Tildy woke with a start, certain something was wrong. Dawn had come, yet in her mind’s eye, one shadow lingered longer than others before flittering away. Grey fog enclosed all the world around her, increasing the sense of isolation she’d been feeling for days. Her body ached and there was a warmth spreading beneath her blanket. She lifted it and screamed. Blood covered her from chest to knees. Had she been stabbed? Had a blood-fiend snuck into camp to feed?

Tildy screamed again and sat up in her bedroll, waking from the dream. Dawnshine streamed through distant trees. Her breath misted the air as her chest heaved. Slowly, her head cleared, and she began to recognize their campsite.

She saw her mother a dozen yards away, dropping whatever she was doing to bustle over. “My dear, what is it?”

Tildy looked up at her with wide eyes, mutely pleading for help because she could not put her fear into words. Flashes of the dream came back to her, as real as memory. She looked down and saw no blood, though the ache remained. She looked around, vaguely noting that Marklin’s rolled-up sleeping mat lay nearby, the same as every morning since he’d joined them.

Seeing Tildy clutching her abdomen, her mother’s look of concern changed, and she nodded. “My dear, dear girl. My beautiful young flower.” She knelt and held her hand. “I believe you have blossomed.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Tildy moaned as her terror subsided.

The witch smiled kindly. “Come, let us wash you up. I shall explain the things a mother needs to tell her daughter.” She helped her stand. “Truly, I should have told you sooner, but it happened for me such a long time ago and I am so very old.”

Tildy tried to return the smile. “You are not so very old.”

“Well, perhaps not. Perhaps not old enough! Come with me to the river.”

* * * * *

Tildy allowed herself to be guided to the sandy bank where she undressed before stepping into water so cold it had no right to be a liquid. Every nerve protested as though the river were also filled with thistles. She was too preoccupied by the dream to listen to the faltering explanations of womanhood as her mother bathed her. She sighed as the water soothed her aches and turned every inch of her skin bright pink. She absently touched the birthmark on her chest, which was more livid than usual. Had the shadow been there, the one that always haunted her dreams? Or was it something else? A harbinger? She noticed her mother had stopped talking and was studying her.

“I said, are you better?”

“Yes,” said Tildy through chattering teeth. “I think so.”

A stern face looked back at her. “Perhaps you feel well enough to listen this time? Things change now that you are a woman, and I am not simply talking about menstruation or the buds upon your chest!” Tildy self-consciously crossed her arms. “No, I speak of things that other women – people – will not endure.” She walked to the shore. Standing in the sand, and completely dry, she beckoned. “Much like illnesses affect you differently, so will other changes to your body. It is like,” she paused, “it is like your body does not know how to deal with growing the way Humans usually do.” A small frown conveyed her dissatisfaction with this description.

Wrapping her cloak around Tildy, she said, “I expect your abilities will only grow stronger. Like emotions, they might be uncontrollable, unpredictable. Perhaps even dangerous. But let us get you into some dry clothes and a warm breakfast before we think more of that. That boy should be back by now.”

And he certainly was. Marklin had stopped in his tracks, staring at the disarray of Tildy’s bedroll. At his feet lay a bundle of squirrels, his hunting knife held ready. He noted their approach; particularly, Tildy soaking wet within the cloak.

Her mother held up a finger. “Not a word, you. This does not concern boys.” She gathered up Tildy’s bedroll and they walked to the packs. Over her shoulder she added, “You get those squirrels ready for the fire. And keep your eyes turned away!”

* * * * *

After Tildy had dressed, her mother unfurled her own bedroll and made her lie down. A short time later, she brought breakfast before returning to the river to wash Tildy’s clothes and bedroll. The rest of the morning and afternoon were much the same, her adoptive mother treating her like a delicate teacup. At regular intervals, she brought over a dried berry to help with the aches. After the third one, Tildy stopped thanking her. She knew the witch had kind intentions, but that didn’t stop her from getting grumpier.

Marklin was little better. He obviously sensed something was wrong, but not understanding what – and being a stupid boy, Tildy groused to herself – he could say nothing to help. Instead, he kept coming over to hearten her: “There’s no rot in rested limbs!” or “A good lie-in cures all ills!” Eventually, her glares stopped him, and he went off to do something that was likely more enjoyable.

