Chapter 1

The crack of the snapping twig is barely audible, but to Miriam’s trained senses, it is as loud as a tree crashing. She doesn’t have time to react before a wave of dread washes over her, and she freezes on the spot, her foot suspended in the air. Trembling, she glances behind her. The forest path is empty. She slowly lowers her foot to the ground, and when nothing happens, she inches forward, peering into the thicket. The forest is quiet. Where are they? She takes another step; still nothing. She runs. In the crackle of broken twigs, as she pushes through the thicket, she sees a dark shape following her at the edge of her view. She dares to cast a glance at it, but it’s gone, and she breaks through the trees and into the meadow.

She slows down to a halt, breathing heavily. The autumn air is crisp, chafing at her lungs. She glances back. The forest is quiet; her protections are holding.

She pushes herself up and jogs towards the town on the other side of the field, scanning the surroundings for any signs of their presence. There is none. The meadow lies undisturbed, the last of the flowers holding on despite the cold, almost covered in the fire-stamped leaves the autumn wind has cast to the ground. She needs to check the spells; they shouldn’t have come this close to town.

She can hear the bustling of voices from the town, trickling through the streets and out into the open. The people are still protected, still unaware of what is happening. The small creek that separates the civilisation from the fields gurgles as she steps over the small stone bridge. On the other side, the road is paved, with small squares of cobblestones that she used to count as a little girl. She always lost track once she reached over 100 and had to start over. She turns left, following the street towards the centre.

It’s Friday, and the market day is coming to an end, but the town is still crowded despite the afternoon finishing. People are moving in and out of the narrow lanes, but the stallholders have stopped bleating out today’s bargains and are packing up. She gives a smile to those she passes, making sure it reaches her eyes. They would know something is wrong if their Protector is worried. Olof is standing by the blacksmith, and he raises a hand when he sees her, gesturing for her to come closer. She slows down and takes a deep breath. The town belongs to her, and she belongs to the town. She turns and walks over to him.

“Miriam, I’m glad you’re here. Karin asked if you could come over later, she has made a cake.”

She smiles, and this time, it reaches her eyes without effort. Karin’s cakes are famous beyond the town borders.

“Thank you. I will be sure to pass by.”

She takes his hands in hers and squeezes them gently. He doesn’t see her eyes go dark as she turns and continues down the street. She hopes the mayor will be home. What was it that she saw at the edges of the forest? Could it really have been…? No, there’s no point in coming to hasty conclusions. She forces her smile as she walks, only stopping as she halts before the mayor’s house.

It’s weather-beaten. The wooden planks are cracked, and patches of moss and lichen cling to the aged walls. It has been the house of the town’s mayor ever since the small village grew into a town and needed a formal administrator. It must have once been a fine building. Anders, however, doesn't care for its restoration. He is more concerned about his townspeople - just like Miriam. She knocks on the dented door.

“I’m coming, dear.”

Ingrid’s voice comes from inside, and moments later, the door creaks open.

“Miriam, my love”.

Anders’s wife takes her into a hug that is as feather-light as it is warm.

“He’s in his office”, she says as she lets go. “I’ll get him for you. Come inside.”

She disappears into the house, and Miriam follows. The narrow hallway smells of Ingrid’s cooking, just as it always does, and she feels her breathing calm despite the incident in the forest.

“Anders! Miriam is here!”

A door groans open and stiff soles shuffle over the thick oak boards. Moments later, the mayor comes into the hallway. Plump, the direct counterpart of Ingrid, he’s a caricature of the mayors she’s seen in the newspapers. With a bald head and a thin moustache, he adorns whoever comes in his vicinity with gentle pats. He reaches out a hand when he sees her.

“Miriam, my love. I’m glad to see you. Come in.”

He clasps her arm in his weathered hands and leads her to his office. The hallway walls are stained, gone dark with smoke and the lives of the people. Small paintings hang on them, barely visible against the dark wood.

“What makes me the honour?”, he asks as he leads her into the large room that serves as his office.

She sits on the sturdy chair reserved for visitors, and he takes his place behind the antique desk. Stacks of yellowed papers are piled on top of the surface, but apart from a shelf with books along the wall, the room is empty.

“There is something wrong with the forest. Something is there.”

He stops, the fountain pen he’s taken poised halfway to the paper.

“Something? What would that be?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not safe any longer. “

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He slowly puts the pen down and exhales. A heavy sigh born from years of responsibilities.

“Did you see anything?”

“I don’t know.”

