We walk in silence beneath the stars. We carry neither lantern nor torch. About an hour beyond the village edge, a trail begins. I have never come this way alone - this road leads into the mountains. It is not a friendly region, though it lies beyond the tangled web of trade routes.
We do not say farewell. "From here, you go on," Virelda says, as if denying the truth that she remains behind. She lifts her hand from me. I nod and step forward into the darkness.
It is the new moon. The forest is darker than ever before - and safer, they say, because the beasts are calmer at such times. The amulet at my neck flares briefly as the undergrowth closes behind me.
I feel it clearly: something has begun.
The Call.
A winding path reveals itself before me, almost at once leaving the hunters' trail from the village. It does not climb yet, but I know it is only a matter of time before it turns steep. My road is not the hunters' road. Not now. Not ever again.
The stirring thought settles within me as quickly as silt sinking in shallow water. One certainty remains: this, too, was a trial - and I passed.
The forest's usual sounds grow louder, the wild filling with life. My path leads toward the heart of the wilderness for now; the trees grow ever larger, ever older. A fox slips past me, its tail nearly brushing the earth, ears flattened. It fears me, and yet it does not. We have no business with one another.
The trail bends suddenly; I nearly lose the direction. If only I had known this corner of the forest sooner! A spring rises among the rocks, its waters gathering into a pool. Several deer lie on the far bank, untroubled. The water calls to me, drawing me closer. As I approach, a figure rises from it. Not an elemental - more like a Changed... Yet when it comes nearer, I see it looks like me.
Mostly. Whatever it is, I had best not anger it. "Good evening," I greet it cautiously. Distracted, I step aside - but it follows. "Good for you? She helped you with nothing!" Its voice is like an echo, yet unmistakably mine. "What, exactly?" I ask, trying to discern the creature's nature. "Not what. Who. The crone. She didn't tell you the answer." The thing snarls at me as if personally offended. Across the water, the deer begin to stir. "I'm not sure I want to know." I try to soothe it. "Why aren't you angry? You have every reason to be. You, of all people. Aretha's blood is on her hands, too. She could have saved her - she has the power," it hisses bitterly. "It wasn't her duty," I protest, defending Virelda - yet for a moment the thought grips me: which of us is right? "She could have taught you so much more, yet she didn't. You could be as powerful as she is. Perhaps even more!" The last words rise almost to a shriek. The deer bolt. "I don't... I don't want to be powerful!" I burst out. I feel alone, as though I exist on a separate plane from everyone else. Who knows how long that feeling has lingered in me, unnoticed. "Then what do you want?"
Suddenly, its face is before mine. I never see it move. The sight is shocking. Despite the darkness, I see its features clearly. My nose. My eyes, though one of them is lighter. My mouth - but its ears are longer, its teeth sharp. It is like me. More precisely, it looks the way I might have looked.
Once, I overheard gossip about my parents. I was younger then; I understood so little of the world. I asked my mother - I remember now, her name was Aretha - what it meant when someone was Changed. They whispered my father had been. Mother said that was nonsense. She told me: "I think I would have noticed if he were one."
Perhaps she did not tell the truth. Perhaps a witch does not always tell the truth, and her reasons belong only to her. I look at the thing wearing the face I might have had and finally understand what it is showing me. This is not what might have been. This is what will be, if I let it. "No," I sigh. "Your anger stays yours. Take it, and carry it back where you brought it from."
The apparition dissolves. The clearing empties around me. Only a single thought trembles in the air: I do not want to be alone anymore.
The path opens once more. I see branches and vines shift aside to let me pass. Another trial ended - though I am not sure I passed it well. I feel worse than before.
As expected, the trail climbs now, steeper and steeper. If it continues like this, I may have to climb, and I brought no rope. Nothing to be done.
I stumble twice before I reach the rocks. The path winds before me like a vision; I know where to go, but not how. The ground is no longer safe. I must trust the Call. I notice the beast only when it is too late.
A wolf - at least just one for now. It has seen me too. It watches, poised to spring. I curse it and try to move away. The trail seals behind me. Ahead lies only a brutal, steep ascent. The wolf cannot see me because of the curse, but it hears well, and it smells. It has not found me yet - perhaps I confused it.
I repeat the curse to buy time. Pain wracks it, but the animal does not retreat. I throw the dried meat, hoping the scent will draw it off - and it does. It claws among the stones for the food while I haul myself onto a rocky ledge. It will not follow easily here.
I would gladly stop to rest. Virelda lets me practice magic so little; I tire quickly. I am glad I did not have to kill the wolf. In a few days, it should recover from what I did to it.
Below me in the valley, a howl rises. Several others answer. I must keep moving.
I reach a higher, more forsaken part of the forest. Ruins loom between the trees. Virelda once told me there had been an elven city in these mountains. I never imagined it lay so close to the village. Instinctively, I grow more cautious, scanning my surroundings. The path leads straight into the ruins. It must be nearing midnight. The new moon gives no light, and the trees are so ancient that in many places darkness is complete. Many animals take shelter within the protection of the old walls.
