When she had passed through the small city the night before, it had been quiet and solemn, as though all the villagers had sequestered themselves behind locked doors and shuttered windows, frightened of what might be prowling their streets beneath the Hunger Moon.
But as Serilda made her way over the bridge, she saw that during the night—or, the century, if she had indeed slept for a hundred years—life had returned to the town. No longer did it appear foreboding and half-abandoned in the shadow of the enormous castle. In the morning daylight, it actually looked rather lovely. Tall half-timbered houses lined the lakeshore, painted in tones of pale green and marigold and accented with dark wood trim. Bright morning sun alighted on snowy rooftops and gardens where more than one little snowman was slowly wasting away. A parade of small fishing boats was moored along a series of docks, and on the road that stretched along a pebbled beach there stood a row of thatched-roof shelters that Serilda didn’t remember seeing the night before.
A market.
That was the greatest transformation of all, she noted, as the sounds of merry bustling greeted her. The villagers had emerged and reclaimed their city, as if the wild hunt had never ridden past. As if the castle on the water, just beyond their doorsteps, was not overrun with monsters and ghosts.
The sight that greeted Serilda as she neared the end of the bridge was lively, boisterous, and completely commonplace. People dressed in heavy cloaks and woolen hats meandered among the booths, examining animal furs and woven cloth, baskets of turnips and bundles of candied nuts, wooden clogs and metalwork. Shaggy mules pulled carts laden with apples and cabbages, pigs and geese, while chickens clucked and waddled freely among the streets. A group of children were lying on their stomachs on the end of one of the docks, playing a game with bright-painted stones.
Serilda was filled with relief to see them. All of them. They might be strangers, but they were human and they were alive. She’d feared that the town, like the castle, might have been lost to time, becoming an obsolete ghost town while she slumbered. She feared it might be just as haunted as the ruins she’d left behind.
But this city was not in ruins, and apparently, not haunted, either. If anything, her first impression was that the town was quite prosperous. There were no homes she could see that were in desperate need of repairs. Roofs were well-thatched or neatly tiled, gates were sturdy, and sunlight was glinting off glass windows. Real glass. No one in Märchenfeld had glass windows, not even the vintner, who owned more land than anyone. If a building had windows at all, they were narrow and open to the weather in the summer, boarded up in the winter.
As she crested the bridge, Serilda again wondered just how long she had slept. Had she really awoken in another time?
But then she spotted a copper pail left alongside a blue-painted fence, and it struck her as familiar. She was sure she’d seen it last night. But if decades had passed, wouldn’t the fence have rotted away by now, or the pail been blown off by some terrible storm?
It was not exactly confirmation, but it gave her hope that she had not stepped into another time, but had merely returned from behind the veil that separated the world of mortals from the realm of the dark ones.
Besides, the clothing was no different from what someone might wear in Märchenfeld—if perhaps sporting fewer stains and holes and a bit more ornamentation. But wouldn’t the styles have changed had many years gone by?
Serilda tried to appear nonchalant, even pleasant, as she reached the end of the bridge. Soon the townspeople would notice her peculiar eyes and her very nature would come under question. Best to charm them while she could.
It was not long before they started to notice her.
At least—one woman noticed her, and let out a shaken wail that immediately drew the attention of everyone else nearby.
People turned, startled.
And as soon as they saw the girl in the worn traveling cloak stepping off the bridge, they stiffened, their eyes going round. Gasps and suspicious whispers made their course through the crowd.
Some of the children hissed, and Serilda glanced toward the dock. They were staring at her openly, their game forgotten.
Serilda smiled.
No one smiled back.
So much for charming them.
Bracing herself against this less-than-encouraging reception, she paused at the edge of the street. A silence had fallen over the market, as thick as a blanket of fresh snow, interrupted only by the occasional bray of a donkey or crow of a rooster, or someone farther down the street asking what was going on, then pushing and shoving to get closer, to see what had caused the disturbance.
