, the sun seemed to smile with her. The light rested on her face, highlighting the bends and curves and giving her the appearance of the flowers that she so tenderly cared for. A honeybee darted curiously around the tousles of her hair. She was as delicate as a barbed and tangled rosebush—Navette liked that about her.

         Navette had come to view the vineyards as a second sort of home. The Rialten family had quickly fallen for her and took her in as Gwynnestri’s closest friend, and for that, Navette was grateful. The two had met in the Osalan orchestra through Llew, and he had almost regretted the decision; they would not leave each other’s sides.

Almost.

         “Oh, just visiting,” Navette said with a smile. “I...came back from the forest early to see my sister.” She had to work hard to stop the memories from flooding back, but she managed to keep a steady facade. Her limbs felt warmer than usual—whether the source was fear or something else entirely while standing here in this meadow, Navette did not know. She decided not to tell Gwynnestri about the events of her morning; she didn’t want to create a cause for concern and didn’t want to take away Gwyn’s smile. The shadows were something she would have to face either with her sister, or on her own. The burden was hers to bear.

         “Ah,” Gwynnestri said with a small laugh, “I’m glad. We need to do this more often.”

         “It’s only been two days!” Navette chuckled.

         “I know. Still, too long. And besides, how am I supposed to pick and sift through all of these grapes by myself? Surely, you didn’t think you could escape me forever.” A smile broke across her face, but only Gwyn knew of the fears that lay behind her own words.

         They walked together to the shed under a blue afternoon sky to empty Gwyn’s previously collected buckets of grapes into the storage barrels, discarding the rotten or overripe ones, as she told Navette about her work in the field and the days that had passed. Her words were soft and rounded in mixed accents, half of them bearing the song-like Osalan accent, and others still sounding soft and subdued in Arselian fashion. Despite the silences that never felt unwelcome between them, her attempts at constant small-talk warmed Navette. Gwynnestri took a grape and bit down into it, the sweet juices flowing from the fruit as she tossed her spilled basket atop a pile of similarly woven ones. Navette sat down on a stool, crossing her legs beneath her. She knew that she probably shouldn’t be here, that she was only entertaining her emotions down a path that would have no end. But could she really deny her heart the simple pleasure?

         “I don’t know how you do it,” Navette said, changing the subject. She stared at the barrels of bountiful grapes and looked back to Gwynnestri. “It seems like so much work.”

         “You know, I’m not the only one who works here,” Gwynnestri responded sarcastically. “My parents do run this place; I’m only the laborer.” Navette noticed bruises on Gwyn’s shins as her dress shifted, probably from dropping a barrel or kicking a piece of wood on accident while reorganizing the shed.          “Oh, don’t worry about those, just had an accident earlier. You know, barrels and tools and shit. Not like you would know about a hard day’s work,” Gwyn said with a wink towards Navette.

         “Hey! It’s not like you run the biggest bakery in all of Osala,” she exaggerated with a laugh as she put her hands on her knees and her face reddened in her fluster.

         “Will you be celebrating today?” Gwyn asked as she offered another handful of grapes. She hoped for the answer before she had even asked it. The slight distance between them as of late could not be denied or ignored, but she also knew that the short time spent together would mend the unspoken rift that formed. Between Gwynnestri’s constant work in the fields and Navette’s wistfulness, these quieter moments had become more and more rare.

“I’d be caught among the gods before I’d miss it,” Navette responded and sat down beside Gwynnestri, staring up at her. “I assume you will be there too? And not working for your parents during a festival, again.” Navette popped a grape in her mouth and let her legs dangle from the stool. She loved Eira and Elvi, but she knew that they tended to overwork their children. Her parents were far too busy on their own, selling wines to the nobility and travelling back and forth from Arselia to Varyn, and that left Gwynnestri and her brother, Rion, in charge of the fields and sheds. Eira had begun to catch on to Gwyn’s pilfering of their herbs and specimens for her own experiments, and if they didn’t work to keep her busy, their supply would dwindle into nothing as idle hands found their way into storage.

         “I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else,” Gwyn replied. “I just have to finish up my work here before I can leave. There’s a performance tonight that I would like to see with you!” They discussed their plans for the upcoming celebrations, of the dances and festivals held around Osala to welcome the new season of flowers and seeding. They celebrated nearly all of the seasons together the year before and had agreed to make a tradition of it in the festivals to come. Navette’s eyes pierced into Gwyn’s as they talked, a bright green meeting a soft lilac. She quickly looked away. “I can’t wait,” Gwyn sighed, picking a grape and eating it carelessly and loudly as she collapsed dramatically into a pile of hay. She wouldn’t tell Navette, but she had been looking forward to the festival for many, many weeks—really, since before the last festival. She knew that her thoughts were selfish, but having Navette’s attention and her presence by her side for a day’s time was better than any wine or potion that she could create. She never took those moments for granted, especially with their growing rarity.

         Gwynnestri wrapped up her work, storing and covering the ripened grapes in the giant barrels for later processing, and gathering the buckets of the overripe or ruined ones. Navette watched her work with a certain intimate curiosity. Gwyn seemed at home in the winery, a profession that she had the perfect skills for, but Navette knew that she longed to be elsewhere, doing other things. Gwyn didn’t hate her family’s job; she hated its chains. Even if the Rialtens were Crowns, even if they were wealthy enough to be counted in the few who were honored to pay monthly taxes and tributes for the betterment of the town. Gwyn disliked this road, and to Navette’s despair, Gwyn’s future had already been laid out for her.

         “You know, if we’re lucky, I may be able to take one of these for today.” She gave Navette a mischievous smile as she held up one of the family’s renowned wines. They had secretly indulged in a bottle before, and it was unlike any other. Their fame was well-deserved. Navette preferred the kind that Gwyn said tasted like the color pink (she could never remember its name). No one really quite understood what she meant, but Gwyn didn’t care. Her wines were colorful, her songs were delicious, and her gardens were soft and round and buzzed like a bee.

         The two of them parted with promises and farewells on their lips. Gwynnestri was to assist her parents in putting together a shipment of wine before she could attend the festival that night; they were soon to return to Arselia, The Land of the Western Sun. Their home province. Yellow and gray and bitter like old cabernet. Gwynnestri despised very little above returning to her old home; undesired memories always rose to the surface, and in parting from Osala and the borders of Varyn, she seemed to leave a part of herself behind. She didn’t know that she also took a part of Navette with her, every time.

