Cursed, p.40
Cursed, page 40
And when the Alder King turned away from her and took the golden raptor—god of fate and fortune, god of stories and lies—away, Serilda stood there and watched them go.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Serilda sat on the ledge, feet dangling over, staring out at the endless ocean as the sun set fire to the horizon. She thought of merchant ships caught in storms, being thrown upon the unforgiving rocks below. She thought of sea serpents slithering through the inky depths. She wondered how many fishermen had sailed off one day, never to return.
Solvilde was the patron god of sea merchants and sailors, and they should have been watching over the oceans and the men and women who braved these waters. She knew that many still prayed to Solvilde, asking for safe passage, a safe return.
Those sailors did not know that the god they were praying to had stopped listening to prayers long ago. They did not know Solvilde was, even now, trapped in Adalheid Castle, powerless to help anyone.
Serilda groaned and bent her head. She had tried to climb back up to the top of the cliff. Her hands, still raw from the fall, were not strong enough to pull her upward. The columns of the cliff were too slick, too sheer. She was too weak.
What would happen if she fell?
The water was so far below, and she knew she would be thrown back against the rocks, sharp as teeth. It would hurt terribly. She could not even guess how much it would hurt.
But she would not die.
She couldn’t die.
She was merely a soul, untethered to a human body.
A wandering spirit, the Erlking had called her.
What would happen if she jumped?
Would she be battered against the rocks, trapped in those cold waters until the end of time?
Could she swim toward the harbor cities in the west, searching for a place to come ashore?
Or—was there another way?
An easier way?
She reached for the thread at her throat and pulled out the broken arrow shaft. She twisted the arrow in her fingers. The feathers were silken black. The ash wood flexible but strong.
This was all that was keeping her here. All she had to do was release it. Drop it down into the water, and she would be free. Her spirit would float away, and in time, even without Velos’s lantern to guide her, she trusted that she would find her way to Verloren.
To her father.
To the children.
The Erlking would no longer be her problem to solve.
It was tempting. So very tempting. But every time she thought she could do it—just throw the arrow away and seal her fate—she thought of Gild. The way he looked at her, like she was the most amazing being to ever come from the mortal realm. The way he kissed her, like every touch was a gift. Like she was a treasure so much more valuable than gold.
And what they had created together … unwittingly, through some ironic twist of magic and fate. A baby.
If she did this, if she gave up, she would never meet her child. She would never have a chance to save them.
What sort of story would that be, my beautiful, strong-willed child?
Maybe her child would be all right, she reasoned. Maybe they would be stronger than Serilda, braver than her. Maybe they had to be the one to finish this story.
“How much longer are you planning to stay down there?”
Serilda screamed and dropped the arrow. It fell, plummeting over the side of the cliff. She cried out again and stuck out her foot—barely catching the loop of thread on the toe of her boot.
Her phantom heart galloped against her chest as she carefully, with trembling fingers, took hold of the cord and pulled it back over her head, before finally looking up.
Two figures stood on the plateau above her, glowing golden beneath the rising sun. Each with tall, foxlike ears and small, fuzzy antlers and black doelike eyes.
Serilda squinted. “Parsley? Meadowsweet?”
She almost couldn’t believe it, but yes, it was them. The very moss maidens that Serilda had once hidden in her father’s root cellar. The moss maidens who had given her Gild’s ring and locket. “How did you … What are you doing here?”
“After waiting months for the wild hunt to emerge from Gravenstone,” said Parsley, hands on her hips, “we tracked them here. Saw them shoot down the wyvern. Saw you climb down this cliff, and the Erlking follow, and a big giant bird come back up with him. Figured you’d have come back up hours ago. What are you waiting for? Another wyvern to swoop in and carry you off?”
“I … I can’t,” said Serilda. “I hurt my hands, and I wasn’t good at climbing to begin with.”
“Told you so,” said Meadowsweet, grinning at her sister. “Remember how clumsy she was in the forest?”
