Chương 173: Extra Chapter: What You Are Willing to Lose

The crackle of the bonfire was the pulse of the night, a heart of flames beating in time with the instruments. The five-year-old girl, with her tiny fingers buried in the warm earth, felt how every note from the egg flutes tangled in her loose hair, how the deep sound of the albokas vibrated in the bone of her chest, how the wooden spoons marked a rhythm that seemed drawn from the very roots of the trees.

The harp, with its light wood where anurhys and nimoras danced in an eternal loop, was the only stringed instrument she had seen in her short five years of life. Her fingers, still sticky with the sweet banchis jam she had eaten earlier, moved imitating the gesture of the harpist, a woman with hair red as fire, whose closed eyes seemed to see beyond the flames. Everyone was focused on the song. The singer, Num-Num, was the most beautiful woman Maya had ever laid eyes on.

Her hair, a cascade of crimson, fell over her bare shoulders, and her hips moved with the fluidity of stream water, as if her body were another instrument altogether, one that spoke the ancient language of the earth. Her voice was sweet like a spring flower, drawing every bee to its nectar.

—Come, everyone, come listen to the tale of that peasant girl who longed for her lord's son, and with the heartache in her breast begged for that which no human should ever possess: love not naturally earned, love as a desire, and sorrow as its sole payment.

"Across the hills a maiden wept, Beneath the Vraellan tree. Pray, make my prince fall deep in love, She begged of Zarvok softly. Black is the cloak that Zarvok wears, No footprints mark his way. They say he walks beyond the Veil When mirvals cease their lay." The name fell into Maya's soul like a seed. Zarvok. The veil walkers, those who crossed the invisible border between what is seen and what remains hidden.

Her grandmother Erika, with hands wrinkled like tree bark, always said the Whistling Forest held places where no human had set foot in centuries. —There —the old woman would whisper— is where the Zarvok still dance. The song continued, but Maya was no longer listening. A different sound had captured her attention: a low, guttural croak that seemed to come from the earth itself.

She turned, and there, in the gloom beyond the circle of firelight, she saw a fat anurhy, its greenish skin glistening like moss after rain. Its round eyes reflected the flames like two tiny moons, and a girl her own age was stroking it with the tenderness Maya had only ever seen in fairy tales. I want to touch it. That was the only thought in her mind. Desire proved stronger than her fear of being caught.

Taking advantage of her grandmother and mother being deeply entertained by the zingari's song, Maya slipped through the shadows with the stealth of someone who had learned to move among trees without making a sound. But it was not enough. About ten meters away, the anurhy tensed. Its eyes widened with primal fear, and a tremor ran through its chubby body. When Maya took another step, the animal squealed, a high-pitched, pitiful sound that cut through the night. Then she felt the hand. Strong, large, warm.

Upon her shoulder. —My little Maya —her father Norman's voice was like a tree trunk: firm, solid, capable of bearing any weight. His arms lifted her with the ease of someone who had carried game for a lifetime, and the scent of the forest, hunter's sweat, and cured leather wrapped around her like a blanket— What have I told you about approaching other families' pets? —I just wanted to pet it —Maya said that her voice choked whisper through tears.

She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her vest, smearing the wool with a shiny streak— Maybe if I made a deal like the one in the song... Her father did not laugh. He did not correct her. He simply held her with the patience of someone who has seen the world and knows some lessons cannot be taught with words. He carried her back to the family bonfire, where her grandmother, with her wrinkled hands, awaited her with a damp cloth and the patience of years.

—Since you speak of Num-Num's song —Norman said, settling her on his lap so she could see the singer better— now you must listen to all of it. It is wise to recognize what one cannot obtain, little one.

"Every longing bears a price, What do you have to give?" Lovestruck stood the maiden there, Knowing no reply. Take my golden braided hair, Take my crystal ring. Take my twenty Nivals too, If that be enough." The song ended with the maiden full of regret. She had won the prince's love, yes, but in return, her children had been claimed one by one over the years. Sorrow had devoured her soul. When the Zarvok appeared to collect his price, it was not the children, but the emotion that he demanded.

Because the children had never been the price it was the grief their loss generated. Maya, from her father's lap, felt something stir in her chest. The price is not what you give, she understood, it is what you are willing to lose. Years flowed like the stream water crossing the village, taking Maya's childhood with them and leaving in its place a twelve-year-old girl who walked through the Whistling Forest with the confidence of someone who knew every path.

Her father, Norman, had trained her in the art of classification, and her fingers, now longer and more deft, cut mushrooms with the precision of a surgeon. The flaumen, massive as fallen trees, rose among the undergrowth with caps three meters in diameter. The norden, small and intensely flavored, hid among the roots like secrets only she knew how to find. And the crapular, with their medicinal properties and herbal taste, were her pride. That morning, the smell of roasting meat permeated the village air.

