His Dark Embers: Dream Walker Series, #1

By K.C. Jorgensen

She thought it was all just a dream, until it became a nightmare...

When a 17-year-old empath escapes her reality by slipping into her dreams each night, she believes everything she sees is just a figment of her imagination. Except the powerful man in Mariel's fantasies is no imagination. His magical realm is quickly merging with hers, and if he crosses over, he'll compel everyone to their bloody knees; including her. But the sorcerer isn't the only threat to Mariel's lands. A terrible clan is ravaging the villages from coast to coast, enslaving everyone in their wakes. Mariel will acquire abilities she never thought possible, and discover allies she never anticipated. But she must find a way to prevent the merging of the two realms, defeat the sorcerer, and free herself from the Katahl enslavement before she dies at the end of it all.

Embark on a fast-paced journey amid the 12th century where swords clashed and darkness reigned! But not for long...

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Empress of Light
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224576807

K.C. Jorgensen

K.C. Jorgensen is a new fantasy author exploring her hand at storytelling. She has a passion for Celtic music, healing, and the deep intricacies of life. When she isn't scripting down her fantasies, she can actively be found striving to bring them into reality, or cuddling her little ones. Jorgensen thanks you for visiting her little corner in the world, and encourages you to utilize the 'look inside feature' to see if her works are your cup of tea.   May you be blessed to discover your greatest fantasies and live them!  <3 MBTI: INFJ Human Design: 2/4 Manifestor Favorite childhood films: Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean, Sahara

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Mariel

The thrumming in my chest surged as I scanned the tree line. He was close, incredibly close. I could feel him. My grip tightened on the rough hilt of my crude blade, willing the weight of the long sword to steady the tremor pulsing through my arm. But a jolt seized my throat, nearly closing off my air entirely as my eyes trained to the far right.

Darkness, thick and brooding, pressed forward from the concealment of the trees as the midnight-cloaked figure revealed himself amongst the shadows. Solid, square shoulders tapered into a firm frame, concealed entirely in a single black billowing mass as he moved solidly, determinedly down the grassy slope in my direction.

The late evening sun only elongated his reaching shadows as a midnight-gloved hand arched towards the man's head, yanking back the dark cloth to expose his features. Raven locks crested downward from the crown of his head, reaching toward the slope between his neck and shoulders. A knowing smirk cut across his jagged face, accentuating the sharp angles at the bridge of his nose and across the line of his jaw as he regarded me. But it was his eyes that seized what grip I had left within me and demanded my attention.

It was impossible to tear my gaze away from the inkiness that swerved and shifted in those irises like smoke beneath glass. Dark and penetrating, their unnatural sheen mirrored against his olive skin, sending a pounding through my chest as they locked with mine.

Couldn't stay away, could you? he mocked, not breaking stride. His tone was smooth, melodic, vibrating in my ears as he neared. A sharp ringing sounded through the thicket as his otherworldly blade left its sheath, and my eyes flicked downward. The metal in his hand reflected near transparent, and fiery jewels ordained the handle with a shimmer of their own. It was unlike anything I had ever beheld among my own people.

Seized in my trance, I barely brought up my blade in time before his sword struck against mine. The force of it nearly knocked me to the damp earth, and my boots stumbled backward over one another as my sword screeched terribly beneath his. Grunting, I slid out from the weight of the steel, undercutting and bringing the length of mine to strike beneath his chin.

The man deflected easily, shoving his towering figure against mine as his smirk ever grew. Pivoting in the cropped grass, our blades smacked near my face. His midnight cape drifted behind him in the hint of a breeze as those swirling eyes danced with amusement.

He swiftly retracted his blade, bouncing it to the palm of his left, dominant hand. I knew the maneuver with exactness, and my core braced as he attacked more forcefully, quickening his strikes.

Fire brimmed through my veins at the challenge, igniting a tombed part of me that only revealed herself here. A near-equal split of fear and excitement consumed me, but he was quick—terribly quick. A blow struck down swiftly overheard, and I barely caught it, stumbling to a knee. Another strike spiraled down just as fast, the force of it knocking me entirely off my feet against the soft earth. I tumbled into a roll, exposed mud saturating the knees of my leggings.

You can't run, Mariel... he taunted from behind, and the beat in my chest sped away on its own as I spun to face him. He was on me in an instant, and with a short flick of his sword, hot fire danced across the bridge of my left hand. My breath hitched as the blade fell from my grasp, toppling against the wispy grass.

