Chapter Eight

“What’s that song you keep humming?” Story asked Jaren as they headed to the market. His oldest sister, Summer, had been desperate to go, probably hoping to see her carpenter, but Tadpole was sick, and someone had to cater to her every whim. Father would have done it himself, but he was out hunting spring hares and wild turkey today. Tad wouldn’t listen to a word Story said, and, given his distractedness, Jaren made a terrible nurse.

His eyes darted to his twin. He hadn’t even realized he’d been humming. Weeks had passed since he went to the lake and saw the girl, and it had taken a disconcerting amount of resolve not to go back. When he’d fished the hatchling from the lake, a part of him was still skeptical about the poison. But after just a few moments in the water, the tiny corpse was already beginning to skeletonize, and any lingering doubts vanished. Still, that didn’t make it magic. There were plenty of poisonous things in nature: berries, mushrooms, insects, plants... Why not a lake?

“Sorry. Just a tune I can’t get out of my head.”

Story raised a hand and pressed her palm to Jaren’s forehead. “Hmm, no fever. I thought perhaps you were coming down with the same thing as Tad.”

“Tad’s not even sick,” Jaren said, brushing her hand away. “She’s just angry because Father says she’s too young to do the shopping, so she’s punishing Summer.”

“I know all her tactics, Jay. But you never sing.”

“What can I say, the fresh spring air is getting to me.” He glanced at Story to see if she would accept the lie or push him further.

She shrugged. “Well, it’s pretty, whatever it is. A little sad, but pretty.”

They had reached the market. It was held every Sunday in Bricklebury, the perfect excuse for all of the locals to congregate and peddle stories along with their wares.

“I saw it. Big as a cow, it was.” The man who was speaking, an old, grizzled fellow, was gesticulating wildly at the gathering crowd. “Must have descended from the giant wolves who roamed these mountains when our grandfathers were young.”

An elderly woman selling knit booties nodded sagely. “I’ve heard the tales. None have been spotted in decades, mind.”

Story rolled her eyes at Jaren and pressed through the throngs of people to a small stand. The woman here sold medicine, some genuine, some more likely to kill the patient than cure them. Story picked up a small green bottle that said Fever Tonic on the label.

“What’s in this?” she asked the shopkeeper, tipping the bottle back and forth to study the viscosity of the fluid inside.

As the woman rattled off the ingredients, Jaren let his eyes wander around the market. He spotted Lars easily enough. The young man and his bright hair waved in greeting before he returned to his conversation with the butcher. And there was Maggie, the woman with the formidable brows. She glared at Jaren, clearly still upset about what he’d said regarding magic.

“Who are you looking for?” Story asked, handing a coin to the shopkeeper and tucking a brown bottle with no label into her satchel.

“Oh, no one in particular,” Jaren replied. The truth was, he realized now, he’d been looking for a girl with pale blond hair, which was foolish. He knew Endlans didn’t leave their island, magic lake or no.

Story twisted her lips like she had more to say.

“I was hoping to buy honey today,” he added. “But I can’t find the stand.”

The diversion worked. There was a pretty, young woman who sold the honey, and Story would make her own assumptions from there. “She only comes every other week,” Story said, linking her arm through Jaren’s.

“Why do you think the people here are so obsessed with magic?” he asked in a low voice as they strolled the market. “Is it the thin mountain air? Too much time on their hands?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can sort of feel it myself, when I’m in the forest. It feels different from the forest back home.”

They had moved from a city more than two weeks away by horseback when Klaus, who had known Jaren’s mother as a girl, had written to Stepan, describing the bountiful forests, clean air, and welcoming community. So far, it had all proven to be true, for the most part.

But Jaren still didn’t understand what everyone was talking about, not even his sister, who wasn’t prone to superstition. The forest just felt like a forest, albeit a quiet one.

They had made their way back to where the old man was still spinning his yarn about the wolf, which had now grown to the size of a cottage. Quite a crowd had gathered by this point, and Story tugged Jaren over to listen.

“My dog went after it,” the old man said. “I kept trying to call him back, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Are you sure you weren’t drinking again, Thom?” a younger man asked. “Your stories tend to get more fanciful the more ale you’ve consumed.”

“It was a troll the last time,” someone else said.

“Fairies, the time before that!”

Jaren found himself nodding in agreement. It seemed there were at least a few people in this village with some sense.

But the old man ignored their jibes and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a massive fang, bigger than any Jaren had ever seen. “I yanked this out of my poor Alfie, once the wolf abandoned his body. And don’t tell me you’ve ever seen the likes of it, unless you’re all drunk yourselves!”

Jaren and Story shared a wide-eyed look and slowly backed out of the crowd.

Once they were on the trail back to their house, Story turned to Jaren. “That was...”

“Strange? Bizarre? Disturbing?”

Story nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

“Even I have to admit that was an impressive fang.”

“Starting to believe in magic now, are you?” she asked, bumping him with her shoulder.

Jaren scoffed. “Hardly. But I am starting to believe the people in this village are even nuttier than I thought.” He gestured to Story’s satchel. “What did you buy for Tadpole?”

“Oh, just some cod liver oil. I’m going to tell her it’s a fever remedy. Hopefully it tastes so terrible she won’t be tempted to fake an illness again anytime soon.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***