by Piper Rayne
What was it?
Some remnant from last night’s dip in the pond, some agonizing side effect?
My lungs strained for air as I tried to push the torment out of my mind so I could stand.
But as the flames on the leaves and the brush expanded to the tree above it, my own pain increased.
As the fire singed the juniper, turning its lush green leaves black, it felt as if my own cells were being singed black.
It was the fire.
The fire in the forest? I could feel it in my body.
And it was surging, eating me alive from the inside.
I managed to gasp, even as I writhed in the dirt, “Stop! Stop now!”
I didn’t know what I was expecting—that some magical spell would burst out of me and extinguish the flames? That the fire would obey me? The pain-addled response was certainly not a logical one.
But even though it didn’t make a lick of sense…
That was exactly what happened.
Chapter Eight
Rosaline
“You must protect the forest with all that you have and all that you are.” The voice that spoke to a much younger Gawen had been somber and low, reverent as he sliced through Gawen’s palm.
“All that I have and all that I am.” Gawen hissed as the cut yawned open, blood dripping down into the burning fire.
“Your fate is now tied to the land,” the voice continued, “and it’s to yours. May you both have a long, prosperous life.”
That was the vow that Gawen had taken before building his hut and starting his garden and starting his rounds, checking the periphery spell around the Fair Forest. Nearly twenty years later and Gawen’s palm still bore the scar. His soul still upheld the vow.
So when he spotted the flames burning the bushes and trees outside his hut, the reaction was an instinct—protect the forest with all that you have.
All that you are.
“I’m getting water!” Gawen rushed around to the back of the hut where his stone-built well dug down to a spring below the forest floor. Cursing under his breath, he lowered the bucket, dipped it into the water, and yanked the rope back up, all the while his mind raced, replaying the things that had just happened.
Rosaline kissed him again.
Rosaline pressed into him again.
That body he had seen last night sans clothing, even though she now wore his tunic and leggings—a sight that, despite all odds, actually made him stiffen with desire, to see her in his clothes. She had touched her body to his, her tongue in his mouth, and her meaning had been clear.
She was a virgin.
An offering for the beast.
The idea that no other man had touched her, that sent a shock of pleasure through Gawen as he tipped the well bucket into an empty barrel.
No woman had touched Gawen. He had been alone in the Fair Forest since childhood, and if the fire hadn’t broken out, perhaps they would have continued.
It was full.
The barrel was full.
Back in the front of his hut, Gawen could hear Rosaline screeching. She was crying for help, likely watching the flames move through the trees.
If Gawen didn’t move faster than the flames, then all of Fair Forest could go up in smoke.
Gawen squatted and wrapped his arms around the barrel, his veins bulging from his muscles as he lifted the great weight. In all his years in the Fair Forest, there had never been a fire.
There had been small, contained blights, flash floods during times of heavy rain, other, slighter, minor catastrophes. But there had never been a disaster like this.
Mangy wolves, talk of famine, a late winter freezing the roots, and now this, Gawen thought as he carted the barrel of water back around the hut to the flames.
Still, Rosaline screamed, imploring him to hurry.
It was excruciatingly heavy—even Gawen with all his strength was huffing to keep control of it—but if this was what it took to put the fire out.
Gawen stopped, his face red from the strain of holding the barrel, and he stared.
The barrel fell from his arms, tipping sideways, spilling its contents. The water swirled into the dirt, making mud, little rivulets finding their way to the bushes and trees, sizzling as they made contact with the ashes.
Ashes.
It was only ashes now.
Rosaline sat hunched over in the dirt, her legs sprawled behind her, her arms propping her up as she breathed. Her hair had sprung out of its braid, frizzled and wild, and she sucked in air, holding her side as if to soothe a cramp.
Gawen stared, his jaw dropped. All the color drained from his face.
The fire was gone.
“Rosaline,” he stammered, “how—how did—”
“I don’t know.” Rosaline’s voice was steady and quiet, despite the near-catastrophe that they’d just dealt with. “I don’t know how I did it.”
“You?” Most of the adrenaline drained out of Gawen’s body, but his arms still trembled from the great weight of the water in the barrel. “You put the fire out?”
Rosaline nodded. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I don’t know how I did it. But I did it.” Her words were raw from screeching. Gawen remembered hearing her cries, but he didn’t make out what exactly she’d been saying.
“It was like…” Rosaline lifted her head, and Gawen could see her red-rimmed eyes, the panic still hiding in the corners of her mouth. “Like the fire was inside of me. It hurt so much, Gawen—I was on fire. And then when I asked it to stop, it stopped.”
Gawen’s insides knotted with uncertainty. “You simply asked it to stop?”
“I mean, I shouted it,” Rosaline clarified. “And then it was like the fire put itself out.” She glanced down at her hands, curling and uncurling her fingers, almost like she’d just noticed them for the first time. “I feel so strange. Tingly all over. I think I could lift up your entire hut right now, if you asked me.” Her eyes met his, unsteady and frightened. “What happened? What did I do?”