A dark gleam crossed the man’s face as he jutted the tip of the sword near the flesh of my throat. Yield, he hissed, triumph latent in those eyes. The swirling within them intensified, and the fire within me soared in unison.

I shook my head, my fiery-red locks whipping across the length of my shoulders. Excitement at this new level of engagement rose steadily in my chest like a rushing tide. No, I breathed, flashing a defiant grin I wouldn't dare reveal anywhere else.

A flame stoked in those wisping irises. I wasn't asking, he growled dangerously, almost too dangerously for my liking. I shrugged it away, triumph replacing the tremor in my center. This was always my favorite part of the whole encounter—my guilty pleasure. I couldn't suppress a grin at the side of my lips as I closed my eyes, drifting from the scene entirely.

Breath expanded sharply through my lungs as my eyes flew open to meet the dull presence of the straw ceiling. I was awake.

My gaze lazied down the thin stick walls, abhorring the break of dawn leaking through the imperfection of the strung timbers. Blinking away the residue of my sleep, I was unwilling to shift into full consciousness as particles floundered carelessly on a breath of wind to my right, and sadness crept into the edges of my mind. It was morning. But I wasn't about to relinquish my fantasies just yet.

The pinched muscles in my face relaxed as I allowed my thoughts to drift back to the scene in my sleep: my never-ending quarrel with the man in black. I had retreated to find sanctuary in my dreams long ago, when it had become apparent that the world before my eyes would never satisfy my deepest desires. Sliding an arm beneath the back of my thin, flaming-red hair, I strung its flattened weave out from between the confines of the bedding.

I had invested so much wasteful time in my fantasies that I had begun to master them. My world had forever changed one frigid night when I came to the realization that I was dreaming before I even awoke. From that moment on, I began to manipulate and experiment with whatever materialized in my head space.

Crippling night terrors transformed into amusing encounters as I navigated my sleep without care, knowing I would eventually wake and I was never in any real danger. It was empowering. My slender fingers grasped the edges of the worn wool, pushing it away from my face as my thoughts fixated on the man in my fantasies. What would happen if I allowed the recurring dream to last a bit longer next time? What if it didn’t end every time I was defeated?

The crowing of a fowl filled my ears, forcing my spirit back into reality. I slid out from beneath the animal skin and propped myself on the edge of the bed in hesitation. I longed to go back to sleep, back to the dreaming world where I felt significant, powerful, alive...none of which I ever felt when I was awake.

Finally, the crisp chill of the morning was motivating enough, and I shifted through the narrow space to the foot of my bed, reaching down to the tree limb table. Space wasn't a commodity we indulged in, and apart from sleeping, I hardly spent any time in this room or under my own roof. I feared the suffocating walls would collapse in on me one day.

Ignoring the oblong dust-covered metal meant to give me a glance at my appearance, I brushed through the tunics piled next to it and their accompanying breeches. Unlike the flattering dresses my mother preferred, I wasn't to be caught dead in any frilly thing of the sort. I selected my favorite olive-green tunic and tight-skinned dark leggings, quickly slipping into them before putting on my boots.

Giving no attention to my hair, I tossed the loose braid from the previous morning over my shoulder, the freed hairs tickling my face. Extending a hand toward the woven wall on my right, I grasped my resting blade and its leathers. Tightening the makeshift belt around my waist, my gaze lingered on the uneven hilt; the way it melded roughly into the blade. It wasn't a picture of beauty by any sort, but neither was I, and I loved it more than anything.

I recalled the way my father had looked at me, the excitement and twinkle in his eye as he had placed the blade into my 15-year-old palms. I had begged him for a sword of my own, a real one after I had spent too much time sharpening and carving childish sticks of my own. With either pity or embarrassment, he had finally ordered the village craftsman to forge a blade for me, much to the disdain of my mother.

Retracting my hand from the comfort of the hilt, I reached down to grasp my bow and quiver nestled against the floor. Intricate patterns of leaves and swirls swept up the curved weapon, carved by my own hands. Standing tall, I brushed the fur pelt draped in front of me aside to expose the larger room. Dust fluttered lightly beneath my boots as they met the bare floor.

Aye, she lives, a woman's beautiful voice sang to my left.

Shouldering the bow and sling of arrows across the back of my figure, I rested the taut string against my chest. Morning Mother, I attempted to reciprocate her cheerfulness.