3.

The Chalice

Osala

         Navette walked the town’s streets as the festivities were in full swing. The sun shone in a chorus of orchestral suites from the pavilions, a light remembrance of the springs past and yet to come. Many shops that she had passed by were closed in acknowledgement of the celebrations, but some merchants still took advantage of the day’s processions for an extra coin or two. Flowers along the sidewalk began to open up as the late morning sun struck the folded petals, bright arrays of color lining the cobblestones that traversed throughout the town of Osala.

         Before Navette was to rejoin with Gwynnestri in the later part of the day, she wandered the streets and found herself in a private grove by the borders of the town, outside of the gates that the Xevuran guards had grown tired of guarding, through a passage that only she knew about. It seemed to be a secret place that none else knew existed; a place where the stream ran slowly over rocks and tumbled down the hill and into the town for water and irrigation, where the flowers bloomed under the shade of the verdant trees at the edge of the wood. It wasn’t like her place deep in the forest, but it was close enough and almost quieter in its solitude. Navette had so many groves around the borders of Osala that she cared for that she would often lose track of where she had or hadn’t been to that month, and instead only went where her heart pulled her. She looked off in the distance when she came to the center of the grove and upon the hill; she could still see the farmers’ fields in between the trees before the border, the sheep and cattle grazing without a care. The soft bustling of the town floated in the background, but the wind carried it away before it became a constant rumble.

         Today, peace was far off for Navette. Her mind was still plagued by the shadows in the forest, and the shadows in her mind. Frustration over her argument with Ivy threatened to boil over, but the darkness drowned it out. She found that a part of herself wanted to go back into the town and enjoy the festival and let go of her worries, but the larger part of her wanted to hide away and succumb to them. She was still shaken to the core with the visions that crowded her thoughts. She worried about leaving the town again and stumbling across something dark, but she was close enough to the gates that anything sinister didn’t dare approach. She needed fresh air and solitude after the ordeal and her fight, and this was as far as she could will herself to go to achieve it. To even catch a glimpse of that nameless emotion again that she felt underneath the sacred trees.

         Shadows swam before her eyes and quickly dispelled the feeling; memories from her childhood that refused to stay bottled. She was a child again, running down the forest path that closed behind her. The sun began to disappear. Shadows snaked out from behind the trees, curious about who had come into their forest and why. Why was this tiny thing led here, and what could they do with it?

         Navette had screamed, but no one could hear her. She ran, unsure of where she was going, except that it was away. She collapsed out of exhaustion and let the tears and shudders overtake her. It was hours before Ivy and Nuari had found her, a small bundle on the forest floor, chest heaving and eyes and fists squeezed shut.

         Navette shook her head and the memory quickly faded. She was back in the grove, in her own body again, the soft bubbling of the stream behind her a familiar comfort. She sighed and laid her head in her hands.

         Maybe it was a mistake coming here. Even so, I cannot return. Not now. She could see Nuari’s aged, smiling face in her mind’s eye; no matter the festival, the celebrating streets resurrected memories of having a semblance of a cohesive family. Now, all that remained was just the rickety bridge that held together Navette and Ivy. Her heart rested heavy in her chest as she thought about what could have been.

         Navette shook her head, remembering why she really came out here. This won’t change anything. You are given today, so live with it and move on. In her pocket rested three small offering stones, compacted cakes made in her bakery the day before from water, flour, and flower petals from her windowsill flower box. She pulled them out, rolling them in her hand as she stared through them as if not really there. She had made them for Emarya, the goddess of spring, flora, fertility, home, and fire; the sacred goddess of Osala. Her intention was to leave them in the forest that morning, but her designated place of offerings was unreachable beyond the shadows. Unconsciously, her fingers reached to her necklace and she stroked the edges of the stone.

         She thought about how offerings to the gods throughout Varyn had changed over the eras and wondered if her simple act was enough. The people of Varyn would gather in the capital of Xevura in the years of old, and sacrifices of animals and, sometimes, humans, would be given to the gods, presided over by the gothi—those who were closest to the gods and communed with them daily, living under no law, no authority, and no city but their own. The laws and customs had changed throughout Varyn over the many centuries since those times, and Navette wondered how the gods had felt about the change from blood offerings and complex rituals over the span of days, to simple bonfires and revelry in their names. (The drunken brawls, however, never ceased; surely none doubted Aëldrar’s love for such madness.)

         As Navette went to create a space to leave the stones amongst the wildflowers, she heard a rustle in the leaves in the forest. She carefully set down the cakes and sat still on the ground, staring into the trees, waiting. Fear filled her bones, but she told herself that here, she was safe. Something was...different. The birds sang, the squirrels chattered, but the air held something...other. It was a place of life, of magic, of the gods. Nothing evil could dwell here. The shadows were far off, almost in another land.

         Slowly, a spotted deer walked into the grove; a magnificent doe with towering antlers that crowned her head unlike any; Emya’s Deer, they were called. Only the females grew antlers, and they were only found in the forests of Varyn. The deer looked around the grove before heading to the stream to drink.

         Navette’s heart caught in her throat. The does were considered sacred among the Varyish people, and to cross paths with one, especially one with a crown, was a blessing. The deer lifted her head and looked straight at Navette, who sat as still as a stone. The deer began to walk over to her, her hooves silent on the grass.

         Navette’s breathing stopped, but her heart lightened at the sight of the doe. The deer didn’t stop; Navette wondered when she would halt, or if she’d designate Navette a threat and run.

         But the moment never came. The deer continued forward, until Navette could reach out and touch her head without shifting from her position on the ground. She looked deep into the doe’s eyes; a sudden peace washed over her, and the doe bowed her head. Navette slowly reached out a trembling hand and touched her forehead just below the antlers.

         The moment seemed to stretch on forever, until the doe lifted her head again and Navette’s hand gently slid off. Her eyes welled up with an unknown emotion, brought about by the sight of something much older and bigger than herself. She could have sworn that she saw the creature’s eyes lock onto the stone around her neck before rolling back up to meet her own. The doe silently stepped backwards, took one of Navette’s cakes in her mouth, and slowly walked back into the forest.

         Navette sat there until her heart stilled within her chest and the fog in her head cleared. What god just visited me? she thought to herself. She grabbed for the necklace that laid around her neck and fiddled with it between her fingers as she sat in the grove, asking herself more questions than she arrived with.