Parsley sighed. “Humans.” She grabbed a rope of vines from her back and tossed one end down to Serilda. “Wrap this around yourself. We’ll pull you up.”
* * *
“They killed more than half of our sisters when they attacked Asyltal,” said Parsley. Despite the tragedy in her words, her voice was hard and factual. “But enough of us got away that we were able to scout a perimeter around Gravenstone. We knew that eventually the hunt would go riding again, and we planned to use that opportunity to lay siege to the castle. To find Pusch-Grohla and free her. But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“What happened?” asked Serilda.
“It wasn’t just the hunt that rode when the veil fell last night. An entire caravan of dark ones left the castle, traveling into the forest, just as when they came to Asyltal. Not as many as before. No ghosts this time. We sent a contingent to follow them and realized they had Pusch-Grohla, along with a gryphon and a giant black wolf, kept in cages and heavily guarded. The hunt came out after. A group of us followed the Erlking. The rest stayed behind to keep watch on the caravan.”
“We believe they were going back to Adalheid,” said Meadowsweet.
Serilda nodded. “Then they will have all seven gods together on the Endless Moon.”
She had expected the moss maidens to be stunned when she told them their Shrub Grandmother was none other than Eostrig, god of fertility and springtide. But as it turned out, they had known this all along, and they thought she was dense for not having realized it a long time ago. This sparked a few offhand comments about how clueless mortals were before they let her explain all she knew about the Erlking’s plans to capture the seven gods and—she believed—wish for the destruction of the veil.
The only thing that did seem to surprise the moss maidens was when she told them about the return of Perchta, who had not been among the hunters who had set out to capture Wyrdith.
“What was most unusual,” said Meadowsweet, “was that after the caravan went past, there came earthquakes, rumbling through the forest. Creating huge cracks in the ground, as if they were fanning out from Gravenstone.”
“As if they were chasing after the dark ones,” added Parsley in a somber tone.
Serilda shuddered, remembering the destruction that had happened in the chamber deep beneath the castle. What did it mean?
The basalt cliffs gave way to a rocky moor and a long stretch of scattered grasslands. Serilda felt they had already been walking for miles, the sun making its slow climb overhead, when they finally reached the northernmost edge of the woods.
Serilda heard a low keening sound that made her pause, gooseflesh blanketing her skin.
Parsley groaned. “Don’t mind her. Just keep walking.”
“What was that?”
“A salige,” said Meadowsweet, gesturing off into the woods. “We think she made her way up here from one of the fishing villages, maybe killed herself on the bluffs. We saw her wandering through the forest last night. They are drawn to bodies of water, so maybe she’s trying to get to the ocean.”
Another heartbreaking wail echoed around them, startling a flock of black-winged gannets that had been nesting on the cliffs. They screeched and flurried through the air before gradually settling back down.
Serilda spotted her then, the salige. A woman in a flowing white gown, moving slowly through the forest. She was walking away from Serilda and the moss maidens, sobbing to herself.
Serilda had met a salige once before, deep in the Aschen Wood. Beautiful but miserable, she had begged Serilda to dance with her atop a bridge of bones—the bones of all those who had come before. Enchanted to dance until they fell down dead, all in an effort to break some unknown curse. You alone can break this curse. All it takes is a dance …
A hand fell on Serilda’s shoulder and she jumped. Meadowsweet was watching the salige, the tiniest hint of sympathy in her lovely face. “You cannot help her. Trying will only get you killed.”
“But they’re cursed, aren’t they?” said Serilda. “Can’t all curses be broken?”
Parsley crossed her arms impatiently over her chest. “Salige are cursed to kill anyone who attempts to break their curse. So, no. Not all curses can be broken.”
The salige’s cries drifted away as she moved toward the plateau. She sounded so devastated. So … lost.
The Erlking’s words struck Serilda then, taking the breath from her lips.
