True North Series Book 1: True North

“Step only where I step,” I warned, my voice low. “No exceptions.”

“I know,” Nysander huffed. “This isn’t my first—”

The sharp crack echoed through the woods, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp cry.

I whirled to find my brother facedown on the sandy forest floor, blood already beading on his skinned palms.

“Stars above, Nys,” I hissed, nudging his groaning body with my foot. “I told you to—”

“I did!” Nysander protested. “I just tripped on…something?” He frowned, scanning the dirt behind him. I followed his gaze. There were no roots sticking out of the ground, no low-hanging branches, no indents in the earth.

“It felt like something pulled my foot,” Nysander groaned, focusing his attention on his bleeding hands.

“Don’t you start too,” I muttered, crouching down beside him. “There’s nothing out in these woods besides us and the game you just scared off.”

I took his elbow, yanking him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I kept Nys glued to my side as we carefully made our way to the forest pond, where I washed his hands and removed the splinters piercing his skin.

The pond was pretty well hidden, deep inside the dense forest, surrounded by broad-leaved trees. It was frequented by wildlife as it was an excellent drinking spot—which made it an excellent hunting spot too.

No other villagers ventured out this far, as there were whispers of otherworldly creatures lurking in the depths of the woods. I took them for what they were, though—wild folklore and urban legends, to be taken with a grain of salt.

I went out into the woods almost daily, and the most dangerous thing I’d encountered so far was a wild boar—which had tasted delicious after spit-roasting it, by the way.

“Don’t move,” I told Nys, who was still swearing under his breath.

A short walk around the pond turned up everything I needed—some Blue Starvine, a few large leaves, and a handful of tall grass.

I knelt down beside my brother, laying everything out on a flat boulder beside him. “Chew,” I commanded, stuffing some Starvine into his mouth.

Nysander obeyed, only to gag two chews in. “That’s disgusting,” he heaved, but I clasped my hand over his mouth, stopping him from spitting it out.

“I need it as a paste,” I warned him.

He reluctantly kept chewing and finally spit the pulp into his hands. “Tastes like death,” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

“But it works like a charm,” I returned, spreading the pulp across his wounds, using my own palms to press it in.

“You’re too old for this, Nys,” I said, covering the pulp with a broad leaf and tying it down with the grass. “Think of what Tophyn has to endure.”

That shut him up real fast.

I grabbed my satchel and checked the contents. “This should be enough,” I mumbled, counting the dead squirrels inside. “Let’s just gather some plants and head home.”

The forest behind our little house held many secrets, but none of them otherworldly. There were tons of medicinal herbs and plants, to be used for good or for bad, depending on how you prepared them.

There was also clean water for drinking, trickling straight down from the alpine glacier on the mountain that separated our village from the neighboring towns. And there was game too—deer, rabbits, pheasants, and the occasional boar.

The other villagers used the woodlands on the other side of the fields for hunting, leaving an abundant selection of game for just my brothers and me.

We treated the forest and its wildlife respectfully, taking only what we needed and using up every part of what we took. We got by on mostly fruits, vegetables, nuts, and the milk from our two goats.

My mother had taught me how to make yogurt and butter too, but that was tedious work, so I saved it for special occasions. Nysander and I would go out to hunt a few times a month, depending on what we caught.

A deer would last the three of us for weeks, while rabbits were obviously gone much quicker.

Our little brother, Tophyn, didn’t hunt. At just eight years old, he was too young—but mostly, it was because he was sickly.

We didn’t know what was making him ill, and I hadn’t been able to cure him yet.

We’d sought out medical advice in the city once, back when our mother was still alive, but the doctors had turned us away. We carried no currency fit for their kind.

They wouldn’t accept game in exchange for care like they would in our village. The cities had their own system of payment, one that didn’t rely on trading goods or services, like it did where we lived.

“This is it, right?” Nysander held up a handful of Mertin Ivy.

I cursed under my breath as we trod through the overgrown path, thorns catching in the heavy fabric of our pants. I’d tried to teach Nysander countless times, but he still couldn’t tell the flora apart.

Luckily, he was a decent hunter—quick and nimble—but careless, at that. He had a tendency to lose track of his surroundings and had ended up lost in the depths of the woods more than once.

It was another reason I knew I couldn’t get married like the village elders expected me to—my brothers needed me. They’d be lost without me.

The earthy smell of wet moss drifted up as we passed through the dense part of the forest. I’d always felt at peace here—I didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact that there were no other people here.

I loved the quiet, but more so the feeling of belonging. The deeper I went into the forest, the stronger I felt it.

Maybe it was because of the dreams. I always dreamed about the same things—soaring through the sky like a bird, looking down on trees unlike any I’d seen before.

I always woke with this deep, hollow yearning inside my chest, like I was homesick, or missing someone.

I knew what missing someone felt like—both my parents passed away when I was young—and yet, this felt different. Like I was missing a piece of myself.

Like my soul had been torn in half, and the only time I felt like the other part of me even existed was when I was dreaming.

We stumbled out of the forest and down the grassy mountainside that led to the village. Our house was nestled at the foot of the mountain, overlooking the valley.

We’d set Tophyn’s bed up in the attic for that view, so he could watch the square when he was strong enough to sit up. He hadn’t left this bed in weeks.

“When we get back,” I started, turning to Nysander, “you’re helping me skin the squirrels, no complaints this time—”

He didn’t protest. Didn’t even look at me.

His face had gone pale, eyes fixed ahead, unblinking.

I followed his gaze, and my stomach dropped when I saw it.

The door that I had locked behind us when we left.

It was wide open.