Amber-gold sunlight bathed the sky as autumn's chill kissed Tasiya's cheeks. The wheat fields rippled like molten bronze, interrupted by occasional bursts of violet from seasonal starbloom flowers.
Hefting a sheaf of harvested wheat over her shoulder, the black-clad nun glanced toward the convent. Smoke coiled from its chimney, carrying the scent of baking bread that never quite reached her wind-chapped nostrils. Supper time, she thought without inflection.
"Sister Tasiya!" A grey-robed figure waved from the courtyard. "Mary's missing! She went herb-gathering at noonfall!"
The sickle at Tasiya's belt clicked into its sheath as she dumped her harvest. "Which quadrant?"
"Southeastern crags. Sister Renya's orders."
Tasiya scooped water from the stone trough. The metallic aftertaste lingered as she broke into a run.
That troublesome fledgling. Though not the youngest, twelve-year-old Mary possessed squirrel-like agility and a penchant for chasing woodland creatures. The rock-strewn mountains posed little danger—no wolves had haunted these slopes since the Great Culling.
Shadows deepened beneath the pines. Tasiya tracked small bootprints through decaying leaves, her calls scattering jays. "Mary! Your supper grows cold!"
An elderly nun materialized through the gloom, her basket overflowing with nightshade berries. "Seeking the little magpie? She flitted westward at twilight."
"Through wolfroot thickets?" Tasiya's hand drifted toward her dagger.
"Children see paths we cannot." The crone gestured vaguely. "Check the merchants' trail."
Three squirrels chittered overhead. The lead rodent dropped an acorn, its brethren wrestling with a sinewy root. When Tasiya extended a pinecone offering, razor-sharp teeth sank into her thumb.
Blood bloomed crimson. The creatures scattered as she bound her wound with sacramental linen.
So this is Mary's woodland charm?
The western slope's clay bore deep wagon ruts, obliterating any trace of small boots. Tasiya stared at the vanishing light. Somewhere beyond the darkening tree line, the convent bell began tolling vespers.
Chapter 1: Bloodwood Vespers (Part 2 of 2)
The mountain's medicinal herbs thrived in cruel crevices—places where only a child's fingers could pry. Mary's recklessness proved useful here, though her squirrel-chasing antics now left Tasiya ankle-deep in wagon-rut mud.
Twilight surrendered to velvet darkness as she descended. A lantern's glow pierced the gloom, accompanied by iron-shod hooves. Tasiya pressed against the cliffside. "Halt! Have you seen a golden-haired child?"
The carter's mule snorted. "A blur near wolfroot thickets, perhaps?" His shrug scattered shadows. "May the Saints guard your search."
Liar. The man's sweat-soured scent betrayed him, but Tasiya let him pass. Her fingers brushed the bloodstained linen around her palm—then froze.
The texture matched the shredded cloth in those demonic squirrels' jaws.
By convent's edge, mud-caked hems slapped against Tasiya's calves. Sister Norah's greeting curdled at the sight of her makeshift bandage. "Using sacred linen as wound-wrap? You're still that heathen noble's daughter!"
"Mary's back," Tasiya stated more than asked.
"Back? The magpie's nest remains empty!"
Cold seeped through Tasiya's soaked boots as realization struck. She stormed past supper tables toward the Elders' quarters.
"Which hag gathered nightshade berries at dusk?" Her demand shattered vesper silence.
The eldest nuns exchanged glances like rustling grave-shrouds. "No soul above sixty winters climbs those slopes," quavered one.
"Then who—"
A withered hand seized her wrist. "The lost child... her age?"
"Six or seven winters."
Relief bloomed in cataract-clouded eyes. "Too young for the Bargain," muttered a crone.
Tasiya's dagger flashed. "What. Bargain."