“They become monsters,” she whispered. “Salige were once wandering spirits. Women mourning for lost children or trying to find their way back home—but they wandered too long. This is what they become when they refuse to cross over to Verloren. They turn into monsters.”
Her hand wrapped around the arrow at her neck.
This is what would become of her, if she didn’t find some way to get her body back. A feat she wasn’t sure was possible.
They stood in silence until they could no longer hear the woman’s mournful, bitter cries.
Parsley was the first to turn away and head into the woods. “If we waste any more time out here, we’re all going to turn into wandering spirits.”
They had not gone much farther before they were met by six other moss maidens who had set up a small camp among the trees. They served Serilda a meal of not-particularly-satisfying nuts and dried fruits while Meadowsweet and Parsley told them all they had learned.
“Perchta,” growled one of the moss maidens, lip curling. “No forest creature will be safe with her return.”
“Oh—there is one more thing I forgot to mention,” said Serilda, fidgeting with the hem of her cloak, which was fast becoming as filthy and tattered as the reliable wool cloak she so missed. “Perchta is … not trapped on the dark side of the veil.”
They all frowned at her.
“But she is a demon,” said Meadowsweet.
“Yes,” said Serilda. “But—”
“But she is a demon inside a mortal body,” said Parsley, baring her teeth at Serilda as if that were her fault.
Which was fair, all things considered.
One of the maidens spat at the ground. “The great huntress, unleashed in the mortal realm. Grandmother captured. Asyltal destroyed. What does this mean for the creatures of the forest?”
“Nothing good,” murmured Meadowsweet.
“Wait,” said Serilda. “The veil is down now.” She put a hand to her chest. “I am trapped on the dark side of the veil, but you’re not. How can you see me?”
Parsley cocked her head in an oddly deerlike manner. “Forest folk are magic. Just like the drudes and the nachtkrapp. The veil was never meant to be a boundary to us when it was created, so we can slip in and out of the realms as it pleases us. We just don’t usually choose to be on the side with the dark ones.”
“Ah—I see,” said Serilda. “Thank you, then. For staying with me on this side of the veil. And for coming for me on the cliffs.”
“It isn’t charity,” said Parsley. “You have information about the Erlking and the hunt. Information that might help us rescue Pusch-Grohla.”
Serilda straightened her spine, surprised at the hope this stirred inside her. Taken by surprise in Asyltal, the moss maidens might not have been a match against the dark ones. But they were fierce allies all the same, and they were determined to free at least one of the gods.
It was more than she’d had this morning.
Serilda’s gaze fell on a longbow leaning against a tree trunk where one of the maidens was sitting, and the first stirrings of a plan came to her, unbidden.
“Golden arrows,” she whispered.
“What?” said Parsley.
“Golden arrows,” she repeated, eyes widening. “That’s how Gild defeated Perchta the first time. An arrow of god-blessed gold shot straight into her heart.” She looked around at their small group. “How many moss maidens are left? And how good are they at archery?”
Parsley shot her a look that was as cold as any the Erlking had ever given her.
“Only a mortal,” she said, “would ask such a stupid question.”
THE WINTER SOLSTICE
The Endless Moon
Chapter Fifty
Snow had been falling for more than a week.
The moss maidens had made a hastily constructed camp in the Aschen Wood, with camouflaged shelters that blended into the trees. It was comfortable enough, but Serilda longed for a fire in the hearth of the Wild Swan and a cup of mulled cider. She longed for heavy blankets and Gild’s arms around her.
She grew more anxious with each passing night. For weeks she had watched the moon wane into nothing, then slowly wax its way back to fullness. Every day, the ground rumbled beneath their feet, as if the earth was stirring far below them. Every day, new cracks appeared across the forest floor. Small fissures at first, but slowly growing wider, until there was a series of crevasses as wide as fists cutting through their camp. Always in the direction of Adalheid and the lake. The moss maidens seemed as concerned about the earth’s instability as they were about recovering Pusch-Grohla, but Serilda’s mind was often preoccupied with other concerns.
