I wake to my father sobbing and my mother holding my hand tight. I know what this means. My tears fall before my eyes open.

I’ve been marked.

I grip my mother tight. Around me my siblings stir, woken by the fuss.

Even little Lilia understands when she sees my face. While my questing fingertips can’t detect the interlocked spirals on my forehead I don’t remember not knowing what they look like.

Nobody knows if it’s a twisted mercy, giving you a chance to at least say goodbye, or a mocking reminder of how helpless we are.

At some point today I will vanish. Whisked to the Ebon Caves. There is no stopping it. Not locks nor guards nor magic can save me now. The only hope… the one scrap left to cling to… is that my family can find me in time. Before the next dawn breaks.

In a numb haze I dress warmly. Pedro insists on “lending” me his satchel, packed with a water flask and lamp and chalk and everything we can think of. I try to protest. I should take another bag, one which wouldn’t be missed. Just in case.

Pedro leans down to look me in the eye, wearing his best big brother frown, and squeezes my hands tight. “Don’t be silly. It’s just for today. I won’t miss it for one day.”

His hands are trembling. His face is pale. But his voice is steady. I force a smile to match his.

Breakfast is silent, the lack of chatter deafening and adding to the pit in my stomach. While I know porridge won’t fill it, and choking the food down is a struggle, I grit my teeth and persevere. I’ll need to be fortified.

Father has told the neighbours. News will spread quickly. Everyone who can be spared will sit at home waiting. Waiting for the cries to go up, my family wailing a loss which we hope so dearly is temporary.

It’s said that if anyone goes to the Ebon Caves BEFORE the marked is taken, the marked will be found dead. Nobody knows if this is true. Nobody wishes to test it.

Lilia keeps snuggling against me, and being nudged away by Mother. It’s not as if holding someone will prevent them being taken. But… just in case.

The sooner I’m taken, the longer people have to find me. Yet, every moment I have with them might be my last, and I wish to hold it forever.

So cruel. I kick my feet, which are unused to being clog-bound indoors. Bubbling nerves itch at my limbs. I’m hot and fussy and want to SCREAM but everyone’s already suffering enough.

Then, just as my father leans in to give me a comforting kiss, it happens - a blink and I’m in total darkness, the home-sounds my ears never noticed snatched away and replaced with true gaping silence.

What was the time? I hadn’t watched the clock.

I suppose it doesn’t matter. I should get moving.

My fingers carefully peel open the satchel. Pedro, bless him, tied a little glow-stone to the lamp-key and made sure I could turn it even in gloves.

The flickering light doesn’t help as much as I hoped, swallowed by the dark stone. All I can see is myself and my frosting breath. I have to feel my way forward.

No landmarks. No logic to the winding paths. The important thing is to keep moving. If you stop you’ll chill, and then there’s a far harsher timer than dawn gnawing at you. I make sure that my arms are swinging, so the clackers at my wrists shout down the tunnels.

Even though I know nobody will reach the caves for an hour yet.

Tears prickle my eyes. I blink them back. Don’t waste water. And don’t let eyelashes freeze together.

Even if my eyes don’t feel much use down here.

Already the sweat which built while waiting is chilling, making me shiver. It’s still better than not being wrapped up. I take one of the swaddled flasks Mother filled with hot tea and tuck it against my chest. Savouring the warmth and the care.

They will not rest until they find me. My mantra as I wander the tunnels. Marking my way with chalk. Always trying to pick a path which winds up, yet I swear they always lead down.

Lilia will be watched by Granny. I heard Father telling Mother. Both are too frail to search properly. They’ll keep the fire going for us. Lilia declared they’ll make my favourite stew to cheer me up. When I get home.

I stop to press my mittens against my face. Willing the tears back. I mustn’t give in to fear. Must hold onto hope. Marked HAVE been rescued. I WILL be one of them.

My family will run through tunnels until their legs give out, will call for me until their throats seize up, will hunt until they find me - or tomorrow’s sun is high in the sky and can no longer be denied.

Where will I end up, if they don’t make it in time? Does the mark pull you deeper, UNDER the mountain? Do the caves swallow you whole and leave no trace?

I grit my chattering teeth and stumble forward.

Are the caves cursed? Or did something make the caves FOR the curse? Why does nobody know? What force would do this and never tell us WHY?

How long have I been down here? How long do I have left?

I can scream now, and I do.

It doesn’t make me feel better.

I choke on a hiccough and wipe my nose on one sleeve.

“Why… why are you doing this?” I whisper.

You give no answer. I can FEEL you, lurking, pressing against my eyes. But you don’t answer. Can’t you understand me?

“I want to go home!!”

I scrub at my forehead, where your mark rests. The mark left by your entry?

“Why…?”

What happens next?