Left alone with her thoughts, she complained to herself most of the day. Here was another thing she could not talk about, like her abilities. The witch was annoyingly knowledgeable and too….grown up. Marklin was annoyingly stupid and….too much a boy. If she was honest with herself, she was moping and being unfair. But she didn’t care, a feeling punctuated by another dull wave of discomfort from her abdomen.

Having resisted as long as she could, she chewed another berry, trying not to enjoy its delicious taste or the soothing effect it immediately provided. What she wanted was a girl like herself or an older sister, she thought, and not for the first time.

The witch decided they would spend another day at the site. Tildy suspected this was related to her “blossoming”, though the reasoning had something to do with searching for signs of their quarry. And while she begrudged the decision, her aching body thanked her for the extra rest.

* * * * *

The next morning, her mood had much improved, despite the echoes of the dull throb. Marklin sat nearby tending the fire. “She said she had something to do,” he said, seeing that she was awake. “And that it was none of my business. I knew better than to ask.”

Tildy smiled as she stretched. She’d been the recipient of similar reproaches. “I suppose we’re to wait here?”

“She said I’m not to let you get into trouble and she’d be back by lunch.”

Tildy’s smile expanded into a chuckle. “Good luck with that.” He laughed, too.

“We can sightsee a bit, right?” she added, though it wasn’t a question. She was exploring with or without him. She got up, stiff from her sedentary day, and walked to him.

He considered her words. “You should eat first. She was adamant ‘bout that. I’ve vegetables to cook up and she left another one of them berries.” He held up the small fruit. Tildy accepted it gratefully, perhaps feeling more appreciative that the witch could not see her enjoying it. She sat down and let Marklin prepare breakfast for her.

“She left early enough that I didn’t have time to go hunting,” he said in a conversational tone as he moved food around in the pan. “She forbade me from leaving you. Like I’d do that to a sleeping person. I ‘spect she’s doing some more gathering or exploring.”

“Hmmmm,” she replied, absentmindedly. Where had the witch gone and why hadn’t she bothered to wake her? Was she some delicate flower in precious need of sleep? She frowned, unsure if she was being treated like a girl or a woman. At the very least, she’d have a little peace and quiet without the mother bear growling her worry every few minutes.

“When did you cut your hair?”

She reached up to find her hair its usual short, spiky length. “Oh, you know I just changed—” and she stuffed her mouth to prevent saying anything that might give away her abilities.

“It looks good short. I mean, not that it looked bad before. I actually mean, you look good any way. I mean, um.” He suddenly became very interested in cleaning up, humming a familiar tune she couldn’t quite recall.

She ate in silence, deep in her thoughts. She was barely aware of Marklin cleaning up and gathering more wood for the fire, humming a familiar tune she couldn’t quite recall. It wasn’t unusual for the witch to wander the woods—it happened all the time in the Forest of Eddlweld. What did seem odd was the fact that it was happening out here in the wilderness, where dangerous creatures roamed. Hadn’t she given a rather dire warning when they’d begun their journey? But if peril was near, the witch wouldn’t have left, right? She found herself with more questions than answers as she finished the last of her breakfast.

“Ready to explore?” Marklin asked, extending a hand to help her up. “There’s not much to see here, other than the circle of stones we’re camped in. And I’ve already counted them twice. I’ll show y’ the greywethers. Those are more impressive stones.”

* * * * *

As they walked through a sunlit grove, he pointed out trees he’d once climbed. Tildy identified plants and animal tracks and kept him from stepping on a troupe of emerald walkingleafs. They finally reached the gentle slopes of the verdant hills they’d been able to see for days. Pale monoliths, some cracked, some intact, lay about the area, scattered like giant broken teeth. Most had dark beards of moss and creeper. They found the road again, which navigated the stones on a wayward course.

“My uncle liked to have us picnic here in the summer. I’m named after him, of course. We call this place Greywether Downs. An age ago, unhewn greywether stones like these were removed for some forgotten purpose.” Marklin paused, sizing up the nearest rock, which was thrice his size. “Castles, I figured, though I wondered how they moved ‘em. Nowadays, it’s got a more common name. Men call it the Boulderdowns because—”

 “I can guess,” Tildy interrupted with a laugh. “Do I hear water? Is that the same river near our encampment?”

“Yes, the Errentflow comes down from the Hearkenfells and feeds Wel Mallyne, the bottomless lake.”

“Everything has a bottom,” she said with a bit of disbelief.

“Well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?”

Tildy stood on her tiptoes but could not see either body of water. Her attention returned to the boulders. “Where did they all come from?”