The living space around us was three times the capacity of my own room, stretching itself in a rectangular fashion. Slivers of light illuminated the darkness, and rising embers from a stone-circled pit lay at the far end of the room on the opposite wall. A bear pelt drooped to the left of it and my gaze lingered there, wishing there was a man on the other side of it. Father. Tattered rugs spread themselves across the floor surrounding the flames.

My gaze swept back to the busy woman, a large rectangular table between our figures. A 10-pointed star was painted on its center in shades of the sun, fire, snow and earth. A long, wooden counter space hugged the wall where the woman stood with her back turned to me. Intent played in her chest, and I tilted my head, intuiting that it had to do with what was in her grasp. Her shoulders moved up and down as her hands worked in front of her, and something sweet and nutty teased my nose.

Mother turned her head toward me, her beautiful brown coils cascading gently over her shoulders and catching the morning light pouring in directly in front of her. I've made you some cakes, she announced, pausing to motion me toward the table.

I dipped my head in silence, distracted by the stray ends of my tunic I had neglected. Attention to detail had never been my focus, and I wondered if it was partially why I had never drawn the attention of a man, or anyone else for that matter. But I hardly cared as butterflies began forming themselves in my stomach. I busied myself with tucking the green fabric into my leggings as I worked to conjure up an excuse to dismiss myself. It was any bit of luck that she was here this morning before I could make a swift exit.

Thank you, I cleared my throat. I'll eat them after my hunt.

Her body stiffened, disappointment jutting painfully from her chest into mine. I resisted a wince as she spun to reveal the mound of dough in front of her, her fingertips seized in its moist folds. Mariel, you can't go out without something filling your belly.

I froze, attempting to calculate her next words by the emotions shifting within her. Eventually, I extended a hand in compliance toward the table between us, eager to avoid any further conversation. I'll take them with me.

Her striking blue eyes dimmed. But even when Mother was upset she was beautiful, and it wasn’t near fair. The woman made no attempt to hide her disappointment as she moseyed to the table, wiping her graceful fingers against her clinging, mulberry-colored dress. The beautiful fabric reached her wrapped ankles, accentuating each of her curves in a perfect mold.

Two small, steel loops coated in gold met each other in a twist at the middle of her chest; a broach in the shape of an infinity symbol. It had been a gift from Father—a symbol of his wealth as tribe leader, and his never-ending love for the woman at his side. A thick stretch of glass beads circled her neck, and a near match encompassed her right wrist.

Serenely, she plucked the two cooked mounds from the table. Don't neglect the horses and the mending of the sails. She breezed lightly to her right, grabbing a thin cloth and wrapping the cakes.

I won't, I murmured, the beat in my chest increasing with my growing desire to leave without another word. Her curvy figure sauntered around the table bearing the expertly woven package, and I couldn't help but stare in envy. She was a stark contrast to my seemingly wide shoulders and narrow hips, and I wondered how I could have descended from her at all.

And don't forget Elaine's crowning ceremony tonight. She's invited all the clan. A stab emerged through my gut, constricting my heart as I took the cooked mounds from her delicate hands.

Mmhmm. I turned toward the doorway. Elaine was not a moon's cycle older than I was, and her 18th celebration only meant that mine was just around the bend. Except Elaine had already been spoken for, for an entire season. She had been sure to rub her love-stricken face into mine as she had paraded that cheeky young man around with her the last several cycles.

You are going, aren't you? Mother's honeyed voice sounded behind me. Dread threatened to eliminate all prospects of my digestion as I gave a half-shrug. I dearly wished to be outside of these walls and away from her; from everyone...

Perhaps, I answered quickly, moving toward the draped skin.

Mariel... purposeful sternness strained in her tone, but I felt her contempt before she revealed it. Tension filled my entire body as my eyes settled on the dusty floor. I had hoped to avoid this conversation entirely.

"You must go, she pressed. You haven't attended any of your fellow ladies' ceremonies."

I do not wish to attend, I admitted softly. I didn’t dare lie. Not to her. More contempt oozed from her chest, and I fought to shrug it off the pained walls of my own heart.

Why not? How are you ever supposed to have any acquaintances if you mingle with no one?

Heat drifted up my figure. They don't even dance, I breathed. Everyone leads with pretenses. I knew it, perhaps more than anyone else. From a young age I had intuited the sea of hidden emotions in men's and women’s chests unbeknownst to them. No one's true intent could ever be hidden from me.