He turns to stare out the stained window. He doesn’t question her, doesn’t doubt what she is saying. She’s the Protector, after all, and it is her task to keep the town safe.

“What do you want to do?”, he asks after a long while, turning back to her.

“I need to investigate, I’ll ask the Protectors of the other towns if they’ve seen something. I don’t want to worry the town needlessly, but we should issue a note saying that the forest isn’t safe.”

“Will the town be safe?”

“The spells are holding, we should be.”

He sighs, picks up the pen and takes out a paper from the drawer.

“I’ll prepare the speech.”

She stands up.

“I’ll start the chain, it’s too late to announce it on the bulletin.”

He grunts in response, already writing the speech, and she leaves without another word. Ingrid is in the kitchen, and Miriam steps over and kisses her on the cheek. Ingrid squeezes her hand.

“There is always something to do, isn’t it? He hasn’t had a calm day in months. I worry about him; that I do. I tell him he should at least take the evenings off, but the old grump won’t listen. Now, are you okay, my dear? Has Gustaf given you enough wood? It won’t be more from him now, not when he’s retired. The new constable will help out instead. I’m sure it will be fine. Oh my, the cake!”

She hurries over to the oven, and Miriam waves goodbye.

The streets are almost empty now when the sun has set. She turns and walks towards the town square. Soon, they will know more, but she suspects this has barely begun. Something is out there, and she has a suspicion of what it could be. But they need more confirmation.

She enters the empty square and walks over to the first house in the chain of bulletins. It’s a small townhouse on the corner, and if you follow the houses in any direction from here, you will have gone through the town and come back on the other side of this street. For any announcements, this is their way of spreading the message, each house passing the word to the next. She knocks on the door and quick feet race towards her on the other side, and the door flings open. It’s Britta, she turned five the other month.

She throws herself around Miriam, then takes her hand and tugs her inside.

“I have a new doll, Olof made it for me. Do you want to see?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pulls her into the small living room.

“Mother, Miriam is here! She will see my new doll!”

A woman is standing in the corner, a laundry basket made of woven willow in her hands.

“Hello, I thought I heard someone knocking.”

She smiles and gestures for her to sit down.

“I can’t stay long”, Miriam says.

“Britta, let Miriam speak.”

The small girl drops her hand and rushes to get her doll.

“What can I do for you, love?”

“The mayor has an announcement to make tomorrow, will you start the chain?”

She smiles.

“Of course”.

Official statements and notices are common, and no one will suspect it to be odd.

“Look!”

Britta shoots into the room, a small wooden doll in her hands.

“I named her Miriam!”

Miriam bends down and takes the small figure in her hand.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Let her go, Britta”, her mother smiles. “She needs to hurry home before it’s dark.”

The girl gives her a hug, and the woman follows her to the door.

“I’ll start the chain, and I’ll see you on the square tomorrow.”

She closes the door behind her, and Miriam is left on the empty street. She needs to visit Karin and Olof. The chill is already drawing closer around her, and she can feel her chest tighten; she hopes she will have time before it takes hold of her. She glances around her as she continues down the dark street, but the town is quiet. Her spells are holding.

An oil lamp in the window casts a flickering light onto the street as she arrives at their house, and she knocks on the door. Karin opens.

“Miriam, my love. Olof told me he had seen you.”

She ushers her inside.

“You see, he picked the last apricots from the tree, but they won’t survive any storage, so I baked a cake.”

She leads her into the small kitchen and gestures for her to sit down by the table.

“Now, have you had a good day? Olof will be down any moment. “

She bustles as she speaks, opening cupboards and closing drawers. The hustle crackles around Miriam, drowning out her attention. It won’t be long now until the chill is upon her.

“I heard the new constable will come soon, do you know? It will be lonely without Gustaf, don’t you think? But of course, we will see him around.”

She puts a slice of cake on the table and sits down opposite. Miriam nods in a haze.

“She will come soon, next week or so. The mayor will make an announcement once she’s here.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Karin continues the small talk, but Miriam excuses herself early, saying she needs to hurry home. She stumbles as she gets up, the chill closing in on her, but Karin has her back to her and doesn’t notice. It will have taken her by tomorrow, she just hopes she can write the letters before it’s too late.

She lights the oil lamps as she arrives back home, puts a log on the dying fire, and takes out a paper and a pen. There are three Protectors to be contacted. Her hand shakes as she formulates the letters, spilling ink on the paper. She’s barely aware of the room now, the muffled visions finding their way in. When she’s finished, she seals the letters and puts them to the side. She’ll give them to be sent tomorrow.

She stumbles to bed, lies down and falls asleep.