Ashes and Embers
1111 Words
The village square glowed beneath hundreds of lanterns.
Golden light danced across the snow, chasing away the darkness that gathered around the edges of Ashmoor. Evergreen garlands hung from every doorway, ribbons of crimson fluttered gently in the evening breeze, and the scent of roasted chestnuts, mulled cider, and honey cakes drifted through the crowded streets.
Laughter echoed between the stone buildings.
Fiddles sang cheerful melodies.
Children darted through the crowd wearing tiny crimson cloaks, their wooden swords clashing as they pretended to defend the village from imaginary wolves.
"Get back, beast!"
A little boy raised his stick triumphantly.
His younger sister, wearing a carved wolf mask much too large for her face, growled before collapsing dramatically into the snow.
The watching adults laughed.
Rowan didn't.
She watched the children for a long moment before Elena nudged her shoulder.
"You've gone quiet again."
"I was thinking."
"Dangerous pastime."
Rowan smiled despite herself.
"You always say that."
"And you're always proving me right."
Elena linked their arms together as they moved with the procession toward the church courtyard.
"Come on."
"If we're late, Father Aldren will have us polishing candlesticks until spring."
The cathedral towered over Ashmoor like a silent guardian.
Built from pale gray stone, its stained-glass windows reflected crimson and gold against the snow-covered courtyard. Hundreds of villagers had already gathered, each holding a candle wrapped in scarlet ribbon.
At the foot of the cathedral steps stood a towering wooden effigy.
A wolf.
Its body had been crafted from blackened timber and twisted branches, nearly fifteen feet tall, its jaws frozen in an eternal snarl. Silver-painted eyes glimmered in the firelight.
Every year they build it.
Every year they burn it.
Rowan had always wondered whether hatred required such elaborate celebrations.
Father Aldren emerged from the cathedral.
His white ceremonial robes swept softly across the stone as he climbed the steps, carrying an ancient book bound in dark leather.
The murmurs ceased.
Even the children fell silent.
"My brothers and sisters," he began.
"For five hundred years, our ancestors have stood against the darkness."
The crowd answered together.
"We remember."
"We remember the innocent."
"We remember the fallen."
"We remember the First Red."
Rowan lowered her gaze.
The words were so familiar she barely heard them anymore.
Father Aldren continued.
"The wolf comes with lies."
"The wolf comes with temptation."
"The wolf comes wearing a human face."
"But the light..."
He raised the book.
"...always endures."
"Amen," the crowd echoed.
Captain Garrick stepped forward carrying a flaming torch.
The fire crackled loudly in the winter air.
He approached the wooden wolf.
For a heartbeat, Rowan hesitated.
Something about the effigy unsettled her tonight.
Not because it looked frightening.
Because it looked...
Sad.
Its carved eyes were not filled with rage.
They almost seemed mournful.
The torch touched dry timber.
Flames erupted instantly.
Orange light climbed the wooden body, devouring the wolf from its feet upward. Sparks scattered into the sky like dying stars as the villagers erupted into applause.
Children cheered.
The musicians struck a lively tune.
People embraced one another.
Another year survived.
Another victory over monsters.
Yet Rowan couldn't tear her eyes away from the burning effigy.
A memory surfaced.
She was six years old, clutching her father's hand.
"Why do we burn it?" she had asked.
Her father hadn't answered immediately.
Instead, he had watched the flames for a long time.
Finally, he had knelt beside her.
"Tell me, little sparrow..."
"If someone burned a picture of you every year..."
"Would that make you evil?"
She hadn't understood then.
Now...
The memory left a hollow ache in her chest.
The festivities continued well into the night.
Music filled the square while couples danced beneath strings of lanterns.
Elena disappeared with a group of friends toward the musicians, laughing as someone pulled her into the dance.
"You're coming!" Elena shouted.
"I don't dance."
"You do."
"I don't dance well."
"Neither does anyone else."
Rowan laughed and shook her head.
"You go."
"I'll be here."
Elena narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"You promise you won't disappear?"
"I promise."
Satisfied, Elena allowed herself to be swept into the crowd.
Rowan watched until her friend vanished among the dancers.
Only then did she quietly slip away.
The cemetery lay silent beneath fresh snow.
Here, the music became little more than a distant echo.
Rowan knelt before her parents' graves.
"I found your letter," she whispered.
The words felt strange spoken aloud.
"I don't know what you were trying to protect me from."
She brushed snow from her father's name.
"But I'm going to find out."
The wind stirred gently through the bare branches.
For just a moment...
It almost sounded like someone sighing.
Rowan reached into her cloak and withdrew the crescent moon pendant.
Moonlight caught its silver surface.
She turned it over.
To my heart.
The inscription suddenly felt less like a romantic gift...
And more like a farewell.
"What were you hiding?" she whispered.
No answer came.
Only silence.
Then—
Crunch.
Snow.
Someone stood behind her.
Rowan spun around.
Captain Garrick emerged from the darkness between the gravestones, his heavy cloak dusted with snow.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She quickly closed her fingers around the pendant.
"I wanted some air."
He looked toward the graves.
"Your father used to do the same thing."
She frowned.
"You knew him well?"
The captain was quiet for a long time.
Finally, he nodded.
"We hunted together."
"You've never mentioned that."
"There are many things I have never mentioned."
His voice carried an unfamiliar heaviness.
"He was the finest tracker I've ever known."
Rowan stared at him.
"They say he betrayed the kingdom."
"They say many things."
Captain Garrick's jaw tightened.
"Not all of them are true."
Her heart skipped.
"What do you mean?"
Before he could answer—
A horn sounded from the northern watchtower.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Every light in the village seemed to freeze.
Captain Garrick's face drained of color.
"No..."
Another horn answered from the eastern wall.
Then another.
Hunters began running through the streets.
The music stopped.
Children were pulled into their mothers' arms.
Someone shouted from the watchtower.
"Wolves!"
The word ripped through Ashmoor like lightning.
"Wolves at the northern border!"
Panic erupted.
Captain Garrick grabbed Rowan's arm.
"Get inside. Now."
"But—"
"That's an order."
Rowan looked toward Blackwood.
Beyond the fields, beneath the silver light of the full moon, something moved between the trees.
Not one shadow.
Many.
Watching.
Not advancing.
Simply...
Watching.
As if the forest itself had opened its eyes.
And for the first time in five hundred years...
The wolves had come to the edge of the kingdom.
- Writer