                                                          ***

         “You know,” Ivy said to Mirel as they walked through the town, boots clicking against the cobblestones, “Navette thinks she saw something this morning.” She spotted her friend Grella off in the crowd, but she was too far away to grab her attention.

         “What kind of thing?” Mirel asked inquisitively. She didn’t quite let herself feel nervous, but the ends of her fingers still twitched in her hopes.

         “Something in the forest. I’m not sure what it was, and I’m not even sure that she knows what it was. But something was...wrong. Navette believes it was the skáiga.”

         Mirel sucked in a breath of air. Despite their shared research into the mythological beings, talk of the skáiga was rare, even forbidden in the college where they studied. The last mention of the shadowy creatures in all of Varyn was during the War for Xevura, twenty-two years earlier, when Queen Nolnial and King Ferahar disappeared. Ever since the war, the survivors of the tragedy blasted all mention of the skáiga from the textbooks and poems and sagas. Any talk of the skáiga was erased, replaced instead with a make-believe army from outside of Varyn coming to lay siege to Xevura. Some made jokes about the return of the Aeyrists, two eras and many centuries after their complete destruction, but this only served to exacerbate the absurdity of the entire tale. The devastation of the war and the disappearance of the queen and king was deeply felt all across the queendom, widespread fear and sorrow taking the place of joy and happiness. Did creatures of old actually attack the capital? Where was the queen and king? How long until the monsters, or the Aeyrists, come again?

         Mirel didn’t know how to respond. She knew that their findings were illicit, and the Headmistress of the college would even have them thrown out, but she couldn’t help but feel that her curiosity was piqued. Especially since the town crier had begun to, well, cry.

         “What did she see?” Mirel whispered to Ivy. “Where was it?”

         “It was in the forests just north of Osala. She said that as she rode through the forest, it was...dead. It was just dead, as if it were never alive to begin with. She saw something move through the trees and turned and fled back home.” Ivy considered mentioning her role in suggesting the skáiga to her sister, but decided to let Mirel form her own opinions.

         “How can that be? We’ve been researching them for almost a year now, and we haven’t found a damn thing. And now they’re showing themselves, near our home, and on Emystre? Why not Xevura? I don’t understand.”

         “Neither do I, but I can’t deny what she saw. My sister may be a lot of things, but she is no liar. We need to be careful, from here on out. I feel as if we are close to something, and I don’t want to see the skáiga befall our city. If that’s what this really is. If there is proof out there of something, I need to see it. I need to know that this is not all in vain.”

         Mirel lightly tapped Ivy on the shoulder with the back of her hand, staring off into the streets as Ivy’s words dissolved around her.

         “It’s him again.” She rushed forward, grabbing the sleeve of Ivy’s tunic and dragging her along. They stopped at the edge of the crowd that the crier had attracted, the gathered people curious and attentive at best and antagonistic at worst.

         “Osalans,” he shouted from underneath a pavilion's roof, “the time has come upon us! We can no longer trust the protections of the guards, of our queen, or even that of the gods! Why do you think the guards have come? Aye, there is a threat from another army, but ‘tis not the one that you think! The skáiga have returned again! The queen has ordered her troops to our cities to find them! If we don’t take action against them now, all will be lost! We must rise up! This is in our hands now!”

         “You don’t truly believe that, do you?” Ivy asked. She may have held the idea of believing in the skáiga, but she didn’t think that this was the truth of it all. It was happening too fast, too openly. He was mistaken. They all had to be. The skáiga were too quiet, too secretive.

         “I mean,” Mirel stuttered, and then gave up. The crier’s ranting continued, the words drowning out below the rising clamor of the crowd. “May I see that?” she reached out to an older lady who stood beside her, holding a pamphlet. She handed the folded parchment to Mirel with a friendly smile.

         “You can have it,” she said with a smile. “I have one at home. It’s better to be prepared.”

         Mirel shot her a half-amused smile and scanned through the pages. They contained detailed descriptions of the skáiga, drawings of the monsters, instructions on how to protect yourself (always carry a torch, don’t stray into the forest, never pick violets under a full moon), and further questions on what else Queen Ioelena (and thus the Lady of Osala) was hiding from their peoples, and why.

         “Come on, Mirel,” Ivy sighed, trying and failing to grab the papers away from her. “Let’s just enjoy the festival, alright?”

         “Like she said. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Mirel sighed and looked into Ivy’s eyes. “We’ve been researching this for a reason, Ivy. This could be of use later. Things are happening. I’m not saying the guy’s not crazy, but maybe he’s onto something. We have no way of knowing. Anything at this point is better than the straws that we’ve been grasping at.”

         Ivy didn’t know what to believe. Every turn that she took, she was met with evidence from another side. Monsters from ancient times, coming back to lay siege to their world? Unlikely. Highly unlikely. Maybe it really was just another army from another province, maybe the Aeyrists really had rebuilt themselves and returned, but Ivy was still suspicious of the circumstances surrounding that version of the story. Maybe the queen and king orchestrated the entire thing as a means of escape from something. A debt owed, a threat from another queendom, even a faked battle rooted in a desire to have their family and legacy leave the throne permanently without upsetting the customs and the way of Varyn. There were plenty of ways to explain their disappearance without involving mythological tales and stories. And despite all of that, she couldn’t disregard Navette’s story, nor those of the travelers that never spoke to each other and yet recounted the same details, over and over again.

         “What does Caelva think of all of this?” Mirel asked. “Does she even know? Do we want her to know?”

         “I don’t know,” Ivy sighed. She scanned the faces of the crowd before them and saw Caelva’s smiling face ahead in another crowd, talking to someone that she didn’t recognize. “I fear what she may do with this...information that we’ve been uncovering. She’s not a student of the college, and she may take the books and sagas and run with it. We could have a second town crier on our hands, and it would come back on us. If we get caught, especially with giving information and resources to someone outside of our studies, all of our progress will be destroyed. Or worse.”

         “What about her family? Has anything like this happened in Arselia?”

         “She hasn’t said anything to me, but I’m not surprised, either. Even if they did write to her, I have no way of knowing. She doesn’t like to talk about them, and you know as well as I that she cannot be persuaded.”

