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Yet as I gather myself to head out, all I can imagine is Iestyn’s lips curling into a satisfied smile.

18

I know something is wrong before I reach the elder tree.

The signs are impossible to ignore: the rapid tightening of my stomach, the ghostly shiver down my back. It’s a precognition I never asked for, never wanted. It takes me back to that day at the church, the day I lost everything.

As soon as I feel it, I halt. In front of me, a wild meadow slopes gently towards the edge of the wood. I can barely see the treeline, so thick is the mist creeping in from the moors. Anything could be lurking there out of sight.

I slide my hand around the hilt of my rapier. I don’t need to draw it yet, but knowing it’s there gives me some measure of comfort against the unease that has fallen over me. Whatever is waiting in those woods, it won’t catch me defenceless. That much I can count on.

The grass is long and glistening with dew as I traipse on. The air is as still as it was back in Caelfeld—no breeze stirs the veil of mist between me and the trees. I approach cautiously, half expecting something to leap from the shadows, but the tension stiffening my muscles is for nothing. The only thing disturbing the silence out here is me.

Still, I can’t lower my guard. The cold grip of dread around my heart hasn’t slackened, and I know what it means. The shadow over Caelfeld has spread to this grove.

As I move into the trees, the mist scatters, replaced by darkness. The wood isn’t particularly large, but its trees stretch tall, their branches thick. What’s left of the waning daylight fades under the canopy of gnarled branches and needles of pine and yew.

It doesn’t take long to find the elder tree. It’s hunched amongst the evergreens, feather-shaped leaves hanging precariously from its branches. And there, dangling in clusters of purple so dark they look black, are the berries I saw in my vision.

A chill seeps through me. I told myself I was done with Iestyn, but here I am. I’ve gone exactly where he sent me, done exactly what he wanted.

No, I tell myself, gritting my teeth. This isn’t for him. It isn’t even for Henry. It’s for Alice. For the husband who mourns her.

I move towards the elder tree. Its grey-brown trunk is stout and marred with knots and creases. What it lacks in height, it makes up for in branches splitting and spreading from its core, each one laden with serrated leaves and ink-black berries. No wind rustles through its boughs. It stands still and soundless, observing me as I inch closer.

“Elder Mother.” I sink to the soil, one knee nestling amidst the fallen leaves. “I am searching for a woman who passed through here. Her name was Alice.”

Only silence answers me, and I fear I am mistaken, that no spirit lives within the bark of this elder. Then something rustles, and I look up to see the leaves stirring, though the air remains still. Something is waking in the trunk, a low groan trembling from the tree’s roots to its highest branches. It sounds like a song.

My heart leaps. I was right—a spirit lives in this tree, protecting this grove. If Alice was here, the Elder Mother must have witnessed what happened to her. I need to convince her to tell me.

I fumble in my coat and find my pocketknife, opening the blade with a flick of my thumb. The metal meets the skin at the nape of my neck, and I swiftly slice through a lock of hair, watching as it falls away in my hand.

“A piece of me, given freely.” I approach one of the low-hanging branches and tie the smooth strands around it, weaving the ends over the thin, spindly twigs.

I wait. If the Elder Mother wishes to help me, she will. If not, there is little more I can do. Were I to attempt to force the answer out of her… I shudder at the thought.

After a while, the leaves rustle again, filling my ears with their fluttering. The branches sway, releasing a strange, sad moan. The elder tree is in distress—I can hear it. What has it seen?

I don’t need to wait long for the answer. Before I understand what’s happening, my limbs grow heavy, and I collapse to the green-brown carpet beneath my feet. I can’t move. It’s like I’ve grown roots, my body trapped in the soil. My eyes are open, but I am blind. All I can see is darkness.

Look, the leaves whisper, and I know innately that it’s the voice of the Elder Mother. Look through my eyes, child of flesh and bone.

Then, with a burst of colour, I can see again. I’m staring at myself, knees buried in the dirt, eyes glazed. I am the roots pushing through the soil, the leaves hanging over my head. My gaze is everywhere.

I’m looking through the eyes of the elder tree.

Time ceases to exist. My leaves are verdant and green; they are shrivelled and falling from my branches. I boast flowers, then fruit, then nothing at all. I am decades of seasons all at once. I am a sapling sprouting, a spirit taking her home in these branches and boughs.

I see it all. I see Alice.

She’s running through the meadow, skirts flying around her knees, tangled braids whipping behind her in the moonlight. A deep scratch mars her flushed cheek, and her elbow is grazed and bloody. She’s gasping, but she doesn’t stop until she reaches the treeline. Only then does she risk looking over her shoulder. Something is hunting her.

Even in the elder tree’s memories, I can’t help the dread washing over me. Alice’s tear-stained face is frightfully pale. Her lips are trembling, her skin prickled with gooseflesh. She knows what’s coming. She’s seen the monster stalking her, the nightmare made real. If she’s managed to escape, it’s only because he let her. He’s playing with her, her fear whetting his anticipation.

It’s Elric. It has to be.

Alice is standing where I am kneeling now. Our bodies drift through each other, two women caught in time. Both of us trying to outrun something we can’t escape. She reaches for one of the branches, and the elder tree bows to her so she can grasp a handful of berries.