Bound in shadows

CH 4 The Marrow-Born Will Knock.

Isla

The morning air bit at my cheeks as I walked up the gravel path to Mrs. Hawthorne’s cottage.

She hadn’t returned since that night.

The last time I saw her, she was walking the edge of the forest—eyes full of stormlight, whispering in the old tongue with her palms outstretched like she was feeling the pulse of the trees. She vanished before I could reach her. Since then, the Hollow felt colder. Quieter.

Until now.

I paused at the crooked gate. The cold caught in my coat, sharp as needles. Her home leaned the same way it always had—like it had grown weary of holding up the world and was ready to sink into the soil. Ivy curled like veins along the stone walls, brittle in the frost. The lace curtains didn’t flutter. Nothing moved.

I raised my hand and knocked twice.

Silence.

Then—slow, dragging footsteps. A hinge groaned. The door creaked open.

Mrs. Hawthorne stood there, robe wrapped tightly around her, silver hair falling in loose ropes past her shoulders. Her eyes looked sleep-drowned, but something beneath them still shimmered—some flicker of the knowing.

“Isla,” she said, her voice papery. “You came.”

“I wanted to check on you,” I said. “You left so suddenly the other day. I was worried.”

She didn’t answer right away. She just stared at me like she was searching through time for the right version of me—like the present wasn’t entirely real.

“I was… unwell,” she finally murmured. “The shadows were thick that night. And I wasn’t strong enough to wade through them.”

I stepped inside.

The warmth hit me like a memory. Bundles of herbs hung from ceiling beams—mugwort, rowan, rosemary. The scent of smoke and old leaves filled the air. Books lay in crooked stacks, some open to pages yellowed with age and scribbled over in ink. A kettle hissed quietly on the old iron stove, like it had been waiting for my arrival.

She motioned for me to sit. I lowered myself into the armchair beside the fire.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I haven’t slept,” I admitted. “There’s something I need to ask you. Something I found.”

She watched me quietly. Her gaze drifted once—just briefly—to the neckline of my shirt, where the skin beneath still pulsed faintly with heat. She saw the mark. I knew she did.

“You’ve been touched,” she whispered.

I swallowed. “There was something buried in the Hollow. Under a cairn stone. Wrapped in cloth.”

Her eyes darkened.

“It was carved,” I continued. “With symbols I didn’t recognize. When I touched it… I heard something. A whisper. It said my name.”

She set the kettle aside with trembling hands.

“I was afraid you’d find it,” she said.

“Why?” I asked. “What is it?”

Her hands didn’t stop shaking.

“There are bones buried all across that land,” she said quietly. “Bones of the damned. Of the forgotten. Bones with no rest.”

“Whose bones?” I pressed. “The thing I found—it wasn’t just a bone. It felt… alive.”

“They were priests, once,” she said. “Long ago. Good men. Men who spoke to the stars and bent shadows into song. They wore white robes and gold rings. They sang in tongues that made flowers bloom from barren dirt.”

I leaned forward. “What happened?”

She stared into the fire. “They grew hungry. And their hunger made them cruel. They dipped their prayers into ash. Sacrificed what was sacred. They didn’t just call upon power—they devoured it.”

Her voice dropped.

“They let the marrow inside themselves rot. And when they were finally cast down, the earth refused to keep them. It spat them out. Wouldn’t let them rest.”

I felt something coil behind my ribs.

“And now?” I asked.

“They walk,” she said simply. “Still. Always. Looking for him.”

I didn’t have to ask who.

“Rael,” I whispered.

Her shoulders stiffened. The fire popped behind her, casting sparks across the stone.

She nodded once. “Rael. The bound one. The dark prince. Not quite a demon. Not quite a god. Something older. Something… forgotten.”

“What are they looking for?” I asked. “What do they want with him?”

She didn’t answer right away. She reached for a bundle of dried sage and ran her fingers over the stems.

“They want to finish what they started,” she said softly. “They want his soul.”

“But… I thought he was already—bound. Trapped. Isn’t that what my grandmother did?”

Her gaze lifted. For the first time, I saw something close to sorrow in her eyes.

“His body was bound,” she said. “But not his soul. That was scattered. Hidden in symbols. In names. In dreams. Pieces of him were buried in places where the veil between worlds thins.”

Her voice dropped again.

“The bone you found… it was one of those pieces.”

The room seemed to tilt around me.

“I didn’t mean to take it,” I whispered. “I just… I thought it was just a relic.”

She leaned forward, her voice sharp now. “There are no justs in the Hollow. No accidents. That bone called to you. Because something in you answered.”

I shook my head. “But I didn’t want this.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Wanting it or not—it found you.”

Her hands found mine across the table. Her grip was stronger than I expected.

“Do you still have it?”

“No. I left it in the woods at the estate.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It already marked you.”

My mouth was dry. My lungs felt tight.

“The priests… the Marrow-Born… they’re looking for him,” I said slowly. “But I’m not him.”

She didn’t blink. “No. But you’re close to the flame. And that’s enough.”

“Why me?”

She hesitated.

“Because your blood is old,” she said at last. “And so is your name. The Blackthorn line was never just landowners, Isla. You come from binders. From breakers. From women who spoke the tongue of salt and shadow. That blood remembers.”

I stood abruptly. My chair scraped across the wood.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” she said softly. “But some of us are chosen. Marked. Not by destiny. But by the ones who watch from beyond.”

Her voice became something smaller. More fragile.

“The bone you held was a key.”

I froze. “Key to what?”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“To him,” she said. “To Rael. To what he was… and what he will become. That mark on your skin is more than a tether. It’s a lock undone.”

I stared down at my hands.

“I need to stop this,” I said. “There has to be a way to reverse it. Seal the door.”

“You don’t stop it,” she said. “But you can survive it. You can prepare. You can learn what he is. What you are becoming.”

I stepped away, toward the door.

And she didn’t follow.

Just watched.

One hand resting on a closed book near the hearth. A book I hadn’t seen before. Bound in black leather, stitched shut with something that looked like wire.

As I reached for the handle, she spoke again. Quiet. Almost too quiet.

“When they come,” she said, “they’ll knock. Not pound. Not scream. Just one, soft knock. Like a question.”

I turned back.

“And when you hear it,” she whispered, “you must not open the door.”

Her voice echoed inside me long after the cottage vanished behind the fog.

I didn’t look back.

But I felt it.

The marrow bone had marked me.

And now the things beneath the Hollow had my scent.