Chapter 1: Between the salt and the leaves

In the northern territory of Kaidra, tucked between the Spirit Wood and the sea, lived a quiet girl named Calissa Tawney who talked to birds. 

They told her things. Important things. 

About how the night had been shifting lately and the woods have been groaning. 

About how the Wastes in the east were growing west again.

About how the king wanted another witch.

The information was good to have, but Lissa didn’t have time to worry about greedy kings. She had her own business to mind, a sister to take care of, and a witch hunter to avoid. Lissa was simply replenishing her stocks of rosemary, lavender, and sage; the three main herbs people came looking for when they wanted a protection charm. 

And the people of Salindor always wanted protection charms. 

Lissa couldn’t blame them when just last week a couple of children wandered into the woods, right before dark, and never made it home. Their bodies hadn’t been found either. 

People always go missing in the woods. 

Behind a messy counter, Trista counted out the herbs Lissa had ordered, separating them into cloth while the bell over the front door chimed with each new customer who entered. Several people milled about the small shop, smelling herbs and tasting spices, but the old woman paid them no attention. 

Lissa liked this about Trista: her care for only the person in front of her. And the fact that she never treated Lissa like some freak to be gawked at like the rest of the town. The old witch had always been kind to Lissa and her little sister Ella, always had gifts for them when they visited.  

Trista placed each bundle in Lissa’s basket. Her finger’s swollen joints were slow with age, careful in their movements as if using them was painful. Lissa suppressed the urge to crack her own fingers at the site, knowing she was bound for the same fate when she got older. 

“Be mindful of your step out there, little bird, don’t give those soldiers any reason to believe you know anything about the Book,” Trista mused, handing over the bundle of sprigs. The simple mention of the cursed tome caused the overhead light to flicker as if it still commanded power from wherever it hid. She steeled herself against the chill skittering across her skin.

Castle soldiers had descended into the streets of Salindor in the last few weeks. They patrolled the city to enforce “order,” but only women—witches—were going missing, and the crown didn’t particularly care about the fate of witches. Especially when they were half the reason for their disappearing. 

Every few months the king would send out his witch hunter to collect a witch and send her off in search of the Book of Mages. The last witch sent on the quest hadn’t been seen or heard from in months. 

Lissa felt the town’s nervousness in the air like the bite of a winter wind, despite the fall sun still holding onto its summer warmth. It pulled at her hair, nipped at her cheeks, and whispered a gentle caution in her ears. 

Be safe. 

Be cautious.

The same warning her parents uttered before they left and never returned. 

“May the moon watch over you,” Lissa offered the old witch across the counter, choosing to ignore the mention of the Book altogether. 

Outside the shop the wind changed, and more importantly the canaries silenced their song. The sun had finally set over the sea, casting the sky in a deep blue. The town kept its hazy orange glow from the mage lights in the streetlamps. Mages who worked for the city regularly imbued the lamps with small amounts of their power to keep them lit. 

If the soldiers were really searching for a witch again, then any woman was at risk of being brought before the king all so he could recover what he claims was taken from the Ashmores all those years ago. The same damned Book was the reason her parents were dead, leaving her to raise Ella and run the shop. 

Eight years, they had been gone. 

Eight years Lissa had avoided anything to do with the Book of Mages. 

In truth, the increased patrol should worry Lissa, but her neighbors caused her more problems than any soldier ever did. Each person she passed veered around her in order to not get too close, whispering snide comments about the girl who talked to birds. Occasionally they would leave threatening messages at the shop or nail them to her front door if they dared to get that close to the woods. 

Being a witch wasn’t a crime, but in a world where only women were witches and men had magic if they stole it or managed to convince a witch to train them, power was coveted. Any deviance from what was considered “normal” magic, was vilified. Lissa was the weird girl in town. The one who made people uncomfortable. 

All because she could talk to birds and that was not normal. 

Lissa’s power had always been different, had always been a little more than it should be. She barely understood it herself which meant she couldn’t exactly blame everyone else for their fear of her. It was easy to be afraid of things you didn’t understand. 

A low whistle sounded from behind her—she picked up her pace, but didn’t run. 