         “I don’t blame her, after they left like that. Come, Ivy, the rituals are starting. Like you said, maybe it’ll be the distraction we need. It is Emystre, after all,” Mirel said as she took Ivy’s arm and led her to the statues in the center of town. “Let’s leave it for another day.” She knew that Ivy was not a fan of religion, but she knew that it would help to offer at least a small sense of security and peace during a time of the unknown. To look to something benevolent for a change, even if it was nothing more than stone to her.

         Mirel led her forth, until they reached the statues of their pantheon decorated with flowers, strings of garland, and personal tokens. Everyone around them sank to their knees and the gothi began the invocations. Mirel dedicated herself to the gods, but Ivy was a creature of skepticism. She kneeled along with Mirel, but couldn’t devote herself like the others of Varyn could. She didn’t outright distrust the pantheons, but didn’t accept them either. And the gods would have to be okay with that.

                                                          ***

         The invocations of Emarya, Aela, and Fythaera had passed, and their statues lay covered in flowers, garlands, candles, and offerings of meats and fruits. They respectively reigned over spring, the hearth, and the skies, bringing blessings of the coming warmth and fertile rainfall of spring. Navette quickly whispered another late prayer to each of them before rejoining the group and Gwynnestri’s side.

         The sun had begun to set and the stars began to shine in the darkened sky, waves of constellations dancing together to a symphony beyond her comprehension. Navette looked up to the stars; their infinity held a strange sort of reassurance, of eternity watching over her. This night was but one against the many eras that had passed and have yet to come, and made the shadows of the morning feel less important against the backdrop of the eternal sky. Her heart still felt heavy with the darkness and words left unsaid, but she knew how to quiet it.

         Navette’s favorite festivals were in the autumn, but still, she loved the way that the communities and villages and cities celebrated the world and the turning of the seasons. Gwynnestri enjoyed herself the most in the spring and summer, and even though she wouldn’t say it, Navette admired her dance and celebration and raucous laughter. As Emystre turned into nightfall, she found that she didn’t really mind the coming summer’s heat all that much.

         The bonfire before Navette and Gwyn rose high and wide; no matter the season, the people of Osala were enamored with fire and all of its spiritual connections. It created, and then it destroyed, and then it created again in its inferno and blaze. Navette often found that she preferred the rainfall.

         She looked over to Gwynnestri, whose arms were raised high, clapping as she laughed at a performer and dancer duo in the square. Gwyn turned back to her and grinned, and Navette caught sight of a ring of purple where the wood and leather straps stopped and her skin began.

         “Oh, it’s not an issue,” Gwyn answered before Navette even spoke, looking away and back to the crowd before them. She never really grew used to that habit of Gwyn’s—even Ivy couldn’t know Navette’s words with such confidence before she spoke. “The arm isn’t fitting right anymore. I need to get it fixed, but that means...that means going back to Arselia. I’ll live.” Abruptly, Gwyn turned and pulled out the small bottle of wine from her satchel that she had displayed to Navette earlier. “Hey, see? I told you I could get it,” she said with a smile, all else forgotten, and pulled out the already loosened cork with a pop. She gestured towards Navette, who took a drink and found the sweet ambrosia soothing against her throat. It was a rare kind that Gwynnestri’s family sold only to the nobility at a high price, but one that Gwyn could easily get her hands on. Navette laughed and for a split second wondered at how it was possible to fit such an object into such a small purse.

         “Moscato,” she chuckled, and Gwynnestri grinned. Navette had finally remembered the name of the wine.

         Navette scanned the crowds before her while she stood by Gwynnestri’s side. She carefully looked for any sign of her sister but found none. She loved Ivy, and despite her promise to see her at the festival, still wanted to avoid her after the fight. Her eyes landed on Mirel, her simple silver circlet a stark contrast in her curled black hair, and her darker freckled skin radiant in the sunlight. Vitiligo encompassed Mirel’s mouth, her nose, her chin, and her inner eyes, as well as patches of her arms and legs at the edges of her dress. She was a friend of Ivy’s from the college, and Navette saw her excitedly talking with other friends and peers before the bonfire, the light illuminating Mirel’s face even further.

         “I wonder if Brecchi is here,” Navette whispered, half to herself and half to Gwynnestri. Her limbs tingled with anxiety at the thought of facing him once more. She dreaded the thought of him laying eyes on her again, but felt a twisted sort of hope that he would witness her happier than she had ever been as the damsel at his side.

         “Even if he is, pay him no heed. He is not worth your time, or anyone’s. Calling him a cow’s shit is an insult to all cows. You ended your time with him, and the power is still yours to wield. Even a year later. Remember that.”

         “I thank you,” Navette said, and bowed her head to Gwynnestri. “Here, hang on.” Navette momentarily left Gwyn’s side. She walked over to the basket on the stand, grabbed a handful of dried herbs and resins, and returned to her. “Here, for you,” Navette said, sifting bits of the mixture into Gwyn’s palms. They both happily threw the herbs into the fire with rapturous smiles upon their faces after saying a few words to the gods. As the herbs hit the flames, they crackled and sparked, and the sweet scents of the burning flowers hit their senses. The flames sparkled into a brilliant gold, and images of swans in flight danced among the fires.

         “People of Osala!” boomed a voice from Navette’s left side. She looked over and saw Lady Ibbet standing on a tall bench above her people, smiling, wearing a stunning dress embroidered with rose quartz and bits of flowers and a necklace made from similar stones and images. She held a bouquet of yellow roses in one hand and held the other outstretched towards the crowd. “Tonight, we celebrate Emystre!” The announcement was met with a roaring reply of applause and cheer. “Tonight, we celebrate the gods that have shaped and created our world and breathed life into our lands and our bodies!” She threw one of the roses into the fire, and sparks lit up in a trail after it as the flames roared with hunger and life. “We give thanks to those that watch over us day by day and protect us from what lurks in the darkness.” She threw another rose into the fire. Visions of Emya’s deer danced in the flames this time. “Tonight, we drink and laugh and love in the name of the gods! Let us never forget from where we come, and always honor that which we will return to! Let these fires blaze as a sign of unending life in this coming of spring!” The crowd roared before her, and a wide smile spread across her face. She threw the remaining roses into the crowd, caught by hungry hands, thorns ignored. The deer in the flames burst from their confinement, rampaging from the fire and into the streets, dissipating into the air before the flames could catch on the ends of clothing or dry wood. The whole of the crowd cheered and applauded raucously, and horns of ale were lifted in cheer and rapture.

