Prologue
In the Year of Our Lord 1624
The bog lay still under the heavy midnight sky, a shroud of mist curling around the twisted branches that clawed at the moon. The air was thick with a coppery scent, and an unnatural silence had settled over the land, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind that carried ancient secrets.
Three women stood in a tight circle near the water’s edge, their hands clasped together. Blood leached into the ground from the wounds they had carved into their palms. They were the Aberdeen sisters, descendants of a bloodline that had carried the burden of the town’s magic for centuries. Their long cloaks billowed around them, and their eyes, bright and defiant, reflected the dying cinders of their ritual fire.
“Hold steady,” whispered Myra, the eldest sister, her voice a delicate tremble beneath the calm she tried to project. Her grip on her sisters’ hands tightened. More blood dripped to the earth and was hungrily absorbed. “The binding is nearly complete.” The warmth of her empowered dirk grew hotter at her thigh where she had loosely tethered it for quick release.
Edith, the middle sister, closed her eyes and focused on the rune-carved stone tucked into the bosom of her blouse, its surface warm with the energy they had poured into it. “We don’t have much time,” she murmured, fear lacing her words. “It’s waking. I can feel it fighting us.”
The youngest and the most daring of the trio, Catrina, shivered as the water in the bog began to churn, black tendrils swirling up from the depths. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, doubt pierced through her resolve. Her book of incantations was strapped at her waist and pulsated with her strength and courage. The wraith—the ancient darkness that had poisoned their town, that had followed them across the ocean to their new home - was stronger than they had anticipated. She quickly refocused her thoughts, pulled them from the darkness and flooded light from within to both her sisters.
A low growl echoed through the mist, and the shadows seemed to shiver in response. The sisters’ circle wavered, and the runes carved into the earth around them flickered, their golden light dimming.
“Stay together!” Catrina commanded, her voice firm despite the panic rising in her chest. “We must hold it until the binding is sealed.”
The wraith emerged from the bog, a mass of darkness with eyes like burning embers. It twisted and writhed, pulling at the edges of their magic, its hunger palpable. The ground beneath them trembled, and Myra felt her knees buckle.
“Is there no other way?” Edith cried, desperation cracking her voice. She looked at Myra, her eyes pleading. “Must we sacrifice ourselves?” All three sisters had children of their own, but Edith had just given birth to her third child – a daughter, only but two weeks prior. Her heart ached thinking of leaving behind her children.
Myra understood the anguish her sister suffered. “They will succumb to the blackened waters if not.” Her jaw tightened, the weight of leadership pressing down on her. The plan had always been to bind the wraith, to save the town and buy time for future generations to find a permanent solution. But the magic required was a heavy cost—one she had hoped to avoid paying.
“We were chosen for this,” she continued softly, though her heart yearned for a different option. “The land demands it.”
Catrina swallowed back tears, her gaze flickering between her sisters. The wraith lunged against their magic, its form bending and twisting in its rage, but she felt a moment of peace knowing they faced it together. Perhaps this was their destiny: to become part of the land, to ensure New Aberdeen’s survival. She stole a quick glance toward the edge of the woods. She couldn’t see the witness, but she felt his presence. Encouraged that their legacy would traverse centuries, she once again pushed back her fear and radiated light into the circle.
As the wraith’s shadow engulfed them, the sisters closed their eyes, whispering a final prayer. The carved runes blazed to life.
“Now,” cried Catrina and the sisters released their hands and grabbed the dirk, the stone, and the spell book. They each tossed their items away from the bog as the darkness pulled them under. The ground shuddered, then fell silent, as though the earth itself mourned.
The witness scurried to the bog’s edge and collected the thrown items. He gathered them into his cloak and hurried back to his hidden home deep within the woods. There he would become the keeper of the artifacts until they were needed once more. He set about re-drawing the town’s map, under its new name - Thornridge.
In the days to come, he would share the tale of how the bog stilled, and the wraith’s power receded, bound once more. But the magic had come at a price. The sisters’ lifeblood soaked into the soil, and the town above would know peace—at least, until the shadows began to stir once again, four hundred years later.