Tightness wrapped itself around my aching heart at the thought of the last man who happened to glance my way. He had drunk far past his fill, and his being had bled all of his ill advancements before he even approached. I pressed my petite lips tightly together. It was nothing but a feeding frenzy at every ceremony.

The dirt shifted softly beneath the woman's feet as she came to my side, her sapphire eyes leveling with mine. She laid a palm on my lower arm, and my fingers curled in defensively. The transfer of feelings and emotions was only ever magnified by her touch.

Mariel, that is how courtship works, her sensual voice was that of a lover’s. "You play with everyone, you mingle, and you make your choice over time." She smiled knowingly, having had more than her fair share of courting various suitors.

My eyes met the ragged tufts in the ceiling. I wished I could explain to her the inner workings of my heart that so harshly butted up against hers. But they never made any sense to her. I never made any sense to her. "I don't care to play games, Mother. I'm only interested in someone who has eyes for me—just me."

The woman sniffed, scrunching her flawless features. No young men's eyes are like that. Heat simmered in my chest as I forced a solid step forward, pulling back the thick drape and revealing the day.

"Then I don't want any young man," I retorted in a near-whisper, stepping into the light. It was an effort to keep my deepest insecurities from choking into my airway.

At least spend some time with Elaine before her crowning dance, the woman called desperately, growing disapproval in her chest. I ignored it as my feet plodded forward against the damp soil. It's good for you to be with other ladies!

I'm not like other ladies...The lump in my throat surged unwillingly, surfacing at my eyes and spilling over the tops of my fleshy cheeks. Sparkle of the morning moisture blurred against the grass in my vision as I strode beyond the village fence line, the blade on my hip whacking savagely.

CHAPTER 2

Mariel

My mind was absent as I approached the enclosed herd, and I barely felt the welcoming nudge of the speckled mare as I delivered the grain and checked the fence line for any intrusions. Father had insisted on a daily inspection after northerners had reported sightings of sheerwolves after the melting of the snows. He claimed the beasts had been eliminated after the great divide years ago, and no human could survive a lone encounter. I had never beheld one, but I doubted our dainty enclosure would keep any such beast at bay.

I barely acknowledged Neera’s parting whinny as I slipped through the narrow gate at the far end of the enclosure and headed toward the trees. There was nowhere I belonged, no one I belonged to, and none that would ever accept me just as I was–not even myself.

Yanking at the cord securing the bottom of my hair, I tore my hand through the weave to free my tresses. Shame was what I felt. Shame at being so different from everyone else. I thought too much, felt too much, and couldn't bring myself to good graces with any man or woman. No one could understand the deep pain that tore at my insides and left me bleeding out endlessly. It was absolute torture; feeling everyone’s range of suffering and my own.

I released a drowning breath, shifting my focus to the songbirds embracing the bathe of summer as I neared the branched canopies. The dull plod of my footsteps muffled as I left the worn path, crossing into the wild brush. My fingers finally unclenched against Mother’s warm cakes in my hand as I continued my thoughtful descent into my woes.

Being a lady, a woman—it was a curse. While most weaved baskets and dreamt of their next ploy for landing a future lover, I avoided the pain-filled thoughts altogether, spending my time mastering the art of the bow and fingering blades like a man. I was desperate for a willful adventure to sweep me away from this ill-fit land; one I was losing hope of ever finding.

An invisible barrier within me lifted as I met the trees and consumed the sweet morsels. Fallen twigs snapped beneath my boots as I melted beneath the canopy, and finally, my shoulders dropped from my ears as I was swept with a wave of peace. Peace I only felt when I was utterly alone.

I reached to tuck the flaying pieces of crimson back behind my shoulders, attempting to straighten my appearance as I began to ascend the steep slope through the trees. Deep insecurity twisted in my gut with the voice that told me I would never compare to the beauty of my mother. And the doubt within me promised I would never be matched with a suitor of my choosing.

Beyond preferable womanly appearances, I also lacked the skills of a feminine woman; one who could create beauty with her hands and warm hearts with her own. A woman who could woo a man with her essence and radiate confidence with her spirit. Father had dismissed all of my mounting evidence against myself, assuring me that it was only my quiet nature that intimidated men. Mother never agreed it was the sole reason.

My feet crunched more solidly against the incline, my anger swelling to a tremble. Why couldn't I be commended for wielding a weapon? Why did I have to wait to be chosen at the mercy of a man?