         Orchestras performed on the outskirts of the bonfire after the Lady’s short speech, but suddenly one of the notes that passed in the air around them seemed off to Gwynnestri; a sharp pang in the ear when all else was smooth. She looked over, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

         Except for one player. He bowed his cello along with the music, but his eyes played a different song, one of darkened forests and shadows. She knew his face from her time in the orchestra with Navette but didn’t know his name. There was always something a little bit different about him, a little bit darker. But today, his eyes held an unusual shadow that she wasn’t accustomed to. Gwyn looked at him for a moment longer, but then dismissed it as nothing more than a trick of the eye.

         “I liked your fiddle better anyways,” Gwyn commented as she looked over to Navette.

“Oh, shush,” Navette scoffed at Gwyn as if nothing had happened.

                                                                  ***

         Ivy and Mirel walked side by side, quietly and cautiously continuing their discussions about the skáiga in the moments when no one else surrounded them. Ivy scanned the many faces of the crowd before her and found an oblivious Navette standing next to Gwynnestri. She watched as Gwyn reached softly for Navette’s arm but faltered and stopped before making contact. They left Ivy’s line of sight as the crowd churned. She smiled forlornly to herself.

         There is so much that you don’t know. Both of you.

         “Ivy!” came a call from behind her. Ivy turned and saw a beaming Caelva running towards them. This must be the first time that I’ve seen her without her axe. Caelva kept her place as an old friend of Ivy’s. She had left the royal guard in Xevura of her own accord, pardoned of any label of having deserted. Whatever had happened in Caelva’s time there, she didn’t let anyone know; every time someone asked, she gave a completely different reason and story. Often, her words were accompanied with a splash of cold water or frothy ale to the face of the querent. Ivy learned to live with her antics and unshared stories, just as Caelva had learned to live with Ivy’s gentle prods.

         “And how are you enjoying this fine eve?” Mirel asked Caelva sweetly, with a hidden edge under her words. Mirel cared for Caelva, but only because she was Ivy’s friend. The two were different species and kept well to their own realms.

         Caelva smiled brightly in return, oblivious to the slight. “Oh, it’s just wonderful. But I’ve been meaning to talk to you Ivy. I’ve been noticing some strange things,” Caelva said, quieting her voice as she spoke and taking a step closer towards her.

         “Like what?” Ivy’s suspicions immediately rose.

         “Things are getting...darker. Like the shadows are creeping into the sunlight without anything to cast them. It’s strange.” Caelva seemed wholly unbothered by them in those moments, which struck Ivy as peculiar. Either she was truly unconcerned, or worried beyond belief, and hid it very well. Either of which, Ivy preferred literally anything else. The former guard was not one to be taken lightly. Ivy’s heart began to speed up at Caelva’s words, growing nervous with all of the signs that lay around them in the clear air. How much longer until something happened? Had something already happened? What if Navette’s words really rung true?

         “Hey Ivy,” Caelva said suddenly, distracting herself from the previous conversation with a shake of the head and a short laugh, “don’t look so worried, we can talk about this later. Come on! Let’s go find Mjarli and see how she’s doing.” She grabbed Ivy by the arm and dragged her away, her thoughts dissipating like a fine smoke in the air.

                                                                  ***

         Navette stared into the fire before her with Gwynnestri by her side. Something moved deep within the coals, something that shouldn’t have been there. Images swam before her eyes, of fire, of shadows, of things she couldn’t quite identify. Voices rang in her ears, sounds jumbled together that she couldn’t quite pick out.

         Except for one.

         One voice that called out to her. It called her name, over and over and over, begging, screaming for help, for anyone to come to her aide.

         Suddenly, the voice was drowned out, and as it faded, the noises of the fire and the celebration and laughter dissolved, too. It was as if the voice was never there to begin with. Replaced in its silence was nothing. Darkness. Absence of anything. It rang loudly in Navette’s ears, a silent symphony of darkness.

         She heard other words, soft words in the ancient Varyish language that were half forgotten to history. She couldn’t make out any words she knew, only the soft chanting of that otherworldly sound. It was the same voice that whispered to her from the forest, that haunted her nightmares and refused to leave her when she tried to drown it.

         “Navette?” came Gwyn’s muffled voice, breaking Navette’s trance-like state. She blinked and suddenly saw the fire again before her eyes, that bright inferno that seemed now to be little more than ash and coals. “Navette, are you okay?”

         She took a step back and looked over to Gwynnestri. Gwyn stared at Navette with a look of concern upon her face, eyebrows crooked downwards and mouth slightly parted.

         “I’m...fine, yeah,” she stuttered unconvincingly. Gwynnestri delicately put a hand on the back of Navette’s shoulder, but quickly removed it. Navette shook her head and brushed off the vision with it. “I’m okay,” she said directly into Gwyn’s eyes with a false smile. “Just got lost in thought for a moment.”

         “Okay,” Gwyn said, accepting Navette’s response. She knew by now that there was no use in fighting her on it.

         Navette stared back into the fire and heard laughter around her.

         Navette slowly closed the door behind her as she walked into the darkened bakery. She hesitated and listened for a moment for any sign of Ivy, but heard nothing. She was either still at the festival or reading from her books on the floor above. Navette knew that her sister wasn’t one for the festivals, but also doubted that she would have left her friends early.

         She walked upstairs, careful not to make too loud of a noise to spook her sister, who was easily shaken at the slightest of noises.

         “Ivy?” she called out softly when she reached the top and gently pushed the door open. Ivy looked up from her journal to her sister’s eyes. “Hi.”

         “Hi,” Ivy repeated, unsure of what to say as the awkwardness blanketed the air around them. Newly lit candles decorated the surfaces of their home in the darkness of the early night, signaling Ivy’s recent return home. A moment of still silence passed, neither sister sure of what to say. In a swift, fluid motion, Navette sat at the table with Ivy, discarding her cloak to the side, and saw the deck of cards that rested by Ivy’s stack of books.

         “Tarot?” Navette asked, trying to focus her eyesight in the darkness with her mind drowsy from the wine. Ivy looked up with a glint in her eye and softly closed her journal.

         “Join. I’ll read for you,” Ivy said, and Navette smiled. The tension had lifted and passed.

