The forest ignited, the earth shuddering beneath. The sky was torn by a slash of lightning, splitting the night open for a moment to show Camila's shape blurring in the half-dark, dark eyes flashing with insistence. Her voice sliced through the tumult, sharp and staccato.
"Be still," she commanded, arms outstretched like wings. The cultists halted, their bodies relaxing into a quiet tension. Leaves whispered and animals softly cried in the distance, highlighting the bareness of the broken rhythm of the ritual. Camila's breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in time with the turmoil around her.
Venessa, on her hands and knees, her fingers clawing into the damp soil, forced herself to focus. She could taste the salt of sweat on her lips, the bitter tang of fear. Her whole body screamed to run, to escape, but the forest had her in its clutches, its hold cold iron around her throat. Her ears rang with the throbbing of her blood, deafening her to the screams far off, the noise of the pursuit behind.
A shadow loomed over her, and Venessa tensed, expecting another touch, another blow. But the shadow kneeled beside her, low and cautious. Nerijus' voice rasped against her ear, a whisper of a snake. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Venessa."
Her breath stalled, but she didn't speak. His hand tightened on her shoulder, the calloused fingers biting into her flesh as he pulled her to her feet, forcing her to face what was before her.
The girl, still shaking, lifted her head enough that Venessa caught the glint of despair in her eyes. Blood smeared across her cheek, mixing with the dark soil, a final remnant of innocence before she was taken by this twisted ritual. Camila moved forward, her actions deliberate, measured. She stood in front of the girl, eyes dark pools, depthless, and reached out to touch her face, smoothing the hair back.
Do you accept?" Camila's voice was a caress, soft as honey poured over poison. The girl shuddered once more but nodded, her eyes glassy, far away.
The ritual could not be stopped. It had passed its climax, and in the center, the purpose of the ritual was clear. The girl, her body a vessel for the ritual's call, was the personification of the hunger of the forest. The chants built again, rising in pitch until it sounded as if the ground beneath their feet vibrated in response. The fire, too, burned higher, its flames twisting upwards, twisting like snakes.
Charles was at the edge of the clearing, in shock. His gaze darted from the scene in front of him to the people in the trees, faces hidden behind masks, eyes glinting in expectation. He took a step forward, a hand reaching for the hunting knife hidden in his coat.
But before he could make a move, the sound of someone bursting through the undergrowth shattered the illusion of control Warinya had.
Her wild, desperate eyes found Venessa first, a silent plea flashing between them. Her tied hands, behind her, wrestled desperately, fingers clawing at the bindings. Another cultist lunged forward, but Warinya twisted out of his grasp, ripping free in a frenzy of panic.
Time froze for an instant. Camila's gaze was on Warinya, cold and commanding. "Catch her."
Two forms burst from the edge of the circle, jagged and in time with each other. The air crackled with energy, static before a storm. Venessa's heart raced in her chest. The rhythm of the ritual had been shattered, and now it would be blood that would be spilled, not just to enrich the earth, but to uphold the twisted balance that had nourished the forest.
Warinya dodged the first cultist's hand but wasn't quick enough for the second. He tackled her to the ground with a sickening thud. Venessa's breath caught in her throat as she watched Warinya's body twitch beneath his weight. A third cultist, this one with a wooden face, stepped forward, a thick rope in his hands. Warinya struggled, kicking, her eyes wide with terror.
Charles could not stay still any longer. Next thing he knew, he was walking, hunting knife in hand, his steps sure and silent on the mossy ground. He did not know what he would do when he reached them, only that he could not let Warinya be dragged back into the ritual. He could not let this madness continue.
His heart raced, adrenaline searing through his veins like a wildfire. He was close now, the figures in the clearing still focused on Warinya's battle, blind to his approach. Just as he was closing in on them, a sharp, unmistakable crack sliced through the clearing.
The first horn. It sounded again, lower now, and a figure emerged from the forest, its shape silhouetted against the fire's unnatural glow. A woman, tall and lithe, her movements as fluid as water. Her face was concealed behind a mask, its features carved in grotesque detail, antlers grew from her brow, curving upwards in grotesque symmetry. Her eyes blazed, shining through the mask, as if she could look into the very souls of the people around her.
A procession of figures in masks trailed behind her, their bodies robed in garments that flowed with each deliberate step.
