The bell in the village was ringing.
Loud.
Final.
It shuddered through the trees. Through her bones. It would not be long.
Magdah stood, the journal in her hands slipping to the floor. The shadows from the fireplace stretched across the cottage like fingers. Her daughter was asleep in the bed that they shared, her breath soft as ash.
Magdah moved to the window. Tiny lights could be seen through the trees, growing, coming closer. She had very little time. This wasn’t unexpected; far from it. There had been whisperings about her in the little village since she had come.
Too different. Too pale. Too strange.
The arrival of the captain and his men was just the spark needed to set the whispers aflame.
Witch .
The word seared its way through her skull. She had once been called a healer, a guide. Someone the people came to rather than ran from. The Queen had changed all of that. Her coming had been called a ‘Holy Revelation’. What followed was nothing less than an extermination.
Every creature, every wisewoman, every elder… Taken in the night, snuffed out like shadows at dawn.
Some had fled; others had fought. All had perished beneath the banner of the Queen.
She gave a shuddering breath and turned away from the glass panes, facing instead the bed.
Her daughter.
Her little star.
The child’s small form rose and fell beneath the blankets as she cuddled deep within them. Her large crown of hair pooled on the pillow under her head.
Kneeling on the cold floor, Magdah stopped to brush a golden curl from her daughter’s eyes.
“Nix…” she said, barely above a whisper.
The dreamer did not wake.
A blessing.
A curse.
A sob threatened to rise in her throat; she pushed it down. Let her sleep, let her know one last moment of peace. One last dream of childhood.
An owl hooted in the night.
When the night comes for you…
The memory came unbidden. It had been weeks before, a stranger in the village. The people had given him a wide berth, moving around him like water around a root.
Magdah had only come to the village to sell herbs. Nix trailed behind her, counting pebbles along the road.
His eyes were cloudy, like milk in the sockets. He walked with a cane but didn’t seem to need it. He saw her first.
Child , he had said, taking hold of Magdah’s hand. There was a flash of something in his fingertips - recognition. You are not safe here.
Magdah knew this, of course she knew this, but where else was there to go? Where hadn’t the crown’s influence already reached? Should she condemn her child to a lifetime of running? A lifetime of hiding?
They will come , he continued, sooner than you think.
Not here, she had said, pulling her hand away . Not now. Please… just leave us be.
The old man didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, his gaze drifted past her, eyes flashing gold in the morning light. An amulet slid from his tattered robes: a hoop wrapped in black thread, the weaving forming the suggestion of a spider’s web.
Magdah stepped back, closer to her daughter.
When the night comes for you… choose her.
She hadn’t known what he had meant then, but now the message was clear.
Her pulse throbbed in the tips of her fingers, in the distance, the owl let out a mournful call.
She would not be afraid.
Now was her last chance. Her only chance.
Let the work begin.
She stood and crossed to the opposite wall. The hanging herbs rustled without wind; the bottles of tinctures glimmered faintly in the firelight; the sachets of earth seemed to darken as she passed. The tools of her craft watched her, waiting.
She reached for them with steady hands.
Her last spell.
A bundle of lavender.
A shard of obsidian.
Spring water charged in the moon’s eye; still cold and humming in its bowl.
It would have to be enough.
Another sound echoed through the forest. Not the bell this time.
Voices.
She looked back at the window and saw the dancing flames of torches through the trees. There were men calling to each other, low at first, then swelling.
A prickle of fear went up her spine.
They were closer than she thought.
She crossed to the window again and pulled the curtains closed. Nix slept on, unaware that someone had already decided her mother’s fate.
“We have minutes…” she said, though no one was awake to hear her.
The floor under her feet seemed to thrum faintly, reacting to her fear. The cottage seemed to know what was coming, the danger she faced. It urged her onward. Shadows stretched along the walls, different now, as though shifting to make way for something older, something hungry.
Magdah crossed to the little table where they would eat their meals. Memories of mornings drifted in and out of her mind:
Nix giggling, pulling off strawberry tops and placing them in her hair… Tiny fingers twisting together bundles of mint and rosemary…
Tears stung Magdah’s eyes as she worked, but she would not let them fall.
She set the items down on the table and took a steadying breath. The lavender smelled faintly of summer. It almost broke her. She brushed her fingertips over the bundle.
“Protect her,” she murmured.
The obsidian glinted in the firelight, jagged and sharp. She closed her hand around it, feeling its icy edges bite into her palms. The last time she’d touched it, she’d sworn she would never use it again.
Promises crumble under fear.
The spring water trembled in its small clay bowl. A thin thread of silver light curled along its surface - faint, but present, answering the pull of her magic.
A crack echoed outside. There was the breaking of a branch, booted feet stepping over fallen wood. A dog barking, then silenced. The voices were clearer now.
“Search the woods!”
“She’ll be near, witches always run to the trees!”
“Bring the torches to the front!”
Her throat tightened.