Acting as though she wasn’t scared would get her further than if she ran. 

“Mind your tongue, little one,” a canary sang as it flitted past her. She rolled her eyes. Her minding her tongue was as likely as snowfall in the Argadeshi desert. 

Low laughs and slurred words floated around her in warning. 

They were always the same, these men. Alerting her to their presence well before they descended upon her. Lissa knew their tricks, but she also knew she couldn’t overpower them all. Luckily, there were ways to mitigate the damage they would do.

Lissa stepped out into the middle of the dirt street, getting as far away from the alleys as possible. They’d caught her in one too many times and the shadows only made them braver. 

“Why are you in such a hurry, bird girl?” one of them called in a low, gravelly voice.  

She didn’t offer a response to such a tired insult. It would be a miracle if her tongue didn’t earn her a bruise tonight. Typically, they only traveled in a pack of three. Those weren’t the best odds, but it was better than nothing.

Footsteps pounded faster behind her. 

Please let there only be three of you, she prayed. 

A hand clamped around her wrist, halting her steps. If she fought too soon, they’d be inclined to use more force. There was still a chance she could talk her way out of this—she just needed to stay calm. 

“We just want to talk,” the man holding her slurred. 

Lissa attempted a deep breath, but her lungs weren’t fond of the effort. “You always ‘just want to talk,’ yet you never have anything profound to say. Why is that?”

She cursed her tongue. It would be doing her no favors, it seemed. 

The group of them circled her like the vultures they were. Lissa turned to look each one deliberately in the face. She wanted them to see her yellow irises that matched the little birds who sang to her. Her eyes were always a topic of fear, how they haunted those who looked into them, how each person who saw them ended up cursed, how they could make a man lose his sanity. 

She usually hated these rumors, but the whispers worked in her favor in these moments. Especially when she was even more outnumbered than she’d hoped. 

There were five of them. 

Breathe, dammit. 

The grip around her wrist turned biting. The man’s fingers pressed hard against her bones to the point her own fingers began to tingle. 

“It’s not natural for you to have the power you do.” The man sneering at her was overly large, begging her to wonder about the poor woman who’d birthed him. How awful it must have been, how terrible it must be still. Lissa could see the muscles bulging in his chest and arms, straining against his shirt. 

“You aren’t even going to answer?” He leaned forward to tower over her. 

“You didn’t ask a question.” She shrugged, tilting her head back to look up at him.  

He stepped forward, close enough for her to taste his hot, sour breath. Lissa gagged, but she pushed it down. 

“The king rewards people for bringing in those who use dark magic.”

She looked to her right, to the man who had interjected. 

“Still not a question,” she said, relishing in the bright red stain burning onto his cheeks.

The drunk in front of her gripped her jaw and wrenched her face back to him. “Just admit that you use dark magic, that you slaughter innocents for that corrupt power of yours, and we’ll let you go.”

How unoriginal, she thought. Half of the town believed witches killed innocents in the woods for their power. Half the town was stupid. There was certainly no reason to remind herself that half the town were men.

“You won’t let me go,” she admitted for him. 

Laughter filled her ears, but she kept her focus on the brute grinning wickedly in front of her. “No, we won’t.” He ran a grimy knuckle down her cheek. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be out alone this late. Why don’t you have anyone protecting you?” 

The minds of men, she thought. How profound. How small. How exhausting.

“A pretty little thing like me, doesn’t need protection. Corruptible power, remember?” She quirked a dark brow at him. 

“Fucking witch,” the fat one holding her wrist spat. 

Lissa sighed. This was such a tiresome encounter, like they always were. “That’s not the slur you think it is, you drunk moron.”

A hairy man to her left cocked his fist and swung. She saw it coming, but did nothing to stop it from connecting with her chin—not that she could go anywhere with the hands holding her in place. The impact caused her knees to buckle. Her bag fell to the ground, spilling herbs and spices and tiny stoppered bottles. None of her companions seemed to mind. 

She pressed a hand to the burning skin and regained her balance as her other arm remained in a tight hold, twisted at an unforgiving angle. Lissa turned and punched the man holding her. Blessedly he let go, freeing her arm for her to fight properly. 

