“What do you mean ‘Phantomhead Empire’?” Nay said.

Where had she heard that name before?

When Alric spoke, his voice was deliberate and slow. There was a poise to it that unsettled Nay. “The man who gave you the black rose, grown from Entrophist thaumaturgy, is a representative of the Phantomhead Empire.”

“Entrophist…”

The anti-cultivators.

From Ilyawraith’s stories.

“They’re not the sort you want visiting you unannounced,” Alric said. “Or at all.”

“How did you know about the rose?” Nay said. “I didn’t mention anything about it to you.”

“Veritax saw it,” Alric said. “She sees all truthfully.”

This wasn’t the type of party trick that Nay enjoyed. This was getting a little too serious, a little too creepy for her liking. If Alric was trying to prove there was something other, something supernatural to his beliefs, it was working.

“She says that you know where the Phantomhead Empire is,” Quincy said. “Quincy told you it was a continent to the South of the Peninsula, across the sea. It’s one of the places Marrow Eaters are not welcome.”

How much did Alric know about her life from consulting with Verity? How much did he know about everyone in town?

Verity was telling him everyone’s secrets.

“You ought to destroy the rose,” Alric said.

“Alric, this is making me uncomfortable –“

“Burn it!”

Nay flinched. She found she had instinctively recoiled from his voice.

“Throw it into the fire and burn it!”

Nay pushed the door open and tumbled out of Verity’s vault and fled towards the center off the hexagon. She ran past the altar and burst into the opposite arm, where Verity’s statue was waiting. As she hurried past it, her swift movement causing the nearby torch to flicker and lean in one direction, the head atop the statue turned to watch her flee.

It spoke, the bronze lips creaking and a hollow, metallic voice sang out:

“Destroy the black rose! Sever your connection to the Entrophist!”

Nay nearly screamed in fright. She looked in horror at the animate statue and then sprinted out the door of the chapel. She ran the entire way back to the Lodge at the speed of Iron.

/////////

Nay grabbed the black rose from the window sill and brought it downstairs to the hearth in the tavern area. She held the clay container in her hands and stared at the flames. She looked to the rose. Parts of the petal reflected the light in little coronas, as if there were twinkling stars within the material of the petal itself.

She couldn’t do it. Nay couldn’t throw it into the fire. She burst into the kitchen and headed for the larder.

“Afternoon, chef,” Gracie said. She was sitting with Nom at the table, enjoying fried Lac clam sandwiches Nom had made for them. “There’s extra if you’re hungry.”

“I’ve no appetite, Gracie,” Nay said.

Nom shoved a whole sandwich into his mouth, turning a light shade of red as he chewed. That particular shade of red signified he was eating something delicious.

Nay entered the larder and headed straight for the corner underneath the window where she had a herb garden set up in a barrel. She tucked the clay pot with the black rose behind the barrel, but she positioned it so it still had access to the light coming in through the window.

She headed for the exit, but then stopped in the threshold. She took one last look at the black rose, a mix of emotions, then left the larder.

/////////

Nay joined Nom and Gracie at the table and Gracie slid her a fried clam sandwich. She had made fluffy, buttery rolls out of the dough used for garlic knots, and she split them vertically to create a bun for the clams. Nom had concocted a delicious tartar sauce to spread on the buns, and the whole deal was sprinkled with lemon juice and dill.

Quincy must have sensed there was delicious food available because he wandered in from the tavern and sat down. Gracie made him a sandwich. Nom went ahead and fried more clams to accommodate Quincy’s appetite. There was no way he was going to stop at just one sandwich.

“Green Moon Festival’s next week,” Quincy said, chewing as he spoke. There was tartar sauce stuck to his mustache.

Nay chuckled and tried to point it out, but he was too focused on the remainder of the sandwich in his hand.

“What’s the Green Moon Festival celebrating exactly?” Nay said. “Besides, uh, the green moon…”

“You’re not wrong,” Gracie said. “Tis for the moon. It’s at its highest and brightest next week. It’s three days of food and drink and games. There’s boat races on the Lac, sporting events for the lads to demonstrate strength in contests, there’s dancing ‘round the Lucerna tree for the ladies and children, the lightning of lanterns on the third night, why, there’s a lot of festivities. It’s my favorite time of year!”

“Moon’s are pretty neat,” Nom said. “They light up the night. Also there wouldn’t be werewolves without moons, right?”

Quincy and Gracie scrunched their noses and gave Nom a weird look.

“We didn’t always have a moon,” Quincy said. “It’s why we celebrate it.”

“Before the Beacon,” Gracie said, “there was nothing but stars in the sky.”

“After the Beacon was almost destroyed,” Quincy said, “men took it up to the sky and split it into the sun and moon. So there would be light for the world during both the day and night.”

“There’s songs about it,” Gracie said. “You’ll get sick of hearing ‘em before the festival is over.”

“I trust that you all will come up with the best food the festival has ever seen,” Quincy said. “But the main thing is we want to make sure we have enough moon cakes. We’re always on the verge of running out every year, and I don’t want us to have to worry this year.”

“Moon cakes?” Nay said.

“They’re the special treat everyone loves,” Quincy said. “They’re sweet, they’re delicious, they’re texture is exquisite and they’re also only available during the festival. That was the only time ‘Ol Pat ever made them. Did I mention they’re delicious?”