“There’s many stories,” said Marklin. “Some say the wrath of Uhlenduggë, the ancient father of Giants, destroyed a mountain. Others say they fell from the sky after the gods’ home was destroyed, and you can find them across Empyrelia. When we picnicked here, my Pa would tell me they were ‘rootstones’, planted in the hopes that new mountains would grow from them.”

“You believed such a ridiculous story?” Tildy asked.

“No,” he said, and while he smiled, she could see the sadness the memory brought.

“I’ve always loved folklore,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she was changing the subject for him or for her own comfort. When she daydreamed about a life in which she hadn’t been orphaned, she pictured herself in those stories, a mythic hero of daring courage. It kindled a reckless desire to fly. Seeing his back was turned as he looked down the road, she released her wings and flitted away to inspect a large grey boulder. Quickly hiding her wings, she said, “This is interesting. It’s not bleached by the sun nor does any moss grow upon it.” She leaned closer. “Did you just arrive? You are a curiosity.”

Marklin stopped beside her. “I’ve been playing on these old bones of the earth since I learned t’ walk,” he said, indicating the other boulders. He stared at her until she turned. His serious expression surprised her. “This one is new.”

“How can it be new?” Tildy’s hand stopped short of touching the rock as something clenched her heart. The hairs on her neck tingled.

She became aware of Marklin’s insistent tugging at her arm. “Back up now,” he urged.

* * * * *

As they took several hasty steps backwards, the boulder suddenly lifted into the air, revealing a body, arms, and legs made of collected and connected rocks, large and small. Dirt and grass sloughed off as it rose to tower above them like some statue come to sentience. The topmost rock, its head, she assumed, rotated around with a grating that set her teeth aflame. A long protuberance of a nose stuck outwards, flanked by two dark cracks she suspected were the creature’s eyes. The stone beneath the nose split, giving its face a permanent, yet unmoving snarl.

Tildy took a second to process this fascinating revelation before Marklin pushed her ahead of him, his expression showing less bravery than his actions. “Go!” he cried. Together they scrambled down the hill. She looked over her shoulder to keep an eye on the creature, who had smashed a heavy hand into the ground where they’d stood. A hollow growl rumbled deep within the cavern of its innards.

“What do we do?” she asked. “And gods help us if you pick up that stick again.”

Marklin gave her a look. “Ha ha. But we have the witch, right? Can’t she do some fancy magic and freeze the thing or blow it to pieces?”

Tildy frowned. “I’ve not seen her do anything like that.” No, the witch would study the situation to see if a solution could be found.

The creature looked unsteady on the hillside; even reluctant to move. For a time, they could circle to keep the hill’s slopes between them. She pulled Marklin’s hand and he followed, their hands sweating with their fear.

After three circuits, they finally stopped, panting to catch their breath. The hill blocked them from view but did nothing to muffle the roars. Marklin looked at her intently, determination tentatively winning control of his face. “Where do we go? We can’t round this hill forever.”

She clutched a stitch in her side. “We can’t go far, or we’ll be lost in the wild.” A fearful memory from childhood returned. Only five years old, she had gone exploring in the Forest of Eddlweld and was twelve miles away before her mother found her. Years later, Tildy still didn’t know who was more scared. She’d been made to study map after map after that, and they’d spent hours uncounted exploring the forest until she knew it better than her own name. Her current name. Unfortunately, the Higrassten lands, where they found themselves, were unremarkable according to the maps in Dappledown.

* * * * *

Cries from across the hill made them look around. A tall man with bushy sideburns spotted them and ran up. “It’s a Sarsenith! Your herb-witch told us to keep you from harm, so you children stay back!” His tiny eyes contracted while his prominent nostrils flared, reminding Tildy of a bull. Without waiting for a response, he joined a group of people that had appeared on the hill. They carried stout staves and rusted steel, looking more like farmers than warriors. Nevertheless, they braced themselves to face the thing called a Sarsenith as it lumbered into view. The tall man called out a challenge as it came, and the others echoed the cry. Tildy and Marklin ignored the man’s warning and crested the hill. It didn’t matter if he spoke for the witch: they wanted to watch.

They saw additional people behind the stone monster, closing around it. A few held long ropes. What they planned to do against such a monstrosity, Tildy couldn’t tell. She saw the Sarsenith was exceedingly slow, which allowed the people to duck or dodge. Any hits they landed, however, were useless. The creature often didn’t notice that it had been struck. And its parries were casual, almost lazy, as though it wanted to give the people time to evade.

