As they backtracked to find the deer trail, Nyssa hawked and spat, trying to clear the remaining particles from her throat and airways. “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t get rid of that taste in my mouth.” There was a slight huskiness in her voice, and Kellam cast a worried glance in her direction.

  They found the track that led to the moonflower glade. It was barely wide enough for the pack-laden horse, but they gradually forced a wider trail through the overgrown vegetation by walking in single file and using their knives to hack away brambles and vines. At least the plants along this trail seemed to be mostly normal — if anything this side of the fae border could fit that description.

  Nyssa spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about soul trees. Could they be connected to all this somehow?” She saw the slight stiffening of Kellam’s gait ahead of her. "Those two at the border crossing felt ... worried? If that's even possible for a tree."

  Kellam turned to her, his expression guarded. "It’s not my place to speak of soul trees,” he said, then he faced forward again, continuing to force a wider pathway.

  "Then whose place is it?" Nyssa called to him. "If I'm meant to help with whatever's happening here, doesn't it make sense for me to understand what I'm dealing with?"

  "You'll learn what you need to know when we reach Aelinor," he replied, but after a pause he asked, "What do you already know about them?"

  Nyssa shot an irritated look at his back but answered anyway. "Only what any village herb-witch might know. That they're ancient. That they're sacred to the elves. They may be connected to the border's magic somehow.” She pushed a twisted branch out of their path. "And that they're supposedly conscious."

  “Anything else?" Kellam prompted.

  "They can merge into each other. Create structures. Like the gateway we came through.” She frowned. "How does that work? Do they choose to grow that way? Or does someone make them do it?"

  Kellam's silence told her she wouldn't get an answer to that question either.

  They emerged from the path to rejoin what should have been one of the busiest sections of road in the forest. The crossroads where the Pilgrims' Path met the old trade routes was traditionally a hub of activity — merchants with laden carts, pilgrims walking to and from Aelinor, rangers passing through on patrol. Now it lay deserted, the usual bustling atmosphere completely gone.

  "The Common Council sent out warnings," Kellam explained, seeing Nyssa shake her head sadly at the empty space. "No more pilgrimages until further notice. The High Council wasn't happy about it; they're the ones who usually deal with important external communications.”

  “What’s the difference?"

  "The Common Council manage Aelinor's day-to-day operations. Like housing the pilgrims, feeding them, maintaining sanitation. The High Council handles the more strategic decisions. Making laws. Overseeing budgets.”

  “No wonder they weren’t happy at turning away hundreds of pilgrims,” Nyssa said. "That can't be good for Aelinor's finances."

  "Or its food supplies," Kellam agreed. "The Common Council was already worried when I left. Aelinor’s permanent residents can grow enough essentials to feed themselves for a few months, but they'll have to do without imported goods like flour and sugar.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "No more cakes for the elves? However will they survive?"

  Nyssa's mock horror drew a reluctant smile from Kellam."I'm sure we’ll manage — even without pastries," he said. But his wan smile faded completely as he looked around them. "But I have a feeling that running out of cake will be the least of our worries if we can't stop whatever's happening to the forest."

  They left the abandoned crossroads behind, following another track that became increasingly overgrown as they walked down it. Nyssa paused occasionally to collect samples — a leaf here, a berry there — putting each into carefully folded and labelled parchment packet, then tucking them into pouches in her satchel.

  "So," she said later, straightening up from examining another oddly crystalline growth on a log, "exactly how are the mighty elven lords planning to receive their half-blood visitor? Will they throw a great banquet in my honour, or should I expect to set up camp outside the sacred walls?"

  Her tone was light, but Kellam hadn’t missed the tension underneath it. "You were summoned because of your skills as a healer and herbalist," he said, leading the horse around a fallen branch. “Your… family background shouldn’t matter."

  “It shouldn’t matter,” she snorted. “But I remember exactly how much it mattered last time."

  "Things have changed."

  "Have they?" She raised an eyebrow. "Or are they just desperate enough to temporarily overlook my 'heritage'?" She saw a flicker of discomfort on his face at her bitterness.

  The ranger turned to fully face her, his expression serious. “Nyssa—”

  The mare suddenly reared then, yanking the reins from his grip. He spun toward whatever had spooked the animal, but the path behind them showed nothing obvious. The horse's eyes rolled, showing white, as it danced nervously in place.

  "Easy, girl," Kellam murmured, catching the reins again. He ran a soothing hand along the horse's neck, but the animal remained tense, ears pricked forward.

  "Could be nothing," the elf said quietly, scanning the trees. But his hand moved to rest on his sword hilt, and he passed the reins to Nyssa. "We should keep moving."

  Something rustled in the undergrowth to their left, but when Nyssa turned to look, it was only the slight swaying of leaves, in a breeze she couldn't feel.

  They quickened their pace. But then in the undergrowth a metallic shine caught Nyssa's eye and she paused momentarily, passing the nervous horse's reins back to Kellam so she could investigate the gleam. What should have been a normal thornvine now bore stems and thorns that looked like polished steel, and its leaves were dark and oily. She clipped off a piece of it to put in her satchel, then carried on down the path, looking for more.

  Kellam eyed the twisted steel-like growth with obvious concern as he passed it. "We need to reach the waystation before dark," he reminded her. “Let’s just get to the moonflower glade so you can take a few samples, then get going again.”

  "The moonflowers are best picked just after sunset. There’s a reason they’re called moonflowers," she pointed out, but her voice lacked conviction. The unrelenting wrongness of the forest was wearing her down, and her energy was waning. “Never mind, we’re here. Look.”

  She gestured ahead to where the track widened into the moonflower glade at last. However even from a distance, something was clearly wrong. The flowers were already blooming — several hours too soon — but their delicate white petals were marred by veins that pulsed with a thick, dark fluid. “Oh, no.” The whole clearing, once full of valuable healing plants, was teeming with flowers whose beauty now carried a sinister taint. And the air was filled with a sweet, cloying scent of rot.

  Nyssa looked around her. Not a single bloom was unaffected. A weary sigh escaped her. "We shouldn't stay until full dark," she admitted, “but I do need some samples.” She took her knife from its sheath. “These probably aren't medicine anymore — they're potentially poison. But I need to understand why." Kellam loosely wrapped the mare's reins around a branch, then positioned himself where he could watch both the glade and the onward path, one hand still on his sword hilt. Nyssa worked quickly, selecting and cutting specimens with practiced efficiency. She tried to ignore how the stems seemed to twitch at her touch, how the dark fluid spurted when she severed the blooms.

  When she had nearly finished harvesting her samples, a cluster of flowers shifted in the centre of the glade, as though something large was snaking its way past their stems. She froze, her knife hovering over the last bloom, as the sea of flowers rippled with the movement underneath them.

  "Kellam?" Nyssa's voice was barely a whisper. "I think we should go. Now."

  Behind them, the horse screamed.