Somewhere in the world, Perchta’s belly was swelling more with every passing day.
The baby would be coming soon.
She tried to stay out of the way while the moss maidens crafted weapons and sent scouts to spy on Adalheid and the castle, where the Erlking and his court had once again taken up residence.
Serilda had begged to go with them, if only so she could sit in a corner of the public house and watch over her friends from the shadows of the veil. They wouldn’t know she was there, but it would bring her so much comfort to see them.
To see Gild.
To know he was all right.
But the moss maidens refused. She was too clumsy, too brash, and they could not risk the dark ones seeing her.
At least they had brought word that Gild and Erlen were alive and were staying at the Wild Swan. It was all that anyone had been talking about in town, it seemed. Vergoldetgeist in their midst, toiling away on some secret project. The townsfolk, at Lorraine’s urging, had supplied a spinning wheel and a loom and were bringing in cartloads of everything from sheep’s wool to winter-wilted straw for the gold-spinner to work with.
Making gold and, Serilda hoped, crafting it into weapons and arrows like they’d talked about. Using it for Erlen’s tapestries, to secure a victorious future.
Serilda had asked if they couldn’t just take the weapons Gild was constructing and storm the castle, take the dark ones by surprise before the Endless Moon ever rose. But Meadowsweet had explained that so long as Gild was in the mortal realm, his spun gold could not be used against the dark ones until the veil fell.
No—they would have to wait.
* * *
Finally, the day of the Endless Moon arrived, bringing with it a powdery snow that fell dreamily from the sky, filling up the tracks left by scavenging deer and rabbits the night before.
Serilda’s hands were shaking as she affixed the clasp on her bloodred cloak. With fear and nerves, but also excitement to finally be doing something. The solstice was here. They would save the gods and reclaim her body. They would defeat the dark ones.
Or they would fail. The veil would fall and the mortal world would never be the same again.
“I trust we do not need to remind you of your role in all this,” said Parsley, handing Serilda the small reed whistle that would summon the moss maidens when the time came.
“I know what I need to do,” she said. The whistle was attached to a strap that she slipped over her head, tucking it beside the broken arrow. “I know what’s at stake, as much as anyone.”
“Then go, and make sure no one sees you leaving the woods.”
“Of course.” The last thing Serilda wanted to do was to lead their enemy into the camp mere hours before they were set to invade Adalheid Castle. She expected and hoped the Erlking’s court would be busy preparing for the Endless Moon, and would not concern themselves with a pack of forest folk loitering about in the forest.
“We will be ready.”
Serilda bounced nervously on her toes. Once she had offered a friendly embrace to Parsley and Meadowsweet, after she had protected them from the wild hunt. She was tempted to extend her arms to them again now, after all they’d been through.
But Parsley’s look darkened, as if she could tell what Serilda was thinking. Prickly as ever.
Serilda shrank back. “Tonight, then.”
“Serilda?” said Meadowsweet.
Serilda faced her, hope rising in her chest.
With an exaggerated sigh, Meadowsweet held out her arms to Serilda.
Serilda beamed and accepted the hug.
“Don’t try to be clever,” said Meadowsweet. “Just follow the plan.”
“I will. I mean—I won’t. I mean—” Serilda stepped back and clapped a hand to her empty chest. “I’ll do my best.”
“How promising,” muttered Parsley.
She bid farewell to the rest of the moss maidens, who, despite having spent the last month with her, still watched her go like a bunch of suspicious foxes. Serilda left the camp alone.
She would go to Adalheid and slip into the public house, so that as soon as the veil fell, she would be ready to explain everything to Gild and Erlen. She would ensure that the weapons Gild had been making were delivered to the moss maidens. Then she would enter the castle and do whatever she needed to do—cause a distraction or stall the Erlking, keep him from making his wish—giving the moss maidens time to get into position. When the time was right, she’d blow the whistle and the maidens would descend and slaughter the dark ones, one by one, using the same spun-gold arrows that had once killed Perchta.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Serilda sat on the ledge, feet dangling over, staring out at the endless ocean as the sun set fire to the horizon. She thought of merchant ships caught in storms, being thrown upon the unforgiving rocks below. She thought of sea serpents slithering through the inky depths. She wondered how many fishermen had sailed off one day, never to return.
