News from Tangun had reached even the eastern borders of the Duchy of Shares. It traveled to the forsaken settlements of Hodor, a harsh, cold, and impoverished land where resilient, tight-lipped folk had carved out a life among gray cliffs centuries ago. Those cliffs were now overgrown with gnarled pines and silvery moss. Legend had it that the people here descended from pirates and sea witches who had once settled in this rugged terrain.
Tales of this region, washed by a treacherous sea and perpetually shrouded in misty clouds, were many and varied. Yet, the people of the duchy had good reason to fear those hailing from Hodor. Whispers spoke of demons from the abyss, dark magic, and a greed and cunning that seemed to blend the spirit of the cliffs with the spirit of the sea in the hearts of its inhabitants. The journey to Hodor was long and perilous, whether by sea or land. The ocean was unkind to uninvited guests, making it nearly impossible for the uninitiated to dock near the jagged rocks, while the path through the Wolf Ridge over the chasm held dangers just as grave. Still, messengers had made their way here.
“Did you hear?” Wiping crumbs off the table, the younger brother glanced cautiously at his sister, awaiting her response.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” the girl shrugged, not even turning around.
“And the part about... the hefty reward? We could rebuild our home.”
“Luke,” the older sister sighed, finally lifting her green eyes to meet his. “I’d rather fish in a storm than chase fortune in that godforsaken den of dukes. Their gold is stained with blood, their words are as empty as bubbles on water. They’re paying for their sins, that’s all. Their family has earned this curse. And what makes you think I could help their precious duchess?”
“You’ve got a gift, Ruth. We both know it.”
“Are you heading out to sea today?” she asked sharply, changing the subject.
“No. Old Hatch refused to take me along. Says my spirit scares off the fish. Won’t even let me near his boat, claims I bring him bad luck, as if it’s not his tattered nets to blame,” the boy grumbled, frowning as he shot another glance at his sister. “Got any other ideas?”
Ruth stayed silent.
The customs in their land were as harsh as the landscape itself. The people honored the traditions of their ancestors, firmly believing that doing so would ensure the spirits’ protection and keep strength and blessings within their families. These customs dictated that only men could venture out to sea and fish, while women were bound to the land, tending to their husbands and hearths. According to legend, the women of Hodor were cursed by the sea because their foremothers had once traded immortality for love. A woman on a boat was seen as a harbinger of doom and an absolute guarantee of empty nets. Thus, in every family, the father and his boat were the providers, and every girl in the settlement was betrothed to a destined match.
But for Ruth and her younger brother Luke, life had taken a far darker, more tragic turn.
In a single day, they lost everything dear to them. A sudden tempest claimed their father and his boat, and their mother, unable to bear the loss, threw herself into the raging sea. Then, as if that weren’t enough, a lightning strike set their home ablaze, burning it to the ground despite the downpour. Only the two of them survived, barely escaping the inferno. Since that day, the villagers regarded them as marked by darkness, shunning them as if they carried a plague. Luke was refused a place on fishing boats, and no man would take Ruth as a wife. For years, the siblings scraped by as best they could, but the coming winter promised to be brutal, threatening them with starvation and an inevitable end.
“Fate itself is telling us to leave Hodor,” Luke spoke up again. “We won’t survive another winter in this shack. What are you holding onto here, Ruth?”
“This is our home, our roots, our memories. Here, I’m not afraid. This place gives me faith and strength. Out there, Luke, we’d be nothing but drifters.”
“Better to be an outcast here than a drifter there? It’s the same misery!”
“Tomorrow, I’ll go to Rikan. I’ll try to convince him to sell us a boat on credit.”
“He’ll never agree,” Luke shook his head stubbornly.
The settlement where the boy who was once meant to be her betrothed lived was perched on neighboring cliffs, accessible only by a rickety rope bridge swaying over Bear’s Abyss.
Ruth didn’t even knock, sensing the house was empty. The wind carried voices from the cove, and old Bridget told her that everyone had gone to gawk at a ship that had just left their harbor.
Indeed, a crowd had gathered on the steps carved into the cliff and the mooring platform. Amidst the throng, Ruth easily spotted Rikan’s figure. They had known each other since childhood, so when their eyes met, she felt a sinking dread.
“What is it?” she exhaled anxiously, searching his face.
“Luke,” he nodded curtly toward the ship.
Without a second thought, Ruth lunged toward the water, but Rikan’s strong, oar-hardened hands caught her just in time.
“Have you lost your mind, thinking you can catch up to a galley?”
“Let me go! My brother’s on that ship! Luke!!!” She thrashed, screaming until her voice was hoarse, staring desperately into the distance, hoping to spot the runaway on deck. “That little rat headed for Tangun. I have to get there. Let me go!” Freeing herself, she wasted no time, rushing to gather her meager belongings to set out before sunset.
In Hodor, farewells were not customary. It was believed that anyone who left their home would return, even after death... as a seagull. That’s why the nests of gulls were never disturbed in these parts, and sailors painted white birds with curved wings on their sails.