“Okay,” Nay said. “I’m sure they’re not hard to make. Do you know the recipe, Gracie?”

Gracie shook her head. “’Ol Pat kept it to herself. But I’m sure she has it written down in her book.”

“Okay,” Nay said. “I’ll take a look at it today and make sure we have enough ingredients.”

“These are delicacies, do you understand?” Quincy said. “It ain’t the Green Moon Festival without moon cakes. If we run out of moon cakes these people will riot and burn the town down. We need the delicious moon cakes.”

Nay and Nom exchanged a look.

“I…can’t wait to try one for myself then,” Nom said. “To see what all the fuss is about.”

“The filling is special,” Quincy said. “We better hope ‘Ol Pat wrote down the ingredients and her method because if you don’t get it just right everyone will notice. And then the Green Moon Festival will be a disaster.”

“Alright,” Nay said. “Jeez. I get the point. Let’s just chill out and I’ll take care of it, okay? It’s me we’re talking about. I’m not a pastry chef but I’ve made plenty of cakes in my time. How hard could it be?”

/////////

It turned out it could be quite hard when there was no recipe to reference.

Nay had flipped through the little leather-bound recipe book at least a dozen times. There were recipes for fish and fish pie and tinned fish and smoked fish but nothing about cake or moon cakes. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Nay said. She sat in the storeroom and looked around. “Gracie!”

After a minute Gracie stuck her head in. “Yes, chef?”

“I’m not seeing anything about moon cakes in Ol’ Pat’s recipe book.”

Gracie, curious, entered and walked over to Nay. She reached over her. “May I?”

Nay sat back, exasperated. She spun a pencil on the table and sighed. “Have at it.”

Gracie flipped through the book. She chewed on her bottom lip as she perused. She let out a little harrumph. “I think you may be right.”

“Describe a moon cake to me,” Nay said. “And please don’t use the word ‘delicious’. I swear to god if Quincy had said that word one more time…”

The kitchen manager didn’t look up from the book as she started to describe the delight. “So they’re hand held-cakes about the size of a good biscuit. But the crust is golden and glossy-like. It’s a thin layer and it’s sticky. Got a bit of a savory taste to it. But the filling is a blue and green paste with a bit of egg yolk. It’s sweet and delic –“

She stopped herself.

“It’s good,” Gracie said. “I can’t eat more than one in a day, as they’re dense-like. Hurts my tum if I eat more than one. They go great with tea. A good tea can help curb the sweetness of the cake. It’s just cozy.”

When she said ‘cozy’ her eyes were closed and she did a little shimmy before opening them.

“The filling’s a paste?” Nay said.

“Yes, an elderflower paste,” Gracie said. Her face was back in ‘Ol Pat’s recipe book. “Now, what’s this?”

Nay looked at her.

Gracie was tracing something with her finger on the page. She was mouthing something to herself. “I think this might be something. See this?”

She lowered the book.

On one of the pages, in ‘Ol Pat’s scrawl, the former cook had written –

Elderflower paste. Volva Serrilda.

“I understand elderflower paste,” Nay said. “But what does Volva Serrilda mean?”

“Not what,” Gracie said. “But who.”

/////////

Nay was putting on her cloak and halfway out of the tavern area when she heard Quincy’s voice calling after her. “How are the moon cakes coming along? Do you need to buy more ingredients?”

“It’s fine,” Nay said. “Totally under control. I’m going to the market now to make some purchases.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quincy said. “We have the moon cakes, we’ll have a successful festival. The town needs it, Nay. After what happened here, the townsfolk need a reason to celebrate and enjoy festivities. It will do the soul of the town good.”

“There’s no worries,” Nay said. “You can trust me to get the job done.”

Nay hunched her shoulders and cringed at herself as she exited the Lodge.

“Fuck.”

/////////

Nay grabbed Juniper from Bruennig and the fauglir nuzzled against her side with affection. The chef saddled her, mounted and then left the town, heading northwest into the forest. She consulted her mini-map where she discovered she could plan an itinerary when Gracie was giving her the directions.

As she rode Juniper, Nay’s thoughts went to Alric. She felt conflicted feelings concerning him. He was the first kind and helpful person she had met in this world, but now she felt he had ruined their friendship with what had happened in his chapel. Not that he forced his religion on her, but at the same time she did feel he was aggressive about it.

And the whisperings and his voice and the knowledge he shared. It had scared her. She wasn’t sure how she would react the next she encountered him.

But she was deep in the woods now, consulting her mini-map. She would worry about Alric later.

#

Volva Serrilda was an old stitchwoman who lived as a hermit in the woods. She lived in a cabin called the Ravenfeather Lodge.

She was something of a local loremaster who knew the history of Stitchdale and Lucerna’s End and the surrounding region. She was also a talented healer with herbs and salves, which made her alluring to parents who would sometimes call on her if their children were ever seriously ill. She was something of a crank and didn’t like to be around people, hence the hermit cabin away from the town proper. Gracie warned her not to get on her bad side.

“She’ll shun you if you piss her off,” Gracie said. “And since you be needing answers from her, best to stay in her good graces.”

“I got it, I got it,” Nay had said.

Which is why she flinched when she finally reached Ravenfeather Lodge and a voice cried out from a window, “Your mutt is standing in my mushroom garden!”

Nay closed her eyes and sighed.

Goddammit.