I can’t bear to stay in this forest any longer.

  We push ahead, stopping only for water. I long to see a town. Something besides trees that I might catch on fire again in my sleep. Even when night falls and I barely make out the obstacles of the woods, we keep going.

  The third time I trip over a rotting log, I land hard on chest, hard enough that I lay still for a moment, unable to breathe. Then I roll over and stare up at the night sky, the brilliant stars flickering overhead. Silent witnesses to every atrocity us humans bring on each other.

  A sob rips out of me, and then another. I curl up in a bawl and hide my face in my arms while a torrent of tears rocks my body.

  The ringleader of the raiders, a man with a short, bristly white beard, stood in a town square next to a stone fountain. He narrowed light gray eyes at the struggling child, his lips set in a grim line. “What does your magic do, boy?”

  Magic. He went still, and fear wicked through him like snow melting against bare skin.

  Now even the raiders would know he had no value.

  The man shook him so hard his head snapped. “Answer me!”

  I blink, lifting my head and coming back to the present moment with a sharp inhale. I’m still on the forest floor, shivering, but now I still see in my mind another city. Another man thinking he can take what he wants.

  The last vestiges of the vision slip away like wisps of fog in the sunlight.

  My heart races too fast, and I rub the palm of my hand into my chest, where the constant prickliness grows into a buzzing.

  I’ve never had a vision before.

  Maybe I fell asleep.

  But then, who was the boy? And how could they speak so casually of magic when it’s forbidden?

  A chill runs through me, and I shudder.

  The buzzing intensifies, making my head pound.

  Anwen.

  The voices came when she left.

  The villagers say she and Idris ran away together. They were betrothed. They couldn’t wait. They wanted to get out from under King Afon’s thumb and his rules and taxes, so they left.

  It makes sense.

  Except Anwen was my best friend. And I know what she really felt for Idris.

  She wouldn’t leave without telling me.

  But she’s gone. Three weeks now, she’s been gone.

  Perhaps it’s a blessing.

  I wipe my face with my sleeve, but more tears leak out, coursing down my cheeks, and I convulse as I curl in on myself.

  I’ve lost everything. Everyone.

  The horse’s soft muzzle pushes against my cheek, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He drops to his knees beside me, and even though we are different animals entirely, I’m certain he feels the aching of my heart. I move closer to his warm body and sob until the tears leave me with nothing but a gasping breath shuddering in and out of my soul.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The scent of roasting meat drifts through the woods toward morning.

  I lift my head, a spike of adrenaline stirring me. Food. I leap to my feet, but my stomach clenches so hard I nearly double over.

  I don’t recall falling asleep. I was terrified of dreaming again and lighting the woods on fire, but judging from the stickiness of my eyes, I slept at some point. My head spins, and I press a hand into the horse’s neck to steady myself.

  Daylight reveals more than I could see when we stopped last night. The forest gives way to a meadow, and beyond the meadow, a camp of men cooks over a makeshift fire. They wear green tunics roped at the waist and brown cloaks. The metal head gear, coupled with the long spears in their hands, indicates they are soldiers. For the king of the land? And beyond that, just below the dip of the meadow, a sprawling village rises out of the valley, lying at the feet of a looming rock wall with a hill fort standing tall in the distance.

  My knees buckle, and I collapse in relief. We made it. We are here.

  Though I don’t know where here is. I don’t even know what direction we’ve been traveling.

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  I spin around with a gasp, startled that someone crept up on me. I relax when I see two children, a boy and a girl, standing behind me in the forest. Both wear small baskets for foraging around their necks.

  “How long have you been there?” I ask.

  “We watched you sleeping,” the girl says. “We couldn’t tell what you were.”

  “What I am?” I echo.

  The boy gestures at my head. “You’re not wearing a cap. And your hair’s short.”

  “And you’re wearing the tunic of a man,” the girl says, and she giggles behind her hand.

  The screen. I never put it back on. My face grows hot. I glance down at my shorn tunic. Not only is it ripped, but ash and grit covers the front of it. “I had—an incident—with the fire.”

  “Our mam can help you,” the boy says.

  “No.” I shy away from them. I need them to leave so I can put my shield in place. I’ll find the king of this land and go to him, plead for my village, but I will not do it as a woman.

  Women are weak, easily preyed upon and taken advantage of. The dagger tucked into my tunic won’t save me.

  “Where did you come from?” the boy asks. “You talk strange.”

  I choose not to answer him. I examine the edge of my tunic, plucking at the fraying threads, and the children lose interest. They cast a few more glances my direction before taking off together, whispering.

  I wait until they are out of sight, and then I duck into the bushes beside the horse. I squat and murmur, “Cuddia.”

  Hide me.

  Spending days on a trail near an enchanted forest has made me stronger, and the air sparks to life with yellow and blue gurek. They descend over me like a cooling mist. In the same moment, the pulling returns at the back of my head.

  I won’t remove the shield again. The chance of discovery is too risky.

  I should have asked the children the name of the village, but I wanted to bring an end to our conversation. The soldiers make me leery. They’re not keeping watch, and they haven’t noticed me lurking at the edge of the forest. I prefer to keep it that way.

  “Around the edges, my friend," I say to the horse. "We don't want them to know we're here."

  With the soldiers to our left, I guide the animal down the hill and into the valley. Small houses with thatched roofs and pigs and sheep in the yards pave the way to an open city gate. The stone construction towers several heads above me, and I recognize it as the remains of a Roman wall.

  The Romans are gone now, but they left a permanent mark. Their roads and ruins dot the land. Their language pilfers our own. And their new religion threatens to eliminate our way of life.

  A guard stands at the gate, but people pass to and fro without him reacting. As I move through the lower village with the fields of grain, goats and sheep grazing next to small cows, children run past me with hoops, laughing and playing.

  “Out! Out of the kitchen with ya grubby hands!” a mother shouts, shooing a herd of little ones through her doorway.

  The kitchen. The smell of yeast and baking bread makes my stomach clench. I hesitate by a hut with chickens around the open door, then step into the doorway.

  A woman bends at the table, arm muscles flexing as she pounds into the dough in front of her. A band holds her golden hair back from her face, and a cowl drapes over her neck. She wears a sleeveless beige tunic tied with a rope at the waist over a long-sleeved off-white shift which hangs nearly to her calves. For a moment, her hair darkens to the color of a raven’s feathers, and it’s my mother I see, surrounded by bowls of spices, ribbons hanging from nails by the door.

  Just as quickly, my mind throws up my last image of Mam, lying on the hard earth with her throat slit open, her blood watering the ground. The grief builds up in me, a burning geyser in my chest, erupting from a well of grief and loneliness somewhere within my soul. I thrust it away with a cry, and the woman lifts her head.