That face, so young, so beautiful, so full of life…
She’d come straight from the village of Fairfront, tied to the tree, a virgin sacrifice for the so-called beast of the Fair Forest, and I knew she’d had a simple upbringing, raised on a farm, a tiny life.
But the very center of me burned.
Burned with knowledge.
“Gawen, what?” Rosaline detected the baffled expression on my face, and she pushed herself to her feet, rocking slightly as her feet squelched in the new mud. “What is it?”
A gentle morning breeze blew through the trees, rustling the leaves. I inhaled, holding myself perfectly still, and listened.
“It’s…” Rosaline’s eyebrows were knitted in despair, and I knew she could hear it too. “It’s talking. It’s still in pain—it’s healing… Gawen, is that—?” Again, she met my eyes, and a thousand questions radiated from her.
But I couldn’t answer them. Not all of them.
Only one.
“That,” I told her, “is the forest.”
Rosaline processed this, and my body ached to reach out for her, take her in my arms, let her feel her emotions from the safety of my hold.
Instead, I kept my distance. “You could hear it?” I confirmed. “You heard the voice on the breeze?”
“What do you mean, it’s the forest?” Rosaline’s voice quivered. “You mean … it can speak? Gawen, I don’t understand.”
The breeze blew through the yard of the hut again, pulling some of the burnt leaves off the scorched trees, and it carried Rosaline’s scent to me.
Roses in bloom, sweet summer air, the scent of innocence, but there was something else I detected.
Power.
It was almost like the sharp rank of a fire—new sparks, that flinty scent, the copper hints of a fresh fire.
And it wafted off Rosaline in waves.
“Rosaline, I…” I started my sentence, but before I could finish it, I poked my head in my hut, grabbed a leath
er pouch, and stalked off into the woods alone.
That scent had woken parts of me that I hadn’t even known were there—and now that I had an idea of the magnitude of events that we were facing, I needed to be sure.
“Gawen?” Rosaline called after me. “Gawen, where are you going?”
But I didn’t reply, and she didn’t follow.
All for the better.
I needed to be certain Rosaline was who I thought she was.
The woods were alive this morning, the trees almost reaching up their branches to touch the clear blue sky. A pair of nightingales sang out, a crow warbling its note. Cicadas near the streams joined in the melody, and somewhere a bullfrog croaked harmony.
Beneath my boots, the soil was damp, giving with every step. I could hear a creature skitter in the underbrush as I walked past, something on four legs, and something with no legs, a green snake, slithered out of my path.
Rosaline had heard the forest speak.
She had put out the fire with a single command.
And as she lay there in the dirt and the mud, reeling from the events that had just transpired, she radiated power and ability, though she clearly had no idea what she had just unlocked.
There was only one explanation.
I approached my destination—a small clearing near a grove of towering red cedars. These ancient trees had been part of the original forest, their roots stretching deep underground, which meant they were well-grounded. They were wise. They had seen the Fair Forest go through many changes over the years, and they were also tall enough to see to the outside world—a unique perspective that I would never have.
There, rocks were piled in the dirt—it was a makeshift fire pit, and while I was hesitant to strike up flames when the forest had just lost some of its foliage to a fire, I needed to concentrate.
I needed the fire—I needed to ask a question.
Grabbing a handful of valerian, which grew around the base of the closest red cedar, I sprinkled it into the flames, then brought my blade to my palm.
Cutting it open in the exact place where, twenty years ago, the man who stationed me in the forest had cut me, I let my blood spill into the fire.
The elders of Fairfront had sent a virgin sacrifice to stop a famine which they believed to be heading their way—a sacrifice for the beast.
I was neither a beast nor responsible for famines and other disasters, neither did I have any use for a virgin.
At least, I thought as my prick hardened, remembering the warmth of Rosaline’s mouth on mine, not in the way the village was expecting.
But they were not the only ones who used sacrifice in their operations.
An animal was the usual sacrifice I made when I came to this clearing to ask for guidance, and perhaps I would have found a bird to give to the flames, or a squirrel, or a skittering mouse, had I not already suspected that the balance of life was askew in the forest.
But blood, my own blood, was the greatest sacrifice I could offer, and so I let it roll off my fingers.
The blood hissed as it hit the flames, and I closed my eyes, concentrating.
Rosaline’s face. Heart-shaped, the strength in her eyes, the cleverness on her smile.
Her angelic innocence, her wry humor, the way she left no sentence unspoken.
The soft pink of her nipples, the mounds of her breasts, the spread of her hips.
I couldn’t stop my mind from picturing her naked in my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about our bodies lying entwined, my parts fitting securely into hers, the way our mouths fit so perfectly together.
And then, just as my cock hardened and the ache of my wanting reached an almost painful peak, I got my answer.
The wind in the trees again, the leaves all fluttering, showing their green-gray undersides, the veins that made them alive, and I could hear it.
Confirmation.
Rosaline was no ordinary girl.
“You must guard the Fair Forest day and night,” the man who first brought me under the branches told me, “for the enchantment is flickering. With every leaf that falls, every deer that is brought down by wolves, every tree that is taken by the villages for firewood, the enchantment weakens. If it ever goes out, like a flame—” The man held up his burning torch and blew it out, demonstrating what he meant, “—it will never again come back.”
