The Book That Bound Dawn

The priestess looked at her, and whatever hope Aurora had carried outside with her fell apart before either of them spoke.

“Where is he?” Aurora asked.

Andromeda’s mouth tightened. “I couldn’t bring him back.”

The wolf came out of the cottage, claws clicking against the frozen ground. Dawn followed, quiet as a shadow, though Aurora had told her to stay inside. The child didn’t flinch at Andromeda’s blood or the wolf’s growl. She only watched the broken chain.

Aurora moved closer. “What happened?”

“Chronos is gone.”

The words seemed too small for the yard. They landed, then sank into the frost.

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You found him.”

“I found what was left of the trail.” Andromeda glanced toward the western road. “It ended at the old quarry. His horse was there. The saddle had been cut loose. The book was gone.”

Aurora’s hands went cold. “The songbook?”

Andromeda nodded.

Behind them, a shutter slammed in the village. Someone had heard. Willowick had a way of listening through walls.

Aurora reached for Andromeda’s arm, but Andromeda caught her wrist first. Her grip was hard enough to hurt.

“Don’t tell me it’s safe,” Aurora said. “Don’t tell me the power is hidden.”

“I won’t.”

“Then tell me what you saw.”

Andromeda released her. Her fingers trembled as she tucked the broken chain beneath her cloak.

“The quarry stones were blackened. Not burned. Drained. Every mark Chronos had placed around the book was empty.” She swallowed. “The power is missing, Aurora.”

For one bright, foolish second, Aurora imagined the book opening in Dawn’s hands. She saw the pages shining. She saw the road to the Hollow Spire clearing beneath their feet.

Then the vision twisted.

Without the book’s power, they had no protection against the western dark. Without Chronos, they had no guide through the old roads. And without either, Dawn was no longer a child being guarded from danger. She was the danger would come looking for.

Aurora turned toward her daughter.

Dawn stood with one hand resting on the wolf’s shoulder. His fur bristled beneath her palm, but she remained still. The red cloth around her wrist looked almost black in the weak light.

“Go inside,” Aurora said.

Dawn’s gaze stayed on Andromeda. “Did Chronos call for help?”

Andromeda’s face changed.

Aurora saw it. So did Dawn.

“No,” Andromeda said.

“Then he wasn’t taken.”

The wolf gave a soft, uneasy sound.

Andromeda crouched, though the movement made her wince. “What makes you say that?”

“Taken people leave things behind.”

Dawn looked toward the western road.

“Chronos left the horse.”

Aurora’s skin prickled. “Dawn.”

“He wanted us to find it.”

“That’s enough.”

“No,” Andromeda said quietly. “It isn’t.”

Aurora faced her. “You’re injured. You’ve crossed half the country alone. You need warmth, food, and a healer before you decide what a child’s guess means.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed. Not frightened. Measuring.

Andromeda rose again. “It isn’t a guess. The chain was placed beside the quarry road. I thought it had been torn from him, but the break is clean.” She drew the silver length from beneath her cloak. “Chronos left it there.”

Aurora stared at the chain. A faint blue spark crawled along one link, then vanished.

“Why would he leave a trail?” she asked.

“To lead us somewhere,” Andromeda said.

“Or to lure us.”

“Yes.”

The answer struck harder than denial.

A wind moved through the gate, carrying the distant cry of crows. One bird swept over the rooftops, then another. Their wings were black against the brightening sky, and the village bells began to ring in alarm.

Aurora grabbed Dawn’s hand. “Inside. Now.”

Dawn didn’t move.

The wolf stepped between them and the western road.

At the edge of the village, beyond the last cottages, a line of dark birds lifted from the fields. More followed until the sky seemed to tear open. Their cries scraped across Willowick, sharp and frantic.

Andromeda looked up. “They’re circling the road.”

Aurora pulled Dawn behind her. “Can they see us?”

“They can see the house.”

The silver chain sparked again. This time, the light didn’t vanish. It ran along the links and pointed west, toward the distant hills.

Toward the Hollow Spire.

Aurora’s hope had been a small flame. She had guarded it through every mile of fear, warming her hands over it whenever the road grew dark.

Now it sharpened into something colder.

Dawn slipped her hand free.

“Dawn,” Aurora said.

The girl stepped toward the gate. The crows wheeled overhead, and every one of them turned its head toward her.

The wolf bared his teeth.

Andromeda reached for the chain. “Aurora, stop her.”

Aurora caught Dawn by the shoulder. Dawn looked back, calm and pale.

“They know where I am,” she said.

Then, from far beyond the western hills, something answered.

It was one clear note from the stolen songbook, carried across the frozen fields.

End of chapter one. 20 more chapters in the full book.