Solvilde was the patron god of sea merchants and sailors, and they should have been watching over the oceans and the men and women who braved these waters. She knew that many still prayed to Solvilde, asking for safe passage, a safe return.
Those sailors did not know that the god they were praying to had stopped listening to prayers long ago. They did not know Solvilde was, even now, trapped in Adalheid Castle, powerless to help anyone.
Serilda groaned and bent her head. She had tried to climb back up to the top of the cliff. Her hands, still raw from the fall, were not strong enough to pull her upward. The columns of the cliff were too slick, too sheer. She was too weak.
What would happen if she fell?
The water was so far below, and she knew she would be thrown back against the rocks, sharp as teeth. It would hurt terribly. She could not even guess how much it would hurt.
But she would not die.
She couldn’t die.
She was merely a soul, untethered to a human body.
A wandering spirit, the Erlking had called her.
What would happen if she jumped?
Would she be battered against the rocks, trapped in those cold waters until the end of time?
Could she swim toward the harbor cities in the west, searching for a place to come ashore?
Or—was there another way?
An easier way?
She reached for the thread at her throat and pulled out the broken arrow shaft. She twisted the arrow in her fingers. The feathers were silken black. The ash wood flexible but strong.
This was all that was keeping her here. All she had to do was release it. Drop it down into the water, and she would be free. Her spirit would float away, and in time, even without Velos’s lantern to guide her, she trusted that she would find her way to Verloren.
To her father.
To the children.
The Erlking would no longer be her problem to solve.
It was tempting. So very tempting. But every time she thought she could do it—just throw the arrow away and seal her fate—she thought of Gild. The way he looked at her, like she was the most amazing being to ever come from the mortal realm. The way he kissed her, like every touch was a gift. Like she was a treasure so much more valuable than gold.
And what they had created together … unwittingly, through some ironic twist of magic and fate. A baby.
If she did this, if she gave up, she would never meet her child. She would never have a chance to save them.
What sort of story would that be, my beautiful, strong-willed child?
Maybe her child would be all right, she reasoned. Maybe they would be stronger than Serilda, braver than her. Maybe they had to be the one to finish this story.
“How much longer are you planning to stay down there?”
Serilda screamed and dropped the arrow. It fell, plummeting over the side of the cliff. She cried out again and stuck out her foot—barely catching the loop of thread on the toe of her boot.
Her phantom heart galloped against her chest as she carefully, with trembling fingers, took hold of the cord and pulled it back over her head, before finally looking up.
Two figures stood on the plateau above her, glowing golden beneath the rising sun. Each with tall, foxlike ears and small, fuzzy antlers and black doelike eyes.
Serilda squinted. “Parsley? Meadowsweet?”
She almost couldn’t believe it, but yes, it was them. The very moss maidens that Serilda had once hidden in her father’s root cellar. The moss maidens who had given her Gild’s ring and locket. “How did you … What are you doing here?”
“After waiting months for the wild hunt to emerge from Gravenstone,” said Parsley, hands on her hips, “we tracked them here. Saw them shoot down the wyvern. Saw you climb down this cliff, and the Erlking follow, and a big giant bird come back up with him. Figured you’d have come back up hours ago. What are you waiting for? Another wyvern to swoop in and carry you off?”
“I … I can’t,” said Serilda. “I hurt my hands, and I wasn’t good at climbing to begin with.”
“Told you so,” said Meadowsweet, grinning at her sister. “Remember how clumsy she was in the forest?”