The waxban her father had hunted was so enormous that five men had been needed to carry it, and its hide, thick as the bark of a Titarde, lay stretched over a stone like a trophy of war. —Maya —her mother Penny's voice held the edge of a gentle scolding— watch the path, child. You are up in the clouds again. The girl averted her gaze from the treetops, where the leaves whispered secrets only the wind could understand, and rested it on the twisted roots of a mantovivo.

There, among the leaf litter, shone a black mursh with deep folds, its cheesy aroma floating in the air like a caress. She knelt and cut it with her knife small, sharp blade her father had given her when she turned ten. The gesture was so familiar it barely required attention, but her mind, as always, was elsewhere. —Mom, I was just looking for this —she said, holding up the mushroom proudly. She looked at her mother, yet the woman shook her head— I swear to you, Mom.

—Let's pretend I believe you —Penny replied that a conspiratorial smile twinkling in her eyes— Have you thought about joining the church with me, my child? Remember that the White Mother creates her community through mycelium, and like them, we too must form bonds with those we love. Maya nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She remembered the city, the Baron of Chaney, the son who wanted to marry Viscount Gramir.

The disapproving faces, the whispers of the merchants, the way the faith of the Eternal Sap closed in upon itself like a fist. —I don't understand, Mom —she said, her voice was a whisper that barely disturbed the forest's silence— The other day, when I accompanied Dad to deliver meat to the Baron of Chaney, many were against his son marrying Viscount Gramir. You taught me the Mother accepts everyone as long as the community is united as one family. Penny stopped.

Her hand, rough from years of labor, rested on Maya's hair with a tenderness that hurt. —It is the Church of the Sap, my little one —she said, her voice carrying a weariness Maya did not fully comprehend— The city has faith in Aelthra. Their goddess maintains that the natural flow must be between those who can produce offspring. They are not like us. —What is wrong with wanting to marry the one you love? —Maya insisted, and the question floated between them like a leaf carried by the wind. Penny sighed.

The sound was deep, coming as if from a place where answers were not simple. —It is because many among the clergy love money more than love —she said, her fingers entangling in her daughter's brown locks— To them, possessions must be handed down through a bloodline. They consciously ignore that the most powerful bond is invisible to all who love. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

When they finished gathering mursh mushrooms, their basket was full of the black, folded ones with their cheesy scent. Upon returning home, everyone had gathered in front of the enormous animal, which now turned on a spit directly over the flames, releasing the exquisite flavor of roasted meat. Five years later, Maya, now a seventeen-year-old youth, walked down the path leading home with the confidence of someone who had watched the world change around her.

That morning, as she put on her beige dress, it was a particularly hot calcar, she prepared her bags with the speed of someone attending to something urgent. Her grandmother helped her, preparing a second bag with gauze and cloth rags. —Go now, child, Penny will be angry with you if you delay —her grandmother urged, her voice bearing the unique tone of an old woman— Remember to use the Silicariel ointment, and run, or by the time you arrive, Laura may have already given birth.

The girl gripped the bags tightly, bowed slightly, and said: —I love you, Mom Erika. You are the best grandmother anyone could ask for. She ran out the door at full speed. A long twenty-five-minute sprint along the dirt roads brought her, sweating profusely, to Laura's small hut. The woman's labor had been exhausting duration that had felt endless to Maya while Penny, her mother, held Laura's hand with the strength of someone who had seen dozens of children come into the world.

The men in the yard paced in circles like cornered animals, and Maya, from the entrance of the hut, watched as the world shrank to a single heartbeat. When the newborn baby's cry drew his father inside, Maya felt her exhaustion vanish. Lerion lifted his son with his father's pride and eyes full of tears.

—Thank you, blessed Mother, for joining our lives and guiding them forth into a third —he said, his voice a song, a prayer, a thanksgiving rising toward the wooden ceiling— Thank you, blessed Mother, for watching over my beloved Laura. They returned only after receiving many expressions of gratitude from the family; they were numerous, and the hugs were just as plentiful. Lerion had handed them a basket full of banchis, and together they carried it back along the long road home to the edge of the forest.

The walk back was long, but the banter between mother and daughter shortened the distance. Anecdotes of past births, of cold-water Maya had confused with hot, of the time Penny had taught her the name of every plant. And now, the woman looked at her seventeen-year-old daughter as a true healer, just like herself. It was the quiet, deep pride of a woman who sees a generational legacy fulfilled. Yet upon reaching the house, the air shifted. Four figures, dark as shadows, waited under the twilight.

