At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life
The continent's frontier, where the forest elves once flourished and are now said to have perished. The deep Ashen Woods spread everywhere, where miasma and beasts keep people away. Magic remains only as ancient relics and curses, never systematized. Villages are isolated, and the closed societies fiercely expel heretics. The village where the boy was born has a law to quarantine, not kill, the cursed children.
Sol, a boy with memories of a past life, has lived in lonely isolation as the cursed
At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life - Full Moon Proclamation
A bell rang out across the village square.
Not the morning bell. This was that in-between hour, before the sun had fully risen, before the villagers headed out to their fields. Soru listened to it from beneath the window hole. A low, heavy sound that seemed to crawl along the ground. For sixteen years, whenever that bell rang, something had always happened.
(The square.)
Footsteps sounded from outside the hut. Multiple footsteps. The sound of heavy boot soles pressing into the dirt. Getting closer.
The door was pulled open from the outside.
The men standing there were faces he knew. Two men from the village's self-defense force. Behind them, a hunter. All three wore rigid expressions.
"Come. The village chief is calling for you."
Soru rose slowly to his feet.
(So it's come.)
Something deep in his chest sank quietly, but unmistakably, like a stone. The words Yorgen had spoken to him last night at the burned ruins replayed in his mind. Beneath the floor of the village chief's house. A copy of the old laws.
(I haven't grasped anything yet.)
(And yet, it's already begun.)
The men grabbed Soru by both arms. Not roughly—rather, with a fearful sort of touch. The hands on him trembled slightly. Fear of touching the cursed child, or fear of the situation itself?
"Walk."
Soru obeyed in silence.
He walked the village path.
A packed dirt road between the fields. The soil, damp with morning dew, clung to his soles. In the fields on either side, heads of ash-wheat gleamed white in the morning light.
Villagers peered out from their doorways. No one called out. They simply watched. Women covered their mouths, old men furrowed their brows, children hid behind their parents' backs.
(That silence again.)
Soru kept his eyes forward and kept walking.
Their gazes pierced him. Dozens of them. Not hostility. Not fear either. Something else entirely—an emotion with no name. Something like expectation and resignation and curiosity and guilt all mashed together into a single look.
(I'm being watched.)
(That's fine.)
(I chose to stand here myself.)
He reached the square.
Gray stone paving. At its center stood a granite pillar, the same gray as the boundary stone. People had gathered before it.
The villagers stood in a ring around the square. There was no murmuring. Only a heavy silence blanketing the whole space.
Fedo stood before the pillar.
His white hair, streaked with mouse-gray, was slicked back, and his sharp gray eyes fixed squarely on Soru. The old scar running vertically through his right eye seemed carved even deeper in the morning light. The ring on his left hand—the killing stone—glowed faintly.
Beside Fedo stood the prayer-keeper, Marg. A thin old man wrapped in black robes, his white beard hanging to his chest. His eyes always narrowed when they fell on Soru, as though weighing something.
"Hear me, all of you."
Fedo's voice rang across the square. Low, without inflection. But it carried a weight that permitted no argument.
"Last night, the cursed child's hut burned. The cause: the cursed child's own impurity defiled the village's purifying ash. This fire has shown us once again just how much danger the cursed child's existence brings upon this village."
Soru looked at Fedo's face.
(That's wrong.)
(I didn't start that fire.)
(Someone else did.)
But he didn't open his mouth. Anything he said now would only be swallowed by this man's words. Soru understood that much.
Fedo continued.
"The cursed child returned to the village, and the order of the purifying ash was disrupted. Last night's fire is the consequence. If this continues, the village will suffer even greater calamity. Poor harvests, plague—all of it stems from impurity. Unless the impurity is cleansed, peace will not return to this village."
A small stir ran through the villagers.
Someone swallowed audibly.
Fedo took a slow step toward Soru.
"Therefore, on the night of the full moon, this cursed child shall be burned in the flames of the purifying ash. In accordance with the old laws, we shall cleanse the impurity and restore peace to the village. If anyone has an objection, speak now."
Silence.
No one said a word.
Soru looked at each villager's face, one by one.
A young man averted his eyes.
A middle-aged woman hung her head.
An old man slowly closed his eyes.
No one was looking at Soru.
(I see.)
(So you'll all stay silent again.)
Something deep in his chest grew cold. Not despair. Not anger either. Just a deep, deep feeling that resembled resignation.
(But I know.)
(That among you, there are those who heard my words in this square that day and began to think.)
(Yorgen told me.)
(That I've moved some hearts.)
Soru looked at Fedo.
Fedo met his gaze. Those gray eyes were cold—and yet, deep within them, something seemed to burn.
(This man is afraid.)
(That my return has shaken his authority.)
(So he means to reassert control over the village through this ritual.)
Soru stared back into Fedo's eyes.
(I won't let you have your way.)
(I am no longer a sacrifice.)
Fedo's lips twisted, just slightly.
"You look like you have something to say. Speak."
Soru remained silent.
(Speaking now would be pointless.)
(If I fight you with words on your own ground, I can't win.)
(The place where I must fight isn't here.)
Soru slowly shook his head.
"...Nothing."
His voice was hoarse.
Fedo nodded faintly, looking satisfied.
"Then it is decided. On the night of the full moon, we shall burn this impurity with the flames of the purifying ash. Until then, the cursed child shall be confined to the isolation hut under strict watch."
Fedo turned back to the villagers.
"All of you—this is the only path to protect the village. Obey the old laws. Obey the purifying ash. Obey the old laws."
The villagers nodded in silence.
No one objected.
The gathering in the square ended there.