Serilda caught a whiff of warm roasting nuts from a vendor down the way, and her stomach clenched with hunger. The market was not so different from the ones every weekend in Märchenfeld. Baskets of root vegetables and scavenged winter berries. Bins full of unshelled hazelnuts. Hard cheeses wrapped in cloth and loaves of steaming bread. Loads of fish, salted and fresh. Serilda’s mouth watered to see it all.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” she said, to no one in particular.
The crowd continued to gape, speechless. There was a woman with a toddler grasping at her skirts. A fishmonger with his wares spread out inside a tin trough full of packed snow. An elderly couple, each carrying a basket for their purchases, though all they had so far were some speckled eggs.
Gripping her smile like a shield, Serilda refused to shy away from their dismayed stares, even when those closest to her began to frown, their brows bunching when they noticed her eyes for the first time. She knew those looks well. The ones where people wondered whether the glint of gold was merely a trick of the light.
“Might one of you kind souls direct me to the nearest public house?” she asked loudly, so they could not pretend not to have heard.
But still, no one spoke.
A few of the gazes did shift beyond Serilda, toward the castle. As if anticipating a ghost army to be close behind.
There wasn’t, was there?
Serilda glanced over her shoulder.
No. Just a bridge, sad and deteriorating. Some of the fishermen out in their boats had rowed closer to the shore, either having seen the stranger crossing the bridge or having noticed the change of atmosphere in town.
“Did she just come out of the castle?” squeaked a small voice. The children had crept closer, huddled in a shy group and staring at Serilda.
Another asked, “Is she a ghost?”
“Or a hunter?” said another in a trembling voice.
“Oh, forgive me,” said Serilda, loud enough to let her voice carry. “How frightfully rude of me. My name is Serilda. I was…” She glanced back at the castle. She was tempted—oh, so tempted—to tell them the truth of the night before. She had been summoned in a carriage made of bones, attacked by a hellhound, locked in the dungeons. She had met a gold-spinner and fled from a drude. Her lips tingled, eager to recount the tale.
But something in the faces of the townspeople gave her pause.
They were already frightened. Terrified, even, of her unexpected appearance.
She cleared her throat. “I was sent to study the history of this fine city. I am an assistant to a prominent scholar in Verene who is compiling a … compendium … of abandoned castles in the north. As you might imagine, these ruins are of particular interest for our research, being so remarkably … well … preserved.” She glanced up at the castle again. It was not at all well-preserved. “Most of the castles I’ve inspected thus far have consisted of little more than a tower and a few foundational walls,” she added, by way of explanation.
The looks she received were confused and suspicious and continually darting to the structure behind her.
Brightening, Serilda asked, “I need to be making my way back to Verene today, but I hoped I might find a bite to eat before I go?”
Finally, the elderly woman lifted a hand and pointed down the line of painted houses that curved around the lake. “The Wild Swan is just down the way. Lorraine can add meat to your bones.” She paused, looking past Serilda again, before adding, “You won’t be joined by none others, will you?”
This comment stirred the crowd. Anxious shuffling of feet and tightening of hands.
“No,” said Serilda. “It’s just me. I thank you for the help.”
“Are you alive?”
She faced the children again. They remained huddled in their group, shoulder to shoulder, except the girl who had asked the question. She took a daring step closer to Serilda, even as the boy at her side hissed a warning.
Serilda laughed, pretending the question was in jest. “Very much so. Unless…” She gasped, her eyes widening in horror. “Is this … Verloren?”
The girl broke into a grin. “Nonsense with sauce. This is Adalheid.”
“Oh, what relief.” Serilda placed a hand to her heart. “I daresay, you hardly looked like ghouls and goblins.”
“It isn’t a joking matter,” snarled a man from behind a table lined with wooden clogs and leather boots. “Not around here. And surely not from someone who dared enter that forsaken place.” He gestured angrily toward the castle.
A shadow passed over the crowd, shuttering the expressions that had started to warm to her.
