Chapter 5: The Herberlist's Sanctuary
The carriage jolted as it emerged from the dense forest, wheels crunching on gravel. Outside, the faint outline of the herberlist's cottage appeared—a small, crooked wooden house nestled between towering pines, wrapped in creeping ivy and moss. Its windows glowed dimly with flickering candlelight, casting long shadows against the gnarled trees.
The air smelled sharply of dried herbs and earth, a faint smoke curling from a cracked chimney. The heavy scent of pine mixed with the pungent tang of crushed leaves and flowers. The night was cool, but the glow from the cottage was a small, steady warmth in the chill.
David slowed the horses and brought the carriage to a halt on the uneven path. Ruth held the infant closer, his soft cries muffled against her gown. Liora peered out the window, eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and unease.
From the open door came a figure—an old man with a long white beard and piercing gray eyes that seemed to hold centuries of knowledge. His movements were slow but deliberate, as though every step was measured with care.
"Princess Ruth," the man said, voice rough but steady, already acknowledging her without hesitation.
Ruth straightened, her gaze steady. "You know me."
The herberlist nodded. "I have served your family for decades. Your visits are rare but always remembered."
He stepped forward, motioning for them to enter. The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it wider. Inside, the cottage was dimly lit by a few candles, their flames flickering over shelves heavy with dried herbs, glass jars filled with strange roots and powders, and worn leather-bound books stacked unevenly.
The walls were lined with bundles of hanging herbs—lavender, sage, thyme—some emitting a faint, almost otherworldly glow. A wooden table bore bowls of crushed leaves and a small basin filled with water, steaming slightly.
"This place smells of secrets and old magic," Liora whispered under her breath.
Ruth ignored her, her focus on the herberlist who now moved to prepare the bath. His hands were steady as he mixed the special herbs into the water, the liquid darkening to a rich amber color.
"He needs to be hidden, protected," Ruth said quietly. "His features give him away."
The herberlist nodded slowly, his eyes resting on the child. "The herbs can help, soften what the world sees.
"These herbs," he explained, "have been passed down in my family for generations. They soften the features and mask the light that some rare children carry."
Ruth carefully handed over the baby, watching as the herberlist gently immersed the infant's tiny hands and face in the bath. The baby whimpered softly, eyes wide, the violet glow dimming slightly as the herbs took effect.
"See," the herberlist said softly, "the baby's silver moon hair will slowly fade to golden ash blonde, and his eyes will darken to a more common shade of violet, though still rare. His powers will calm, suppressed but not lost."
Ruth nodded slowly, eyes never leaving the child. "How often must this be done?"
"Once a week, and only once," he replied. "The effect lasts seven days. You must return for more herbs when the time comes, or the child's true nature will reveal itself."
A flicker of concern crossed Ruth's face. "If something were to happen to you?"
The old man smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "My son will take over. And when he is gone, his child. The herbs will not disappear."
Ruth's expression hardened. "Good. I will count on that."
She reached into a small pouch at her side and produced a leather wallet filled with coins. She placed it quietly on the table.
"Enough to last a few months," she said. "More when the time comes."
The herberlist nodded, tucking the coins into a hidden compartment beneath the table. "It is enough."
Outside, the soft sounds of the horses pawing at the ground reached them, a reminder of the night's urgency.
Ruth gently wiped the infant's face and wrapped him once again in soft cloth. Liora stepped forward to help.
"David awaits," Ruth said quietly. "We cannot linger."
The herberlist stepped to the door, his expression somber. "Take care, Princess. This child is precious, and the path you walk is perilous."
Ruth nodded, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her like the cold night air.
As the carriage pulled away, the herberlist watched in silence, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seemed to whisper ancient warnings.
---
Meanwhile, back in the prison's cold stone walls, Noa sat alone, her hands shaking as she rocked herself gently.
The door clanged open suddenly. A tall hunter entered, his face hard and emotionless.
"You have a sentence," he said bluntly. "Your child has been sent to the mountains. The law is clear."
Noa's breath hitched, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Where? Where will he be?"
The hunter's lips twisted into a cruel, cold smile. "Far from here—buried where no eyes dare seek. The curse will guard him… for now. But once he turns eight, that protection will vanish—and then, nothing will save him."
She clenched the cold bars of her cell, her voice trembling to a desperate whisper. "No… please, not my son. He's done nothing wrong. Spare him."
The hunter's eyes hardened. "Stop fretting over your son. Your fate will be sealed soon enough." He turned away without another word.
Noa's sobs echoed through the empty corridor as the hunter left her alone in darkness.
---
Outside, one of the hunters carried the crying newborn through the thick woods, the baby's faint violet eyes glimmering as the cold wind rustled the leaves.
The path led to the barren mountain passes where Xant children were left until they turned eight. He'd heard most had already been sent into exile. Only a few remained. The area was heavily guarded by hunters who despised Xants and showed no mercy. It was a trap—a place where many Xant children suffered torment until their final sentence.
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