Charles froze. The air grew thicker, strangling with the weight of something ancient, something alive. He could feel it now, stirring under his skin, the woods themselves watching him. Watching all of them. Waiting to see what would occur next.
Camila, the girl who had been a leader, now knelt beside the slab of oak, her hand clenched on its gnarled surface, as though discovering something there. Her voice was lifted again, loud and clear.
"Ossendrecht breathes," she chanted, her voice mingled with the voice of the wind. "And we, children of the earth, bloom again."
The masked woman stepped nearer, her eyes, twin stars, icy and distant, fixing on Charles. She smiled behind her mask, a slow, knowing smile.
"Your time is not yet," she breathed, her voice a whisper on the wind. Charles tightened his hold on the hunting knife, his heart pounding in his chest.
The fog was heavy in the air, thick and damp against their skin. Venessa's breath caught, blinking away the tears that threatened to blind her as she fought to bring the scene in front of her into focus. The stranger, the one who had appeared out of thin air, had vanished into the trees as suddenly as he had appeared. The chant that had been so raucous in the clearing was now silent, choked by the eerie stillness that had descended in the aftermath of the sudden violence.
Charles did not stir, kneeling there beside Camila's dead body. His hands trembled, red fluid seeping from his fingers, staining the earth around him. His breath was heavy, strained, as if the air itself was suffocating him. The barbed wire crown lay abandoned on the ground, twisted and deformed, its significance lost now in the chaos.
Warinya fought to sit, her limbs leaden and aching, as if the shock of the instant had anesthetized her sensibilities. She extended a hand, her fingernails scraping against the ground, anchoring her. Venessa, bound as she was, could scarcely lift her head, but her eyes sought Warinya's, the unspoken question in them clear: What happened?
Warinya's mouth opened, but there were no words. She could only shake her head, slowly, as if the answer was too horrific to be tolerated. The ritual had shattered in an instant, and now all that remained was the wreckage.
Nerijus had disappeared into the forest, taking one of the cultists with him, and the others had scattered like bugs when a light was shone on them. The forest, which had hummed with the energy of the ritual, was quiet. The torches extinguished themselves, and there were only a few smoldering embers and the scent of burnt wood in the air.
Venessa's hands trembled violently against the ropes. She had to move, had to escape. With all her might, she twisted her wrists against the bindings, fighting to free herself, to do something. Anything.
Warinya, dazed, could stand. She moved slowly, yet in her eyes now burned a flame of something untamed. She reached out, her fingers brushing the ropes that tied Venessa, and began to pull at them, working with frantic precision. Venessa breathed raggedly, her breath catching in her throat, as the ropes loosened and fell away, the pressure releasing from her limbs.
She didn't hesitate. She pushed herself to her feet, stumbling for a moment, but finding her balance. Her eyes scoured the scene, taking in the destruction, the blood, the absence of the cultists. The silence was oppressive, unnatural.
"What do we do now?" Warinya's voice was a whisper, barely a breath, as if speaking louder would make the world collapse around them.
Venessa did not answer at once. Her head was spinning, racing to keep up with everything that had just occurred. The stranger, Camila's death, and Charles's role in the madness. The earth beneath them still hummed with the power of the ritual, but something else lingered too, a low, gnawing hunger, as if the earth waited for something else, something more.
We leave," Vanessa stated, her voice hard, determined. She did not know how. She did not know who was left behind or what was shattered. They had to get out. "We leave, and we make sure no one ever comes back here."
Warinya nodded, her expression unreadable. There was no time for remorse, no time for inquiries. The forest had mysteries, but they were no longer interested in them.
Venessa glanced behind her to where Charles still knelt, his eyes empty, anguished. His hands twitched, as though he was about to rise but could not. She experienced a pang of something, pity, guilt? She did not know. His part in all of this was not over, but just now it did not matter. They had to survive.
Silently, they turned their backs on the clearing, on the bloodied ground, on the death that had germinated. Their footsteps were silent, softened by the thick underbrush, the trees closing in around them, as if trying to reclaim what had been lost. But they never looked back. Not once.
The air was chilly now in the nighttime, full of the scent of something burning. The full moon poked out from behind the clouds long enough to cast pale light along their path, drawing them onward through the night. The night clung to their backs like a pestilence, yet they kept going, leaving the terror behind them.
Behind them, in the silence of the woods, the wind moaned through the trees. The earth pulsed, hungry for the blood it had tasted, and somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. They did not hear it. They were already dead.