Serilda bowed her head. “My apologies, I did not mean to upset anyone. Thank you again for the recommendation.” She tipped a smile toward the children, then turned and made her way through the crowd. She felt their stares on her back, the silence that persisted in her wake, their curiosity following after her like a hungry cat.
She passed a row of businesses facing the lake’s shore, each hung with a metal sign indicating the owner’s profession. A tailor, an apothecary, a goldsmith. The Wild Swan stood out from them all. It was the prettiest building along the shore, the plaster between its dark timbers painted the exact shade of the sky in June, with windows trimmed in yellow and corbels cut to look like lace. A sign hung over the walkway with a silhouette of a graceful swan, beneath which were painted the most wonderful words Serilda had ever seen.
FOOD-LODGING-ALE
She could have wept when she smelled the telltale aroma of simmering onions and roasted meats wafting toward her.
The inside of the public house was cozy and simply decorated. Serilda’s eyes were drawn to a proverb whittled into the wooden beam above the fireplace. As one calls into the forest, so it echoes back. Something about the familiar saying made her shiver as she glanced around. The room was mostly empty but for an older man sipping a pint by the fire, and a woman seated at a long bar, bent over a book. She looked to be in her thirties, with a curvy figure, dark brown skin, and hair tied into a bun. She glanced up when Serilda came in and quickly flipped her book over to hold her place as she slipped off the stool.
“Sit anywhere you like,” she said, gesturing at the surplus of empty tables. “Ale? Hot cider?”
“Cider, please.” She chose a table at the window and knocked twice on the wood before sitting down, because supposedly demons didn’t like the feel of oak, a holy tree with ties to Freydon. Serilda couldn’t picture the Erlking being squeamish about a pub table, but it was a way to let people know that she, herself, wasn’t evil. She figured it couldn’t hurt, especially after the morning she’d had. Her seat had a perfect view of the castle ruins, its broken walls and crumbling towers blanketed by snow. More fishing boats had moved out onto the lake—bright spots of red and green on the calm black water.
“Here you are,” said the woman, setting down a pewter mug full of steaming apple cider. “Are you hungry? We’re usually quite slow on market days, so I don’t have a full spread prepared this morning, but can gladly bring you…”
She trailed off, noticing Serilda’s eyes for the first time. Then her gaze skipped down to the cut in Serilda’s cheek.
“Goodness. Have you been in a brawl?”
Serilda pressed a hand to her face. She’d forgotten about the gash from the drude. The blood had dried into a hard crust. No wonder the townsfolk had looked so frightened.
“A brawl with a thornbush,” she said, smiling. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. You must be Lorraine? I was told this is the finest dining in all of Adalheid.”
The woman gave a distracted chuckle. She had a motherly face—plump cheeks and an easy smile, but also keen eyes that weren’t easily swayed by flattery. “That’s me,” she said slowly, gathering her thoughts. “And this is. Where are you coming in from?”
The other side of the veil, she was tempted to say. But instead, she told her, “Verene. I’m visiting ruins all over the realm on behalf of a noted scholar who is interested in the history of this area. Later today I’m intending to visit an abandoned schoolhouse near Märchenfeld, but I’m afraid I’m in need of transportation. Do you happen to know of anyone heading in that direction?”
The woman bunched her lips to one side, still giving Serilda that contemplative look. “Märchenfeld? That’d be a quick enough walk through the wood, but I wouldn’t recommend that.” Her gaze turned suspicious. “But how did you get here without a horse or carriage of your own?”
“Oh. I was brought last night by my business associate, but he had to continue on to…” She tried to picture the surrounding area, but she still wasn’t entirely sure where Adalheid was. “Nordenburg. I told him I’d be able to meet him there.”
“You came last night?” said Lorraine. “Where did you stay?”
Serilda tried not to huff. So many questions, when all she wanted was breakfast.
She probably should have started with the truth. She forgot, sometimes, that lies had short legs. They never got you very far. Plus, the truth was usually easier to keep track of.
And so, she answered. With the truth.
“I stayed in the castle.”