         Navette’s memories of Nuari were limited and faded, but Ivy being older, had grown up knowing her and her pastimes. One of Nuari’s favorites, learned from the seers at Xevura where she was born, was teaching Ivy how to read from the cards, a skill that Ivy had then taught to her younger sister when she came of age. Navette struggled to remember every card’s meaning, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

         Ivy passed the deck to Navette. The backs of the cards resembled the bark of a tree with vines and branches weaving across the surface. Navette tapped the cards, waved them overtop a candle flame, ran her fingers delicately across the edges, split the deck into three stacks, and began shuffling them together. Ivy’s eyes focused intently on the cards and watched their motions. Mid-shuffle, a card slipped out of Navette’s hands, landing face-down on the table before her. Ivy’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity. Navette carefully set down the deck and flipped the fallen card over.

         The picture faced her. Illustrated was a spire that should have been reaching towards the sky, but rather was engulfed in flames and falling towards the ground. The Tower. Ivy quietly let out the shallow breath she didn’t know she was holding. The Tower was an omen of change; not good, not bad, but a place from which to start anew. Destruction, and then creation. Death, and then rebirth. Navette likened it to the saplings that grow after a forest fire—the same flames that the Varyish worshipped in the summer’s heat and the winter’s chill. Ivy’s eyes met Navette’s in silent conversation; you know what these cards mean. Find the answers. Navette decided to take the next two cards on top of the deck as well. Laid out in a row of three, with only the first card facing up, Navette flipped over the second and third cards. The Ace of Cups and The World. She stared and stared at them, unable to relate the meanings to anything that she knew. The Ace of Cups was a sign of new beginnings and relationships of all sorts, and was generally a positive omen that she took with a good, although anxious heart. They all wrapped together at the end with The World, signaling completion and finality and accomplishment. With a sigh, Navette put the cards back into the deck and shuffled them again for good measure. Whatever the true meaning of them was, it would reveal itself to her in time.

         Navette passed the deck back to Ivy. Ivy accepted it, going through the process of clearing it of energies and connecting it to her own in order to read for herself. Navette watched her pull cards as the candlelight flickered before them: The Tower, The Emperor, and The Queen of Swords.

         “What does this mean?” Navette asked skeptically.

         “I don’t know. It’s...interesting that there are two Towers. I don’t know what they mean, though.” Ivy sighed. That was the one thing that she didn’t like about tarot: the unknown.

         Navette thought about her own cards. The Tower was currently an element of uncertainty, but her heart knew where the Ace of Cups laid. She was just too scared to admit it to herself.

         And The World. Accomplishment and possibilities and finality. As with The Tower, she didn’t know where this card would lay down her road, but it lent a sense of hope and a light in the dark.

         Fate was a tricky thing, and they played with it nearly every night.

                                                                ***

         The sisters read each other’s spreads, pulling cards for one other and continuing the complexity of the layouts into designs of Varyish knots until the candles burned down into stumps. They bid each other goodnight, and Ivy took her book with her as she went back to her room. After changing into her shift, Navette sat on the windowsill in her bedroom, staring out at the town of Osala before her. The bonfire rose tall in the center of town, a giant spectacle of the people’s admiration for their gods. She yawned and her eyes began to water with her growing fatigue. She couldn’t quite make out the shapes of Gwynnestri and Grella in the crowd, but she took comfort in knowing that they enjoyed the last few moments of the roaring bonfire. Her last thoughts before falling asleep were the fleeting moments of Gwynnestri’s hand reaching for her back and of the intricate art that detailed the wood of her arm.

4.

The Tower

Osala

         Gwynnestri ran down the streets of Osala, screaming for Navette or Grella or a guard or some other friendly face. The whole of the town scrambled in the roads, a sort of madness that Gwyn had never seen. Tears began to well in her eyes as the dirt and smoke drifted through the air, and she roughly brushed them away with the heel of her hand while frantically looking for shelter. She found an abandoned shed and crawled inside.

         It was not long after Navette had left the bonfire that the turmoil began. Gwynnestri heard someone scream off in the distance, but the crowd around her was so large and so loud that she couldn’t be sure that it was from fright or from rapture. But then someone came running and pushing into the crowd, screaming about shadows in the forest. Just as the crowd began to take notice and realize that something was amiss, the bonfire before her roared and doubled in size, flames nearly licking Gwyn’s skin. She twisted back around in fear, imagining the dragon that lit its inferno, when suddenly the entirety of the towering, reckless fire was smothered in a fit of smoke within just a few seconds. The immense inferno died as suddenly as it came, and the heat was immediately replaced with a terrible cold and ash that filled Gwyn’s lungs and made her gag. The people of Osala that were still in attendance at the bonfire scrambled and dissolved into madness as the shadows began to descend like rain from the sky. They materialized on the fire pit, shapeless creatures that brought the cold and slumber of winter with them and made everything that grew around them twist and conform as they died. The trees immediately wilted, the leaves turning a sickly brown, and then a dead gray. Black sap reminiscent of molasses began to leech from the bark of the trees, crawling down their branches and pooling at the trunks.

         Not dead. Unborn. Never having been alive. Erased from all of Varyn. They descended upon Osala, latching onto anyone that they could find and destroying the buildings and establishments around them into ash and dust.

                                                                  ***

         Navette’s mind had barely drifted off into slumber as she lay on her bed. A crash sounded from outside the house, followed by a shriek. The thud reverberated through the floor, jolting her awake. It only took her a few seconds to adjust to the bizarre dancing lights displayed across the walls from outside the window, like the wings of a bird in frenzied flight. Navette thought that it was just the celebration carrying on into the night, the bonfire growing ever taller and the songs growing louder. She was frustrated about being awoken and surprised that the festivities had still continued into the late hours, but after burying her head further into her pillow and hearing another scream, she realized that something was wrong. Very wrong. This was not the normal celebration of Osala. Navette lifted her head and sat up to look out of the window and at the dwindling lights of the town.

         Osala went dark.

