CHAPTER 166

CHAPTER 166
The woods were cooler than before.

Silence suspended among the branches. Each step was a sharp puff of air, a sound echoing too loudly in the air. The trees stood stock still. The wind would not sing.

She entered the clearing.

The garden was once again different.

The spiral was gone.

The trees now arched over the black-barked tree, forming a canopy over it as ribs over a backbone. The clearing drew inward, cold breaths drawn in and exhaled. And the tree.  it was increasing in height.

Bark was torn in jagged tears. The hollow was empty. The statue head was missing.

In place of it, a stone enclosure.

Emerald advanced, her heart pounding. The markings on her palms burned hotter.

She stopped a few steps short of the hollow and fell to her knees.

Its bundle of red clothes was placed in the cradle.

Her shaking hands probed the interior.

The moment her fingers touched the fabric, a rasping voice spoke into her mind:

He lied to keep you safe from yourself.

She slowly opened it.

It had a small stoppered glass vial. It had black liquid reflecting the silver light when she tipped it. It pulsed.

Something in the liquid was shaking.

She let it fall, but it didn't break.

The vial fell into the snow. The ground didn't swallow it.

Emerald looked at it.

Her breath fogged the air, slower now.

And another vision occurred.

Not a memory.

A caution.

Joel, on his knees at the tree's root. Scrabbling with his bare hands. His fingers bleeding. And in the soil. another vial. More aged. Shattered. Emptied.

And standing behind him was Lena.

Not frightening.

Smiling

You've returned her the wrong way.

Emerald gasped and backed away from the cradle.

The trees seemed to lean in closer.

The vial sat still in the snow, undisturbed. Waiting.

She turned and ran.

Within the cabin, the butler had drawn each ash and salt line. All wards glittered. All charms dangled.

Yet the walls creaked

The fire flickered.

There were shadows in the corners of the room where shadows were not supposed to be.

He spun around when Emerald flung the door open.

She was deathly pale. Breathing heavily.

He looked at her. "What did you discover?"

"Proof," she breathed.

He waited.

She sat down on the floor, boots still wet, clenched hands in tight fists. "He used something. Something he wasn't supposed to use. On someone like me."

The butler genuflected. "Did you handle it?"

She hesitated.

No. I almost did. But. She lifted her gaze, and her lids were bloodshot. "It was familiar. Like something I'd once seen. A fever dream."

He swallowed hard. "Then you've seen the vial?"

Nothing. She was interrupted by a sob. "I've been in it."

The fire went out. The line of salt at the entrance fell.

The butler rose at once. "We're leaving."

"Where?" she exclaimed hollowly. "There isn't anywhere he won't see me. There isn't anywhere it won't."

He grasped her hand. "We must attempt it."

No sooner had his hand touched her shoulder than the flame went out.

The room was dark.

There was a knock at the door.

Slugg

Measured.

She stiffened.

The butler stepped forward to block her path, drawing his sword. "Back away."

There was another knock. Three of them.

The cabin groaned.

Then.

"Emerald," the voice said. "It's

Joel

She hurried forward. The butler blocked her path.

Wait

Another knock.

Let me in.

It was his calm voice. Joel's.

However, Emerald's palms puffed out.

She stepped away.

Colour leached from the butler's face. "Not him."

How do you know?

He raised the knife. “Because he wouldn’t knock. ”

Another knock.

This is sharper.

Slower

A.S

"Emerald, open the door," the voice instructed her.  "I'm cold. I'm bleeding."

She had a fire burning in her palm lines.

She gazed downwards.

And the ink bled.

Straight into her skin.

The marks were no longer distinguishable. they had blended together.

Conduct a post-tournament

Olde times

The butler read it aloud, barely breathing.

Don't open the door.

The knocking stopped.

Silence

So a scrape.

Similar to nails on the timber.

Then.

I'll wait.

Emerald's breath quivered

The door didn't rattle. It didn't even break.

Yet something shifted back.

They lay awake the entire night.

They just remained seated in the dark, gazing at the door, anticipating the sound of a knock.

That never occurred. And the following morning, when at last the light filtered through the torn curtains, a single red petal lay close to the door.