I shook my head as the top of the hill crested into view, conviction pressing through my veins as the valley materialized below. Trees with peppered white bark spread their leaves out protectively, forming a solid green and speckled barrier to the outskirts of the valley. As I raised my hand to rest on the hilt of my blade, fingering its imperfections, strength brewed all around me. The trees, the ground–they all worked to center me in stillness.

It was here that I received my answers, where I became clear on the longings of my heart. The beat within me pumped fiercely, buzzing me with determination. I would break the rules—all of them. I would never be at the mercy of a man, and I would never conform to the obligations of tribe.

Adrenaline burst through my center like a towering wave as my boots dug into the earth and I launched down the slope. I flew over fallen logs and maneuvered around jutting boulders; my whole being ignited. Life sprung into my spirit like unleashed flame as I was compelled faster and faster down the rocky terrain, the crude metal tossing wildly against my hip.

The vividness of the world around me dampened as I envisioned a fiery foe on my tail, one with power and poise—a man dressed in black. A hint of a smile threatened to emerge on my lips as exhilaration ignited my every limb with a sustainable force of its own.

I blazed down the slope with the agility of a deer, my feet barely kissing the ground as the surrounding trees whipped past my vision. I sprinted like there was nothing in this world that could slice between me and all I ached for. Like I was a woman full of power, of worth...

There was a sudden tug at my left–a prick in my senses that grappled for my attention. My gaze flicked to the energy of the shuddering trees amidst my hell-bent descent, and a sharp bout of fear sliced through my gut. A foreign shadow stood there, flickering unsteadily like a mirage. My boot clipped on a fallen branch, and my feet were yanked pitifully beneath me as I tumbled into a forceful roll.

Arrows flew from my quiver as I smacked against the earth landing painfully on my back. I pressed a hand against the slick ground, my eyes lancing to the trees. I knew these woods like the hilt of my blade. The life in the canopies, the breath of the animals, and the energetic pulse of every living creature within my vicinity...things that no one else seemed to be aware of. But, running down the hill I thought I had felt something incredibly...dark. Seen a fleeting form?

My body shuddered as a tingle started at my neck and fluttered beneath my tunic. Whipping my head around, I suddenly felt incredibly exposed in the descending gorge. I worked to make myself smaller as I listened intently to the whispering sea breeze meandering through the trees, my eyes narrowing on the shadows of the thicket.

The pounding of my heart was in my ears as my eyes beheld...nothing. Nothing except the taunting of the shadows. I allowed my heart to feel out further for what energy signatures were hidden from my view. But I felt even less, my senses severely dampened by the brick in my gut. I couldn’t trust myself. Not here, not now.

Plucking my fallen arrows from the ground, I stood, willing my raging heart to calm. Gone were the elated feelings of power and control, replaced by the rapid floundering of fear and anxiety in my chest that inevitably took over my daily existence.

Unsheathing my blade, I forced a controlled descent, allowing my dormant senses to heighten as a quiver started in my hands. The thick trees that had once filled me with such peace now felt dense, foreboding.

Dancing over the foliage-concealed brook that wound itself at the bottom of the slope, I increased my pace, moving swiftly through the lower glade. Relief flooded me as the sensations of my heart returned; the signatures of life. For once I was grateful for the cursed awareness.

Sucking in the forest air, I extended myself into the woods around me and beyond, as far as my awareness could reach. The information bounced back into my chest instantly, revealing...nothing. Nothing was near me, not even the small-bodied animals found scurrying through the leaves, or the deer nestling in the deep wood.

Where were they?

CHAPTER 3

Mariel

Ididn't allow my mind to analyze any further until I had left the forest and centered on the trodden path to my village. Scrunching my nose, I shook my head as I sheathed my blade. No one was ever out there with me, not one human soul. Had I merely imagined it?

My gaze danced distractedly upon the collection of stick huts in the distance and the reflective blue beyond them. The tribal village was nearly isolated, nestled against the green cliffs guarding the sea and encompassed by the never-ending forest on all sides. Father had never told me just how far the trees went, and I was never allowed to venture further than necessary. To my knowledge though, the woods seemed to go on forever. Woods I was incredibly eager to distance myself from in this moment.