The minutes unwound with agonizing frustration. Many people were breathing heavily, and some stood in place, leaning upon their staves. The Sarsenith had worn them out! Tildy covered her mouth, understanding its strategy. She was about to cry a warning when the Sarsenith made its move.

The first man, older and stout of frame, took a terrible slap from the creature. He flew through the air and crumpled to the ground many feet away. Another was smashed and pinned where he’d stood. Tildy cried in dismay and buried her face against Marklin’s chest. His body was rigid in equal fear, though he had enough sense to put an arm around her. On and on the sounds of carnage rang across the hillside until none were left standing. People writhed and groaned amongst patches of dying grass, while others desperately crawled to escape. The Sarsenith raised a gigantic hand, clearly intending to finish its monstrous work on the nearest man.

* * * * *

Time slowed down for Tildy, bringing with it a memory of the clearing near Dappledown. She would not let it kill them! “Hey! Hey, you!” she shouted as she ran forward.

“Tildy, no!” Marklin cried, too startled to grab her.

The Sarsenith’s head rotated, slowly grinding across misshapen shoulders. With reflexes driven by instinct and fear, she withdrew her sling and the largest stone she had. She pivoted and flung the missile with all her strength. As always, her aim was true! The creature roared as she broke the tip of its nose. She cheered in triumph, only then realizing that she hovered three feet off the ground.

With a speed before unguessed, the Sarsenith charged. She was so surprised, she fell out of the air and dropped her sling. Scrambling to her feet, she fled, having spied a shimmer beyond the hill that sparked a reckless idea. She refused to listen to the small voice in her head that sounded very much like her disapproving mother.

Upon reaching level ground, she undid her belt and waved it, hoping to keep the creature’s attention focused on herself, since Marklin remained frozen to the spot. But there was no danger of that! If anything, it moved faster as it barreled downhill like an avalanche, reminding her how massive it was, and how very solid and cruel the rock was. And she, as slight as a twig and equally breakable.

We will hope, but hope darkly.

* * * * *

She dashed toward the glittering lake named Wel Mallyne and splashed into the shallows, startling a pair of ducks into flight. While she’d anticipated the icy water, the shock still took her breath away and she shivered uncontrollably. She hated the sensation of water on her skin. This pause allowed the Sarsenith to close the distance between them.

Overcoming her trembling limbs, she dove forward and began to swim, looking over her shoulder as the creature reached the shore. Sensing its hesitation, she tread water, telling herself that she was shaking from the cold, not fright. “Come on, you monster! You try to kill us? I am not afraid of you!”

It waited, watching her, and though its face was inscrutable, she thought it was deciding whether this prey was worth the effort.

“I bet those people weren’t scared of you, so you went after me, a target you thought weaker! By the bright, white scar on your nose, it looks like you were wrong!”

A hollow roar echoed from the Sarsenith’s lifeless mouth as it advanced, step by ponderous step. Tildy swam to put some distance between them. Inexorably, it pushed through the water, its two shadow eyes fixed upon her.

She tread water again, her toes tingling from a drop in temperature. “You’ve nearly got me, you great oaf!”

The creature paused and tilted its head, which appeared to be the stony equivalent of curiosity. From all around, sound rose from the water like mist: “ARE YOU HER?”

* * * * *

Tildy spun in the water, long hair twisting across her shoulders. The words emanated from all directions at once and she couldn’t tell if they came from the creature. The question was too vague to answer, yet a shiver rippled through her as she recognized the menace behind it. There was also real curiosity, as if it suspected something, but was confused. Depending on her response, however, she did not doubt some dark retribution would follow.

Not waiting for an answer, the Sarsenith righted its head and took another step. Suddenly the creature vanished below the surface! She might have caught a flash of surprise in the pits of its eyes before they were swallowed by the lake. A few bubbles broke the surface, and then all was calm.

Feeling victorious, but wary, Tildy watched the surface for any movement beneath it. Seeing none, she breathed in relief. Bottomless lake indeed.

But it wasn’t over. The insidious voice returned, its words encircling her, pressing upon her, freezing her blood. It had found the answer to its question, and though she did not understand their meaning, she knew it was angry with her. Choking back a cry, she pushed the words from her head, hoping they would fade from memory if she did not dwell on them.

And for a time, she would be successful.

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