Chapter 2: The Shimmering Stone
Amanda froze, one foot in the mud, eyes locked on the shimmering stone.
For a moment, she thought it was just sunlight playing tricks. But the shimmer was too steady, too deliberate. It pulsed—softly—like a heartbeat. The spiral symbol glowed faintly, as if lit from within, and the moss that clung to it seemed to shrink away.
She took a step closer.
The world around her grew strangely quiet. No birdsong. No wind. Just the gentle rush of the river and the soft thud of her own heartbeat. Amanda reached out her hand. She knew she should turn back. Nana May always said strange things lived in the woods—old things, forgotten things. But Amanda had never seen anything magical in her life.
Until now.
Her fingers brushed the stone.
Flick!
A spark leapt from it, and Amanda stumbled back with a yelp, landing hard on the muddy ground. She stared, wide-eyed, but the glow was gone. The shimmer, the warmth—vanished. The stone looked like any other now. Just moss and rock.
She sat in the mud for a long moment, her heart thumping.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Then, she noticed her fingers. Where they had touched the symbol, her skin was marked—faint, like a sunburn, but the same spiral was there, burned softly into her palm.
Amanda scrambled to her feet, suddenly very aware of how far she had strayed from the village. The wind had picked up, and the river's edge looked darker now, less inviting. Clutching her basket, she hurried back up the path, slipping once, her breath sharp with cold air and something like fear.
By the time she reached the village, her feet were soaked and muddy. Her hair clung to her cheeks, and her fingers still tingled.
She burst into the cottage.
Nana May turned from the stove, flour dusting her apron. Her eyes narrowed at once.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"I fell," Amanda said quickly. "One of the traps. It—um—was near the river."
"I told you not to go near the river, child."
"I know," Amanda mumbled. She hesitated, her hand half-curled around the faint mark. Should she tell Nana? About the stone, the symbol, the shimmer?
But Nana was already shaking her head, turning back to the bread.
"You're lucky you didn't slip into the water. River's mean after a rain." Then, softer, "Just like your mother—always chasing things best left alone."
Amanda's ears perked up.
"My mother?"
Nana paused. For a moment, Amanda thought she might say more. But instead, her voice hardened again.
"Wash up. And no more wandering today. There's stew to make, and the Johnson boy's bringing milk."
Amanda obeyed, moving to the wash basin. The warm water felt good on her cold hands, but when she looked down—the spiral mark was still there, faint and pink.
She glanced at Nana's back, then toward the bookshelf in the corner. The old herb book sat there, bound in cracked leather. The same one with the spiral on its cover. The one Nana never let her open.
Something strange was happening. Somethin
g old. Something magical.
And Amanda knew, deep in her bones, that she wouldn't be able to leave it alone.