The kitchen had a small bay window that looked out into the forest, the wash basin sitting below it. I often found myself standing there, staring out into the forest, as if the magic of the forest was constantly calling to me. Kitty-corner to the window was the wood-burning stove. Hanging from the wooden beams above the kitchen were numerous dried herbs and plants. The countertop was cluttered with recipe books, a mortar and pestle, and numerous empty glass tincture bottles. I picked them up and moved them over to the chipped and worn wooden table in the corner, beside the discarded towel-wrapped chains from the previous night. When my grandmother was alive, we would sit and eat breakfast here every morning. It was where we gathered to share bits about our day. Now it had just become another surface on which to store my tools of the trade.
In the centre of the kitchen, underneath an old rug, was a door to an underground cellar. Down in the cellar was where I kept most of my healing aids and supplies. While it was very rare that anyone came out this way to visit, I couldn’t justify leaving it all out in the open. I couldn’t trust the majority of those around me to keep my work secret.
After I cleaned up the countertop and put the items from the table down in the cellar, I took a quick inventory of all the elixirs, tinctures, and various other healing aids I had on hand. It turned out I was almost out of a lot more than just the moonshade, which meant adding another task to the list of things to do today: go into the village and pick up some supplies from Magda’s shop.
I hated going into the village and having to endure the weird looks and whispers sent my way. I was not as warm and approachable as my grandmother, and that made me a bit off-putting to the other villagers. Regardless of my feelings about the villagers, I always enjoyed visiting with Magda. She knew everything that was going on, whether it was in the Southern Territory or the NorthernTerritory. She always had juicy gossip to share, and I was always a willing listener.
Shadow’s Gate was a small village in the Northern Territory of the Fairview continent, aptly named, as it was nestled at the entrance of the Umbra Valley, shadowed by the colossal Mount Morningstar, whose blast-mark-covered surface was a constant reminder of what I had lost before I had ever had the chance to love it. Half-surrounding the village was the moody Nightwood.
Walking toward the village square was wet and treacherous. The pounding rain made the sloping cobble walkway slick. Given my recent luck with physical activity, it would surely only be a matter of time before I found myself planted on my butt on the wet stone. Not that anyone residing in the humble stone-and-wood homes would bother themselves to check if I was hurt. I coughed from the constant stream of smoke that poured out of their chimneys and nestled in the pathways. Another reason I disliked the village.
As I approached the village square, the shouts of haggling merchants, the clinking of mugs, and the hushed secrets being shared filled the air. The scent of woodsmoke, fresh bread, and pine lingered above, blending in with the dampness of the mist from the Night-wood.
At the north end of the village square sat an unwelcoming squat stone fortress. Set atop the menacing structure was a quartz star—the symbol of the Children of the Celestial Mothers. On the surface, it was King Alexander who ruled this continent, but in practice, it was the Cult of Children, as I secretly called them. Their restrictive doctrine was constantly changing, making life difficult for everyone, especially me. I found it hard to believe that the Celestial Mothers would approve of their actions most days. They bullied and belittled the women of this continent and said they were doing so in the name of the goddesses, Nyxenia, Vikteriya, and Maxxis. It was all a pile of bullshit, as far as I was concerned. It was insecure men usingfaith to push their own agenda. If Nyxenia were truly watching over all of us, like the Children claimed, she would have wiped them all off the face of this realm by now.
Scattered along wooden lampposts and businesses were crudely drawn missing posters. Shadow’s Gate was the largest village in the Northern Territory, which meant that a lot of people visited from smaller villages. The constant flow of people in and out made it difficult to keep track of who was coming and who was going. According to village lore, the Nightwood was cursed, and any who entered were kidnapped and taken by any manner of mythical being: fae, mountain goblins, gremlins, or even half-man, half-horse creatures. Personally, I didn’t believe it, for numerous reasons. The first being that I had been in and out of the Nightwood so many times, and not once had I been taken hostage by a mythical being. Some people came here to escape. Life in the North was hard. All manner of people came here and paid a lot of silver to be taken away to the Southern Territory—I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered doing the same. They wanted to be lost and never found.
As I entered Magda’s shop, the powerful scent of citrus and balsam eagerly greeted me. I held open the door for a young woman leaving the shop. We nodded at each other, a silentThank youandYou’re welcomeexchanged. It was how most of my interactions with village folk went during daylight hours. Just enough to be polite, but not enough to draw any real attention to myself.
“Ah, my sweet child! Finally you come!” Magda boomed from her perch on her stool behind the counter as soon as I gently closed the door to the shop.
Magda had been a close friend of my grandmother’s for as long as I could remember—so close that when my grandmother had passed away twelve years ago, Magda had taken me in and made sure that I was looked after. She was an elderly woman from an island off the coast of the Southern Territory, who many years ago had made herway up to the North for a visit and never went back. Within a year or so of relocating, she opened her apothecary and had remained a village mainstay ever since. Given the growing influence of the Children of the Celestial Mothers over the years, her business was something that had become increasingly difficult for her to maintain.
She was just a little thing, with a dark tan face full of deep-set wrinkles and fiery dyed hair. I liked to joke with her that she looked like my small, elderly child when we were standing next to each other—a joke she never really cared for. Her eyelids were always lined with a thick layer of charcoal that made her ice-blue eyes pop even more. No one aside from Magda knew exactly how old she was. Regardless of her age, she was full of the kind of fire and spunk that people less than half her age wished they possessed. She was also not someone that one should ever try to cross—I had seen her toss men who easily had two feet and a hundred pounds on her out of her shop for using the wrong tone with her. She was tiny and terrifying. I loved her deeply.
“What do you mean, finally? I was just here last week.” I threw my arms up in a defeated gesture as I removed my soaking wet cloak and hung it on a rack at the door.
“You could come see me each day, and it would not be enough. You know that.” An exaggerated pout formed on her lips, really hitting the point home that I didn’t visit her enough.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a weird week. Too much is happening.” I approached the counter, looking around to see if anyone else was in the shop. “Is there anyone else here right now?” I whispered.
“No. It’s just us. All my shop staff are out making deliveries.” A mischievous look spread across her face, as if she knew the conversation was about to get far more interesting.
“How have things been here? Any movement?”
Magda reached down and dropped a small velvet pouch onto the counter. “Here is all the copper from the last two weeks.”
When I picked up the pouch, it felt noticeably lighter than in previous weeks. “I’m assuming things aren’t going well, then.” My brow furrowed.
As a way to make currency, I sold healing remedies in the guise of bottles of bathing oils and tea blends at Magda’s shop. It was meant to be a way for the village folk to take care of themselves without risking suspicion from the Cult of Children. It was a mutually beneficial relationship—one that seemed to have recently developed a complication.
“No. I meant to talk to you sooner about this.” Magda’s gaze hardened. “It would appear that someone has tipped off the Children of the Celestial Mothers about what we are doing. Their presence within the village has become… more forceful.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Villagers found in possession of your aids are being punished.” Sadness spread across Magda’s face.
My heart dropped. If they knew what was actually being sold in those bottles, then they must have a clue about everything else I had going on. “Do you know how they found out?”
“No. That is the part I can’t figure out.” Her hands clasped together as she took a deep breath before delivering another blow. “There is more.”
I stared at her, waiting impatiently for her to continue.
“Your last order, the one with the pennyroyal tea. It won’t be coming.” Magda’s eyes narrowed as she blew air through her lips.
“What do you mean? Has something happened to Wyatt?” Annoyance started to build within me.
“Aside from having his heart broken?” She grabbed her chest and made an exaggerated gesture of pain. “No. He is fine.” All humour drained from her face.
