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THE LAST SÂNZIANA CHAPTER VII — THE SAINT THEY FEARED The forest had fallen silent in the presence of Saint Friday. The wolves lowered their heads, the ravens ceased their cries, and the seven Iele stood motionless among the trees, shrouded in mist. Not one of them dared approach the house of the woman dressed in black. Sânziana and the young man stepped inside, unaware that within those walls, they were about to uncover a part of the past the forest had concealed for so long. Old candles illuminated the stone walls. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and beside the fireplace stood a spinning wheel that had remained untouched for years. Saint Friday knew the truth about the seven Iele. Long before the villagers had learned to fear them, eight beings had wandered the forests beneath the moonlight. Their beauty was extraordinary, and their songs could lure any mortal into their circle of dance. Those who followed them rarely returned unchanged. Some lost their memories. Others were left with broken bodies, unable to walk ever again. Saint Friday had warned them many times, but the Iele continued to defy her commands. Until one night, their cruelty went too far. That was when Saint Friday decided to punish them. She took away their human feet and gave them hooves, so that every step of their endless dance would carry the memory of the suffering they had inflicted upon the innocent. But the seven never discovered who had transformed their bodies. They did not know that their punishment had come from Saint Friday, nor that someone had tried to save them that night. Because once, there had not been seven. There had been eight. And the eighth had been Sânziana. On the night of judgment, she had stepped out of the circle and knelt before Saint Friday, begging her to spare the others. Her plea had saved the lives of the seven. And Saint Friday, seeing that compassion still lived within her, spared her from the punishment of the hooves. Sânziana kept her human feet. But the memory of that night had vanished from her mind. She no longer remembered the dances, the songs, or the faces of those with whom she had once wandered the forest. She did not know she had belonged to the circle. She did not know she had been the eighth. And above all, she could not remember that she herself had saved the seven. Now, after so many years, the Iele had tried to draw her back into their dance. Not because she was an ordinary mortal. But because they recognized something within her that Sânziana could no longer recognize in herself. Their circle had remained incomplete. And the song she had heard beside the water had been more than a calling. It had been an attempt to awaken what she had forgotten. Saint Friday studied the crown of thorns, yellow flowers, and golden wheat resting upon Sânziana’s head. Before her stood the same being who, long ago, had dared to challenge her judgment to save seven lives. But something had changed. The golden light that had brought the young man back, the flowers that died at Sânziana’s touch, and the wheat that blackened beneath her fingers were no ordinary occurrences. An ancient power had begun to awaken. And Saint Friday understood that Sânziana’s return to the circle of the Iele had set something in motion that even the punishment of long ago had failed to stop. Beyond the walls of the house, the seven began to sing. Sânziana froze. This time, the melody no longer felt unfamiliar. Every note awakened something within her that she could not explain. A longing without a memory. A fear without a face. And for a moment, her lips moved on their own, following the song. Saint Friday noticed. And in that moment, she understood that the past was beginning to return. The seven were calling their lost sister. But Sânziana still did not know she had once been one of them.