Forty Years Ago

  Ethelwyn's hands trembled slightly as she whispered the ancient words, her voice barely audible beneath the roar of the storm. The jar in front of her seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the viscous bck substance inside shifting and swirling as if trying to escape its confines. She knew what it could do, the chaos it could unleash, and the thought of it breaking free sent a chill through her bones.

  Determination set her jaw tight as she focused on the task at hand. Ethelwyn drew a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the jar. She couldn't afford to fail. Not again. The binding spell was intricate, a weave of old magic that required all her concentration. Her fingers traced patterns in the air, each movement precise and deliberate, each word a careful thread in the tapestry of the spell.

  The storm outside grew fiercer, wind howling like a living creature. Ethelwyn's heart pounded in her chest, the urgency of the moment pressing down on her like a physical weight. She could feel the darkness of the Grimsap, its chaotic energy resonating with the storm outside, as if both were conspiring to break free from her control.

  Thunder crashed, rattling the windows in their frames. Ethelwyn faltered for a moment, fear gripping her like a vice. But she couldn't let it win. Not now. She redoubled her efforts, the words spilling from her lips in a hurried, breathless chant.

  The ritual neared its climax, the storm reaching a fever pitch. Rain shed against the windows with renewed fury, the room shaking with each rumble of thunder. Ethelwyn's hands were steady now, determination burning away the fear. She could do this. She had to.

  The final words left her lips, a triumphant whisper that cut through the chaos around her. The jar glowed briefly, a soft, eerie light that flickered and then died. Ethelwyn's heart skipped a beat as she watched, breathless, for any sign of failure. But the seal held, the darkness within trapped once more.

  Relief washed over her, a wave of exhaustion threatening to pull her under. She had done it. For now, at least, the Grimsap was contained. Ethelwyn handed the jar over to her companion.

  “You don't have to do this. Not alone...“ Her voice was a whisper, but somehow he heard her over the storm.

  “No. I can't ask you to do this, not after everything else.“ He brushed a rainsoaked strand of hair behind her ear. “I'll take it as far as I can. Keep it as long as I am able...“

  ?.??* :?????°?????. ?? ?????????: *.???

  Present Day

  The old cottage was quiet, the stillness of midnight wrapped around it like a snug bnket. Then, the distinct sound of creaking floorboards shattered the silence. Rue sat up, listening intently as the noise echoed again from downstairs. Her room was shadowy, moonlight casting long shapes across the floor. She reached for a candlestick and lit it, her heart a steady drumbeat in her chest, and tiptoed to the top of the stairs.

  The candle's fme flickered, casting an unsteady glow as Rue hesitated at the top. The cottage was usually so warm, so alive with the comforting clutter of Granny Thorn's world. But now, in the middle of the night, it felt different. A sense of unease settled over her, like a chill creeping beneath her skin. Rue tightened her grip on the candlestick and stepped forward, each footfall careful and quiet, as if not to disturb the night further.

  Downstairs, the creaking repeated, a ghostly echo in the otherwise silent house. Rue paused, her heart skipping a beat. It seemed odd for Granny Thorn to be up at this hour, and the thought that something might be amiss spurred her onward.

  She passed through the kitchen, still and empty. Then Rue's gaze nded on the celr door, half-open, its yawning darkness like a waiting mouth. Her pulse quickened. She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper as she called out. “Granny Thorn?” Only the stillness answered.

  Holding the candle higher, Rue peered down into the gloom beyond the door. The celr was a pce of mystery on the best of days, and now, in the dead of night, it seemed even more so. She hesitated on the threshold, a fleeting doubt crossing her mind. What if something had gone terribly wrong?

  The air felt different down there, cooler and more foreboding. Rue gathered her courage and made her way down the steps, each one creaking beneath her weight, mirroring the mysterious sounds that had awakened her. The candle threw strange, wavering shadows against the stone walls, illuminating the cluttered chaos of the celr in fits and starts. Rows of jars lined the shelves, their contents dark and indistinct in the flickering light.

  She moved past shelves lined with dried herbs, their earthy scent filling the air. Then her eyes were drawn to the cabinet that Granny Thorn always kept warded. The doors were open, the runes that had glowed so fiercely were now dimmed and lifeless. Rue's heart raced, the sight confirming that something was indeed amiss. She turned, rushing back up the stairs with a growing sense of urgency. She had to tell Granny Thorn right away.