Parsley sighed. “Humans.” She grabbed a rope of vines from her back and tossed one end down to Serilda. “Wrap this around yourself. We’ll pull you up.”
* * *
“They killed more than half of our sisters when they attacked Asyltal,” said Parsley. Despite the tragedy in her words, her voice was hard and factual. “But enough of us got away that we were able to scout a perimeter around Gravenstone. We knew that eventually the hunt would go riding again, and we planned to use that opportunity to lay siege to the castle. To find Pusch-Grohla and free her. But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“What happened?” asked Serilda.
“It wasn’t just the hunt that rode when the veil fell last night. An entire caravan of dark ones left the castle, traveling into the forest, just as when they came to Asyltal. Not as many as before. No ghosts this time. We sent a contingent to follow them and realized they had Pusch-Grohla, along with a gryphon and a giant black wolf, kept in cages and heavily guarded. The hunt came out after. A group of us followed the Erlking. The rest stayed behind to keep watch on the caravan.”
“We believe they were going back to Adalheid,” said Meadowsweet.
Serilda nodded. “Then they will have all seven gods together on the Endless Moon.”
She had expected the moss maidens to be stunned when she told them their Shrub Grandmother was none other than Eostrig, god of fertility and springtide. But as it turned out, they had known this all along, and they thought she was dense for not having realized it a long time ago. This sparked a few offhand comments about how clueless mortals were before they let her explain all she knew about the Erlking’s plans to capture the seven gods and—she believed—wish for the destruction of the veil.
The only thing that did seem to surprise the moss maidens was when she told them about the return of Perchta, who had not been among the hunters who had set out to capture Wyrdith.
“What was most unusual,” said Meadowsweet, “was that after the caravan went past, there came earthquakes, rumbling through the forest. Creating huge cracks in the ground, as if they were fanning out from Gravenstone.”
“As if they were chasing after the dark ones,” added Parsley in a somber tone.
Serilda shuddered, remembering the destruction that had happened in the chamber deep beneath the castle. What did it mean?
The basalt cliffs gave way to a rocky moor and a long stretch of scattered grasslands. Serilda felt they had already been walking for miles, the sun making its slow climb overhead, when they finally reached the northernmost edge of the woods.
Serilda heard a low keening sound that made her pause, gooseflesh blanketing her skin.
Parsley groaned. “Don’t mind her. Just keep walking.”
“What was that?”
“A salige,” said Meadowsweet, gesturing off into the woods. “We think she made her way up here from one of the fishing villages, maybe killed herself on the bluffs. We saw her wandering through the forest last night. They are drawn to bodies of water, so maybe she’s trying to get to the ocean.”
Another heartbreaking wail echoed around them, startling a flock of black-winged gannets that had been nesting on the cliffs. They screeched and flurried through the air before gradually settling back down.
Serilda spotted her then, the salige. A woman in a flowing white gown, moving slowly through the forest. She was walking away from Serilda and the moss maidens, sobbing to herself.
Serilda had met a salige once before, deep in the Aschen Wood. Beautiful but miserable, she had begged Serilda to dance with her atop a bridge of bones—the bones of all those who had come before. Enchanted to dance until they fell down dead, all in an effort to break some unknown curse. You alone can break this curse. All it takes is a dance …
A hand fell on Serilda’s shoulder and she jumped. Meadowsweet was watching the salige, the tiniest hint of sympathy in her lovely face. “You cannot help her. Trying will only get you killed.”
“But they’re cursed, aren’t they?” said Serilda. “Can’t all curses be broken?”
Parsley crossed her arms impatiently over her chest. “Salige are cursed to kill anyone who attempts to break their curse. So, no. Not all curses can be broken.”
The salige’s cries drifted away as she moved toward the plateau. She sounded so devastated. So … lost.
The Erlking’s words struck Serilda then, taking the breath from her lips.
“They become monsters,” she whispered. “Salige were once wandering spirits. Women mourning for lost children or trying to find their way back home—but they wandered too long. This is what they become when they refuse to cross over to Verloren. They turn into monsters.”
