All Chapters of Marked and forsaken : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

We arrive home with Mother in our arms, her weight both sacred and unbearable. We lay her gently on her bed, as though the wood itself might splinter beneath the loss. Then we hear it, outside, the clash of steel and breath, the dying roars of our elders fighting for their lives. “Pelin, stay with Mother,” I say. “The rest of us, let’s go.” But Pelin steps forward, her voice steady, eyes rimmed in red. “Please, let me go. As my first act as their Luna, let me honor them, even if it means offering their last rites myself.” No one argues. We let her go, taking with her the few who still stand firm by her side. By the time the sun sinks low, my sisters return from the field, battered, bloodied, each carrying wounds that speak louder than words. I find Morwen gasping to steady herself. “How did it go?” Her eyes flicker. “You’d have seen it, the rage we carried after you left with Mother. We drove them back for a time, pushed them far beyond the ridge, but the tide turned, too swiftly

Then a hand stretches forward, catching the teardrop. The bracing of the inevitable, the switch of hands, and a pleasant shock, Elara! My soul jumps from my skin, dancing wild, but I cannot show it. The faces around me, everyone except Father, register surprise. Father sees nothing. He remains motionless, still bound by his own rite. Elder Ysmera nods to Elara. It’s her turn to carry out her own washing rite. I know the rule: crying over the body binds her spirit to the grief of the living, keeping her from rising to the Silver Vale. But Elara, her fierceness cannot be real. She does not break. She does not falter. She completes the rite perfectly, every movement precise, every stroke deliberate, every whisper in rhythm with the Moon. Then Mother’s body is laid under the direct moonlight, to rest until the second night of the Moon Sending. Elara moves to Father. Without a word, she wraps him in her arms. His breath shudders, nostrils flaring, lips trembling. And yet she smiles,

Swift feet steady at the sight of the fallen elders. Eleven of them lie battered, too many, taken by the cruel hand of death. My chest hollows. Nothing can stitch this grief. Nothing consoles. But I promise you all. I put the words out like a blade. “No matter who stands behind this, no matter why, you will pay. I will find them. I will make them answer. I will take judgment into my hands and become justice.” And Pelin said, “Make sure you all are well honored.” I smell their hair to make sure the bodies are covered with lavender. “You all smell beautiful,” I tell them, and the tears come without warning. I force a laugh into a smile. “I almost ruined your dress.” The joke cracks like thin ice. It doesn’t stop the flood. The dam inside me breaks and I wail, raw, useless grief. I should have left the Luna’s body to run to your aid. Maybe I would not be this late. How long did you hold? How long did you suffer? No—what did you, my elders, do to deserve this cruelty? What, why, why

Shhh. The sound rips me from sleep as a hand clamps over my mouth. “My lady… it’s me,” Elka whispers. “Elka?” I call, heart hammering. “Yes, my lady,” she answers. “We’re surrounded.” I bolt upright, the remnants of sleep fleeing. I knew they would strike again, but not so soon. Why are they so tireless in their hunt, so relentless to spill our blood? “Elka, go to the others,” I command. “They’re awake already,” she murmurs. “Your sisters are moving, smuggling the others through the backlands.” “We have to go,” she presses, urgency slicing through the dark. I follow, feet silent against the earth, shadows wrapping around us as we meet the others. A few moments into the run, my stomach twists. Pelin. We left her behind. They must have thought I was with her. But the tribe must keep moving. Hesitation is death. If we falter, the west wolves will catch our scent, and none of us will see dawn. “Nyvrae, I’ll go get Pelin. You go with them.” “No, sister. They can manage. I’ll

🍀 “No—no—no. Don’t hit her.” I drop my hand. “Unbind me so I can hit her myself,” Nyvrae rasps, exhaustion lacing her voice. I lay Eira down carefully. Pelin scrambles forward, spineless and shaking, and begins untying Nyvrae. “What’s your name, woods-woman?” I ask the stranger, keeping my voice flat. “Evelin,” she spits. “Will you untie me already?” I ignore the jab. “Who are you, and why are you living here alone?” “None of your curse business. Will you untie me already?” she snaps. “Nyvrae—untie her,” I order. Nyvrae hesitates, then glances at Evelin. “But you owe me one.” “I owe you nothing. We had a deal. I bring them to you and you leave me alone,” Evelin snarls. “You misunderstood me,” Nyvrae spits. “I was hunting for meat for my sisters.” “I don’t trust any shadow. That’s why I’m still alive.” Evelin’s eyes glitter, wary. “Help us, please,” I beg. “One of us is wounded.” I snap at Nyvrae — she doesn’t need to ask Evelin. Evelin turns to me, venom bright. “Oh no.