Whispers Beyond The Shore

Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Charms of Ash



After everything she had endured in the forest—terrors, poison, and shadows that clung to her mind like mist—and after narrowly escaping the jaws of a tiger frozen in mid-air, she finally emerged into the open fields. She took a deep breath as warm sunlight brushed across her skin. She had made it out of the forest.

Her legs dragged forward with effort, each step heavier than the last. Days had passed without rest, without shelter, without certainty. Then, in the distance, a village came into view—quiet, nestled between wide meadows, its homes made of straw and wood, its cracked dirt roads winding like forgotten paths.

Rathwyn.

That was the name carved into the weathered wooden sign at the village entrance.

As she entered, it felt like walking into a scene from a forgotten past. Peasants in simple clothing moved about, barefoot children ran laughing through the streets, and the scent of warm bread drifted lazily from tiny windows.

But her moment of awe was swiftly interrupted—by the growling of her stomach, loud and unapologetic.

She turned, caught sight of a wooden stall overflowing with ripe fruit. Without thinking, she reached for a red apple and bit deeply into it.

"Hey!" a rough voice barked behind her.

She turned slowly. A bald man with a wide, bloated face and narrowed eyes was glaring at her.

"This isn't a charity feast! Pay for that!"

She swallowed, flustered. "I—I'm sorry. I haven't eaten in days. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean?" he scoffed. "Do I look like someone who survives on excuses? Where's your money?"

She shook her head. "I don't have any. I'm lost. I swear I'll repay you, just—"

"Swear?" he spat. "Swindlers always swear. You think I live off promises from strangers like you?"

People began to gather around them. Whispers. Judgmental eyes. Disapproval tightening the air.

"Please," she said, "I just needed a bite."

"No money, no mercy," the man growled. "Go steal from someone else."

Just as she opened her mouth to protest again, a girl stepped forward. Silent, slender, she placed a few silver coins on the table in front of the man.

"For her," she said simply, then turned and walked away.

The man snorted and scooped up the coins greedily. "At least someone here has manners."

Eirelyn stared, stunned. Then she chased after the girl.

"Wait! Please!"

But the crowd swallowed her up. The girl was gone.

She wandered the village, knocking on doors, searching for any kindness.

"Could I stay the night? Just one night, please…"

"I'm sorry. No space."

"We can't help. Try somewhere else."

"Best you move along."

One rejection after another. She finally sank down onto the step of an abandoned hut, staring at the horizon, tinged now with orange as the sun dipped low.

"Hah…" she muttered. "It's hard... being a stranger. Especially when all you have is a stupid pendant. How pathetic."

That's when she noticed it.

The merchants were packing up fast. People rushed toward their homes, locking doors and windows.

She stopped a passing boy. "What's going on? Why is everyone running?"

He glanced at her in panic. "No one stays out after sunset!" he cried, then dashed away.

Nightfall came suddenly.

And with it... silence.

Then she saw them.

Figures, drifting down the roads. Pale faces. Gray clothes. Lifeless eyes.

She reached out to touch one—and her hand passed through smoke.

She staggered back, gasping.

Then one of them smiled at her.

A smile stretched too wide. A maw of teeth like bone knives. Hollow, hungry eyes.

They began to turn toward her. One step. Then another. Closer.

Voices rose, distorted, not human. Whispers, laughter, growls.

She pounded on doors. "Please! Someone help!"

No answer.

From the shadows, a hand grabbed her and yanked her hard. She fell.

She looked up—It was the same girl.

"Follow me. Don't look them in the eyes."

They ran.

She tried not to look, but one of the ghosts came too close. She couldn't help it—she turned.

He grinned. His mouth opened like a pit to hell.

"Run!" the girl shouted, gripping her hand.

They bolted between the narrow streets. The shades gave chase, shrieking, laughing, crawling.

At last, the girl threw open her door, dragged her inside, and slammed it shut.

Silence. Then breathing. Sweat. Terror.

They collapsed to the floor.

"I—I don't even know how to thank you."

The girl nodded. "My name is Naelyth. And you?"

"Eirelyn."

A moment passed between them, silent but warm.

"You're lucky I saw you," Naelyth said. "Rathwyn isn't what it seems."

"What were those things? What is this place?"

Naelyth's gaze turned toward the window.

"Centuries ago, there was a woman named Aletha. Not a witch, but a healer. She cured the sick and helped the poor. But her skill was... unnatural. Too fast. Too effective. People grew suspicious. Then, during the Great Drought, the village chief's son died in her care."

Her voice dropped.

"They blamed her. Called her cursed. Burned her alive inside the temple."

Eirelyn's heart skipped.

What if they found out?

She wasn't the witch—but the body she wore once was. And now… maybe she was becoming one too.

She shook the thought away and focused.

"They say Aletha didn't scream," Naelyth continued. "She whispered a curse. From her ashes came a charm. And from the charm, the curse. Now, each night, the ashes return in the form of ghosts—starving, soulless, seeking life."

"Can't the curse be broken?"

"Maybe. But no one's ever tried and lived to tell."

Silence hung between them.

"Rest now," Naelyth said gently. "Morning will be safer."

Eirelyn lay on a rough blanket, her back to the wall. Her thoughts wouldn't let her sleep.

When she was sure Naelyth had dozed off, she reached for the pendant at her chest.

"Is there a way to end this curse?" she whispered. "Is there something I can do?"

The pendant glowed faintly.

A map appeared—drawn in shimmering blue light.

A red mark... near the temple.

"The charm…" she breathed.

It was still there. The source of the curse.

It needed to be destroyed.

But how? She had no power. No spells. Only flickers of blue sparks that barely obeyed her will.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

"Not yet... I'm not ready," she whispered.

She closed her eyes, clutching the pendant tightly, as if holding on to the last hope she had.

She fell asleep, with the soft glow fading between her fingers.

---


Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.