Lissa ducked under a slow arm arcing toward her and drove her elbow into the man’s gut. Slimy hands reached for her, but she slipped out of reach. She landed a kick to the outside of a knee, sending one of them to the ground with a roar of pain. 

Arms clamped around her waist, lifting her off her feet. Lissa kicked in every direction with as much force as she could muster, but it didn’t matter how much she thrashed, the arms were like iron. 

Power coursed through her veins, pressing against her skin, begging to be used, but she fought against it just as hard as she fought to get away from the men. Lissa couldn’t use it—not when the control on her emotions was so far gone. 

“Stop fighting, bird girl,” whispered the man holding her, his breath hot against her ear.

Lissa rammed the back of her head into his nose and was greeted with a delightfully sickening crack. 

Another man grabbed her ankles just as a low whistle rang out. 

The group of them stilled—even Lissa, suspended as she was in the air—as they looked for the source of the sound, but the street was empty. It was easy to be afraid of something you couldn’t see, especially when it happened again, followed by a long, low scraping on a wall. 

She wasn’t fazed by the noise. Not when three men still had their hands on her body.

“What the fuck is that?” one of them asked, his retreating steps giving him away. 

Something crashed in a nearby alley and the birds scattered, racing into the night sky to get away as fast as their wings would carry them. The nightmares of the woods often spilled into the town with the night. 

“Don’t be afraid,” one of the fleeing birds sang. 

The men holding her dropped her to the ground to sprint away. Lissa hit the hard dirt, groaning with the impact. She laid there for a moment, let her muscles relax, then pulled herself to her feet and dusted her clothes off. Once she gathered her bag and its spilled contents, she found the sidewalk again and continued her journey home. 

Always, before they had a chance to really hurt her, the men were scared off. Lissa didn’t know if it was the woods, the birds, or something else entirely looking out for her, but she didn’t care. 

She was grateful. 

Lissa moved her jaw around, working against the soreness of the punch that was certainly leaving a nasty bruise. 

“Lamp post,” a familiar voice called from behind her. 

Lissa stopped abruptly to find there was, indeed, a lamp post directly in her path. The enchanted mage light at the top burned a hazy warm glow. 

“I wouldn’t have actually run into it, Elias,” she informed the tall, perpetually messy-haired man now standing at her side. 

“I’ve known you since you were seven, Liss.” He shot her a withering look. “You’ve never stopped running into things when you are thinking about something.” 

Lissa swatted his arm, but let him take the bag out of her hands. 

“All that magic and still, your first instinct is to fight with your fists,” Elias said, bringing his hand up to her cheek. He turned her face gently to see the discolored skin in the lamp light. 

She watched him for a long moment, knowing he knew why she didn’t like to use her magic, and said, “I wouldn’t want them to think I was cheating.” 

“Hmm.” He leaned down, pressed a light kiss to her forehead, and released her. She was welcomed by the calming smell of the sea that traveled with him everywhere he went. Somehow Elias always managed to wash away the smell of fish from his mornings spent catching them, but the sea never left him. They walked out of the town on the barely lit dirt road that would take her home. 

“How long have you been stalking me?” Lissa picked at her fraying shirt sleeve. 

He huffed a laugh. “Since you barely managed to side-step a parked wagon on the last block.” 

 “And you didn’t say anything then?” 

“I wanted to see how far you’d get.” Elias shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling. “What were you thinking about?” 

Lissa looked carefully around the street before meeting Elias’s knowing blue eyes—they reminded her of the deep ocean in the low light. 

“All of this talk about the soldiers and what the king is looking for. I just—” 

Her words cut off unexpectedly, unable to say out loud why she was scared. 

Elias instantly softened with her half-formed admission and threw an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his warmth. “I know. Let’s get you home. You’ll be fine once you see the mess Ella and Isa managed to make in the time you’ve been out.” 

“Mother help me,” she sighed and let him drag her along. 

But a mess was something Lissa could handle, something that would keep her hands and mind busy. 

Because the birds were still singing their warning songs.