Page 5 of Song of the Dark Wood

“It’s hard to tell. She said he was dangerous, but little else. It seems terribly impractical that Orla can tell us nothing about her experiences,” Rowan said.

“It’s because knowledge is power, and the elders like you weak,” Cade called from where he lay by the edge of the water, pulling up blades of grass and tossing them to the wind.

Rowan frowned at him.

“It did always strike me as odd. Especially since the elders are so vocal about interactions with the Mother,” Sarai mused.

The elders were originally messengers, meant to help spread the word the Mother shared via the Crone, but in recent years, they’d inserted themselves between the two. Not only had they stolen much of the Crone’s political and theological power, but they’d slowly manipulated the messaging to suit their means.

Sarai bundled the rosemary in string, her jerky motions nearly splitting the stalks in half. “Honestly, their desire to control women in the community knows no bounds. Did you know they want to ban them from joining the huntsmen ranks?”

Rowan’s eyes went wide. “How do you know that?”

“Raya told me,” Sarai said, her cheeks flushing a dark berry color.

“But there are so many outstanding female hunters in their ranks. Do they just expect them all to resign?” Rowan asked.

“They don’t care,” Sarai said. “My mother is a fantastic Crone and they’ve made her a glorified ceremony master with no actual power. I worry there will be no need for me by the time I’m old enough to take over for her. It’s maddening watching them constantly performing their devotion rather than actually feeling it. Don’t you think?”

Rowan nodded. “I do, but you know how I feel. It’s hard to feel connected to a religion that sends young women to a death god.”

“I know,” Sarai sighed. “And I know you hold no affection for the Mother who allowed you to be born to be a sacrifice.”

“What an honor—to be a prize for a vengeful god,” Rowan said, her voice tight with bitterness.

“You should be careful who you share those sentiments with,” Sarai warned, laying sprigs of rosemary in her basket. “I may understand, but others won’t.”

Rowan tried so hard to be a perfect Red Maiden—to live a frictionless life—to be pleasant, compliant, and silent. Orla was frictionless, and everyone loved her. Rowan was chaotic and angry under a barely controlled exterior.

Sarai’s gaze was like a brand, but Rowan kept her focus on the blooming lavender. It was not the season for lavender, especially with so much rain, but Rowan hummed quietly, listening to the song that flowed through the plant’s roots and coaxing it to bloom.

She was forbidden from singing outside of the soundproof room she trained in, but the small rebellion was one of the few thrills in her life, and the Crone and Sarai made good use of their herbs. They made salves for wounds, herbal tinctures, and remedies for the poorest in Ballybrine.

Though Sarai knew about her power, Rowan had never explained the way it truly worked. She kept it to herself to prevent Sarai from being put in the awkward position of having to lie for her. Their friendship was always second to their responsibilities, though Sarai did her best to give Rowan an outlet when she could.

“The mint could use a song.” Sarai gestured toward the pathetic-looking mint plant potted at the far edge of the garden.

Rowan smiled. “All right, but only one. If I give it too much, it will strangle the rest of the garden.” She shifted her gaze over to Cade, who was distracted with digging worms from the wet dirt by the lake’s edge.

She turned her attention to the plant and sang an old folk lullaby. Immediately, the mint plant perked up and grew before their eyes until it was lush and overwhelmed its pot.

“I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s always amazing to watch,” Sarai said. “Can Orla do that, too? Or Aeoife?”

Rowan shrugged. She’d never asked since she wasn’t supposed to be singing outside of her training. She was pretty sure that neither of them would tell on her, but she didn’t want to put them in the position of being forced to confess something to the elders. The punishments dealt by the elders were rarely commensurate with the alleged crimes committed. Rowan’s gaze dropped to her hands, where she bore several angry red lines from being hit with a switch for asking questions out of turn.

Rowan couldn’t quite explain her power. She just knew that when she sang, the resonance in her voice brushed up against the resonance of living things and made them grow. The same way a Red Maiden’s song reminded the dead of life and lured them through the woods, Rowan’s songs inspired living things to thrive.

Rowan gnawed on her lip, watching Sarai harvest some thyme. “I want to propose that the Wolf change his bargain with the Mother.”

Sarai froze. She turned to face Rowan. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I told you so!” Cade proclaimed.

Rowan slumped. She’d hoped Sarai would support her idea more than Cade had. “Sarai, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to die. I don’t want Aeoife to have to take over in five years. She’ll only be fifteen! It’s too young.” She frowned. “It would help if we could find the Maiden who is supposed to come between me and Aeoife.”

Red Maidens were born every five years, but despite the elders’ best efforts, they hadn’t found the girl who had been born five years after Rowan.

She felt a sick sort of envy for that girl. She must have had family looking out for her and remarkable control over her gifts. But Rowan couldn’t fault her for wanting to duck her fate.

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