Ruth had never left Hodor before, but she knew the way, having memorized it from a map she’d seen just once. Her inherited gift also guided her unerringly along the path. At this time of year, encountering travelers on the faint trail was rare, though Ruth had no desire to cross paths with strangers. She walked tirelessly, choosing sheltered spots far from the beaten track for rest. Wild beasts frightened her far less than the uninvited outsiders who might wander into these lands.
Closer to the outskirts of Tangun, the number of passersby grew, but few paid attention to the girl wrapped in an old, tattered cloak.
At the docks, a sailor, slurring his words—whether from drink or delirium—told her of a “peculiar” boy who claimed to know a cure for the affliction plaguing the duchy. Ruth realized she needed to look for her brother at the castle, cursing him under her breath while her heart clenched with fear. Going to the castle itself was far too dangerous for her.
Tangun, one of the oldest cities, bearing the marks of its titan founders, appeared before the girl as a pitiful sight. Ruth had imagined the heart of the duchy differently—not as crumbling stone slabs with weeds sprouting through the cracks, not as neglected, somber buildings housing hollow, lifeless residents. The people of Tangun seemed dead, though life hadn’t yet left them. Their eyes were clouded, their shoulders slumped, their faces etched with grief. Even the sky above Tangun was bleak, heavy, and unyielding. The walls of the buildings, from the ground up, were coated in black mold that reeked of a grave’s chill. Nowhere did Ruth hear laughter; the voices that reached her as she climbed toward the castle were weak and raspy.
The castle gates stood wide open, but on either side, armed guards leaned lazily on their pikes. Hesitating whether to speak to them, Ruth mustered her courage and walked past with her head lowered. Having traveled so many miles, she came here only to find her brother—nothing more. Yet the place that loomed before her drew her in with an inexplicable force. Without realizing it, her feet carried her to the site where women had once been executed. A blackened circle of scorched earth. There was no stake, no grotesque platform, no tar-soaked logs. Many years ago, women suspected of witchcraft were burned alive here. Countless lives—young and old—were taken, though only a few truly possessed power, were witches. Like her. Like Ruth.
The others were slaughtered unjustly. This place held the memory of each one. Ruth could feel it. Before her eyes flashed faces contorted in agony, cursing their tormentors. An open wound, a pain that would never heal over with grass. Anyone passing by felt uneasy here, but for those with the gift, it was far worse—to absorb the suffering, to see and feel the souls of the tortured. Touching the charred ground, soaked with the ashes of burned bodies, Ruth recoiled in horror. Then her soul stirred with outrage, a furious demand for vengeance.
…Coming to her senses a few minutes later, the girl set off with a heavy heart to find Luke, desperate to leave this cursed city as soon as possible.
She was lucky to encounter a servant who understood immediately which boy she meant and agreed to fetch the wayward troublemaker.
But when Ruth saw that Luke was escorted by several warriors, a dark foreboding stirred in her chest.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Luke exhaled, and Ruth couldn’t miss the barely contained triumph in his voice.
She didn’t utter a word in response. She didn’t need to shout to show how furious she was—a single look at the scoundrel was enough.
“We’re leaving, Luke,” her calm voice underscored an unshakable resolve. “Right now!”
“No need to rush. We’ve been ordered to escort the boy’s sister to the castle,” one of the warriors spoke up.
“Has my brother done something wrong?”
“Haven’t heard of anything like that.”
“Then do I owe the duke something?” Ruth asked coldly, fixing the plain-faced warriors with an indignant stare.
“The boy boasted to the duke and his noble court that his sister has a gift, and there’s no other witch like her in the entire duchy.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint the duke, but you shouldn’t believe every tall tale spun by a rascal,” Ruth said, grabbing Luke by the ear. “I promise this little trickster will get what’s coming to him once we’re home. All I know is how to gut fish and stoke a fire. What kind of healer am I?” With a pointed show of frustration, she yanked her yelping brother along behind her.
“You’re really in for it now, you dimwit,” she muttered, striding away quickly. “You’ve no idea what you’ve gotten us into, nearly dragging me down with you. I told you to stay out of it! This place is dreadful, cursed through and through. They’re all half-dead here. I want to be as far from this place as possible—no amount of money is worth it!”
Grabbing Luke by the hand, she dragged him determinedly down the slope, not stopping even when she heard the clatter of hooves and shouts behind her.
“Hey, stop right there! You ragged lot from Hodor, the duke himself commands you to halt!”
No one noticed the irritated shake of the girl’s head.
The riders, without dismounting, surrounded them on all sides. It wasn’t hard to guess which one was the noble duke, even without a gift, but Ruth deliberately turned her head toward another man.
“The duke shouldn’t waste his time on simple fisherfolk,” she said with restrained dignity. “May his lordship forgive the boy for his fabrications—he’s quite the storyteller. I’m sorry I can’t be of help.”
