Chapter One:

“Some say magic and its creatures can still be found in Wytchwood, especially at night. All this author can confirm is that too few return from nighttime visits to those dark trees, and Fox-Fire is not all we have to fear.”

Seven years. It had been nearly seven years since Fenn had last seen Reiltys, had last witnessed the stark honesty of the city she had been born in. The ancient, monstrous palace leering over winding streets, built upon themselves so many times they created a tangled maze. Living in Reiltys had been like being caught in a spider’s web, never knowing if fighting would lead to freedom, or if she was just winding the strings tighter around herself.

It had been strange enough docking in Rhygdra, the harbor city just a day’s ride from Alderland’s capital. Jarring, to see the familiar rolling green hills after years of desaturated plains and rocky bluffs. To feel the moisture in the air, walk amongst the ancient trees, and feel cobblestones beneath her feet with every step. Even just hearing the language, her native tongue, was enough to send her mind scrambling right back into the panic she’d felt when she fled seven years ago. It was enough to distract her.

She would have thought the years, combined with her chemically dulled senses, would make the city a stranger to her once more. But, almost without thinking, she led her two companions through the dark streets with ease, each turn more familiar than the last. Each bringing a new, sickening slice of fear against her core, leaking grief into her heart. This was her home. And she was now forced to remember all of it, a sky of nostalgia littered with stars of pain and loss.

Her companions murmured behind her, speaking in Hex. The language was already sounding distant to Fenn, despite the years she’d spent immersed in it. Aside from their voices, the only other sound came from their boots, scraping gently against the stones as they walked. One more turn, and she’d found what she had been looking for.

Fenn paused, and, at her heels, Luka bumped into her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying them both, and she looked up at him, allowing whatever seed of happiness he gave her to take root.

Instead of speaking, she merely pointed, and all three of them set their gaze ahead. The sign in front of them named the small inn as ‘The Griffyn’. So strange, to see Aldish written plainly, after all this time. To see a sign she’d known for most of her life. She glanced at the others and saw Edda’s lips moving as she tried to sound out the letters in front of them. Her companions were both from Hextyrin, where they’d met. Where she’d lived for the past seven years, after leaving Alderland. For good, she’d thought at the time.

And now she was back. It was just one job, as she kept telling herself. One job, that

they’d needed to take. At least one job, and they’d be set for a while. And, she couldn’t deny the small part of herself that had to know. Had to see what she’d left behind. Had to update the faces of the skeletons in her closet.

Bracing herself, she pushed against the chipped and splintered wooden door and breathed in the familiar smell of the Griffyn. The scent of cooked apple and cinnamon, of bad ale and unwashed leather. The last smoky breath of a candle, after it has been blown out. It was late enough that most common patrons would have eaten their fill and gone up to bed, save for a few drinking by the low embers of the fire. At the sound of the door, the inn keep turned, and Fenn set her spine to steel.

“Fenn Kerry,” a gruff voice drawled out, crossing his arms over his chest. “As I live and breathe.”

She shook her long red hair from her hood and squared her shoulders. In a few, casual steps, she’d crossed the room and lounged against the bar’s dark wood. When she spoke, she pitched her voice low, let it linger between them like spilled honey.

“Miss me?”

Deri, who had known her for more than a decade, remained unimpressed.

“Thought you were dead. Twice over.”

She shrugged, dropping the flirtation easily as if it couldn’t matter to her one way or another. “I always said I wanted to see the world.”

He eyed her companions, who had drawn close. “Hex?” he asked, gesturing towards them.

She wasn’t quite sure how he had figured that out. There were no real physical differences between the two countries, close enough to have intermingled for so long that it was irrelevant. Fenn, herself, was more of an outlier. Her pale skin and ginger hair showed her descent from some Skaddish line, even if she’d never so much as seen Skaddys. But Alderland and Hextyrin were diverse countries, enough to make their citizens indistinguishable from each other.