         Navette peered outside, frozen in shock. She lived with a series of personal rules; one being to never let fear hold her still, and in those eternal moments, she failed it. The world had become dark and malevolent—it was not the one that she had known. Shadows danced in the distance, and buildings fell and collapsed upon themselves all around the town. Where celebration was held and all forms of art displayed and performed not long ago, now lay destruction and terror and shadows of all shapes. Rapture turned to fright and death within moments. The library that her sister knew so well and the statues of the gods that lay just outside of it had crumbled to the ground, an act of sacrilege that the people of Varyn wouldn’t soon forgive or forget. A few hours ago, the Osalans were worshipping and dancing and singing songs of old around the fire in the center of town. Now, its light was completely extinguished, and their lives were held in the balance of fate, ripped from the hands of the gods themselves. People ran through the streets, seeking shelter from their crumbling homes and the danger that lurked just around the corner. Shouts and cries rang in the air as they searched for loved ones or simply tried to escape the inevitable. Children cried and somewhere a dog howled. The bright stars from above illuminated the world below enough for Navette to see the faces of the terrified people through her window, some she knew personally and others only by face. Blood trailed down their limbs and faces, from their own injuries or from helping others who were hurt in the fray. Another thud, and Navette saw the tailor’s shop down the street crumble down in a fury of dust and debris, not knowing if its people still resided inside.

         Navette forced her frozen limbs to cooperate, quickly belted on her trousers and tunic, and ran down the stairs to rouse Ivy from her slumber. It didn’t take long for her sister to realize that something was terribly wrong upon awakening.

         “I’m going out there,” Navette had to raise her voice over the commotion outside.

         “Navette, no, you can’t! We have to think this through.” Ivy tried to grab her sister’s arm, but Navette was quicker. “Dammit Navette, don’t be so impulsive.” As Navette ran down the stairs into the bakery, she noticed pieces of foundation from the floor above them falling to the ground like heavy snow in tandem with the blows from outside, as if the ground itself was being ripped apart. She opened the door as Ivy caught up with her and they both looked out to the scene before them; the shadows were closer and people still ran through the streets to safety, but now there were dark, howling figures descending. The skáiga. A thick black smoke coiled around the ground and seeped its infectious tendrils into Osala, trailing along in their footsteps and searching out before them. They took shadowed, almost human forms, but their movements were the opposite of human; they jerked and bent their limbs in unnatural ways that made Navette’s stomach churn. They came from the southern gates; a group of them leapt from roof to roof, and others paraded viciously down the roads. Some walked. Some crawled. Some slithered. The shadows struck a sort of primal terror at the core of Navette’s being. She suddenly saw the wood again before her eyes; the death that plagued the forest and the shadows that hid behind the hollowed trees. Except they weren’t like the shadows from the forest, from the day before or years before; they were so much worse. So much more real. A singular skáiga approached the hunter’s store, and although it held no weapons or tools, the edifice crumbled to the ground in seconds in a heap of dust with a wave of its arm. Navette covered her mouth to hold in a yell; the family inside had no escape from the collapse.

         “We have to go help,” Ivy couldn’t manage above a whisper, but Navette understood. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter by the far wall; she had never had any practice in swordsmanship or in combat, and the small blade laid unnaturally in her clenched fist. Ivy returned moments later with a dagger of her own and a cloak about her shoulders.

         “We need to go straight to the northern gates, as fast as possible. As soon as we’re away from here we can figure out a plan,” Ivy instructed. She placed a hand on Navette’s back.

         After seeing how close the skáiga were, and how real this scene before her was, all drive to run into the streets had dissipated from Navette’s body. The primordial horror in the streets seemed all too real. “I don’t think I can leave the house,” Navette whispered. Her life laid within these walls and abandoning them seemed little more than abandoning her own soul. The weight of the sacrifice had hit her. “It’s not safe, this is our home.”

         “We have to. This house can’t withstand this. We’re in danger no matter what.”
        “But I can’t!” Navette yelled back. She reached for the necklace around her neck. This house was everything that she had known, everything that she had ever worked for in this life. Even if it wasn’t all that she had dreamed of, even if she always wanted something more, it was her home. It was all that she had. She couldn’t leave it to be crumbled to the ground like the rest, reduced to a pile of ash when she had worked so hard to make it breathe on its own.

         “Navette! Do you want to die in here?” Ivy commanded, grabbing Navette’s shoulders, and Navette’s face paled and stilled. She sighed forcefully and lowered her head in acceptance with a deep sigh. Ivy grasped Navette’s hand in hers and they left the safety of their home for the last time.

                                                                  ***

         The air around them was thick with smoke, making it hard to discern the figures along the roads. The sisters ducked around trees and houses, blending into the thick gray around them to avoid detection from the shadows that infiltrated Osala. Ivy ran before Navette, occasionally stealing glances behind her to make sure that her sister still followed.

         Navette turned around, stealing one last glance at her home. A skáiga loomed in front of it, and her heart broke. The building began to crumble to the ground. Ivy grabbed Navette’s shoulder and spun her back around.

         “Navette, we have to keep going!”

         Navette just stood there, watching the house fall into the bakery below in front of her eyes. Before Ivy could say anything else to her, the skáiga that ruined their home materialized again in front of the sisters. A giant claw lunged towards them and swiped Navette across the shoulder with a growl. She screamed in pain and stumbled backwards as the claw ripped her skin and tore across her collar. Ivy instinctually swiped forward with her dagger with a cry, but it just passed through thin air, as if nothing were there. Navette recovered with a stumble, placing a hand over her wound, and gripped the knife harder in her hand. She went to Ivy’s back, wildly and frantically swiping at the air around her in hopes of hitting something.

         Suddenly, an axe broke through the shadows and swung near them, and it landed in the heart of the skáiga. It screamed a blood-curdling shriek and dissipated back into the air, becoming little more than a puddle of darkness at the sister’s feet.

         Grella stood behind it, gripping her axe as hard as she could and chest heaving as she recovered.

         “Navette!” Grella called out, stepping towards her, holding a torch in her other hand. Her hair was wild, and her left hand was covered in blood.

         “Grella! What’s going on?” Navette asked wildly, heaving in her pain, hand still clasped to her weeping and burning shoulder. She gritted her teeth, but the pain still showed clearly on her face.

         “I don’t know. The shadows came from the forest and smothered the bonfire. I don’t know what’s happening. They fear fire,” she panted, “but I don’t know how they extinguished the fire at the festival. It was too big. They must be more powerful than they appear, or something is helping them.”

         “What do we do now?” Navette had to almost yell above the commotion so that Grella could hear her, the shouts further tearing her chest apart in ribbons of pain. “Where are the guards?”

