Aldric Thornwood knocked on the ninth door that day. He had come to the village to find one person who still believed in the old magic. Instead, wood slammed shut in his face. His grizzled beard dripped rain. His twisted staff felt heavier than it had in years. The land had forgotten the old ways, and now the old ways had a beggar's welcome. "Wizard," a woman spat through her window. "We don't feed madmen here." She pulled the shutters closed. Aldric lowered his hood and breathed slow. He needed an ally. Without one, he could not begin to wake the sleeping magic in this land. But every villager saw only a fool with a stick. A dog barked near the well. A compact brown hound stood in the mud, ears too big for its head, a bone tied to its collar. It did not bark at Aldric. It stared past him, then bolted toward the trees. Aldric followed. He had nothing left to lose but wet boots. The hound led him to a clearing. A portly boy in animal furs knelt over a ring of stones. Wild hair stuck out in every direction. A short sword hung at his hip. The boy was arranging herbs in a pattern Aldric knew by heart, a pattern no one in this village should remember. "You're doing it wrong," Aldric said. "The rowan goes east." The boy jumped up, hand on his sword. Then his eyes fixed on the twisted staff. His mouth fell open. "That's a spellwood staff. My grandfather told me about those." He stepped closer, careful, hungry. "He taught me the old ways before he died. Everyone here says it's nonsense." "Everyone here shut their doors on me," Aldric said. "They'd shut them on you forever," the boy said. "I'm Finn. Finn Wildbrook." He knelt again and moved the rowan east. The dog circled his feet. Aldric felt something loosen in his chest. Here was the ally he had walked all day to find. A believer. A student. Someone the old magic could still reach through. Then an arrow struck the ground between them. It stood quivering in the mud. A girl stepped from the trees, bow already drawn again. Blonde hair, leather clothes, red runes painted across her face. Her aim did not waver. "Finn," she said, "step away from the old man." "Astrid, wait," Finn said. "He knows the old ways. He's real." "That's the problem," Astrid said. Her eyes stayed on Aldric. "The village elder put a price on any wizard who comes near. Gold. Enough to feed us all winter." Her fingers held the string. "You brought a hunted man to my door, Finn." Aldric had found his ally. Now the girl who might kill him held both their lives on the end of an arrow.

The arrow still quivered in the mud. Astrid held her bow drawn, aimed at Aldric's chest. She was young, near Finn's age, in leather she had stitched herself. Red runes covered her cheeks and brow. Aldric had met her only moments ago, yet she already held both their lives on a string. She did not blink. She did not lower the bow. "You want proof I know the old ways," Aldric said. "You wear it on your face." Astrid's eyes narrowed. "The paint is mine. It means nothing to you." "The old woman taught you the marks," Aldric said. "But not what they say." He leaned on his staff and looked closer. The dyes were natural, ground from berries and root. The symbols were older than the village, older than the elder's bounty. "You paint them by memory. You copy her hand. You never learned to read them." Her jaw tightened. The bowstring stayed taut. "Read them, then." Aldric pointed to the mark on her brow. "That one is a ward. It turns bad luck away from the wearer." He moved his finger to her left cheek. "This is for the hunt. Steady hands. A true shot." His finger crossed to her right cheek. "And this." He paused. "This is a grief mark. You wear it for someone you lost." Astrid did not answer. The bow dipped, just slightly. "The old woman," Finn said quietly. "You painted it after she was gone." Astrid's breath shook. She lowered the bow. The arrow pointed at the ground now. "No one alive could read those. She told me that herself." "She was wrong," Aldric said. "There is one man left who can. I walked all day to find someone who still believed. I found two." Astrid slid the arrow back into her quiver. She stared at Aldric a long moment. "The elder wants you dead. His men will pay gold for your head." She wiped rain from her cheek, smearing the grief mark. "They already searched the trail this morning. They will search the woods next." "Then we should not be standing here," Aldric said. "No." Astrid glanced back the way she had come. "They found my house. They turned it over looking for you. They know a wizard is near." She met his eyes. "They will come back with more men. Before dark." Finn's hand went to his sword. "Where do we go?" Astrid did not answer him. She looked at Aldric, the man she had almost killed a minute ago. "You read the marks. So I will trust you this once." She turned toward the thick trees. "There is a place deep in the woods. The old woman's place. The elder's men fear it." She stopped. "But if you lied about any of it, I will not miss twice." Aldric gripped his staff and followed her into the trees. He had won her bow. Now the whole village was hunting them, and the only shelter was a dead woman's secret.