Chapter One The Shores of Mora

Beside the sea, Theia watched sunlight dapple across ocean waves. Today marked the celebration of her birth and, as ever, she was day dreaming. Tracking a ship on the horizon, two whipping white sails and a billowing flag. The Mantlepyre family crest emblazoned upon it. She could tell it was a trading vessel, hailing from Tahl. Coasting from village to village, and the thought swelled, the question of what it might be like aboard, where it might be going, and how far could she go.

Waves crashed against the rocks, spraying her face. As the wind threaded through her shoulder-length waves, catching the woollen fabric of her charcoal-green cloak, it pulled her mind back to the sand beneath her feet. She was not aboard the ship. She was still here. And the thought was sobering, settling over her like sediment. She pulled on hiking boots, then treaded down a grassy sand dune—onto a sparsely wooded way—beginning her trek to Mora.

The distance was fair, crunching alongside the boundary between river and soil, under rays of scattering light through grey clouds. While she walked she picked herbs, kneeling and plucking Magegrass, pulling twine from her satchel and tying it all in a neat bundle. This will do nicely. The plant fell into her thatched basket, falling atop a pile she’d already gathered. The herb had been sought-after of late. When it was dried and ground, the brewed tea was soothing. Gods, she didn’t want to think how badly people needed that.

Sunlight peaked down through the blue sky onto Mora. A greeting of familiar scents wafted throughout the town—cut timber, hot coals, fresh bread. The smithy worked iron in the distance, metal clanging while horses clomped and the murmur of midday chatter suffused through low and whining winds. Theia was used to such clatter, another busy morning. She regarded it with a sense of boredom. A state she was sure the elders prized, and her friends lamented. To meander was her way, in these quaint outskirts, passing lines of cottages and whitewashed plaster walls—half-timbered, slated roofs, gated gardens.

“Morning Theia!” Called the locals.

They recognised her as the apothecare’s daughter. Headaches, fevers, wounds, cuts, burns, digestive troubles—she had seen it all. Her and her mother Shaela were respected for their discretion just as much as their assistance. They knew rumours breathed far longer in a small town, and so were careful to maintain that trust.

“Happy first day!” shouted Thoin the baker. “‘Just a moment there, Theia… we have a present for you.”

A present? Oh right, it was the day of her birth. She kept forgetting. The smell of warm bread was intoxicating at the storefront of Thoin’s bakery. The walk-up window had a glass display of various sweet treats and savoury items. Hidden behind the display were the staring eyes of a young boy. Thoin rested a large hand on his son’s back, and leant down to whisper in his ear. Harry beamed and rushed to the back of the store. He soon emerged with a string-tied parcel, stepping out the front door to deliver it directly. Theia crouched, putting her basket to the side. It was always best to talk to those much younger than you at eye level, people often forget how intimidating it is to have so many adults towering over you. Her mother had taught her that, why did she keep thinking about her?

Theia dragged her attention to Harry. “Hello,” she said, “is that for me?”

He smiled and nodded and lifted the parcel higher. When she took it, he made to say something but got too nervous and instead dashed back to Thoin. She gently peeled back the wrapping paper, listening to it crinkle and taking great care not to tear it. She lifted the lid of a small box. Inside—amidst the scents of apple and cinnamon—she found six round tarts.

“Thoin… thank you so much, you needn’t have done this.”

“It were our pleasure miss,” Thoin said. Harry was beaming and Thoin ruffled his hair.

The baker scratched the back of his neck, making a similar face to his son. As the quiet stretched, he continued: “I wanted to thank you Miss Mellemorai. You’ve shown great strength, a pillar of the community and all that… during a difficult time. Shaela too o’ course.”

Theia closed the lid, “Oh… I’ll be sure to tell Shaela. I just gather the herbs really.”

Thoin’s brow furrowed, not the response he was expecting. Tch. She’d never been good at compliments. Her jaw clenched, and she quickly stood, pulling the basket over her shoulder.

“Really, thank you again! Anyway, I must be off—lots to do today…”

“…yes, o’ course miss. Thank you again!”

She waved and gave him a half-smile. Then, she swiftly departed.

Cobblestone clacked underfoot as Theia made her way up a hill. She kicked open a wooden gate, passing underneath an arched hedge. Swaying on rusted hinges was a hand-painted sign that read Melleseed Apothecary. A fountain trickled lightly, and the smell of bricks and soil and layered floral scents greeted her arrival. Stepping through the rustic garden space into a laboratory, Theia felt the shift from warm sun to cool shade. Her mother was already boiling water—ready for last month’s batch. She had also cleared space on the drying rack. Shaela hummed to herself softly in the dusty-window rays while she cut herbs on a chopping board. She was a head shorter than Theia with longer auburn hair braided down her back. Her sleeves were rolled and the edges of her white linen shirt and work apron were contoured in diffused light.