I, a naive young boy who took everything as seriously as expected, widened my eyes. “What can I do?” I’d implored. “How can I make the enchantment stronger?”
“You can’t,” the man told me. “Not on your own. Someday, there will be a way to make the enchantment stronger. Someday, there will be someone who can protect the forest with you— better than you. That person will have the power to keep the forest thriving. Forever.”
For many years, I had pondered this man’s words, wondering if he had just said it to placate me or, perhaps, he himself had repeated it to give himself hope that one day the forest would be strong enough to survive without any enchantments at all.
But now I knew.
Rosaline was the one I’d been waiting for.
She was here to make the enchantment on the forest unbreakable.
She could hear the woods speak to her, and it obeyed her every wish—the fire was extinguished at a single word from her.
She was more powerful than I could ever hope to be.
And now that she was here, in the Fair Forest, her magic was waking up.
I finished my ritual, putting out the fire, and headed back to my hut.
There were still so many questions, but for now, it was time to tell Rosaline what I knew.
Evidence of the fire was nearly gone; the forest healed quickly when Rosaline was in the vicinity—the bark on the scorched trees had already remade itself, the leaves had already sprouted new buds. The smoke had dissipated too. The scent of the breakfast I had grilled hung faintly in the air, but otherwise, all was at peace.
Rosaline was no longer standing in the mud; with a deep inhale, I followed her footprints into the door, where I found her at my table, her back to me, hunched over her chair.
The very sight of her made my pulse race madly. I instantly wanted to reach out and touch her, run my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back so I could kiss her again.
But my stomach dropped when Rosaline peered up at me, betrayal in her eyes.
She lifted a hand onto the table, spilling the contents of a small leather drawstring purse.
Bones tumbled out, inlaid with runes. I hadn’t used them in some time, but I knew exactly where she had found them—on the shelf above my bed, near many other ritual tools and pieces for spell-casting.
“Prophecy bones,” she said, her voice flat with suspicion. “Mystic’s bones. For reading the future or, at least, pretending to.” Rosaline narrowed her eyes, but her bottom lip trembled slightly, as if she was trying to hold on to her anger, but losing her edge as she realized just how lost she was. “Tell me, Gawen. Are you a mystic?”
Mystic. The village’s word for someone like me—someone who could hear the forest, someone who could perform minor spells and rituals. From what I could tell, Rosaline’s people believed mystics were capable of incredible power, which was certainly false. The abilities I had were little more than bandages compared to what a truly great mystic would be able to do. All I did was listen to the forest and act on its behalf, something that seemed possible for anyone who was willing to learn the language of the woods.
Instead of slicing hairs, however, I answered her as best I could. “Yes, Rosaline. Yes. I am a mystic.” And then, with a breath that filled my lungs and gave me courage, “So are you.”
The surprise on her face was as bright as the sun, and before I could be distracted by my desire for her, which was reaching almost overwhelming levels, I sat at the table across from her. “I will tell you all I know.”
Chapter Nine
Rosaline
A mystic.
Images of Mortas and his antics floo
ded my mind—the ridiculous robes he wore, as if he fancied himself a god, the rituals he performed with long-winded speeches, strange dances, giant fireballs in the sky, all eyes of the village on him.
And Gawen was just like him.
No, of course he wasn’t—Gawen and Mortas were both mystics by name, but Gawen was the opposite of Fairfront’s magical elder in every way.
For one thing, Gawen wasn’t showy. He hadn’t rolled the bones in front of me, an ostentatious power move, reciting the prophecy in a way that made me feel like it was weaponized. I hadn’t even known Gawen was capable of such things.
But it made sense. There was something that wafted off him, some power, some irresistible charisma even when he wasn’t speaking—and I had it too, I reminded myself. I had felt inklings of it when the fire subsided. I had felt it when the breeze blew through the trees.
I felt it now, when I peered across the table at Gawen.
“A mystic,” I repeated slowly. Good thing I was already sitting down; Gawen’s pronouncement had made my knees turn to water.
Impossible, I almost blurted out loud, but I remembered the blinding pain outside in the yard.
I remembered feeling the fire inside my body; I remembered commanding it to stop and watching the flames flicker and die.
I remembered lying there in the mud, feeling the breeze blow through the trees, hearing a disembodied voice whispering to me.
I hadn’t heard what it had said, exactly. I hadn’t been listening.
But just hearing it had been proof enough.
“Yes.” Gawen nodded. “I understand it might be quite a shock to learn.” The way his eyebrows were scrunched down, low on his forehead, let me know that he too was surprised by the development. Gods, he was kind of adorable when he was taken aback. His lips pouted out from the cover of his beard, and his velvet brown eyes flashed with annoyance. I didn’t think he was used to having pieces in his life that didn’t fit. Life in a hut in the middle of the Fair Forest was probably incredibly simple. He was adorable when there was something happening that he didn’t understand.