She walked back to where she had been sitting and picked up her journal. She tore a scrap from the back page and took out her quill. There was no time for poetry, no time for explanations, only truth. Her hand moved quickly, the words forming in a tight, urgent script.
“ Little Star,
You will never be without me. You will never be alone. Go where the earth still remembers me. She will know you.
Keep her close. Always.
~ Mama”
The air in the cottage thickened, like the moment before a storm breaks. Even the fire seemed to lower itself, flames shrinking into a hush.
She pulled the locket she wore from her neck, tucking the tiny note inside. The message felt fragile in her palm.
It will have to be enough.
She bent over the bed and slipped the chain around Nix’s neck, careful not to wake her. The child stirred once, breath catching, then settled again. The locket lay against her small chest, rising and falling with each soft breath. Magdah lingered for one heartbeat, then two.
There was no more time for hesitation.
Magdah gathered the items back into her arms, her movements firm now, sharpened by resolve.
The shadows flickered again – not random, not a trick of the light.
They were reaching now, stretching across the floor towards her skirts.
She felt them pull at her heels as she crossed to the back door and swung it open. Cold air rushed inside, carrying with it the smell of smoke and pine sap. The woods behind the cottage were dark, but she could still sense the path to the half-buried cellar door.
She chanced one last look into the cottage. Nix was still asleep somehow, curled on her side, her arm had fallen out of the blankets and was hanging off the side of the bed. As if reaching for her, as if calling her home.
Magdah felt the hesitation rise, hot and sharp, in her belly. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from turning back.
“I do this for you, little star,” she said as she turned back into the dark.
The night swallowed her.
Cold air wrapped around Magdah’s ankles as she stepped outside. She hurried down the slope, the night wind making her hair whip around her. Behind her came more shouts, the pounding of hooves. She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The path to the cellar was narrow, nearly invisible unless you had walked it a hundred times.
She had.
The cellar door lay ahead, half-swallowed by earth and tangled roots. Moss coated the edges. Dead leaves had gathered in the seam where wood met soil. It looked like nothing. Like an abandoned root cellar of a widow long gone.
Perfect.
She reached the cellar, put down the items in her hands, and scraped dirt from the iron handle. The door resisted at first, but with a firm tug she pulled it back like an opening mouth.
The stairs descended sharply, carved from packed earth and reinforced by wooden beams darkened by age. She gathered the items again and stepped inside. Her bare feet landed on the cool dirt with familiarity. The sounds from outside faded behind her; the cellar swallowed them all.
She shut the door behind her, willing it to stay hidden in the dark. She searched for the lantern she had left for herself, lit it, and started down.
At the bottom, the narrow space opened into a low chamber.
Shelves built from rough-cut planks lined the walls, holding jars clouded by dust and bundles of herbs long dried. The air was colder here, thick with the smell of damp earth. Tree roots pushed through the ceiling and walls, twisting into shapes that looked almost deliberate.
Magdah knelt on the packed dirt floor and spread the items before her.
Lavender for peace.
Obsidian for severing.
Moon-water for binding.
She arranged them with practiced precision. Lavender to the east. Water to the west. Obsidian to the north.
It had to be quick, it had to be messy.
She dipped her fingers into the bowl. The water rippled, catching the faintest glint of silver before settling again. Magdah pressed her wet fingertips to the dirt floor, drawing a steady circle.
Above her came the thud of boots. Men shouting orders. The scrape of steel.
She didn’t look up.
“This is for her,” she murmured, and the room seemed to hum in agreement.
She placed the lavender inside the circle, its pale purple heads trembling as though touched by wind. Next, she set the shard of obsidian upright in the center. The stone’s dark surface seemed to swallow the firelight from the lantern.
“I sever what must be severed,” she whispered.
The roots overhead creaked, shifting like slow creatures waking.
Magdah cupped the moon-water and let a few drops fall onto the obsidian. The water hissed on contact, steam rising, curling into shapes that dissolved too quickly to understand.
“Bind her to what protects,” she continued, voice low but steady. “Not to blood, not to bone, but to shadow. To imagination. To the spaces between.”
Torches flared through the cracks in the cellar door above, slashing bright lines against the low ceiling.
Magdah didn’t stop.
Her hands moved swiftly now, gathering the loosened earth around the circle.
“Let her be guarded by what cannot be caught,” she whispered, “and shielded by what cannot die.”
The room grew colder.
The lavender wilted.
Magdah lifted both hands over the obsidian and the circle of earth.
Her breath slowed. Her pulse steadied.
“This is my last work,” she said. “And my greatest.”
The shadows in the chamber thickened, sliding across the floor toward the circle - soft, fluid, expectant.
Magdah closed her eyes.
“Come forth,” she whispered into the dark. “Daughter of night. Born of my will. Forged for her fate.”
The lavender crumbled into dust.
The obsidian trembled.
The air tightened as though holding itself still.
Something stirred.
Above her, the bells tolled out again.
She did not turn.