The wind from the sea skirted the wavy strands of hair around my shoulders as I passed the fenced borders. Tendrils of smoke curled themselves into the air, and a muted cacophony met my ears: a chorus of women and children bustling around with their daily duties. Most were food gathering, basket weaving, cooking, skinning, and attending to other tedious tasks I avoided. The men were to be found elsewhere, tending to matters of weaponry, trade, and preparations for the next voyage. I did everything in my power to land myself beside them instead.

I paused my stride as a small child with a tan skirt bounded out in the path in front of me, giggling carelessly as she pursued a dodging chicken. She waved her faceless doll in the air, its petite figure trimmed with a simple blush-painted skirt as she passed, completely oblivious to anyone else's existence. The happiness in her chest jumped into mine and I held onto it in envy as I maneuvered past her.

The smell of braising meat and simmering vegetables tickled my nostrils as I weaved amongst the nearly identical stick huts toward my own. I paused to lay my bow and it’s accompanying quiver against the timber, knowing I’d be back for them later. On account of my unmatched ability to track down any living energetic signature within reach, hunting was my primary contribution to the clan. It was the sole reason my mother allowed for a weapon in my hands. Appearances meant everything to her, and she’d allow just about anything that would elevate her in some fashion.

I felt a small beat of pride within myself at the thought, but it quickly fled as my attention was drawn to several women sauntering from a dwelling. Their hips seemed to sway effortlessly in their draping dresses, their figures gliding like a warm breath over a beautiful sunrise with their merry giggles and perfectly poised hands.

My eyes lanced to my own tightly strung hips, and I swallowed the shame in my throat. I dove inward to try and grasp a shred of confidence somewhere in my being, a part of me who could roll my shoulders back and stand tall. But there was none to be found, not in the presence of other women with their flowing gowns and beautiful features. They were a constant reminder of the lady I was not.

Fighting to delay the tightening in my throat, I yanked back the bearskin to our dwelling and smacked painfully into a looming form.

Mariel! How be you, lass?! a familiar voice boomed in the shadows. My lips parted in surprise as my vision adjusted to the dim light. I had failed to detect his presence before I had arrived, caught too deeply in my own storm of emotions.

Father? I believed you weren't returning until the morrow? Large arms appeared in the darkness, tightening around my stiff figure and pulling me close. The familiar scent of sea and meat forced itself into my nose as my head met his chest, and as the love in the man’s heart rushed into mine, I nearly caved to it.

Aye, but we had favorable winds behind us. He brushed a wild lock out of my face before he moved to hold me at arm's length. A mess of deep fiery coils adorned the top of his head, connecting with a matching beard that skirted around his chin. Large blue eyes—my eyes—twinkled back at me under his thick cheekbones.

The man's dry lips spread in a genuine smile that never failed to elicit one of my own. Made it home early just for you. He gave me a wink before lowering his meaty arms and turning toward the dining table. Even in the dim light, his square form seemed enormous, the brim of his head nearly touching our low ceiling.

It was always apparent to me why he was chosen to be the leader of our tribe. I wasn't there when the great divide occurred: a separation that dissipated the mass of our unified people into distant lands of isolation. But Mother had told me tales; stories of how no man could outmatch him.

The firelight had danced in her eyes that night as she relayed how the mighty Chief Soren had brought down a beast with his bare hands. Father had chuckled heartily, pulling her close, and time had stopped for just a moment as I marveled at the gentleness of such mighty hands.

A rod of wood was strapped to the back of the man bending over the table before me, a thick blade materializing near his shoulder. Father's axe. He was never without it. My right hand fell to the hilt of my own sword, but the spark in my chest died as my thoughts drifted to the future, stringing the events together. Soon he would be gone again; the only person in the world who loved me for who I was.

I couldn't keep the moisture from slipping past my eyes, and the large man seemed to momentarily share my heightened sense as he turned toward me, lifting his broad chin. What's amiss, Mariel? Are the wenches giving you trouble again? Playfulness seeped into those deep blue eyes as I snapped my head away, brushing the small rivers from my face. Indeed, the elders of the tribe were always nitpicking at my appearance, my mannerisms; insisting that they were no fit for a lady. But their blatant opinions weren’t the only ones swirling around in my head.

Come here, lass. I be wanting to hear all about it. The tribal leader approached a high-back woven chair, seating himself at his unfinished breakfast without caring to remove his weapon.

Relief flooded through me at the invitation, my fingers curling around the weave of an adjacent chair. It grated against the dirt as I shuffled it back and sat myself against its uneven bindings.