“What?” said the woman, a shadow crossing her features. “No one ever goes in that castle. And last night was…” Her eyes rounded in horror, and she took a few hasty steps back. “What are you, really?”
Her reaction startled Serilda. “What am I?”
“A specter? A wight?” She frowned, inspecting Serilda from head to foot. “Don’t much look like a salige…”
Serilda slumped, suddenly exhausted. “I’m a human girl, I swear it.”
“Then why would you tell such a story! To stay in the castle? The monsters in that place would have torn you limb from limb.” She cocked her head. “I don’t care for falsehoods, young miss. What’s your actual story?”
Serilda started to laugh. Her actual story was so far-fetched she was having trouble believing it herself. “All right,” she said. “If you insist. I am no scholar, just a miller’s daughter. I was summoned by the Erlking last night and ordered to spin straw into gold. He threatened to kill me if I failed, but after I fulfilled the task, he let me go.”
There. It was the truth. Mostly.
Lorraine held her gaze a long time, and Serilda expected her to scoff and cast her out of her restaurant for mocking the local superstitions.
Instead, some of her irritation seemed to fade, replaced with … wonder. “You are a gold-spinner?”
Serilda’s hesitation was short. “Yes,” she said. This lie had been told often enough now that it no longer seemed outlandish. “Blessed by Hulda.”
“And you mean to tell me,” said the woman, lowering herself into the seat across from Serilda, “that you were inside that castle on the Hunger Moon, and when the sun rose and the veil returned, the Erl-king just … let you go?”
“So it would seem.”
She grunted, astonished. But not disbelieving. At least, Serilda didn’t think so.
“And I truly would like to go home today,” Serilda added, hoping to steer them back to more pressing concerns. Her pressing concerns.
“I imagine one would after such an ordeal,” said Lorraine, still staring at Serilda like she didn’t know what to make of her. But also like she believed her. Cocking her head, she peered out the window toward the castle, deep in thought. Finally, she nodded. She stood and wiped her hands down on her apron. “Well. I do believe that Roland Haas was planning to head down toward Mondbrück today. I’m sure he’d let you ride along in the back of his wagon. Though it wouldn’t be kind not to warn you, it probably won’t be the most pleasant ride you’ve ever enjoyed.”
Serilda beamed. “Any help would be marvelously appreciated.”
“I’ll get word to him, make sure he’s still planning on going over today. In which case, best get your breakfast. I suspect he’ll be leaving soon. Supposed to be another cold one.” She started to turn away, but paused. “You did say you were hungry, didn’t you?”
“Yes, please. I’m happy with whatever you have,” said Serilda. “Thank you.”
Lorraine nodded, her gaze lingering a moment longer on Serilda’s eyes. “And I’ll bring some ointment for that cheek.” She turned and headed behind the bar, disappearing into the kitchen.
Which was about the time that Serilda was hit by a quiet guilt.
She had no coin. Nothing with which to buy this heavenly warm cider or the food that her stomach was howling for.
Except …
She twisted the moss maiden’s ring around her finger, then gave a quick shake of her head.
“I’ll offer to wash dishes,” she murmured, knowing she should strike the deal before taking advantage of the innkeeper’s hospitality. But she felt like she hadn’t eaten in days, and the idea of being turned away was unbearable.
A noise outside drew her attention back to the window. She recognized the group of children from the dock—three girls and a boy—giggling and whispering beneath the hanging iron sign of the tailor next door. As one, they all craned their heads, peering at Serilda through the window.
She waved.
In unison, they screamed and dashed into a nearby alley.
Serilda snorted in amusement. It seemed superstitions were bound to follow her everywhere. Of course, she couldn’t just be the girl with the wheel of misfortune in her eyes. Now she also had to be the girl who had emerged from the ruins of a haunted castle the morning after the Hunger Moon.
She wondered what stories the children were making up about her already.
She wondered what stories she would tell them, if given the chance.
If she was going to be the odd stranger who had ventured behind the veil, she wanted to make sure the rumors were worthy of her.