Golden Eye

“Are you listening?”

Norra pulled open the front door.

A warm gust shoved past her, rustling her black curls and soaring hot and fierce into the cottage. It carried the scent of summer—ripe apples from the orchards, rich earth from the Eidrean Wood, lavender from Pasker’s gardens—and mixed with the smell of bread that had just been pulled from the oven. Norra gathered her shawl, a thin, threadbare thing, and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was hot as the molten pits of the underworld, but she’d need something to protect her from the brambles and underbrush of the forest.

Samira, her sister, sighed in frustration. “You’re not listening.”

“I am listening,” Norra corrected. “I’m just not doing what you want. There’s a difference.”

The glare Samira sent her could curdle milk.

But Norra didn’t falter.

Samira had come to stay with her after Laith had disappeared. Their elder brother had vanished almost three weeks ago while traveling back from Lonefoss, a neighboring village to the east. He’d gone to the Inventor’s Fair, grinning ear to ear the day of, eager to demonstrate their newest mechanism—a plough faster at upending earth, and lighter to manipulate than traditional models. It’d taken months between him and Norra to get the design right. Norra had stayed behind to watch the farm, and Laith had gone to the fair, to showcase their invention to other farmers, and to perhaps enter a negotiation with a merchant, if one happened to be interested…

But two days later, he’d failed to return.

Norra had long lost count of how many search parties had gone out. Brilliant, handsome, and quick to draw laughter, Laith was well-liked in Bastion despite his umber skin and black hair, belying the fact their mother hailed from the Majir Isles of the south.

Norra had searched too, worried beyond grief, spending hours and hours picking through the neighboring farms, the village roads, the vast wood of the Eidrean.

Nowadays, she felt she was the only one still searching.

With no word and no body found, people suspected Laith had either gotten lost and succumbed to the elements—perhaps too swayed by spirits and wine from the fair—or had the misfortune of running into bandits, wolves, or worse. Though tragic, it wasn’t unheard of: the Eidrean was known for vanishing unsuspecting souls every few years. The forest rolled almost halfway across the Ryon Kingdom, its trees massive and archaic, with only a handful of well-worn paths carving amongst them.

But tackling the wild wood was just the first of Norra’s worries.

She couldn’t handle the responsibilities of the farm alone—the fields too ripe with crop, the chickens too hungry for grain, the goats too full of milk. Samira, already married and with three children, stopped by the cottage every other day to help Norra manage the farm. Her two sons visited the other days, working hard to keep the home from ruin.

But each time Samira came, Norra found themselves falling into the same arguments, now more and more frequent.

“What about supper?” Samira asked, gesturing to the table. The crust of the bread was crisp, and two bowls waited for the chicken and carrot stew they had prepared for their evening meal.

Norra waved it off. The remaining daylight was more important than her hunger. “I’ll eat later.”

“You can’t keep going out like this.”

“He’s still missing. Someone has to find him.”

“People have tried to find him,” Samira snapped, suddenly appearing more exhausted than she’d looked in days. “It’s time to accept he may not be found.”

Silence settled thick and heavy between them.

The possibility of the worst outcome hung over their heads like an axe, but Norra had never dared speak the reality out loud. It would be like giving up—and to witness Samira bring it forward now, to hear her acknowledge it—

Before Norra could recover, Samira pushed farther.

“We need to start preparing for Emad.”

“Sam,” Norra warned, her anger flaring and quickly lending her voice.

“You need to start thinking for yourself. Emad doesn’t have Laith’s patience. He’s not going to overlook your status like Laith did.”

Fury mixed with shame swept up Norra’s neck, burning her skin.

Norra, already several years past her twentieth name day, was still unwed with no interested suitors to be found. She wasn’t as beautiful as Samira, wasn’t as popular as Laith, and wasn't as charming or youthful as any of the other available women in Bastion. Norra took pride in her work and inventions. She enjoyed tinkering with metal, wood, and wires, and there was almost no mechanism on the farm she couldn’t fix, no problem she couldn’t solve—which were all desirable traits by some. But ultimately, she was too tall. Too dark. Too loud.

She still didn’t accept that confidence in oneself was a bad trait.

But apparently for women it was in poor taste. Someone else was supposed to carry such weight for them. A husband, preferably.

She’d come to terms she would likely remain unwed in her twilight years. And that was fine, so long as she was left to her own devices, and so long as she and Laith ran the farm together.

But with Laith gone, Emad, their eldest brother, would take charge.