But first, the man began, have you found any intrusion at the fences? Caught wind of anything in the forest? My eyes tracked the blackened meat he brought to his mouth as I shook my head, knowing what he spoke of.

The man grunted, his eyes dipping thoughtfully. You’ll need to bring the livestock into the village after we’re gone, Mariel. The northern alliances are reporting slaughterings in the night, and not just a few. His thick voice was a muffle as he dug his teeth into the crisp meat fibers. No one is safe from the sheerwolves, not for the time being. His eyes met mine as his jaw worked. "That includes you, Mariel. Stay close to the village. No more hunts until the men and I return to rid the land of these beasts."

My chest clenched the breath from me, but expression skillfully evaded my face. The chief cleared his throat before moving on. Now, tell me, what’s ailing you? Father had always cared deeply about my troubles, my triumphs, all of it. He was the only human I trusted and the listening ear I could count on–when he was here.

No one prefers me, Father, I began softly.

"Ah, so it is the wenches!" he declared in triumph, pointing the half-eaten bone in my direction.

"No, it's everyone. The women, the men; no one approves of me. I toyed with my lengthy fingers—too lengthy compared to Elaine's dainty digits. I fear I’m distasteful. I couldn’t catch a man's glance if I tried."

The man scoffed loudly, dropping the meat to thump against the wood. "If a man not be catching your gaze, lass, then he not be a man at all, he declared sternly. Despair filled my gut as he straightened, wiping his hands roughly against a linen. Don't be concerning yourself with the likes of a man, Mariel. The right lad will be trailing your scent when you're good and right with yourself–"

The shrill sound of a horn tore through the air, and the village chief froze.

CHAPTER 4

Mariel

Isqueezed myself next to the chief as men flooded out of their dwellings. Some stumbled with their weapons in hand, while others shooed away tiny, clinging hands as they assembled behind my father. The call had come from the shoreline, a call that only sounded from the scouts.

Choosing to remain poised on the black rocks above the cliffs, I watched intently as the weary scout relayed the information to my father and the men below. Frightened women began to gather all around me, and I shooed their hearts away, working to decipher the received message. Fear, confusion, anger, bitterness–it was all a wash in the warriors who were gathered there at the shore.

At the end of it all, Father didn’t bid us farewell. None of the warriors did as they scrambled into the floating vessels with an expert wave of something near panic and determination in their hearts. I numbed myself to all of it as they departed from us with perfectly synched rows. My eyes were pinned on the chief’s single, backward glance, and I hoped it was half to me and not just to the trembling woman at my side. Mother's dainty hands were pressed to her mouth, her face void of color.

Before she could snag me, I slipped away, making myself scarce until the evening. I didn’t return to the forest to finish my hunt, repelled by both my imaginings and Father’s strict warning. Instead, I pretended to occupy myself with some fictitious task as I trailed the shoreline until the sun kissed the water, searching the horizon for any sign of the returning boats.

What could be of such an immediate threat to us that they’d leave without saying goodbye?

My chest clenched each time I passed the wet sand where the vessels would have been nestled, their bottoms rising and falling gently with the caress of the sea. A large, brazen symbol of a wolf would be tucked into the folds of each lowered sail, and painted in red on the boat’s timbers. Boats that were now far upland. Boats I would never witness return.

As darkness descended , the celebratory beat of drums commenced regardless of the men’s absence. Perhaps it was to calm the rest of the tribe, or perhaps it was due to Elaine’s persuasive charm to ensure her ceremony proceeded. But whatever the cause, resentment clutched my chest as I crept back up the rocks away from the shoreline.

My gaze drifted across the graining fields to a section of vacant land that presented itself before meeting the trees. Great flames leapt for the sky in the middle of it, surrounded by strategically placed pillars of stone rising half a man's height off the ground. The stones circled inward, partially obscuring my view of those who danced merrily within them.

From the view of a man, the stone pattern was erratic. But if one were to peer from above, their eyes would behold a perfect spiral ending with the fire at its center. It had been here before us, long before, but we had adapted it to commemorate our celebrations on account of its pulsating energy that hit one in repeated waves. Or at least, it hit me that way. I wondered if anyone else ever felt it.

My feet were laden in the night as I snuck quietly past the outlandish laughter and the rhythmic clapping. Turning my gaze away from the scene, I continued toward the dwellings, praying no one would be roaming about to scold me.

A breath of