Chapter Twenty-One: Shifting Paths

Barely an hour had passed since the confrontation in the grove, but already, the edges of calm frayed with urgency. Birdsong hadn't returned to the forest canopy, and the usual chorus of insects remained conspicuously silent. The only sounds came from the group itself—shuffling feet, hushed voices, and the occasional groan.

Maera moved like a woman with purpose, but her eyes flicked constantly to Kieran, still unconscious as he was carefully settled onto a makeshift stretcher fashioned from cloaks and broken branches. Every glance tightened the line of her jaw.

After a moment, Maera cleared her throat softly. "Could everyone gather around for a minute? I want to go over our next steps."

One by one, the group closed ranks, settling into a loose circle around her.

She unrolled a worn piece of parchment on the ground, placed small rocks on the corners, and traced her finger along a thin blue line, one of several streams inked delicately onto the vellum. The map, hand-drawn with notations in the margins, showed detailed topography, rolling elevations, forest density, and known landmarks of the kingdom. "This one," she said, tapping the current stream's path, "is supposed to run parallel to Emberroad for nearly a league before curving eastward."

"We found a stream just beyond the ridge," Maera said, addressing the small group that had gathered in a loose ring around her. "I prepared this map back in Greystead before we left. If we can match the course of the stream to what's on it, we can figure out exactly where we ended up." She glanced toward the treeline where the water murmured faintly in the distance. "With everything that happened in the grove; the fracture, the presence, and the fog, it's hard to know how far we've actually been shifted. But this stream gives us something solid to start with."

Her finger traced the narrow stream again. "This ridgeline nearby matches what I saw earlier while scouting. Based on our pace through the fog, we couldn't have gone more than a dozen miles at most, even with the confusion. That puts us somewhere southeast of Emberroad's trade path."

She frowned thoughtfully. "This terrain, this waterway... they're familiar enough to help us figure out where we are. If we keep following the stream and compare the landscape to the features charted, we should be able to get back to the road."

She looked up grimly. "We don't have any clear landmarks marked on the map nearby. But finding any familiar feature—whether a ridge, a bend in the stream, or a clearing—could be the key to reestablishing our bearings."

Maera paused, scanning the group. "What do you all think? How do you want to proceed?"

Thorne shifted nervously. "Following the stream makes sense… but we need to be ready. That thing we fought… it might still be out there."

Ysolde nodded. "I can focus on protective magic to keep Kieran and the rest of us safe while we travel."

Lena held Nessa tighter. "As long as we stay together, I trust your plan, Maera."

The carriage driver, still bandaged and favoring one leg, gave a brittle laugh that cracked like a dry twig. "Spirits above, I don't know what that was—what any of that was." His voice wavered, eyes darting to the trees as if expecting them to shift again. "One minute we're on the road, the next we're surrounded by smoke and screams and... gods, that boy lit up like a sun. I thought we were all dead." He wiped his face with a trembling hand. "I'll follow, yeah, but if I see one more thing crawling out of a shadow, I might just run screaming into the woods."

Maera gave a small, grateful smile. "Good. We'll move carefully, stay alert, and find a safe place to rest once we're sure of where we are."

She rolled the parchment back up carefully. "We'll move slow, stay alert, and once we get our bearings, we'll find a place to rest. Then we decide the safest way back to the main road."

Thorne stood nearby, pale but upright, his hand never straying far from his short sword. He nodded, though his grip was unsteady.

"What if it comes back?" he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

Maera looked at him, her voice softening. "I don't think we have to worry about that thing for now."

From behind, Lena adjusted Nessa in her arms, the girl now asleep from exhaustion, her tiny body clinging to her mother's side.

Ysolde knelt one last time beside Kieran before rising to help the others. "Whatever that thing was," she said, "I don't think it was finished with him."

Maera only nodded, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to the others, her voice low but firm. "What happened here… the fracture, that entity—it can't be something we talk about openly. Not yet. Too many wouldn't believe us, and some might start asking questions we're not ready to answer. Until we know more, let's keep this between us."

They began moving, the trees watching silently as the survivors of a forgotten battle vanished into the undergrowth, leaving the grove and its smoldering secrets behind.

The journey was slow and cautious.

The forest had begun to stir again—subtle signs at first. A distant birdsong returned, hesitant but clear, followed by the faint hum of insects reawakening under the warming light. The oppressive stillness gave way to rustling leaves stirred by a gentle breeze, and the stream they followed shimmered in the morning light, a silvery thread weaving through the trees. Life was returning to the woods, piece by piece, as though the land itself exhaled a long-held breath.

Maera led the way, her eyes sweeping the terrain ahead. She paused frequently, checking the ridgelines and turns in the stream against the map. Ysolde walked near Kieran's stretcher, occasionally glancing at him with a furrowed brow, as if willing him to stir. Behind them, Thorne kept pace with steady, determined steps, his short sword sheathed for the moment, his eyes scanning the trees more out of vigilance than fear. Though still green, he walked with the resolute calm of someone choosing courage over panic, the worst of his fear left behind in the grove.

Lena stayed near the rear, Nessa nestled protectively in her mother's arms. The little girl slept in fits, occasionally whimpering from dreams she couldn't explain. The carriage driver, still bandaged and pale, helped carry Kieran's stretcher with quiet determination. His movements were stiff, but his grip held firm. Now and again, he muttered softly to himself; words that might have been prayers or curses or both, as if anchoring himself with sound.

Nearly two hours passed before Maera slowed them to a halt. The group had pressed onward through the gradually brightening woods, following the winding stream as it curved gently through mossy banks and under arching trees. Signs of normalcy continued to return—squirrels darted across branches overhead, and the occasional splash of a fish echoed from the stream. Even the air felt lighter, more alive. Only then did Maera call for a brief rest.

"We should rest here for a bit," she said, gesturing to a shallow glade near the streambank. "There's shelter, fresh water, and enough cover to keep us hidden if anything passes by."

The glade itself was a quiet haven nestled between low willows and moss-draped roots. Soft patches of grass cushioned their weary steps, and the canopy above filtered the sunlight into golden specks that danced across the forest floor. The stream curved nearby, its waters cool and clear, tumbling gently over smooth stones. A natural alcove formed by leaning trees and brush gave them a place to settle without being easily seen from afar. It felt, for the first time in days, like somewhere they could breathe.

As the group settled into the glade, Thorne crouched beside Ysolde and spoke quietly. "Do you think he'll wake soon?"

Ysolde glanced toward Kieran, her gaze unreadable. "I don't know. Whatever he did back there… it changed something. He looks different somehow; tired, but steadier. I guess we'll know more when he wakes."