17. The Song of Fear. Noua. Ilangoria by Mila Rada

llanke let out a tiny gasp, and at once everyone shuffled closer to Santi, bowing their heads as though at a wake and patting his shoulder with the solemn tenderness usually reserved for overworked spirits.

“So,” Ilangoria ventured, scratching her head in deep vexation, “you’re saying the chu led you straight onto a nour-sala trail… and before that it was sniffing around your house? And perhaps it all ties back to that fox somehow?”

Before she could tack on another theory, Anni executed a masterful under-table strike to her sister’s shin. Ilanke yelped like a stepped-on mushroom.

“Oh, honestly, child,” the whole table cackled, “your nose is longer than any chu’s—yet you smell nothing!”

Santi rubbed the back of his head, mildly embarrassed. “Well… there is a grain of good sense in it. You can call upon a chu, and even compel one to find what’s hidden—but the price…” He clicked his tongue thoughtfully.
“They always know their profit. They’ll want something rare, something dear, and usually something you did not plan on giving away. Best not to meddle. And as for nour-sala—only a handful of chu can see such trails at all. Much more likely everything simply… aligned.”

Before Ilangoria could object, Ume cut in with the general severity of a librarian scolding a thunderstorm.
“Before you go chasing nour-sala, your spirit must be strengthened and tested! You don’t grasp such grand workings from the doorstep. Learn first the ordinary magical paths—the warded ones, the household ones, the ones that lead to the Hills. Those are simple: perform the proper rite, and the path appears, paid for long ago by someone wiser than us.
One must never rush these things, little one. First, understand how the Hills themselves breathe.”

“And Linden brought you here by such a path—wolf-trail!” he added, almost triumphant.
“First, you learn to walk these routes properly, and later—I will teach you how to find the others.”

Linden threw his head back in laughter and shoved Ume’s chair with his foot.
“Oh, do be quiet—you’re scaring her half to death. I can hear her heart thumping from over here!”

Santi nodded gravely, but his voice softened like warm honey.
“Ume is right, though. Nour-sala, or yalu-sala—paths of non-olua magic—should be used only in dire need, and only once your spirit has proper bones beneath it.”

Ilanke puffed out her cheeks, prepared to unleash twelve new questions, but Anni darkened like a storm cloud and raised a warning finger.

And thus, the supper met its end.

The boys went off to collapse after the road.
Anni began unpacking, and Ilangoria spent the next hour stuffing herself with two portions of pie—each the size of a plum—before rolling lazily, almost spherical, from belly to bear-paw, licking her sticky fingers with deep philosophical satisfaction.

https://youtube.com/shorts/szR1PWsfth4

The Olua tongue — oldest and fairest in all the magical realms,
and, as the chu like to mutter, one of the most powerful and perilous to grasp.

It is not a language granted to just anyone;
Few can truly learn it, though once heard,
Its echo never leaves the heart that braved it.

But can little Ilangoria hope to master such a tongue?
And why does she, of all oлуа, feel a shiver of dread
each time its ancient cadence brushes her ear?

A new chapter awaits, dearies — the secrets are stirring.
https://www.patreon.com/posts/143697060;


Undead, Unclean, Tue-folk, Olua-born, Dreamers, Darlings, Witches, Warlocks,
and every self-appointed magical rascal from every swamp, ridge, and forgotten province!

A key has begun to flicker upon the Olua tongue’s secret trail!
Best snatch it quickly before a chu-creature pockets it first.

 Listen while the gate is open:

 Or glimpse the omen in moving sigils:

https://youtube.com/shorts/szR1PWsfth4

Do be a darling and lend your power to Witches’ Ridge Radio on SoundCloud:
leave us a humble chicken claw of approval, or a tiny prophecy in the comments.

Should you do so, our broadcast waves shall stabilise—
even for the undead, the unclean, and all those who ought to be asleep but aren’t.

May your ears tingle, your runes align,
and your shadows behave themselves—for once.