I can feel it clearly. Something is following me. It does not step out from the dark. It moves almost without sound. It does not attack. Perhaps that is a good sign.
The trail opens into a square. Even the trees keep their distance from the cracked flagstones. A perfect place for an ambush - yet nothing moves. "Show yourself!" I demand. I am unprepared for what follows.
The figure stands two heads taller than I am, four times as broad - and if the earlier apparition was not a Changed, this one certainly is. Like a moving shrub or a boulder, or some hideous union of both. It rushes toward me like a boar ready to gore. At the last instant, it halts, snorting and rasping, barely two paces away. Its eyes flash - that is how I know where to look for its face.
For a time, we study one another. Then I ask: "Is this your true form, or a curse?" "Curse," it growls. Slowly, I circle it. It does not move. It endures my touch. Beneath my fingers - I think it is an arm - it feels like bark. An ancient, dead trunk. "What did you do?" I step back. It is silent for a while. Thinking, perhaps. "I was unfaithful," it confesses at last. "It seems that was a mistake. Breaking a witch's heart is not a wise thing." It does not answer. We both know its punishment is worse than death. In this shape, it cannot walk among people. Whatever the curse has made of it, it looks terribly difficult to hurt. Even magic may not do much against that body. "What can I do for you?" "You... you can break it." "I don't yet know spells that complex. I'm only an apprentice," I admit, even knowing it might kill me for that answer. "You can. With blood."
I freeze. A maiden's blood. Of course. One of the oldest ways to break a curse, and one of the least convenient. Not much of that runs through the mountains - and a maiden only has it to give once. He does not need my agreement to take what would break his curse. Yet he waits for me to offer. "And what do I gain from this?" This is a bargain between two parties. It need not be one-sided. I am certain it will not let me simply walk away now. "It will bind us. I will be your protector. I will stay beside you. I will follow you." A thrall. I know what that means: a magically bound servant who bleeds before me and in my stead. It cannot harm me. It cannot stray far from me. By the pact, it must obey my commands.
An acceptable exchange. I break the curse - and I will no longer be alone. The Call has given me what I desired. When you really want something, it often backfires. "All right... How do we do it?"
My voice trembles with fear, but my resolve is final.
* * *
By the time I wake, the sun has already risen.
Once the pact was sealed, the magic binding us overwhelmed me, and I lost consciousness. The place where I come to is Eldric's lair. The cursed figure sits in the ruined doorway, his back to me. His appearance, it seems, has not yet changed - but the bond is forged.
When I stand, Eldric slowly turns toward me. He avoids my gaze because, in daylight, I can see exactly what he is. He looks most like a troll grafted into a tree. Not a pleasant sight, but I no longer fear him.
Magic has always helped my body recover more quickly than it should. After a few hours of rest, even the worst of my wounds have begun to mend. "Good morning. Shall we go?" I step beside him. "I will retrieve my weapons, if you allow it." "Lead." I nod.
He moves through the city as if he belongs here. All I must do is follow. I remember the cookies and begin nibbling, offering some to Eldric as well. He accepts the sweet with visible surprise.
His former equipment lies nearby, abandoned in a cellar. In his current form, he cannot use it. A beautiful breastplate wrapped in an enchanted, unworn cloak. A massive greatsword, ancient runes carved along its sheath, a crest upon the hilt - one he quickly hides from me.
There will be time. Over a lifetime, he cannot keep every secret.
When we step back into the open, I focus again on the path. As my amulet flares, Eldric recoils as though burned. "Is something wrong?" I ask, startled. Our bond lives, but it is faint. I do not feel everything he feels. "It's like a curse." I have no reason to doubt him, so I remove the amulet from my neck. At once, the path dissolves before my eyes. "I won't be able to finish the Trial without it. Somehow it's tied to it." The necklace returns to my throat. My companion accepts it.
I follow the path, the Changed one at my heels. He moves with incredible silence, yet his head turns constantly, scanning the wilds. He knows this land, so I slow my pace. Animals stir nearby.
Nothing else happens for a long while. The road leads us out of the city, through the forest, and into the mountains. Noon finds us among barren rocks. The wind carries the roar of water. A swift river lies close.
At the edge of a ravine, I stop. "We need to get down there," I say, pointing. "I'll take you," Eldric says, lifting me as if I weigh no more than a child. I clutch his neck in fright as the ground vanishes beneath me.
His four massive, clawed limbs find holds easily in the cracks of the cliff face. Where none exist, he carves them into the stone as if it were butter. Pebbles and dust rain down over us. I press my face into his neck - and before I can even comprehend it, we have arrived. He sets me down carefully and steps back.
I am still catching my breath when I turn again to the path. The river is not far, and already we hear it - the snapping of trees and a long, drawn-out scream.