         “I don’t know. I think they’re with Lady Ibbet. Run to the gates. That’s where everyone is going, and that’s your best bet to get to safety. I wish that I had another torch for you, but I don’t. You’ll have to keep going, no matter what. Now is not the time to question this. We need to survive first.”

         Ivy grabbed for Navette’s sweaty hand, and together they ran as Grella turned away to fight the oncoming skáiga that saw the easy target. The sisters ran and ran and ran until they were out of range of the rest of the torches and hidden under the cover of shadow.

         A skáiga stepped out in front of them, and the sisters stumbled and halted in their tracks. Another one appeared, and then another. They wouldn’t stop, not until they were surrounded by darkness. Navette’s heart was beating in her throat. They lunged for the sisters, and everything went black.

Shadows churned before their eyes, and the only thing that either of them could feel were their hands clasped to one another and an intense cold that permeated through their skin. Navette couldn’t see Ivy at all; she couldn’t see anything. Her hand grew clammy and slippery, and before she knew it or could stop it, Ivy’s hand slipped out of hers. The cold dug through her skin and into her bones.

         “Queensdaughter, Queensdaughter,” Navette heard the whispers around her in the darkness. She bent her head down in self-preservation, and collapsed into a ball on the ground, baring her back to the unending onslaught. The only thing that she could do was reach for her necklace in a final grasp of hope; the last thing she wanted to think of was her home and the people that she loved.

                                                                 *** 

         Suddenly, the darkness around Navette began to dissipate. She looked up, eyes squinted, and saw a bright golden light piercing through the darkness.

         “Navette,” whispered a voice from within it. A form began to approach her; she could see a grown woman in a green gown and brown cloak, staring directly at her. A wave of happiness and longing washed over Navette as she looked straight at her, a combination foreign during the turmoil.

         “Navette, you need to leave this place. Follow me.” The woman was just over an arm’s length away. Although her voice was loving and distant, it displayed urgency. Something about her felt nostalgic and familiar. Some place within Navette’s soul, she knew she recognized her face. After a moment of focus, she found the strength in her limbs to push herself off of the cold cobblestone road. She walked past a dead guard on the road, but the sight didn’t catch her eye. She couldn’t look away from the apparition.

         “Come,” said the woman. She led Navette down the road, her green gown billowing behind her.

         “Who are you?” Navette could barely speak, but her voice travelled to the woman. It was only these two, and no one else in the town could break the aura: not even Ivy. The apparition didn’t turn, only lowered her head slightly towards Navette in sorrow as she led her on. As long as Navette kept her sights ahead, she was able to focus on the path that cleared before her and push on, despite the pain and the cold radiating from her shoulder. The woman took Navette just outside the northern gates to the stables where stood Maple, a firm bravery in her eyes where the other horses had fled. Once Navette reached her horse, the woman turned to her. With a trembling finger, she delicately touched the necklace on Navette’s chest, and looked up to meet her eyes.

         “Go. Go as far away as possible and help will find you. You will be safe. Become who you were meant to be, Navette.” As she spoke, her voice grew quiet and she began to disappear into the fog that lay around them. Navette opened her mouth to speak, but the woman was gone before she could catch her breath. Maple snorted impatiently as Navette mounted her and took off the moment she was seated. They ran endlessly down the road to an unknown destination. Maple’s hooves dug into the wet dirt, splashing mud up onto the edges of Navette’s pants and across her dappled fur. Osala continued to roar from behind, chaos and shadow churning as they travelled on. Navette’s eyes were blinded and her skin prickled as the growing wind and rain whipped around them.

         She laid her head down against Maple’s neck. Emotions welled inside of her, but the shock of the night stilled her. She could do nothing save from cling onto her horse and allow herself to be carried away.

                                                          ***

         She didn’t know for how long they rode. It may have been hours, it may have been days. Navette’s head pounded and her vision was clouded. Both her nose and Maple’s feet continued to run in the cold, damp air. Navette just sat hunched over on Maple’s back, staring into the trees but not seeing a thing. Her tears subsided after a while, replaced by the raindrops that fell from above. Not even a misstep from Maple or a strange sound in the wood could wake her from her state. The three moons and plentiful stars shone high in the sky, illuminating the trail before them through the branches of the towering trees that her mind turned into looming silhouettes.

         Her home, her sister, her friends, everything that she had come to know and love so dearly was ripped away from her and crumbled in shadows. Navette didn’t know where to go or what to do. All she wanted was to ask Ivy, where do we go, what are we supposed to do next, come on, you’re the smart one, figure something out!, but Ivy was gone. Navette didn’t know if Ivy had lived, but she didn’t dare consider the alternative. Ivy was her only family left. Maybe I was always meant to be alone.

         But Maple continued to run, even as the lands began to lighten with the impending sunlight. They were deep within the forest, long past any known road or trail. Navette didn’t know what direction they were going, but Maple seemed to have an unknown destination in mind. Navette began to give up fighting. She let exhaustion take over her mind, her limbs, her body. She gave up and broke her second rule.

         A shout rang in the distance, but Navette didn’t hear or acknowledge it. Someone on horseback rushed towards them, but she couldn’t tell who it was. It was all a blur.

         “Navette? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he shouted when he approached, concern apparent in his voice. Navette slowly blinked away the fog and recognized him as Gerrich; a traveler, storyteller, ex-royal guard, and friend of Nuari’s who often visited Osala. “Navette?”

         But she couldn’t say a word. Her mouth, her limbs, her mind wouldn’t obey her. She couldn’t stop replaying the scenes in her head of her home crumbling down before her, and she was helpless to do anything other than watch in horror.

         Gerrich led Maple onwards, and eventually the lights of the lanterns on the outside of his house came into view. He carefully helped Navette off of Maple’s saddle, and still not a word left her lips. Asmae ran out of the house, curious to see what her husband was doing and concerned when she recognized Navette. She ran up to them, helping Gerrich to carry Navette inside.

         They took her up to the second floor and sat her on the bed, wiping at the wound on her shoulder and wrapping it with fresh rags. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, and she could barely feel when Asmae took off her boots and removed the necklace from around her neck.

         “Gods above,” Asmae whispered as she touched the necklace, jumping back and almost dropping it but catching it by the chain.

         “What?”

         “The necklace...it burned me.”

         Gerrich took the necklace from Asmae and swore when it touched him. “We need to send for a guard.” His words were the last thing Navette heard before she slipped into unconsciousness.