Amriel stared at the black plant nestled beneath the fallen log. Every serrated leaf, every crimson vein seemed to pulse with malevolent intent, as though it fed on shadow rather than sunlight.
A single ray of light filtered through the dense canopy, illuminating dust motes that danced around the black leaves, almost as if the plant commanded its own peculiar gravity.
Khasta Vhar.
"Of course I'd find you today," she muttered.
The plant, predictably, didn't respond.
Her hand moved to the iron ring hanging from a leather cord around her throat. The metal felt cold against her skin. Icy cold.
She forced her attention to what she'd actually come for. The Horissa Vharia with its blue-green heart-shaped leaves gleamed like a promise against the forest floor, growing barely an arm's length from the ominous black plant.
The miller's son needed that herb, and urgently.
"I didn't trek this deep into the Vhengal to leave empty-handed," she reminded herself. Not when that child's suffering hung in the balance.
A herbalist's instinct warred with her fear as she observed the forbidden flora. Despite its ominous reputation, she couldn't help noting its unusual structure—how the crimson veins converged at the stem, how the serrated edges formed a perfect defensive pattern.
What medicinal properties might it possess? Could something so associated with destruction also contain healing power?
She shook the dangerous thought away. Some knowledge wasn't worth the risk.
"The Khasta Vhar only takes root where angels have fallen," her mother's teaching whispered in her mind.
The fallen log where both plants grew side by side seemed a contradiction that bordered on mockery—death and life, omen and remedy, sharing the same decaying cradle. But she couldn't afford to dwell on this now.
Amriel took a deep breath, steadying herself. After this morning's shock of suddenly being able to read ancient symbols in the tome of Lygeness—symbols that spoke of a doomsday prophecy, no less—and then facing death at the tournament, finding a Khasta Vhar wasn't the most unsettling thing she'd faced recently.
She crouched closer to the Horissa Vharia, careful not to disturb the Khasta Vhar nearby. Drawing her knife from its sheath, she made a clean, practiced slice near the base of the healing herb, leaving behind enough resilient leaves for the plant to recover. The blade—forged by Simon—gleamed briefly in the muted forest light.
Swiftly, she opened her herb pouch, tucking the precious plant inside and pulling the drawstrings tight. Rising with blade still in hand, she stepped back onto the narrow path, senses alert to her surroundings.
The air changed between one breath and the next, shifting from wary silence to watchful menace. Hairs rose along her arms from the primal certainty that eyes tracked her movement.
Only when the dense undergrowth had swallowed the clearing behind her did Amriel quicken her pace, moving with purpose along the path she'd followed deeper into the forest.
The path narrowed, forcing her to duck beneath low-hanging branches heavy with lichen. She stumbled on an exposed root, catching herself against rough bark that left her palm stinging with tiny splinters.
A branch snapped somewhere to her left.
Amriel froze, knife raised.
Nothing moved in the undergrowth. No bird called. No leaves rustled.
She forced herself forward again, abandoning pretense as she broke into a measured run, pacing herself for the long journey ahead. The forest floor changed beneath her feet—transitioning from spongy moss to the more compacted earth of frequently traveled routes.
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind: "The Fallen don't hunt humans. We're beneath their notice—fleeting, fragile things hardly worth their time."
The words brought no comfort as she pictured her father's vacant cobalt eyes—the same shade as her own—after he'd returned from war against those very beings.
Whatever had broken him went beyond physical wounds, hollowing out the tall, blond man whose laughter had once filled their small cottage. The man who returned had been a shadow, white-haired and empty, lasting barely two years before quietly slipping away one frostbitten morning.
The path widened, branching into more frequently traveled routes. Relief surged through her, though she maintained her pace. Her slight frame concealed endurance built from years of running the boundary stones at dawn—Nythia's insistence that what she lacked in strength, she'd make up for in stamina.
As the path widened further, Amriel risked a backward glance. For a heartbeat—so brief she might have dismissed it as exhaustion—something moved within the distant trees. Tall, impossibly angular figures that bent the twilight around them, with limbs too long and movements too fluid.
Her breath caught. The ring at her neck burned suddenly cold.
Then the image vanished, leaving only trees and lengthening shadows.
Thunder growled in the distance as clouds gathered in the darkening sky. The wind intensified, howling through the trees and driving the first heavy raindrops. One struck her squarely between the eyes, startling her.
"Great," she muttered. "Just great."
As if in response, the rain began in earnest—gentle patter quickly gathering force as lightning split the sky. The distinctive smell of suddenly drenched rich soil mingled with the sharp tang of ozone. Leaves turned silver-side up, their frantic rustling creating a whispered chorus of warning.
Heavy droplets turned the dirt path slick. She slipped once, her knee striking a half-buried stone with enough force to bring tears to her eyes. The shock of pain focused her thoughts on immediate survival rather than what might be following.
Her pace quickened. Her waterproof leather satchel thumped rhythmically against her back. Her clothes clung to her skin, chafing with each stride. The rain plastered her dark hair to her skull, sending rivulets down her face that blurred her vision.
Gritting her teeth against the burning in her legs, she summoned a final burst of energy. The trees were thinning now, ancient sentinels giving way to younger growth, then to scattered copses marking the forest's edge. Beyond lay the open expanse of the valley and the familiar outline of her cottage.
Don't look back. The thought flickered through her mind, unbidden but insistent.
She obeyed, focused only on reaching home with the herb that might help save a child's life.