I do not weigh possibilities. I move at once toward the sound. I halt atop another steep rock wall. Below us flows the river, and on its bank six trolls are trying to surround a girl not much older than I am. When our eyes meet, I understand. She is a witch-apprentice too.
Six trolls, however, are far too many enemies. "I want you to get her out - without fighting, if possible!" I order Eldric. But the very moment he begins to descend, I start my spell. Summoning the cloud of mist around him comes with painful difficulty. In truth, this is the first time I have ever attempted to place a spell with a personal radius on someone else. Our pact makes even that possible.
Magic and Eldric's silent movement do the rest. By the time the trolls realize what is happening, the girl is already atop the ledge with us. She is badly wounded and terrified half to death of my companion as well. "What's your name?" I ask, tearing strips from her tattered skirt to bind her claw marks. "Helga... My name is Helga." "I'm Morgana, from Duskhall. I don't recall us meeting before." "We set out from Oldgrove. Four of us," she sobs. I suspect she is the only one still alive. "You came far. You're on the other side of the mountains. If you follow the river, you should reach Redhill. Just avoid the trolls."
I have nothing with me to heal her wounds, so bindings and prayer must suffice. For witches, healing flesh - unlike for priests - is considered advanced magic. "That's Eldric. He's with me. He saved your life, by the way." I nod toward the thrall. "Thank you," she murmurs shyly, then adds, "That mist spell was beautiful." "A useful little charm," I say, pleased.
At last, we manage to get Helga onto her feet. When she starts toward the city, leaning on a branch, I turn my attention back to the path.
The rescue has taken us well away from the direction appointed to me. The land itself seems to guide us along the shortest route back to it.
We pass near the lair of a beast - judging by the remains, a large predator. Eldric closes in behind me, ready to spring. The setting sun sketches another ruin ahead of us. This one looks nothing like the elven ruins we left behind.
Runes of the ancient tongue adorn the stones. Of the two of us, only I understand them. They were not raised at random. It is a sealing ward.
At first, the answer seems obvious. A fallen tree has shifted one of the pillars. The seal is broken, and whatever it held is gone. Silence reigns around the standing stones. Whatever was imprisoned here has left this place.
Together, Eldric and I set the disturbed stones back as best we can. It is little more than preparation, but if I find what escaped, perhaps there will still be a way to use this place again. Now I understand why the Call has brought me here.
Something escaped from this place, and somehow my amulet is connected to the seal - or to those who created it. Perhaps this is what the Trial expects of me. Find what escaped. Find some way to put right what has been broken.
While Eldric, without being asked, prepares our camp - a bed of leaves and moss - I place the necklace upon the stone that bears the faded words of the ancient spell. The amulet is cold. Not merely cold. It feels as though it remembers something I do not. The forest does not fall silent. It slips out of tune. Crickets chirp in a rhythm that feels subtly wrong. Leaves tremble against the direction of the wind. Behind me, Eldric's movements slow. He sits beside the fire, staring into it as if everything around him has become distant.
The runes do not flare. Instead, they begin to fade backwards. Meaning slips from the ancient marks. Beneath them, something else emerges: younger scars in the stone. Not runes. Directions. Three lines point away from the circle. Only one makes the amulet answer.
A deep vibration passes through it, almost too faint to feel, yet somehow it resonates inside my chest like a struck tuning fork. And suddenly I know I was wrong. The prisoner did not simply escape. It awakened. It did not tear its prison apart and flee. Something called it.
I turn toward the fallen tree. The damage is no accident. Among the stones caught in its roots, I find a smooth shard broken from the prison itself. When I touch it, I see no image. I feel intent.
Whatever was imprisoned here is not seeking destruction. Not revenge. It is looking for a place.
Then the amulet answers me. Not with a voice. With a memory that is not mine. Another forest surrounds me, older and denser than this one. Figures stand in a circle. I cannot make out their faces, but they are not all alike. And hanging among them - my necklace.
No. Not my necklace. Another like it. Then another. Mine was never alone. The realization comes slowly and unpleasantly. The amulet is not a key. It is a beacon. For one terrible moment, I feel the connection stretching away from me toward something I cannot see. And something at the other end. I fear the connection is mutual.
Before the memory releases me, I see one final thing. An old boundary stone covered in moss. Upon it, cut much later than everything around it, is the symbol of the Inquisition. They did not create this prison. But they knew about it. And they took something from here.
When the world settles around me again, the fire is barely glowing. Eldric has fallen asleep beside it. The amulet is warm now, as if someone has held it tightly for a very long time. The stone beneath it has split in two. So much for my simple plan.
I stare at the crack. Even if I find what left this place, I cannot simply bring it back and restore the old spell. Whatever I do next will require more than putting a few stones back where they belong. Virelda would probably have something irritating to say about that.
I look again toward the old mark of the Inquisition. They were here. They knew about the prison. They took something. Did they wake the creature? Did they call it? I cannot know.
