"Ugh... what happened? Did I hit my head or something? " Malorie muttered as she rubbed her temple. Her voice sounded small in the vast stillness of the forest.
She blinked against the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, trying to piece together the last few moments. Flashes of memory came back—the necklace, Eimear shouting at her not to touch it, the sudden burst of crackling energy. The air had felt charged, alive with static, before everything went black.
Slowly, she sat up and took in her surroundings. Tall trees towered over her, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. A faint earthy smell filled the air. It was serene, almost beautiful, but Malorie's heart pounded with unease.
"Where... on earth am I?" she said aloud.
Her voice echoed slightly, swallowed quickly by the forest's quiet. This definitely wasn't Westbruck. Turning around, her eyes widened as she spotted a towering stone wall in the distance, stretching far into the horizon.
Her brows furrowed. A wall? It looked ancient, weathered, and imposing—a stark contrast to anything she'd seen back home.
"Eimear!" she called out, her voice breaking the stillness.
There was no response.
Fear began to creep in, but Malorie forced herself to her feet. Dusting off her oversized shirt and shorts, she glanced down and froze.
The necklace.
It was shining faintly, as if catching the light, but what struck her most was how it looked. It wasn't broken anymore. The gems were perfectly intact, their intricate designs gleaming like they'd just been crafted.
"How...?" Malorie whispered, clutching it tightly. None of this made sense.
She stuffed the necklace into her pocket for safekeeping. Whatever was going on, she needed to find Eimear—and get back home.
The days that followed were grueling. The dense forest seemed endless, with no clear paths or landmarks. Malorie scavenged for food where she could—berries, roots, anything that seemed edible—but her modern knowledge didn't exactly prepare her for survival in the wild. Hunger gnawed at her constantly, and the nights were even worse, filled with eerie animal cries that kept her awake and on edge.
Her shoes, designed for city streets, offered little protection from the rough terrain. By the fourth day, the soles were peeling, and her feet ached with every step.
"I swear, if I ever find Eimear, I'm never letting her out of my sight again," she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from days of silence.
It wasn't until the seventh day that she finally broke through the treeline and saw it: a small town nestled in a valley, smoke curling from chimneys. The sight brought tears to her eyes.
"Finally," she whispered, a mix of relief and exhaustion flooding her.
Malorie stumbled into the outskirts of the town, her stomach growling audibly. She was dirty, her clothes torn and stained from the forest. The tantalizing scent of baked bread wafted from a stall nearby, making her mouth water.
She approached cautiously, eyes darting around. A loaf of bread sat unattended on the edge of the counter.
"I'll pay you back," she whispered under her breath as she grabbed it and ducked into an alley.
Just as she tore off a piece and stuffed it into her mouth, a sharp voice startled her. "Well, that's bold of you."
Malorie froze, turning to see a stout woman with sharp eyes and flour-dusted hands standing a few feet away.
"I—I was hungry," Malorie stammered, clutching the bread to her chest.
The woman eyed her up and down, her stern expression softening slightly. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Malorie shook her head, unable to muster an explanation.
The woman sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Come with me. Stealing's no way to survive, girl."
The woman, who introduced herself as Greta, owned the town's tavern. She led Malorie to the kitchen, handing her a bowl of stew and a hunk of fresh bread.
"Eat first. We'll talk later," Greta said, waving off Malorie's attempt to explain.
Malorie devoured the food, the warm meal bringing tears to her eyes. For the first time in days, she felt human again.
Afterward, Greta folded her arms and studied her. "You've got nowhere to go, I take it?"
"No," Malorie admitted quietly.
Greta nodded thoughtfully. "I could use an extra pair of hands around here. You work hard, I'll give you food and a place to sleep. Fair?"
Malorie's relief was palpable. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much."
The first week at the tavern was tough. Greta was kind but firm, expecting Malorie to pull her weight. The work was exhausting—cleaning, serving drinks, and occasionally breaking up arguments among rowdy patrons—but it came with the promise of a warm bed and steady meals.
Greta even provided her with a few secondhand dresses, helping her blend in better with the townsfolk. "You stick out like a sore thumb in those strange clothes of yours," she remarked one evening, handing Malorie a neatly folded bundle.
Despite her exhaustion, Malorie was grateful. Each night, she returned to her small room upstairs—a simple space with a bed and a narrow window. It wasn't much, but it was hers.
When she wasn't working, Malorie visited the town's small library. She claimed it was to learn more about her surroundings, but her true goal was the maps.
The library's collection was modest but filled with detailed charts and sketches of the surrounding regions. Malorie would tear out pages when no one was looking, hiding them behind the curtain "I'll figure out where I am," she whispered to herself one night, poring over a map by candlelight. "And I'll find Eimear."
Malorie's actions didn't go unnoticed.
One evening, as she returned from the library, she noticed a group of townsfolk gathered near the tavern, speaking in hushed tones.
"Someone's been stealing from the library," one man said, his voice tight with anger.
"Whoever it is, they're an outsider," another added.
"We should call on Sir Ahren. He'll get to the bottom of this," a woman suggested.
Malorie's heart sank. A knight. The last thing she needed was more attention.
As she slipped inside the tavern, Greta caught her eye. The older woman's gaze was sharp, as if she knew something was amiss.
Malorie swallowed hard. If the townsfolk discovered her secret, her fragile new life here could come crashing down.
The following morning, tension in the town was palpable. Rumors of the theft had spread quickly, and whispers of Sir Ahren's imminent arrival were on everyone's lips.
Malorie kept her head down, scrubbing tables and sweeping floors as usual. Greta's sharp eyes followed her every move, her silence unnerving.
"Something you want to tell me, girl?" Greta finally asked as Malorie passed by with a tray of empty mugs.
Malorie froze, her heart hammering. "N-no. Why?"
Greta leaned against the counter, her expression unreadable. "The townsfolk are restless. They don't like outsiders much, especially ones who don't say where they came from. And now, there's a thief in town."
Malorie's fingers tightened around the tray. "I haven't stolen anything," she lied, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.
Greta raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, turning back to her work.
YOU ARE READING
Traverse
Historical FictionEimear and Malorie were sisters who had grown up under their grandmother's care in the sprawling Archduchy Doford mansion nestled in the northwest of Westbruck. Their lives took an unexpected turn when Eimear discovered an ancient necklace, hidden...