Deri might have fit in with the Aldish royal family itself, with his brown skin, curly black hair, and thick beard. If it weren’t for the labor-cracked skin around his knuckles, and the constant scowl covering his crooked teeth.

But Fenn nodded and gestured to her friends. Both Luka and Edda spoke Aldish, although the latter had a looser grip on the finer points of word order and intonation. Yet, the easy smile stretching to her rosy cheeks betrayed no discomfort, as she eyed the inn keep appreciatively.

“Pleased to meet you,” Edda said, carefully stretching her tongue over each syllable. “Ale, have you?” Fenn suppressed a small smile at the attempt and was surprised to see something gentle on Deri’s face, too.

“Aye,” he nodded and began to pour ale into three glasses, before shrugging and grabbing one for himself as well. After a moment of thought, he looked back at Edda, before saying, “well met,” in rusted but careful Hex.

Fenn’s eyes widened in surprise, then in amusement as she exchanged a look with Luka. Edda tended to have that effect on people. She began to tap her fingers against her thigh, as she watched the two of them have a halting conversation.

A glass was in her hand, without her tracking how it had gotten to her, and she took a sip from it, feeling strangely awake. It was Luka’s arm on her waist that pulled her back to herself, his face betraying no small amount of concern. She might have questioned him, might have responded at all when she noticed the pain in her leg. Her fingers digging into her own skin.

Soot. She must have missed a dose, but she... she hadn’t, they’d been so careful. Even so, there was no denying the energy building up in her, and the now ticking clock pressing upon her negotiations.

Regretfully, she interrupted Edda, who shot her a sly smile as she spoke.

“Deri, do you- we need rooms for the night.” He looked up at her, then at Luka’s arm around her.

“How many?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Two. Along with some discretion.”

He scoffed at that and rolled his shoulders back. “I’d imagine as such. You don’t disappear for five years if you’re not running from something.”

“Seven,” Fenn corrected, automatically. Then smirked. “Clearly you haven’t been grieving me too heartily.”

He rolled his eyes, and she knew there was more he wanted to ask. For now, she needed to get to a room. Any room.

“Please, Deri. One night. Maybe two, that’s all we need.”

He looked between the three of them and sighed. “The Griffyn doesn’t need any more trouble, Fenn. You’ve missed a lot.”

“No trouble,” she promised, shaking her head, “just a place to sleep. We can use the back entrance if you want.”

“How do you even know about-“ Deri stopped himself and sighed again. “Fine. Third floor is open, take whichever rooms you want. You can have two nights, and I’m expecting payment tomorrow.”

Her hands were shaking now, knuckles white, and she tried to hide them behind the counter.

“Thank you.”

He looked at her with the same grim discontentment that had once been so familiar, and she felt the urge to say something else, to explain, to let him know how earnest she was, in this moment, at least.

But instead, she let Luka slowly draw her away, leaving Edda at the bar, her heart pounding in her chest as the stairs wobbled beneath her.

They stumbled into the first room they found on the third floor, and Luka bolted the door behind them. Fenn could feel the uncontrollable energy rising within her, could feel the objects in the room around her start to shake. She knew they weren’t really moving. She’d been dealing with this cursed magic for most of her life, and she knew that, to Luka, the room was still, with one rapidly unraveling woman in it. But to her? She could feel the vibrations in every particle of the room around her, every corner was screaming at her. It was building back up inside her, starting to hurt, as she watched, unseeing, as Luka ransacked the packs they’d brought, before ripping a small pouch from its hiding spot. He went to the small table, shoving aside the lamp, and carefully lined up the loose powder from the pouch. It was a silvery gray, glittering, even in this dim light. She surged forward, trying to ignore the pain in her bones, the tension, the way they might crack if she moved just the wrong way.

With his hands on her waist, she leaned forwards, over the table, and held one nostril closed. With the other, she snorted the powder and felt the nullification of her magic wash over her with unimaginable relief.

A few moments later, she passed out.

Excerpt from The Evolution of Alderland by Elwys Maddox