Moira Thornwhisper's Arc

Chapter 10 of 13

Moira reached the cottage at midday, her legs aching from the trek. She set the bundled weapons inside the bunker and sank onto the moss-covered ground, too tired to care that her cloak soaked through. Clover hopped to her lap and Moira closed her eyes, letting herself slip into the rabbit's senses for a moment of peace. Sylvi arrived an hour later with a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. She didn't speak, just unpacked stones marked with runes and arranged them in a circle on an old stump near the cottage entrance. Moira watched as Sylvi lit a small candle and placed it at the center, then cast the stones three times, reading the patterns they made. On the third cast, Sylvi went still. "There's only one path wide enough for the wagons," she said quietly. "It runs straight through the northern grove." Moira felt her chest tighten. The northern grove held the ancient spirit tree she'd sworn to protect—a massive oak with a face carved by centuries of wind and root growth, its branches spreading like arms raised to the sky. She'd made her oath there six months ago, promising the dryad she would guard the grove's heart in exchange for the grimoire's knowledge. Breaking that vow would sever her connection to the forest entirely. "Show me," Moira said, her voice flat. Sylvi gestured to the base of the stump, where roots had burst through the earth and twisted into the shape of a grasping hand, its fingers pointing north. "The runes made this," Sylvi said. "The path is real. If we want to reach the quarry before the prisoners move, we go through the grove or we don't go at all." Moira stared at the rooted hand, understanding what it meant. She could keep her oath and lose the captives, or she could break her word and become something the forest would no longer recognize. The choice pressed against her ribs like a blade, and she realized that no amount of dark magic could make this decision for her.