Chapter 40: Shadows in the Forest

Chapter 40: Shadows in the Forest

She stepped outside and began practicing the simpler exercises Cassian had assigned her. Once her mana was depleted, she settled between two barrels and started to meditate.

Time flowed slowly, like a river. Emilia’s mind drifted just as languidly, her meditation deep in this strange, enchanting atmosphere.

The sun rose steadily over the river, a light mist curling around the bases of trees in the dark forest. Antlers of deer peeked out from a cluster of bushes, and later, a bear with her cubs drank from the water’s edge.

The scenery shifted, one moment to the next, but the river remained—sluggish, eternal, like the ancient hills it wound through. Fish darted in the water, and two lanterns glowed at the ship’s bow and stern. The sail hung slack, carried forward by a gentle tailwind. Emilia meditated in bliss, sensing it all through her magical senses.

Hours slipped by, and just before noon, with the sun high in the sky, the ship paused at a small dock. A rowboat, powered by two oarsmen, approached, loaded goods, and on its second trip, Emilia and Mira boarded with their luggage.

The dock belonged to a small fishing village that also thrived on beekeeping. The locals had a deep tradition in the craft, producing mana-rich honey and sweet mead prized in nearby towns.

Mira chatted with the boatmen, paid them a handful of large copper coins, and one of them led her to a relative who rented out a sturdy cart pulled by two strong oxen. It would take them to Grandma’s village.

The journey lasted three hours. Emilia peppered the cart driver with questions—did bee stings hurt much? Did they search for nectar from magical herbs at night? Did they use magic in their hives?

The driver spun tales of mysterious bees deep in the forests, as big as small birds, building nests in towering magical trees. Their hives brimmed with delicious, enchanted honey. Some guarded rare magical herbs—earthly treasures—and with their power, the strongest bees could become magical beasts, often venomous and fiercely dangerous.

He shared a legend about bees saving a lost child in the woods, feeding it flower pollen. He recounted how even the wise hero Nestor once drank so much mead that he forgot his sage advices for three days, stumbling about like an ordinary mortal.

Emilia listened, mouth agape. As they parted, the driver invited them to visit on their return, promising to treat them to honey, mead, and fluffy honey cakes.
Emilia eagerly agreed, while Mira shook her head. They paid two silver coins and five large coppers. The driver had initially asked for three silvers—“one for me, one for each ox”—but they haggled him down to two and a half silvers.

Along the way, they passed other carts from nearby villages and even a few travelers on foot. Tomorrow was market day, the driver said, and two small ships would dock to buy produce and sell goods from nearby towns.

Gradually, a small village came into view, nestled among trees. Wooden walls encircled the houses, and seven towers stood ready to defend it if needed. Fields and a few workshops lay outside the walls, built near a hill where metals were mined.

The driver passed through the wide-open gate and dropped them off in front of a large stone house. With a quick farewell, he turned back, hurrying to reach home before full dark.

Mira looked at the heavy chest and the cages with the sacrificial animals, sighed deeply, then muttered something under her breath and went off to greet the neighbors and ask for a bit of help carrying the chest inside the house.

Emilia met the neighbors, but her mother was tired after the long journey, so the two of them went home early to the big house.

Emilia immediately began to wander around, inspecting every corner. The place had enough rooms for two, maybe even three families. The cellar was vast—filled with empty barrels and all sorts of tools. The rooms were tidy, but it was clear no one had lived there for a long time.

The old grandmother used the kitchen and a small room next to it, easier to heat during winter. There were several sheds for animals, a garden for vegetables and herbs, fruit trees, berry bushes, raspberries, and rows upon rows of strawberries.

The well was wide and deep, with a soft splash echoing from its depths.

In one of the sheds they found firewood. The two of them lit the hearth, cooked a simple stew, talked for a while, and went to bed early.

The next morning, Emilia trained a little, then stayed behind to tidy up the house and work on her talismans, while her mother arranged the funeral and handed out small gifts to neighbors and old acquaintances from the summers she’d spent here as a child.

By early afternoon, Emilia went out for a walk, hoping to meet the village children. Soon, she found a group playing marbles.

She stopped nearby, quietly watching their game. After a while, one of the boys came closer.

"Where are you from?"
"From a town upriver. We came to bury my great-grandmother."
"Oh… I see. My grandma died last month too. Some sickness—Gea’s curse, that’s what Uncle Ozel said. But he’s always talking about curses, especially when he’s drunk. Can you play marbles?"
"I can…"

Emilia smiled faintly, her mind drifting toward thoughts of the dead, and pulled out a small leather pouch. She poured a few marbles into her palm—each one a little different. Some were dull gray, smooth, and heavy to the touch—baked clay, etched with simple designs. Others were more uneven, with reddish or brownish hues, like river stones worn down by time. A few were shiny hazelnuts polished to a soft gleam.