Their hoods concealed their faces, and Grandmother Erika, from the doorway, was speaking to them in a voice Maya had never heard from her before: firm yet tinged with a worry she could not hide. Norman, her father, stood with arms crossed, his head bowed like a tree that had lost its leaves. Maya approached cautiously and then saw them better. Three men and a woman, though the tall, robust figure appeared almost male.

Two of them stood out: one had whitish eyes, as though fog had settled into his pupils; the woman wore a blindfold of silver silk that reflected the light in a faint gleam. A silver thread, Maya imagined, seemed to point directly toward her from the center of her forehead.

—Norman, son of Fred of the Whistling Forest Village —said the blind man, unrolling a parchment with the precision of someone who had performed the gesture a thousand times— Under the current authority of the royal crown, we present ourselves as His Majesty's seekers. We are those who find individuals with exceptional talents in the fields our powerful kingdom requires.

Maya looked at her father, who was still staring at his shoes, then at her mother, who wore the same expression, avoiding the faces of those people. However, Grandmother Erika was the only one looking them in the eye, her brow furrowed. —Sirs and lady, if I may, and with all due respect —said the old woman, her voice a wall— could you clarify with greater precision what brings you to our humble home? The same blind man replied immediately, tucking the parchment back into his robes.

—According to our information, here in the Whistling Forest Village resides a girl named Maya, daughter of Norman, talented in medicine —the two men and the woman turned, their gazes, invisible beneath their hoods, falling upon the youth— The royal crown of Erabergh takes pleasure in bringing you great news: His Majesty and ruling monarch Thaerón IV Volgthar grants your daughter a scholarship to study at the prestigious Royal University of Kaelburg. The sound that followed was one of genuine astonishment.

Maya brought her hands to her chest, feeling her heartbeat like a war drum. —Before any further proclamation —said one of the men while another whispered something to the blind man— we have summoned a judge. As far as I know, he has not yet arrived, so we must await him. They did not wait long. The man who arrived wore robes of an almost black brown, and on his chest he wore the medal everyone in the kingdom recognized: the dune felis with the sword in its maw.

He was a royal summoner, a figure of authority who could summon nobility up to the rank of viscount. When everyone was finally together, the conversation resumed. —The crown takes pleasure in granting this scholarship subject to the decision of the parents and the girl herself —said one of the men, now that the blind man rested in a seat— Since your family holds legal status under the servitude of the Barony of House Chaney, you are offered the unique opportunity to rise to the rank of free men and women.

Penny gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Erika smiled, revealing her missing front teeth. Norman's expression had not changed, but his heart, Maya knew, was full of doubt. —Your daughter Maya will have complete freedom to choose a university path —the man continued—. The university possesses fully prepared accommodation for scholarship recipients: rooms, baths, meals, all at the crown's expense.

Furthermore, so that the family does not suffer the loss of one of its valuable members, the crown grants a stipend equivalent to two gold crowns per month for every month your daughter continues her studies. The faces of the family paled, especially Maya's; it was an opportunity she had never expected in her life. Yet those strange individuals, in her heart she did not see them as liberators, primarily due to the strange sensation at the center of her forehead whenever she looked at the woman's silver blindfold.

Her father let out a deep sigh, and Penny nodded to him. Once the gesture was made, Norman spoke in a firm voice, now keeping his gaze on the heraldic medal. —We accept... Maya was about to protest, but her mother brought a finger to her lips, and the girl could only nod along with her parents' words. —To be free is an honor we accept with humility —her father continued, his voice heavy with sorrow— We thank His Majesty for the honor he bestows upon the humblest families of the kingdom. When will our girl leave?

—Dad, I can't leave like this —the young healer hurried to say— I don't know enough mathematics. Multiplication, for example. Mom taught me to read, but writing is difficult for me. The man in black robes raised a hand, and silence fell. —As for education, the lady need not worry. Appropriate remedial courses will be provided. We shall depart in three days, at the first light of dawn. Until that time comes, the girl may prepare whatever she requires.

It was then that the summoner interrupted, his voice sweet, almost childlike, despite being a man with a graying beard. —Under the powerful gaze of Aelthra and the Mycolic, with the authority granted to me by the great crown —said the man, raising the medal aloft— I close and attest to the validity of this contract. Let the royal emblem seal the designation of the law. That morning was exceptionally cold.

The young alchemist walked through the hallways of the university with the confidence of someone who had learned to navigate between two worlds. She was coming directly to the first classes taught by Master Pomelo, an old man and a meticulous classifier. She took a seat as far as possible from the animal the master held in his arms; it was a beautiful Phyll, its small body and thick fur making it stand out.