Her hand wrapped around the arrow at her neck.
This is what would become of her, if she didn’t find some way to get her body back. A feat she wasn’t sure was possible.
They stood in silence until they could no longer hear the woman’s mournful, bitter cries.
Parsley was the first to turn away and head into the woods. “If we waste any more time out here, we’re all going to turn into wandering spirits.”
They had not gone much farther before they were met by six other moss maidens who had set up a small camp among the trees. They served Serilda a meal of not-particularly-satisfying nuts and dried fruits while Meadowsweet and Parsley told them all they had learned.
“Perchta,” growled one of the moss maidens, lip curling. “No forest creature will be safe with her return.”
“Oh—there is one more thing I forgot to mention,” said Serilda, fidgeting with the hem of her cloak, which was fast becoming as filthy and tattered as the reliable wool cloak she so missed. “Perchta is … not trapped on the dark side of the veil.”
They all frowned at her.
“But she is a demon,” said Meadowsweet.
“Yes,” said Serilda. “But—”
“But she is a demon inside a mortal body,” said Parsley, baring her teeth at Serilda as if that were her fault.
Which was fair, all things considered.
One of the maidens spat at the ground. “The great huntress, unleashed in the mortal realm. Grandmother captured. Asyltal destroyed. What does this mean for the creatures of the forest?”
“Nothing good,” murmured Meadowsweet.
“Wait,” said Serilda. “The veil is down now.” She put a hand to her chest. “I am trapped on the dark side of the veil, but you’re not. How can you see me?”
Parsley cocked her head in an oddly deerlike manner. “Forest folk are magic. Just like the drudes and the nachtkrapp. The veil was never meant to be a boundary to us when it was created, so we can slip in and out of the realms as it pleases us. We just don’t usually choose to be on the side with the dark ones.”
“Ah—I see,” said Serilda. “Thank you, then. For staying with me on this side of the veil. And for coming for me on the cliffs.”
“It isn’t charity,” said Parsley. “You have information about the Erlking and the hunt. Information that might help us rescue Pusch-Grohla.”
Serilda straightened her spine, surprised at the hope this stirred inside her. Taken by surprise in Asyltal, the moss maidens might not have been a match against the dark ones. But they were fierce allies all the same, and they were determined to free at least one of the gods.
It was more than she’d had this morning.
Serilda’s gaze fell on a longbow leaning against a tree trunk where one of the maidens was sitting, and the first stirrings of a plan came to her, unbidden.
“Golden arrows,” she whispered.
“What?” said Parsley.
“Golden arrows,” she repeated, eyes widening. “That’s how Gild defeated Perchta the first time. An arrow of god-blessed gold shot straight into her heart.” She looked around at their small group. “How many moss maidens are left? And how good are they at archery?”
Parsley shot her a look that was as cold as any the Erlking had ever given her.
“Only a mortal,” she said, “would ask such a stupid question.”
THE WINTER SOLSTICE
The Endless Moon
Chapter Fifty
Snow had been falling for more than a week.
The moss maidens had made a hastily constructed camp in the Aschen Wood, with camouflaged shelters that blended into the trees. It was comfortable enough, but Serilda longed for a fire in the hearth of the Wild Swan and a cup of mulled cider. She longed for heavy blankets and Gild’s arms around her.
She grew more anxious with each passing night. For weeks she had watched the moon wane into nothing, then slowly wax its way back to fullness. Every day, the ground rumbled beneath their feet, as if the earth was stirring far below them. Every day, new cracks appeared across the forest floor. Small fissures at first, but slowly growing wider, until there was a series of crevasses as wide as fists cutting through their camp. Always in the direction of Adalheid and the lake. The moss maidens seemed as concerned about the earth’s instability as they were about recovering Pusch-Grohla, but Serilda’s mind was often preoccupied with other concerns.
Somewhere in the world, Perchta’s belly was swelling more with every passing day.