“I got everything, Magegrass and Lavender,” Theia said.

“Passionflower too?”

Theia opened the thatched basket and produced a showy flower, purple and white with five petals. She leant around her mother, producing the flower in her field of vision. Shaela rested the knife on the cutting board and turned to kiss her on the forehead.

“Thank you love, I won’t be stealing you long,” Shaela said, then returned to chopping.

“Any news?”

“Some Pyre visited this morning, Wolram and Sen… the Resonant boy too.”

“Remias was here? What did he want?”

Shaela paused, the grinding of mortar and pestle coming to a halt. She tilted her head, looking over her shoulder, and giving Theia a long look. Four fangs, she had messed up this time.

until her mother went back to grounding herbs in the mortar.

“I didn’t realise you were on a first name ” she finally asked.

“Who?”

“Remias.”

Theia leant against the central table, too casually, brushing against the baker’s parcel. She secretly scolded herself. Fidgeting. Paper crinkling. It’s not like she’d kept their friendship a secret, she’d merely gone alone with him to the woods—on multiple occasions—and made sure nobody saw them. Okay maybe she had. Her mother would have found out eventually though, but she groaned internally.

“…we’ve been training.”

“Training?”

“Fighting.”

The pestle clunked into the mortar. Shaela turned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s where you’ve been sneaking off to? To fight? Theia, you know how I feel about… Remias. I had hoped it was something simpler, like kissing.”

“It started months ago, when Remias first arrived at the guard. We started talking. I realised I wanted to know how to defend myself. Then I made him agree to teach me… after a while. And then, well… I know the apothecare’s daughter isn’t supposed to fight… and I suppose there’s not any point to it… but I’ve been making good progress. I’m a fast learner and a good student and… and did you say kissing?”

The pot simmered. Theia stared. Her mother’s face:was unreadable. She could not truly believe that kissing was simpler than fighting, could she? Shaela cracked a smile. They erupted in laughter. The pot’s lid rattled and Shaela scrambled to stop it, placing a wooden spoon on the lip. As the bubbling foam subsided, they both let out a slow exhale and returned to the day’s duties. Strangely, Theia felt relieved talking about boys with her mother, it was simpler, and helped keep her mind away from other matters.

“Where have you been training?” Shaela asked.

“The woods… but not since…”

“Good.”

Folk had avoided the deeper woods ever since people had started going missing.

“The Pyre were here asking for Laudanum,” Shaela said.

“Laudanum?” Theia said, shocked.

Her mother nodded, grim. “I told them we were out of stock.”

Theia leant back and crossed her arms. “Why lie?”

Shaela looked out the window and her eyes reflected in the light, glossily searching recent memories.

“Because they’re not telling us something. It’s bad enough that three people… but when we can’t even trust those assigned to protect us…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Thei. I couldn’t do it.”

She had always believed in her mother’s intuition, just the same as her own. Remias hadn’t told her anything about the missing folk either, just a curt dismissal that the Pyre were investigating leads. Theia didn’t think he knew anymore than she did. Her mother stared out the window, with an expression that impressed itself into Theia’s mind, like a leaf inside a book. She was tough, moreso than any fighter or sailor Theia had ever met. And her mother looked… afraid. It was an expression that set something askew within Theia, an unease that made her world tilt.

“I’m sure it will all be fine,” Shaela murmured to herself.

❦

Aboard the Ananke, a Mantlepyre trading vessel, the barrelman worried for his son.

Weary in its kind, spent from staring long at the world’s atrocities. He stood in the crows nest and looked out at a girl on the shore.

She had brown hair and held a thatched basket, she appeared to be looking at their ship. She turned, disappearing behind a sand dune. The name of the nearby town escaped him—too small to remember. Lowering his spyglass, he rested it on a rail. The barrelman closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the cool caress of winds across his face. He’d needed a day like this, too often it seemed all the world was spiralling out of his control. A nice temperate morning, where the only sounds were lapping waves and groaning wood, that was all too welcome.

“What’s that, father?” his boy asked.

He opened his eyes. Following the boy’s finger he leant closer and stared forward with keen eyes. It was a shallow coastline that steepened further north, where white waves crashed against the bluff, birds flew overhead of rock pools, and in the otherwise ordinary vista: he felt a distinct absence. A failing motion of water, the stillness of trees in wind, each pointing him to a patch of ocean that was unmoving. Darker than the rest, perfectly circular off the coast from the pools—and deep as a pit. The barrelman held his breath, his jaw tightened, noticing the birds gather ‘round it.

They circled above and hopped along the pale rock. Flocking to pools and pecking at soft shapes amongst the stone and sand. He lowered his spyglass and placed a hand on his son’s back. He thought about calling to the captain, advising they turn about. Instead, he turned his son away from the shoreline, ushering him down the ladder.

“It’s nothing, lad.”