—It is important that you remember that this little friend here named Lan —he lifted the animal before his face— has fourteen vertebrae in its spine, five of them lumbar. This allows it to rotate up to one hundred and eighty degrees. Maya took notes rapidly, but her hazel eyes drifted toward the notes of Mun Fei, the young man with slanted eyes who wrote in Jingyu. The stylized pictograms always drew her in, as though within them lay a greater mystery that she alone could not decipher.

—Due to this spinal length and its innate curiosity, Phylls are prone to trauma from falls or snags, as well as disc problems with age —the master continued with his lesson, clearing his throat to capture everyone's attention— Likewise, inadequate nutrition during growth stages can cause metabolic bone disease. A student raised his hand. He was tall and red-haired, with deep violet eyes. His accent was almost that of a mountaineer, stressing certain vowels with an intensity reminiscent of the western winds.

—I understand the structure of the bones and muscles of Phylls, Professor, but I had a question regarding your previous class —he ran his fingers through his fiery beard, almost in meditation— Skarn vines only grow in warm places like the desert; you mentioned they feed on iron-rich veins. Are they capable of growing in other places if iron is present? —An excellent question, young man —Pomelo answered, pointing a finger at everyone— Skarn can grow in the cold if an iron source is available.

Even on battlefields where blood has been spilled or weapons abandoned, they can thrive. But everything depends on the source. Once exhausted, the plant will die. Thus, to address the lack of attention from the rest of you, I assign a reading: The Great Mirror of the Beasts of Land and Sea by Duchess Araminta of Thyll. The class ended when the professor rang his silver bell in front of everyone. They rose quickly, but Maya ran to the hourglass in the Atrium of Knowledge.

There Isolde awaited her alongside Ren and Yarra. The class was on perception; the perception training was, as always, an exercise in patience and frustration. When it finally concluded, they exited into the courtyard through one of the hidden passages near one of the herb mazes. They sat on one of the benches. Maya let out a deep sigh, placed her hands on her head, and stared up at the sky. Seeing her, Ren shook his head slowly once more, then placed a hand on her shoulder. —Did your dates go poorly again?

—the apprentice soldier inquired— Maya, I've told you, most of your dates with them don't work out because you close yourself off so much to their perspectives. The alchemist sighed deeply, shook her head, and, almost defensively in her tone, said: —Am I supposed to lower myself to their level? —the girl kept her eyes fixed on the sky— It's not that, Ren. It's just that so many of them strike me as completely incompetent, rushing everything.

They give me gifts and stuff me with food even before speaking to me, many just send a letter to my room door saying how beautiful they think I am. Her face crumpled in a grimace, her brow furrowed. —Ugh! —the sound came out naturally from her mouth, reflecting her true feelings— I don't understand them at all. So focused on beauty, on speed... it's as if the world were a race to them that they're constantly losing. Ren did not contradict her, yet he spoke to her as one would advise a sister.

—You women aren't far behind them either —he ran his hands through his hair— Constantly trying to make us guess what you want, so much so that a date isn't even required for you to be that way. —Are you saying that because of Selena? —Maya asked directly, now looking at him— Is it because she hasn't written even though she left months ago for the capital? News even arrived that she's a countess now.

—Yes, precisely for that reason —the apprentice soldier clarified, then pulled out a silver crown and placed it in her palm— I'll bet you a silver crown she won't write at all to tell us what's happening. —I accept the bet —Maya finally smiled freely— She will write, I'm sure of it. She may seem harsh on the outside, but she's delicate on the inside. Besides, since I know I'll win, maybe you should pay me right now. Ren laughed openly, his shoulders moving to the rhythm of the laughter rising from within him.

—I'll do it when one of your dates actually goes well —the boy teased her directly, causing Maya to make a face— Maybe you should try dating women... or better yet, tell me how it went with the last one. Was the one with Mun Fei any good? Maya made an expression of distaste, stood up from the bench, and carefully dusted off her dress. —A pity... it was terrible. He could only talk about Jingdao sea serpents —she sighed deeply, reminiscing— I still see him in class. I remember what was nice, though...

he spoke of the beautiful beaches of Cang-Hai, with golden sands and turquoise waters. But what caught my attention most was his mention of a dance, one performed only by women when an important chapter of their life comes to an end. He called it"Shuǐxiù." —And what does that mean? —Ren asked. Maya looked up at the sky, where clouds drifted like ships of cotton. —I don't know —she admitted with a hint of embarrassment— But perhaps someday I'll find out.

The sun was beginning to set behind the towers of Kaelburg, and the wind brought with it the scent of summer, that season when everything grows with exuberant life. Maya, with the silver crown in her hand and the promise of a letter that had not yet arrived, knew that destiny, like the Zarvok, always collects its price. But also, at times, it bestows dreams, dreams that perhaps a friend might write back.