He’d left Bastion shortly before mama passed, before the gods cursed their family with every calamity they could think of. Chasing a career as a merchant in the glittering city of Patros, he’d always been the smartest and most ambitious of them all. His heart burned for power and wealth—luxuries their home and village greatly lacked, a fact that he was resentful of even at a young age. It was no secret he hated this place, and sometimes, Norra was sure he hated their own family.

They hadn’t heard from him in several years, despite them reaching out in the first few after he left.

And now he’s coming back.

Norra's head pulsed with frustration.

There would be a time to start worrying about such things, but it wasn’t now. Not when she still had hope. Still had a chance.

“I need to go,” Norra said stiffly, done with this conversation.

“I’m only trying to watch out for you—”

“And I’m watching out for Laith. You might’ve given up on him, but I haven’t.”

Samira drew back as if struck. She turned away, bracing her hands on the table—but she wasn’t quick enough to hide the glimmer in her eyes, the pain pulling at her face.

Norra immediately regretted saying it.

But the guilt wasn’t strong enough to make her stay.

“Sam... I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She moved and hugged Samira from behind, quickly and fiercely. “I swear I’ll be back before dark.”

And then she let go, ducking out of the open door before Samira could say anything.

She knew Samira loved and missed Laith as much as she did. It took something Norra didn’t have to say he might be gone forever. To confront that reality in the open, bleeding and raw.

Laith had always been there for their family. When mama had died from her sickness, and papa drowned himself in his spiced rums with grief, Laith provided for their home in a way that transcended beyond all measure. He worked the farm until his hands bled, visited and hustled every market in the Five League Square, placed bread, milk, and honey on the table every night. He found a strong marriage match for Samira, and though he brought up the prospect for Norra, he never pushed when she expressed disinterest.

Laith in turn never took a wife, though he could’ve, and honestly should’ve.

Norra recalled over and over the last time she saw him. He had packed up Jazmin, their mule, and was set for the fair. He’d smiled at her, and as was tradition, gifted her a single flower he’d picked up on some straggled path or wild meadow. This time it was a blossom she’d never seen before, with vibrant golden petals shaped like trumpets seconds away from playing music, surrounding a pistil glowing like a fresh ember.

Norra was stunned by its beauty, but also confused.

“What flower is this?” she’d asked.

“A sunburst,” Laith had explained. Patiently, easily, as always. “It’s not native to these lands.”

“Where did you get it?”

He’d shrugged, his smile cryptic and teasing. “I managed a trade of sorts.”

The sunburst stood in a watered cup by her bed, even after all this time, still blooming and beautiful. She still didn’t know from where or whom he’d got it, but she found quickly that she didn’t care.

As long as it flourished, as long as it lived, Norra wouldn’t give up.

The Eidrean Wood welcomed her with soft bird songs from overhead and golden hues drifting down from the canopies. She stepped on the narrow, hard-dirt path Laith had taken so many weeks ago and began her search.

Her agitated heart began to settle, focusing as she set to work. She quickly felt herself embraced by a world separate from her village—quieter, stiller, filled with an energy she couldn’t quite assign a word to.

The Eidrean was ancient enough that it had borne its fair share of odd stories and fantastical myths. Norra’s grandmother, a native of Bastion, loved weaving tales of the strange creatures living deep in the forest, of the cunning fox who would ask impossible riddles, or the tortoise who carried pieces of the Tavira River on its back.

Fae, Nana Sylvie had called them. All of them imbued with a hint of magic, a touch of glamour.

And sometimes, Nana Sylvie had spoken of the High Fae, the creatures shaped like humans.

She’d warned Norra to stay away from them.

And Nana Sylvie wasn’t the only one. Bastion’s elders still revered the Eidrean with a respect almost akin to fear, but the newer generations—including Norra—saw the myths simply as myths.

She’d never seen a bantering fox or anything pass as real magic in her life, but she understood the power of the old tales when the forest felt like this. The trees silent and strong, the wind whispering words she barely missed as it rustled through the summer leaves above her. Though Norra knew she was alone, she had to admit she didn’t quite feel like it. The forest breathed around her as if alive, present, watching. She only wished it could tell her what it knew, if it knew, what had happened to Laith.

As the last hours of daylight passed, Norra’s throat became sore from calling Laith’s name, her mind strained from listening to the deafening silence she received in turn.

The sun was falling too low behind the trees now. Within the next hour, night would blanket the forest in complete darkness, and Norra would have to worry about not returning home herself.