She arranged them on the ground and said, “I call these ones ‘Earth-Grays,’ and those ‘River Skimmers.’ My father made them for me.” The children gathered closer, curious and impressed, and the game began anew.

They tried to strike each other’s marbles and shoot them into small holes drawn roughly in the dirt. Some of the rules were a bit different, which confused Emilia at first, but she learned quickly.

As they played, she told them about some of the games kids played back in her neighborhood—and it turned out most of them were almost the same here too. They even tried a few games with little wooden figurines, laughing and arguing over who would go first.

In the town, many parents worked in the sawmills and had leveled up their woodcrafting skills. Children learned to handle timber from an early age—demand for it never stopped, and it was steady work. Here in the village, people also worked with wood often. It was a small place, and everyone maintained their own homes, fences, and tools. Many villagers had developed woodworking skills—a necessity when the material was literally within arm’s reach.

Some of the children, however, had figurines made of stone, even metal. Their parents worked in the mines on the hill, and soldiers often came with carts to haul away the processed ore.

The village had not one, but three forges, all working directly for the army. They hired locals as apprentices, training them in the craft.

Emilia enjoyed the game. She was younger than most of the kids, but she used her mana to nudge the marbles ever so slightly—and she kept hitting her targets. That impressed some of them greatly.

"Are all people in the big city that good at marbles?" one boy asked.
Emilia blushed.

"The city’s not that big. And… it’s just that my brother Kael is really good at marbles. He gives me lessons," she said quickly, trying to sound modest.

Soon she began asking if there was a large river nearby—she wanted to collect magic stones. If no one else gathered them, there should be plenty.

Two of the kids agreed to show her the river and the nearby woods—in exchange for a few of her prettiest marbles. Emilia hesitated but eventually agreed, and the small group set off.

"We should be careful though," one of them warned. "Owen’s dad said there’ve been a lot of goblins around lately."

Goblins in this world weren’t even considered real monsters. They were cowardly things, no taller than a dog. But they could be a nuisance, stealing chickens and small animals. Hunters always tried to clear them out before they built nests near villages.

Emilia kept an eye out, but soon they saw other children by the riverbank. Some were pushing crudely carved wooden boats along the water; an older boy was fishing, while two women knelt in the shallows, washing rugs against the current.

Emilia wandered along the shore, accompanied by her new friends, and started collecting magic stones. There were plenty, though the best ones had already been picked. Apparently, others here used them too. After an hour or so, a group of hunters rushed past them toward the village, but Emilia paid them no mind. She had found a few interesting herbs and wondered if there was anyone she could sell them to.

As the sun began to set, two more groups of hunters returned to the village. This time Emilia noticed their expressions—they looked worried, moving quickly toward the large building atop the hill.

"What’s that place?" Emilia asked, pointing.

"That’s the mayor’s hall. There’s a cherry tree in front of it—if you climb up, you can see the whole village while eating cherries. They’re not that tasty, though, and the mayor yells if we break any branches. But we don’t.. Well.. Not very often.."

Emilia looked at the sun—it would be dark in about an hour. She decided she had gathered enough stones and asked the children to show her the way back to her grandmother’s house. In the end, she paid them not only with marbles but even gave them three copper coins.

Over the next few days, Mira organized the funeral, and everything went smoothly. Now, only the matter of the land and the house remained to be settled.

Meanwhile, Emilia kept collecting stones, crafting small talismans, and playing with the local children. But strange things began happening in the village. First came more goblins than usual. Then, a few large beasts were spotted. And on the fifth day after their arrival, the mayor announced that the village gates would be closed. The hunters had stumbled upon several hundred cursed satyrs—led by a group of awakened ones, their mana unsealed.

Once, satyrs had been linked to Dionysus—the god of wine and ecstasy. They were often described playing flutes and chasing forest nymphs. In ancient times, some heroes even had wise satyrs as teachers. But during the last wars against the gods, many tribes of the earthly races fell to the corruption of the Titans.

After that final battle, most of those races fled into the deep pits of Tartarus, occasionally finding their way back through the endless tunnels rising from the Abyss. Others hid in dense forests, forgotten swamps, or remote, impassable mountains.

What was strange now was that these satyrs—the ones who hadn’t fled into Tartarus—had suddenly begun attacking nearby settlements. No… it wasn’t random. Something must have driven them out of the depths of the Dark Forest.