  She rushed into the kitchen and that's when she saw it. The jar. It sat on the counter, looking innocent and ordinary but for the fact that Rue knew where it was supposed to be. The viscous bck substance inside shifted restlessly, a pulsing, unsettling rhythm that seemed to mock the stillness around it. Rue approached it slowly, her mind whirling with questions.

  It was definitely the jar of Grimsap. She remembered the bel, the dark liquid that seemed alive. How had it escaped the cabinet? Why was it here? Rue barely had time to consider the implications when the sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.

  Granny Thorn entered the kitchen, her face pale and drawn in the dim light. She froze when she saw the jar, her eyes widening with a mix of recognition and dread. Rue watched, a dozen questions on her lips, but Granny Thorn's reaction silenced them all.

  “Not again,” she whispered, her voice carrying a weight that made Rue's heart sink. Without further expnation, Granny Thorn snatched up the jar, her movements swift and sure. She gnced at Rue, her expression unreadable but urgent, and hurried toward the door.

  “Come,” Granny Thorn commanded, gesturing for Rue to follow. The suddenness of it all left Rue scrambling to keep up, her candlestick abandoned as they moved outside into the chill of the night.

  The garden was a patchwork of shadows and moonlit patches, the air sharp with the scent of earth and growing things. Granny Thorn paused long enough to thrust a shovel into Rue's hands, her intentions clear but her reasoning maddeningly elusive. “Bury it,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Deep as you can manage.”

  Rue hesitated. “But—”

  “Now, girl,” Granny Thorn urged, her voice both firm and kind, a note of something Rue couldn't quite pce threaded through it. Something like fear. Or maybe desperation.

  Rue nodded, gripping the shovel with a resolve that matched Granny Thorn's urgency. She found a patch of bare soil near the garden's edge and began to dig, the task physically demanding but oddly grounding. The soil was cool and loose, yielding to her efforts as she drove the shovel into it again and again. Each motion seemed to echo in the still night, a rhythmic counterpoint to the chaos in her mind.

  Granny Thorn stood nearby, the jar clutched tightly in her hands, her silhouette a watchful presence against the star-strewn sky. Rue worked in silence, her thoughts a whirlwind of questions and uncertainty. The night air felt cool against her rapidly warming skin.

  Finally, the hole was deep enough to satisfy Granny Thorn's unspoken demands. Rue paused, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, her breath coming in small puffs of steam in the chilly air. She looked at Granny Thorn, hoping for some hint of expnation, some clue to make sense of what had happened.

  Granny Thorn met her gaze, a moment of understanding passing between them. Then, with a steady hand, she lowered the jar into the ground, its dark contents almost invisible against the night.

  Rue buried it quickly, her heart heavy with unanswered questions. The soil covered the jar, yer by yer, until no trace of it remained. Only the freshly turned earth marked the spot where it y, a silent testament to the night's strange events.

  Granny Thorn watched as Rue finished the task, her expression softening as the st clumps of dirt fell into pce. But she offered no expnations, no words to ease the confusion Rue felt. Instead, she pced a gentle hand on Rue's shoulder, the gesture conveying what her words did not.

  Rue nodded, accepting the mystery for now. The night seemed to settle around them, the air growing still and cold. With a final look at the upturned soil which marked the spot where the jar was buried, they turned back toward the cottage, the shadows closing in behind them like the pages of an unfinished story.

  ?.??* :?????°?????. ?? ?????????: *.???

  Sunlight poured through the cottage windows, spilling like golden syrup onto the floor. Rue stood at the top of the celr steps, eager to begin her task. The chaos below was both daunting and thrilling, a jumble of jars and old cauldrons that begged to be set in order.

  How long had it been since Granny had an apprentice?

  She descended carefully, her feet stirring up little puffs of dust from the wooden stairs. The celr was dim, filled with shadowy corners and the smell of earth, but much less menacing than the night before. Rue's fingers brushed against cobwebs as she moved between the crowded shelves, examining the strange, colorful bottles and containers. Each bel was a promise of discovery, a small adventure in the making.

  The space seemed endless, a maze of forgotten projects and mysterious concoctions. Rue's heart raced with excitement, her earlier confusion and worry pushed aside by the thrill of exploration. She navigated the clutter, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined the order she would bring to the chaos.

  The shelves loomed above her, towering and precarious, each one crammed with Granny Thorn's accumuted history. Rue ran her fingers over the bels, many faded and indecipherable, others bold and enticing. She paused to inspect each one, the words sparking her curiosity: Fireflower Essence, Stardust Elixir, Hushbloom Extract. The names were as enigmatic as their contents, inviting her to delve deeper into Granny Thorn's world.