She stopped, breathless and sweaty, defeat pulling heavily at her shoulders.

There was no sign of Laith.

Samira’s words came then, soft and cold in her mind: It’s time to accept he may not be found.

Despair embraced Norra, as welcoming as the caress of a serpent.

She wasn’t sure how to do that.

Reluctantly, her feet started carrying her back towards the village. She paid half a mind to where they went, her thoughts darkened by her failure, by Laith’s fate, by Samira’s warnings. Emad would be here within the next gathering of days. Whatever he planned for Norra she would handle, but she knew searching for Laith would be much harder once he arrived. Emad was like papa: authoritative, arrogant, and not one to be disobeyed. If Samira had already lost hope, Emad wouldn’t entertain what he’d consider a pointless search. He’d look into selling the farm as he had no use for it, and then—

Norra suddenly stopped, her thoughts paused.

She had approached a massive clearing.

She squinted against the dying sunlight. She was still facing west, that much she gathered; the sun’s glare ignited the wavering grass a fire gold, searing her weary eyes in the process. She must’ve been more tired than she thought. She didn’t remember crossing a meadow, and she was certain she would’ve remembered one this large—

Movement shifted on the other side by the tree line.

She stared a moment longer, then threw herself immediately into the underbrush by her feet.

Heavy ferns crowded her face. Dead leaves from many autumns past scratched her forearms and elbows, digging into her hair. She fought to control her breathing, forcing down the alarm climbing high in her throat.

Fae.

She had never believed she’d see one.

But she had no doubt they stood across from her now.

There were four of them, riding on dark beasts that resembled horses, but were far larger and vicious looking than any stallion or mare Norra had ever laid eyes on. Though the beasts were giant, their riders somehow looked sizable in proportion. Lithe, lean, and impossibly tall, they moved as smoothly as the waters of the Tavira River. The sunlight danced around them, as if celebrating their presence.

Glamour, her grandmother’s voice whispered from memory.

The magic cloak of the Fae. Meant to hide or enchant, whichever they fancied in the moment.

Norra, breathless, figured it didn’t matter which they chose now—not here, deep in the wood, far and away from human society.

Suddenly, one of the riders pulled on their reigns, leading their magnificent beast towards the far edge of the meadow. Two of the other riders followed. The last remained.

Norra watched, anxious, transfixed.

What was he waiting for?

And she was certain it was a he—from the sharp strength in the way he moved, the broad shape of his shoulders.

The Fae turned his head in her direction.

Her heart seized in her chest and she shoved herself further into the ferns.

Even from across the meadow, she swore his eyes had locked with hers.

She couldn’t make out the color of his gaze from this distance. She barely deciphered the planes of his face—he was paler than her, like most natives from Ryon—and wearing dark clothes that blended with the quickly descending shadows of the forest. He turned away and called to the others, but the distance snatched up the shape of his words.

Did he tell them I’m here?

The beast he rode threw back its enormous head. It made a sound that sounded more like a wolf’s snarl than anything else, rearing up onto its massive hind legs.

Then it thundered away, carrying the ethereal Fae with it.

Norra waited for what felt like an eternity.

She had half a mind to simply lay there until the next morning. Fear rooted her to the earth, but logic urged her to move.

They’re gone.

But what if they came back?

And if they didn’t—what if hungry wolves came instead? Or hungry bears?

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Taking a deep breath, she waited just a moment more, checking the meadow before pushing herself up and breaking free from the thicket.

She rushed across the clearing, keeping low in the high grass. Being in the open was frightening, but walking around would take up too much sunlight.

More importantly, this had been the first notable event Norra had come across in all her searches. She didn't know what to make of it, but she'd be damned to let it pass without investigating.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. A sign of where they’d come from, or perhaps where they planned to go. As she scrambled closer to where the riders had been, she realized with a jolt she would’ve taken any evidence they’d been there at all. Even though she was certain she’d seen Fae just moments before, she already struggled to remember what exactly they’d looked like, how many there were. The details rapidly twisted away from her like smoke slipping in the wind.

Glamour, she thought again.

It muddled the mind, carved apart reality.

She searched the ground hard and fast, worried she might forget everything important before—

Her breath hitched.

There, near where the last figure had been, was a flash of gold. She hustled forward and saw blossoms dipping gently in the breeze, their petals bright and beautiful. Recognition stabbed her: sunbursts.

The exact same sunbursts Laith had given her before he’d disappeared.