Page 13

For the Span of a Lunar Cycle

“ L et me go!”

“You’ve committed several offenses today.”

“You’re taking me to the Hollow, aren’t you?”

“That’s correct. Now be silent!”

They carry me through the forest and into Gann Gavannoa.

Four rigid guards, their grips unyielding as they hold me between them.

Every step jolts me, rough and uneven. Hair brushes my face, ears press too close, breaths hot against my skin.

Their fingers clamp tightly around my arms, nails digging in.

Too close.

The discomfort is overwhelming. Sweat, heat, the stifling press of bodies.

All because I resisted. Because I fought back when they came for me, they refused to let me walk.

I thrash and kick my legs to the sides, desperate for freedom, but it’s no use.

Their grip is ironclad as they drag me forward without pause.

When Talendir shook off his initial shock, he summoned the guards stationed at the forest’s edge. They were ready. This was not the first time they had had to intervene during the trials, but nothing like this had ever happened before.

Keelan cast me a guilt-ridden glance as though he finally understood the damage his words had done.

“Múr atnín!” I shout. “Let me go!”

“You must answer for your actions,” one of the guards says, his tone firm.

“I haven’t killed anyone, have I?”

“Not as far as we know.”

“Then can’t you just let this go? Just this once?”

Their hands grip me—my thighs, my back, my hips. Firm, practiced, not rough enough to hurt, but still unbearably intrusive. Their hands are everywhere. Coarse. Dirty. Thick. Clutching at me like I’m a wild animal that needs to be subdued.

I lower my gaze to the ground. Snow stained with twigs and dirt, steel-clad boots pressing into it, footprints scattering in all directions. I sway in their hold, my vision swimming. The blood burns hot in my veins, surging with power. And rage. Rage at being held down. Rage at being touched.

No one’s allowed to touch me like this.

I grit my teeth, bending my neck to keep my head upright. It takes effort, but I lift my chin, focusing on the narrow gap between two guards’ shoulders, steadying myself despite the jolting.

We’ve reached the heart of the village. The air is alive with scents, spices, hay, fur, and simmering leaf stew.

Around us, huts and gathering spaces blur past, alongside elk and vibrant market stalls.

A hum of life fills the space. The chatter of trading elves, bursts of laughter, playful shouts, smiles exchanged, and the quiet rhythm of heartbeats.

The guards wedge their way through the bustling crowd. Despite their presence, few notice us, their eyes glancing past as if we’re just another part of the village’s flow.

The market stalls are nestled at the bases of towering trees, their immense trunks stretching endlessly into the mist. A mix of mammoth trees, sequoias, spruces, and pines rise alongside the most majestic of all—the Sun Trees, the tallest and most breathtaking in Valeanrae.

The ground is a chaotic tangle of twigs, bushes, and cranberries as large as heads.

Moss carpets the earth, interrupted by stones of every shape and size, sprawling roots that snake across the forest floor, and frothing streams winding through the terrain.

Once, it was a place of vibrant life and unmatched grandeur.

Now it’s cold and desolate, the world cloaked in a veil of white.

Massive leaves, fallen from the towering trees, lie scattered, dusted with snow.

Once thriving and verdant, the skeletons of shrubs stand brittle and bare, drained of their life by the season’s grip.

“Get in!”

We’ve arrived at the towering Hollow Tree, a colossal, naturally hollowed giant shaped by time. Its winding corridors, walls, ceilings, and partitions create a prison that seems as if it were designed by nature itself. With iron bars added to its entrances, the infamous Hollow was born.

The guards drop my feet, and they hit the ground with a dull thud before I manage to steady myself. The cold snow bites against my skin; my right boot has slipped off. Their hands remain hooked under my arms, gripping me as they haul me toward the cramped space ahead.

My cell in the Hollow.

It looms before me, pitch dark. The tree is colossal, its interior vast enough to confine countless prisoners, each isolated by the thick, ancient wooden walls.

I don’t want to go in.

They swing the gate open, and it groans like a pack of howling timber wolves, the grating sound clawing at my ears.

Firm, cold hands shove me forward, pushing me into the darkness. The moment they let go, the gate slams shut with a shriek of metal, the piercing noise cutting through the air like a blade.

Darkness. Oppressive and suffocating. Light seeps in through the slats in thin, striped beams, but it does little to chase away the gloom. The air is thick with the stench of dampness and decay.

The ceiling looms three elf-lengths above, the space barely one and a half elf-lengths wide. The guards lock the gate with a decisive click. The keys rattle, their echo reverberating in the space.

“Are you just going to leave me here?”

They don’t answer, their forms fading into the distance, backs cloaked in coarse leather, dusted with snowflakes and broken twigs.

“Hey!” I shout, gripping the bars and shaking them. Shake, shake, shake . The rusted metal groans under the strain, its gritty, grating noise tearing through the stillness.