“Only, your brother warned us you’d deny everything. He swore up and down, pounding his chest, that the spirits of sea witches blessed his sister with a rare gift,” the duke himself spoke, though Ruth continued to avert her gaze from him.
“If I were a witch, I wouldn’t be walking around in a tattered old cloak, living with my brother in a freezing, cramped shed, starving, or having lost both parents in a single day,” Ruth insisted. “Luke’s worn down by hardship and half-starved living, so he cooked up a scheme to cozy up in the duke’s kitchen. All sorts of tales float around about Hodor, but witches don’t exist in our parts, believe me. Anyone suspected of sorcery, your lordship’s grandfather—” here Ruth turned, meeting the duke’s eyes with a defiant glare, “—burned at the stake. I don’t even know my herbs, let alone magic. Please, let us be on our way. Winter is coming, the pass will grow dangerous, and we’ve still got twelve days of travel ahead.”
“What pulls you back to those sea-battered cliffs if life is so hard there?” another rider tossed out, and Ruth caught his curious, dangerous look.
“Hodor is our home.”
“I may not have witchy powers, but I’ve got a knack of my own,” the duke pressed, trying to calm his restless horse. “Something tells me you’re the one lying, not this boy.”
“Our duke’s got a nose for witches. Runs in the family, straight from his great-grandfathers!” one of the warriors exclaimed, sparking a flare of anger in Ruth that she barely concealed. She only paled, meeting the duke’s gaze with a steely look.
“That’s the root of it, Goran,” she said, addressing him by name. “The reckoning you face comes from your ancestors. And I won’t help you. You can’t force me, because only goodwill holds power. You could burn me, as your brave forefathers did with their atrocities, but that’s unlikely to save your betrothed.”
“But if you come with me, showing that goodwill, it might just save your brother’s life.”
Ruth didn’t hesitate; her decision was firm—there would be retribution for the wrongs done. With the force of her will, she sent the horses into a frenzy, and without letting go of her brother’s hand, she bolted forward while the riders struggled with their maddened mounts. Her disappointment was bitter when she saw Duke Goran chasing after them on foot, closing the distance swiftly. In the next moment, he lunged at Luke, forcing her to stop as he pressed a dagger to her brother’s throat.
“I swear by the gods, I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve forced my hand,” Goran said. “Heal Ursula, and I’ll let you go, with the gold I promised.”
“I don’t trust your promises, Duke,” Ruth hissed, stepping close. “But that’s not even the issue. I can’t lift the curse on Tangun. You don’t see what I see. It’s seeped into the earth, the stones, into every one of you. And I’ve no desire to waste my strength or my life saving your duchy.”
“I’m not asking you to cleanse every inch of my land. Just heal my beloved, and you can go wherever you please,” Goran replied, locking her in a stubborn, brown-eyed stare. “I give you my word. Deal?”
Ruth had no other way to save her brother—the blade at Luke’s throat was far too real, and Goran’s mind was beyond her influence, shielded by some ancient magic. Those who sought to eradicate magic had secretly wielded it themselves. But she had no intention of bowing meekly to these lords. She would make them hear and respect a poor girl, not merely exploit her gift for their gain.
“A pact must be sealed in blood. No, not here!” Ruth stopped him as he moved to slice his palm with the dagger. “At the execution site,” she nodded toward the castle.
“See, I trust you,” Goran said, releasing Luke. “To the horses!”
But Ruth didn’t offer her hand to the duke, who had already mounted. With her head held high, she walked toward the castle on foot.
“A horse will get us there in a flash. Why wear out your boots? Or do you know a quicker way?” Goran shrugged mockingly, stung by the common girl’s attitude. But she only cast him a fiery glance, saying nothing.
Stopping at the blackened circle, Ruth pointed for Goran to stand at its center.
“Your blood must spill on this pain-soaked earth as a sign of your word. Kneel, Goran.”
“My lord,” murmurs of discontent rose among the duke’s entourage. The warriors disliked seeing their lord take orders from a ragged girl, but the young duke obediently knelt, letting his blood drip onto the charred ground. The spot where the drops fell bubbled and hissed. Far from unnerving the ruler of Tangun, it only confirmed his certainty. This girl was exactly who they had been searching for all this time.
“Now take me to your duchess,” Ruth said sternly.
With a light step, she followed the duke, flanked by his retinue. Every movement of hers radiated unyielding dignity, a defiant spirit, and a hidden mystery. At the threshold of the chambers, with a swift motion, she shed her worn cloak onto the floor and entered the duchess’s room, unaware of the exchanged glances among the duke’s warriors behind her. The shabby garb of the young witch had concealed a striking beauty in this seemingly cold girl, but it was already clear that Ruth would outshine every beauty in the castle. Her slender figure, pale skin, thick copper hair cascading to her knees, and sea-colored eyes—blue-green, pulling one in like an abyss—were captivating. She was beautiful, yet she scorned the castle and everyone around her, making that abundantly clear.