The villagers dispersed in trickles. No one came near Soru. It was as though an invisible wall surrounded him.
Soru was led back to the isolation hut by the self-defense force men.
The hut's door was closed from the outside.
The click of a lock.
(The night of the full moon.)
(Three days left.)
Soru sat down on the cold floor.
A thin shaft of morning light filtered through the window hole.
(No time.)
(But it's not over yet.)
(There's something I have to do.)
Evening came.
Outside the hut, the presence of people increased. Footsteps. Voices. The sound of something being carried.
Soru peered out through the window hole.
Men had been posted around the hut. Eight in total. The village self-defense force and the hunters.
One stood before the hut's entrance. Another along the north wall. The remaining six were positioned around the hut, each at their assigned post.
(A siege party.)
(Eight men.)
Soru checked each of their faces.
They were all faces he'd known since before he could remember. Men who tilled fields, split firewood, drew water from the well. Men who had lived ordinary lives in this village.
(You too, then.)
His chest tightened.
(You're here to burn me.)
None of the men would look toward Soru.
One of them set something down in front of the hut's entrance.
(Dogs.)
Two hunting dogs were tethered before the entrance. Large dogs with gray coats. Ears pricked, noses twitching.
(Those dogs will watch through the night.)
The men carried small cloth pouches at their waists.
(Is that killing stone powder?)
(If it touches you, your limbs go numb.)
(They've got mugwort too.)
(They're serious.)
(They seriously intend to burn me alive.)
The sun set.
The hut was swallowed in darkness. Faint moonlight seeped through the window hole.
Outside, the men continued their watch in shifts. Occasionally, the sound of a cough or footsteps.
Soru leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes.
(The watch positions.)
(The shift times.)
(When the dogs fall asleep.)
For sixteen years in this hut, Soru had listened to the sounds outside. Wind. Rain. Birds. Insects. And human footsteps.
(I can tell who's coming by their footsteps.)
(I can tell what mood they're in by their footsteps.)
(For sixteen years, that's all I've listened to.)
Soru strained his ears.
He picked up each sound outside, one by one.
(The man at the entrance has a habit of dragging his right foot. When he shifts, he always starts with his right.)
(The man on the north side coughs softly sometimes. The cold's gotten to his throat.)
(The dogs are awake now. I can hear their ears moving. But in another hour, they'll sleep.)
Soru rose quietly.
He moved to a corner of the hut.
The softest patch of earth, along the wall. The spot where, over sixteen years, rainwater had seeped in and loosened the soil.
(Here.)
Soru began digging with both hands.
During last night's fire, he'd dug a hole to the outside once. But the villagers had filled it in when they investigated the burned ruins.
(But the soil is still soft.)
(I can dig.)
His fingertips touched cold earth. Dirt worked its way under his nails.
(Dig.)
(I'm not running away.)
(I'm going to seize it.)
He dug. Mindlessly, he dug.
(Beneath the floor of Fedo's house.)
(The copy of the old laws.)
(If I have that.)
(I can throw the truth in the villagers' faces.)
His fingertips touched open air.
(Through.)
Soru slid his body into the hole.
He crawled through the gap between earth and stone. Cold soil enveloped him. He could barely breathe. But he didn't stop.
His head broke through to the outside.
Cold night air rushed into his lungs.
Soru crawled out.
Outside the hut. Along the north wall. A few paces from where the watchman stood, in a patch of grass.
(No one's noticed.)
Keeping low, Soru scanned his surroundings.
The watchmen all stood still at their posts. The man at the entrance leaned against the wall, head down.
(Sleepy?)
(Now.)
Soru crawled through the grass, moving away from the hut.
Against his chest, the black stone charm swayed.
(Cold.)
(No danger nearby yet.)
Soru gripped the stone.
Efi had told him on the mountain path. When danger approaches, the stone will warn you.
(Efi.)
(I'm using your words now.)
Soru stood and broke into a run.
Toward the village chief's house.
He ran through the night village.
Every window was shut. Not a single light. The whole village seemed sunk in deep sleep.
(Don't let anyone see me.)
(Don't let anyone notice.)
He killed his footsteps. Controlled his breathing. For sixteen years in that hut, he'd lived without making a sound. That skill served him now.
He reached the village chief's house.
The largest stone building in the village, two stories, facing the square. The first floor held the assembly room. The second floor held Fedo's private quarters and his study.
(The back door has no bar.)
(I'll enter through the kitchen window.)
Soru circled to the back.
A wooden door. No bar.
(It'll open.)
Soru pushed the door slowly.
It creaked, just barely.
(Bad.)
Soru froze.
He listened.
No sound from inside the house.
(All right.)
He pushed the door open again, slowly.
He entered the kitchen.
Dark. Stone floor. A hearth along the wall. Dried meat and herbs hung from the ceiling.
(No one here.)
Soru looked at the floor.
(The east room.)
(The study.)
(It's hidden beneath the floor.)
Soru stepped from the kitchen into the corridor.
At the corridor's end, stairs. Leading to the second floor.
(The study is on the second floor.)
Soru climbed the stairs one step at a time, carefully.
The wood groaned underfoot.
(Quietly.)
He reached the second floor.
At the end of the corridor, two doors.
(Right is the private quarters. Left is the study.)
(Yorgen said it. The east room. The study.)
Soru approached the left door.
Faint light leaked from beneath it.
(Someone's in there.)
Soru pressed his ear to the door.
He sensed a presence inside. The sound of breathing. Occasionally, the rustle of fabric.
(A guard.)
(A night watch.)
Soru bit his lip.
(There's a guard in
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