In the distance, I see elves near the market stalls. A few glance my way. Others point. Most turn their backs. Don’t look at the criminal.

Splinters bite into my fingers—sharp, clinging like stubborn thorns. I rub my hand against my breeches, trying to scrape them off, but they won’t let go. It takes several forceful swipes before they finally fall away.

Now what? How long do they plan to keep me here? A day? Two days? Three?

And who will be chosen for the defense? I wanted to take on the obstacle course.

It looked challenging. I wanted to conquer it, to succeed.

Now I’ll never know how I would’ve done or whether I might’ve been chosen.

Our rules are pathetic. The Hollow, for this?

If Keelan hadn’t yelled at me, I wouldn’t be here.

For Maevux’s sake, Keelan! Thanks a lot!

I sit down, pulling my arms tightly around my legs and resting my chin against my knees.

The stench of decaying wood mingles with the faint, fresher scents from outside.

It reeks in here, like death itself. The air is thick with excrement, sweat, grime, and mold.

Fur, rancid breath, and the sharp tang of fish linger, choking every breath.

I stare through the gaps in the bars, forcing my eyes wide open to keep the suffocating thoughts at bay. A group of elves walks past, their soft whistles cutting through the heavy air. Overhead, the shadow of a gryphon glides silently across the snowy landscape.

A tarantula, fat and covered in thick, wiry hair, scuttles lazily along the bars, no larger than my hand.

More elves wander by, their glances lingering. They point, laugh, and whisper, loud enough for me to hear every word. Loud enough to make sure I know.

“Look at her! Atiri!”

“She’s barely elvish anymore. Just look at that mess of hair!”

“You’re right!”

I close my eyes and press my hands against my face. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Don’t react. It’s not worth it. You’re the one trapped, not them. Stay calm. Behave. You need to be released.

“Did you see her clothes? Torn and filthy.”

They’ll leave soon. Just hold on.

“Witch!”

Breathe. Just keep breathing. They’ll be gone soon. Then you’ll be alone.

“Let’s hope they never release her.”

The light fades. Slowly, inch by inch, the darkness creeps in.

I stare at the gate, fixating on it as though my gaze alone could force it open. The trials should be over by now. They must’ve chosen their winners.

My stomach twists in agony, and I clench my molars until my jaw aches. It should’ve been me. I should’ve won.

Instead, it’s someone else. Someone smiling as they’re told they’ve been accepted into the defense. Someone who will wield swords and bows, protect Parae from its enemies, and choose one of the legendary weapons to call their own.

A group of elves pass by, laughing as they hurl stones and snowballs at the bars. Each impact echoes, cutting through me like the edge of a finely honed blade.

I don’t want Keelan to be chosen, not after what he said to me, not after how he betrayed me. Even if it’s selfish. It doesn’t matter if it was unintentional; it was?—

Rushing footsteps. Quick, shallow breaths.

I lift my head, my senses sharpening, and my hand braced against the wood. Slowly, I rise to my feet.

“Isza!”

“Naeva!”

The walls inside me crumble. I rush to the gaps in the bars, thrusting my arms toward my sister.

She stands there, her delicate frame illuminated by the fading eredusk, the snow behind her tinged with blue. The sky above burns in an explosion of warm hues, streaking through the towering treetops.

Naeva clutches my arms, stopping in front of me. Tears streak down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sarea. Don’t cry.”

She swallows, her head shaking slowly. “You?—”

“I’ll be out soon, I promise. It’s nothing to worry about.” I smile, pretending it’s true, pressing my cheeks against the bars to keep it together.

“We’ve been so worried,” she whispers, her voice trembling, eyes glistening like rippling water. Her sobs catch as she speaks. “We’ve been searching for you… all day.”

“I’m sorry.” What else can I say?

“We’ve been searching”—she hiccups, pressing closer to the bars, her hands unsteady—“ever since you left Circle Valley. You weren’t home, but the place was a mess. And Aeralon’s things?—”

“Naeva, Naeva, look at me.”

She quiets, her wide eyes meeting mine. Her hands shake as she nervously bites at the edge of her fingernail, her body quivering.

“Breathe,” I whisper. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice breaking as she shakes her head. Leaning forward, she picks something off my sleeve. “Isza, you’re not getting out of here.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, I am.” I tilt my head, my hand brushing her cold, tear-streaked cheek. I feel more comfortable with touching now that there’s a barrier between us.

“No, you don’t understand,” she stammers. “They came… and spoke to us.”

“Who?”

“The leadership.” Her fingers clamp around my forearms, gripping tightly, nails biting into my skin. Her hair catches the faint glow of the sun, a halo of soft bronze-gold around her head. She smells like vanilla and lily of the valley.

“What did they say?”

She swallows, her gaze darting between my eyes. “You have no idea, Isza. They said… they said you’ll be here for at least a lunar cycle. Maybe longer.”