  Rue worked methodically, her mind a flurry of questions and wonder. How long had these jars been here? What secrets did they hold? She reveled in the unknown, each new discovery a small victory. Her hands brushed over a particurly dusty bottle, and she wiped it clean with her sleeve, the bel revealing itself: Whimsy Wine. Rue chuckled, pcing it neatly on a newly cleared section of the shelf.

  As she worked, the light from the small windows shifted, highlighting new areas to explore. Rue followed the beams, finding hidden corners and forgotten treasures. The celr was a puzzle, and she was determined to piece it together. Her movements stirred the dust, tiny motes dancing in the air like golden fireflies.

  Behind a stack of old cauldrons, Rue spotted something that made her heart skip. A jar, all too familiar, its bel unmistakable: Grimsap. Her breath caught in her throat as she knelt to retrieve it.

  The jar was covered in dirt, just as it had been when she buried it the night before. How had it found its way back inside? As she lifted it from the shadows, the dark substance inside seemed to shift, alive and knowing, a silent challenge to her understanding.

  Rue cradled the jar, her mind racing with possibilities. The events of the previous night came rushing back, Granny Thorn's urgent commands, the secrecy, the confusion. Why had it returned? What did it mean? She turned the jar in her hands, the dirt leaving smudges on her fingers.

  Then, a sound—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, like distant voices murmuring just below the edge of hearing. Rue froze, the hair on her arms standing on end. Was it coming from the jar? It had to be. The whispering continued, an eerie, relentless susurration that seemed to speak directly to her. Rue shivered.

  Determined to find answers, Rue climbed the stairs, the jar held carefully in her grasp. Above, the light was bright and welcoming compared to the dim, secretive celr. Granny Thorn was there, sorting herbs at the table, her focus intense.

  Rue approached, the jar clutched tightly, her heart a mix of hope and trepidation. “Granny, look what I found,” she called, unable to keep the urgency from her voice.

  Granny Thorn turned, her eyes nding on the jar. Rue watched as the color drained from her face, the reaction immediate and telling. She dropped the herbs she was holding, a sprig of vender falling to the floor, seemingly in slow motion.

  “Where did you find this?” Granny Thorn demanded, her voice trembling slightly, a crack in her usually unfppable demeanor. She crossed the room in swift strides, her attention fixed solely on the Grimsap.

  “In the celr,” Rue replied, her own voice sounded small and uncertain to her ears. “I thought—”

  But Granny Thorn didn't wait for her to finish. She snatched the jar from Rue's hands, her movements urgent and decisive. Rue stood frozen, a thousand questions swirling in her mind as she watched Granny Thorn carry the jar to the warded cabinet.

  Granny Thorn muttered arcane phrases under her breath, her fingers tracing complex patterns in the air as she performed the sealing charm. The cabinet glowed briefly with blue light, the runes reawakening with new intensity. Rue's mouth opened and closed, the desire for answers warring with the awe inside her from seeing the sealing spell again.

  The ritual complete, Granny Thorn turned back to Rue, her expression a mix of relief and something Rue couldn't quite pce. Her hands were steady now, but her eyes still held a shadow of the fear Rue had glimpsed the night before.

  Rue followed her back up the stairs and to the table, where Granny Thorn busied herself with the herbs, her back to Rue. “What is it?” she blurted, unable to contain herself any longer. “Why did it come back? I thought we buried it.”

  “Sometimes,” she said, her voice carefully neutral, “Old jars have a way of returning when you least expect them.” She picked up the sprig of vender, twirling it between her fingers as if it held all the answers.

  Rue pressed on, determined to understand. “But why? What is it for?”

  “The Grimsap?” Granny Thorn replied, her tone light but dismissive. “Oh, just something I bottled up long ago. Nothing for you to worry about.” Her eyes avoided Rue's, the evasion clear and intentional.

  Rue felt frustration bubbling up inside her, the vague answers doing little to quell her curiosity. “But I heard it—”

  Granny Thorn cut her off, turning with a bright smile that seemed forced. “Rue, how are you coming along with your herbs? Can you tell me which ones aid sleep?”

  “Um, vender,” Rue answered, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation.

  “And?”

  “Valerian,” Rue said, the words automatic, her mind still caught on the jar and its unsettling return.

  “Good,” Granny Thorn replied, nodding with approval. “Focus on that for now. We can talk about jars and such another time.”

  Rue knew a dismissal when she heard one, but the intrigue wouldn't let go of her so easily. She watched as Granny Thorn resumed her work, the matter of the Grimsap apparently settled, at least for the moment.

