Chapter 22

Dawn, the welcoming of the sun as it bids farewell to its sibling, the moon. Or are they immortal enemies, spinning through space in a battle neither can win. Perhaps, even, they are lovers, literally star crossed, wishing to be together but unable to because of the gravity of their respective situations.

Whichever the celestial bodies are, dawn itself is merely the herald. One that breaks with thin light, diffused through a veil of mist that clung stubbornly to the ground.

The climb through that mist, towards the old chapel, felt longer than Edmund expected. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the brittle ache running through his muscles, or the faint, persistent burn beneath his ribs, where the forest pressed insistently against him. He was struggling.

Malcolm led the way, moving quickly, his boots crunching over frost‑laced gravel. Will kept close behind Edmund, watching him with a vigilance that felt both protective and fearful. Edmund didn’t know which unsettled him more, but accepted the scrutiny. Even though the man was afraid, he was still helping this stranger that had awakened the forest.

“You said they live past the chapel,” Edmund said, quietly.

“Aye,” Malcolm replied without looking back. “Oldest house in the valley. Built before the village was named, or was even really here. Before the forest had its temperament.”

“Before it started taking people, you mean,” Will muttered.

Malcolm scowled at his friend.

“Hush.”

Edmund hugged his coat closer. His chest felt irritated, either by the sharp morning air or the path they walked. Not this way, it seemed to say. He ignored it, or tried to.

The chapel rose ahead of them, its stone walls bowed with age. The wooden door hung at an uncertain angle. The building looked ready to slump into the earth, having grown tired of its own existence and desperate for a reprieve. A small graveyard lay beside it, with crooked headstones, some sunken, others cracked, and none fully intact. Perhaps the building was eyeing its own plot.

Edmund found it difficult to look at. It had a confusing edge, which was out of line with how it should have been.

“Keep your eyes forward,” the landlord advised. “Don’t look too long at the graves.”

Edmund didn’t ask why, but was grateful for permission to avert his gaze.

They passed through the chapel’s shadow and followed a narrow, overgrown path leading into a stand of elder trees. The air here felt stranger, denser, saturated with a hushed history that was so old, it was remembered only by itself. The forest loomed behind them, though Edmund did not dare turn to see how close it had crept. Had followed.

The path ended at a house.

Calling it a house felt generous. The structure crouched low to the ground, its slate roof patched with moss, its stone walls thick and uneven. Smoke drifted from a squat chimney, and the scent of peat and herbs hung faintly in the air.

Malcolm approached the heavy timber door and knocked once. Then twice in quick succession. Then once again. A code?

The door opened immediately.

A woman stood in the doorway. Her grey hair was plaited over one shoulder. Her equally grey eyes were as sharp as whetted flint. She was not old or frail, but was aged in the way of weathered stone. Time couldn’t change her. She was indifferent to its effects and, in fact, laughed at its attempts.

“Malcolm,” she said, nodding to the landlord. “Will.”

Her gaze fell to Edmund and her expression changed. She didn’t seem surprised and certainly wasn’t fearful. No, it was the recognition of a stranger who she’d always known.

“You’ve brought me a marked one,” she said. “Hello, Edmund.”

Malcolm stepped forwards.

“Agnes, please. He needs help. The forest reached inside him. Deep.”

The woman looked Edmund over with unsettling calm, nodding slowly.

“It always does when it wants someone badly. You must be special.”

Edmund shook his head. He had never wanted to be anything other than normal, whatever that was.

“Can you… can you stop it? Sever it?”

Her eyes softened. She smiled briefly.

“Severing is the last of the rites. We start with something gentler. If gentleness still has a chance.”

She moved aside.

“Come in,” she said.

The air inside the house was warm, too warm, but in a comforting rather than smothering way. It was an embrace that stopped just short of leaving them breathless. Herbs hung from ceiling beams. A fire burned in a deep stone hearth. The walls were lined with shelves heavy with jars containing roots, dried plants, stones and powders. Edmund would not have been surprised to find a large cauldron bubbling over the fire.

Agnes gestured for him to sit at a small table, which he did. Malcolm and Will remained standing nearby, their shadows moving uneasily against the wall.

Agnes placed her hands on the table, palms up.

“Give me your hands.”

Edmund hesitated. The forest inside him pushed hard, a clear warning, but he placed his hands in hers. A tremor ran up his arms immediately. She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Deep indeed.”

The landlord stiffened.

“How far?”

Agnes didn’t answer. She released Edmund and stepped back, wiping her hands on her dress as if they were dirty.

“It’s not just marked him,” she murmured. “The Binding has begun.”

Will swore. Malcolm’s face drained of colour.

“What does that mean?” Edmund asked, trying to keep calm.

“It means the forest has decided you’re one of its own. It’s rooting itself within you. Moving through your memory. Your grief.” She met his gaze. “It will finish the Binding soon.”

Edmund licked dry lips with a dry tongue. Moisture seemed absent when it was needed most.

“Can you stop it?”

Agnes was silent for a time. Her eyes moved rapidly from side to side as if she were reading an invisible book. Finally, she spoke.

“I can delay it.”

Was that a no?

She approached a shelf, pulling down small bundles of dried bark, a clay pot, a vial of thick, dark oil.

“Delaying comes with cost,” she said without turning. “And the forest will not take kindly to interference.”

Edmund could already feel the truth in that. He was willing to pay, he hoped.

“What cost?”

“You will hurt,” Agnes said, facing him. “Not in body, because that doesn’t last. In memory. The Binding works by feeding on what you’ve lost. Weakening it means stirring those memories. Leaving them raw again.”

Edmund’s stomach turned over. He’d spent months burying that pain. The forest had given him a terrifying solace. But solace, nonetheless.

Agnes stepped closer.

“If you cannot endure that pain, if you fight me, the forest will finish the Binding instantly. We’ll lose you.”

Edmund looked at the landlord. He looked at the wiry man. Finally, he looked back at Agnes.

“Do it,” he said.

“Then understand this. Once I begin, you mustn’t answer anything you hear. No voice, memory, or name. Nothing.” Her eyes held his. “Even if it sounds like someone you’ve lost.”

Edmund shivered. He already knew whose voice she meant.

Agnes placed her hands on either side of his head.

As she whispered the first words of the rite, the forest inside Edmund screamed.