The baby would be coming soon.
She tried to stay out of the way while the moss maidens crafted weapons and sent scouts to spy on Adalheid and the castle, where the Erlking and his court had once again taken up residence.
Serilda had begged to go with them, if only so she could sit in a corner of the public house and watch over her friends from the shadows of the veil. They wouldn’t know she was there, but it would bring her so much comfort to see them.
To see Gild.
To know he was all right.
But the moss maidens refused. She was too clumsy, too brash, and they could not risk the dark ones seeing her.
At least they had brought word that Gild and Erlen were alive and were staying at the Wild Swan. It was all that anyone had been talking about in town, it seemed. Vergoldetgeist in their midst, toiling away on some secret project. The townsfolk, at Lorraine’s urging, had supplied a spinning wheel and a loom and were bringing in cartloads of everything from sheep’s wool to winter-wilted straw for the gold-spinner to work with.
Making gold and, Serilda hoped, crafting it into weapons and arrows like they’d talked about. Using it for Erlen’s tapestries, to secure a victorious future.
Serilda had asked if they couldn’t just take the weapons Gild was constructing and storm the castle, take the dark ones by surprise before the Endless Moon ever rose. But Meadowsweet had explained that so long as Gild was in the mortal realm, his spun gold could not be used against the dark ones until the veil fell.
No—they would have to wait.
* * *
Finally, the day of the Endless Moon arrived, bringing with it a powdery snow that fell dreamily from the sky, filling up the tracks left by scavenging deer and rabbits the night before.
Serilda’s hands were shaking as she affixed the clasp on her bloodred cloak. With fear and nerves, but also excitement to finally be doing something. The solstice was here. They would save the gods and reclaim her body. They would defeat the dark ones.
Or they would fail. The veil would fall and the mortal world would never be the same again.
“I trust we do not need to remind you of your role in all this,” said Parsley, handing Serilda the small reed whistle that would summon the moss maidens when the time came.
“I know what I need to do,” she said. The whistle was attached to a strap that she slipped over her head, tucking it beside the broken arrow. “I know what’s at stake, as much as anyone.”
“Then go, and make sure no one sees you leaving the woods.”
“Of course.” The last thing Serilda wanted to do was to lead their enemy into the camp mere hours before they were set to invade Adalheid Castle. She expected and hoped the Erlking’s court would be busy preparing for the Endless Moon, and would not concern themselves with a pack of forest folk loitering about in the forest.
“We will be ready.”
Serilda bounced nervously on her toes. Once she had offered a friendly embrace to Parsley and Meadowsweet, after she had protected them from the wild hunt. She was tempted to extend her arms to them again now, after all they’d been through.
But Parsley’s look darkened, as if she could tell what Serilda was thinking. Prickly as ever.
Serilda shrank back. “Tonight, then.”
“Serilda?” said Meadowsweet.
Serilda faced her, hope rising in her chest.
With an exaggerated sigh, Meadowsweet held out her arms to Serilda.
Serilda beamed and accepted the hug.
“Don’t try to be clever,” said Meadowsweet. “Just follow the plan.”
“I will. I mean—I won’t. I mean—” Serilda stepped back and clapped a hand to her empty chest. “I’ll do my best.”
“How promising,” muttered Parsley.
She bid farewell to the rest of the moss maidens, who, despite having spent the last month with her, still watched her go like a bunch of suspicious foxes. Serilda left the camp alone.
She would go to Adalheid and slip into the public house, so that as soon as the veil fell, she would be ready to explain everything to Gild and Erlen. She would ensure that the weapons Gild had been making were delivered to the moss maidens. Then she would enter the castle and do whatever she needed to do—cause a distraction or stall the Erlking, keep him from making his wish—giving the moss maidens time to get into position. When the time was right, she’d blow the whistle and the maidens would descend and slaughter the dark ones, one by one, using the same spun-gold arrows that had once killed Perchta.