  Rue, still plotting her next move, wandered outside and to the pce where they had buried the Grimsap. A pile of dirt sat next to the hole, as if she had forgotten to finish burying it, even though she knew she hadn't. She got the shovel, the sun a warm hand on her back, and threw the dirt back into the hole.

  How had it dug itself out like that?

  Knowing she wouldn't get the answer today, she turned to the garden. Perhaps tending the herb beds would help put her mind at ease.

  The soil was rich and damp beneath her fingers as she pulled weeds. The rhythmic work gave her time to think, her mind circling around the mysterious jar and Granny Thorn's cryptic behavior. What was the Grimsap? Why was Granny so secretive? Rue dug deeper, unearthing more questions than answers.

  Then, a rustling from the forest edge pulled her from her thoughts. She straightened up, shading her eyes from the sun as she peered toward the trees. The rustling grew louder, and Rue watched in surprise as a pine marten emerged from the underbrush.

  The creature was sleek and weasel-like, with rich chestnut fur that gleamed in the sunlight. Its pale golden belly shimmered as it moved, a lively contrast to the shadows beneath the trees. Rue blinked, hardly believing what she was seeing. The pine marten paused at the edge of the garden, its bright eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence.

  “Hello little one,” Rue ventured, uncertain and curious.

  To her astonishment, the pine marten sat up on its hind legs, its whiskers wiggling as it spoke. “Well met, young apprentice,” it said, voice like autumn leaves crunching underfoot. “I am Whittle, and I've been watching you. What were you burying st night?”

  Rue's mouth fell open in shock, the trowel slipping from her fingers and nding with a soft thud in the dirt. She had heard of creatures that could speak, but to meet one here, in Granny Thorn's garden, left her momentarily speechless.

  Whittle seemed to take great delight in her surprise, his fur a blur of motion as he scampered closer. “Don't worry, I won't tell anybunny,” he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or anybird, or anyhuman, for that matter. Mums the word! Secrets have a way of getting buried, you know. Like jars.”

  Rue gathered her wits, the initial shock giving way to fascination. “You talk,” she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

  “So do you,” Whittle replied, clearly amused. “It's a small world.”

  Rue couldn't help but ugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “I'm Rue. How... how do you know about the jar?”

  Whittle's whiskers twitched thoughtfully. “Know lots of things. Not much else to do in these woods except keep an eye on you folks.”

  “It was Grimsap,” she confided, feeling an inexplicable trust in the strange creature. “I found it again this morning, back in the celr. Do you know why it came back?”

  Whittle cocked his head, the movement quick and birdlike. “Oh, sticky stuff, that sap. Always finding its way home.” They leaned closer, their voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Why don't you ask old Granny?”

  “I did,” Rue replied, her frustration evident. “She wouldn't tell me anything. Just said it was an old jar and changed the subject.”

  “Ah,” Whittle said, nodding sagely. “A mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a bunch of vague non-answers. Sounds like quite the sticky situation.”

  Rue hung on every word, her desire to understand growing with each pyful response. “Do you know what it is?”

  Whittle grinned, his teeth sharp and white. “What’s kept but never lent, what speaks but won’t repent, returns when it’s interred, and holds a truth too dark for words?”

  Rue stared, trying to unravel the puzzle. It was the same one she was facing, only now it had the ring of truth from a creature that seemed to know more than they let on. “I don't...”

  “All the best answers are worth waiting for,” Whittle said, cutting her off with a cheerful lilt. He turned as if to leave, then paused, looking back with a twinkle in hia eye. “Just remember, things have a way of coming back around. Especially when you bury them.”

  Before Rue could protest or ask for more, Whittle scurried toward the forest, his movement a fsh of chestnut and gold. Rue watched, captivated, as he disappeared into the underbrush, his tail flicking a jaunty farewell. She was left with more questions than ever, the riddle spinning in her mind like a whirlwind.

  Alone again in the garden, Rue felt the weight of the mystery pressing down on her, but instead of fear or confusion, she felt something new. Hope. Whittle's words had opened a door, and though she didn't have all the answers, she sensed she was on the right path. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rows of herbs. Rue picked up her trowel, her resolve growing stronger with each passing moment. She would figure this out, no matter how long it took.

  The sound of rustling leaves and the soft hum of insects filled the air as Rue dug her fingers into the soil, a determined smile spreading across her face. She was ready for whatever secrets the Grimsap and Granny Thorn had to offer, knowing that even the most tangled mysteries had a way of unraveling in the end.