“It’s Triften,” the person on the other side of the door called out.
“Who invited him?” Jatoba frowned.
“Oh ho, that’s not how we treat guests in this land,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed. “Let him in,” he addressed the house.
Triften the Storyteller strode into the house and stopped short, his eyes examining the gathering around the fire. His arms and legs were so long and limber he often appeared taller than he truly was. His blue eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed with relief.
Novor Tur-Woodberry held out a hand toward a chair. “Come. Seat yourself.”
About twenty or so years ago, Triften made his first appearance in the land. He was quite young, still in his teen years and had an air of devotion about him. Everything inspired him with awe until the incident. Something took place over ten years ago, and Triften came limping back to the land, his innocence replaced with the bitter tang of loss. Sorrow inspired him to find a purpose, and he grew into a confident leader with one goal: to seek knowledge.
“Citrine isn’t here?” Triften’s eyes danced across the room and then he sat down, a slight smile coming to his lips.
“Nay, have a drink.” Novor Tur-Woodberry waved a tankard of ale over to Triften. It moved on its own accord, perching on the arm of the chair Triften sat in.
Triften shrugged. “When we spoke earlier, she mentioned dining here tonight.”
“Are you concerned?”
“To be honest, aye. Her actions bother me. Have you noticed anything peculiar since she appeared here?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry put down his drink and reached for his pipe, tapping tobacco into it. The speculations coming out of Triften’s mouth were not surprising, but Novor Tur-Woodberry sensed Triften had a unique motive for bringing it up. Declining to play games, he turned the conversation back on Triften. “What concerns you about her?”
“Her motives. She did not come to the land to dwell in harmony with others. I sense something is stirring and there is a darkness at the edges of the land. She works with herbs and runes. I can’t help but assume it is her doing, but this is your land. I do not want to overstep my welcome here.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry hummed as he inhaled. The smoke from his pipe billowed in his mouth and wisps of peace snaked through his body. An uncanny brightness followed Citrine, but she did not have the ability to inflict change on his land. Sitting back in his chair, he closed his eyes, listening to the flicker of the fire and allowing himself to sink into the river of knowledge he’d gathered from his years in the South World.
He held a distinct awareness of the comings and goings of every living creature on his land, and at the moment, he could tell Citrine was not there. She’d gone somewhere earlier that evening, east, to the Boundary Line Forest. When he first met her, she was limping and dirty, as if she’d wrangled with those in the forest. He gathered there was something there she cared about, yet she did not offer to come clean about her past dealings.
Novor Tur-Woodberry pursed his lips into an O and blew out a cloud of smoke. It hung above his head in a white haze. Perhaps there was something he’d overlooked and Citrine held answers. Considering the darkness creeping over his borders, he needed to speak with her soon. He’d send the Singing Men to ensure she came to dinner and could relate her tale. She harbored a weakness for him. That much was clear in her strange eyes and the way her lips smiled at him.
“I will speak with her,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “What else lies heavy on your mind?”
“The wind lady comes with a gift. I don’t agree with her intentions, but your knowledge is greater than mine. She decided her time here is done, and she is leaving to seek the Beyond, but she has children. I don’t understand why she desires to leave them.”
Triften’s parents abandoned him during the days of war—it was a scar Novor Tur-Woodberry knew he’d never healed from. Peace in the land allowed families to dwell together without fear of being ripped apart by evil. Someone might see Triften’s intentions as interfering with others’ freedoms.
“Your thoughts are respected, but I remind you, it is not my purpose to interfere with others’ choices, unless they impact the safety of my lands and its inhabitants.”
Triften nodded and took a long sip of ale, gulping down the liquid as if it would give him strength. His lips were moist when he sat the tankard down. His blue eyes glistened as he moved to the edge of his seat. “Have you heard whispers about the new breed?”
Visions of peace evaporated and Novor Tur-Woodberry took the pipe from his mouth, frowning at the unexpected question. “The new breed? What do you speak of?” he demanded, although he knew, repetition seeped through history and something was overlooked during the war. “Tell me, why do you speak of a new breed?”
Triften’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “I was hoping you might tell me.”
9
Realm of Night
“Ava,” Citrine whispered, skipping between the beams of silver light as she entered the Boundary Line Forest. Afraid of being late to the unwanted meeting, she’d asked one of the wild horses of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land to give her a ride to the forest. The white steed was delighted with adventure, and if Citrine’s thoughts hadn’t been churning with a dark foreboding, she would have enjoyed the fierce gallop through Paradise.
As she slipped into the wood, she noted a distinct shift in the air, the pure beauty of Paradise marred by the dense secrets of the gloomy forest. It seemed as if evil fingers reached out to squeeze her heart. Citrine shivered, but not with fear. Her first journey through the Boundary Line Forest had been unforgiving, a mix of adventure and terror playing mischievous games as they chased her out. All she had was hope that things would be different. “Ava,” she whispered again, strands of moonbeams swaying around her like knives.
A rustling in the leaves drew her attention and hurling out of the darkness, scales flashing in the light, appeared a beast. Her fierce head looked like a wyvern with a long snout and a row of curved sharp teeth. A puff of smoke drifted from her nostrils, quickly dissipating into the night. Her lengthy neck was thick, much like a sea eel, while the rest of her body moved on four clawed legs, stout like the monsters of the night. A hard coat of scales and feathers covered her blue and green body.
Citrine. A voice resounded within Citrine’s mind.
Ava. You’re beautiful. Look how you’ve grown.
Reaching up, she placed her palm on Ava’s snout. Ava arched her neck, bringing it down to rest on Citrine’s shoulder, a purr-like hum rumbling through her body.
Have you come to take us away? Ava asked.
Citrine bit her lip. Perhaps . . . I came because I missed you and . . . there is a request. Have you spoken to Morag?
We see him from time to time. Ava’s golden eyes shifted. Methinks he is associated in some nasty business with the Master of the Forest.
Is that so? Can you follow and confirm for me? I don’t like being summoned here as if I were a mouthpiece without my own mind.
I can kill him for you. Ava hissed, her forked tongue flicking in and out as her odd eyes glowed.
Citrine grinned, the idea of mischief stirring within her like a spark. That’s the spirit, but no. We need Morag—he’s one of us, new as he is. And I am curious to know what the Master of the Forest wants. Observe and report. We’ll meet again here, one week from now under the moonlight. As usual. Where are Zaul and Grift? Have you been with them?
Ava tossed her head, withdrawing to the darkness. Grift went south. There is a village beyond the forest, close to the shore, with, perhaps, the best fish in the world. You know how Grift likes fish. He claims he can see the story of the waves when he bites into the flesh of a sea creature.
Citrine rolled her eyes. Grift is always thinking up strange ways to gain knowledge. A simple conversation would suffice instead of biting into anything to see if it has a story.
You asked. Ava retreated farther, her eyes gleaming.
Where are you goin
g? Citrine ignored the beast’s sarcastic response. Ava was impatient and impulsive, and if restricted, she complained.
You gave me a mission. I must go find Morag.
Citrine watched the glowing eyes fade into the trees and the monstrous form of Ava disappear from view. Her beasts were odd. They came to her from dark and shadow, binding themselves to her and her wishes, because their eyes were the same color. Citrine. They were dangerous, yet she had a strong desire to protect them. She’d failed before and needed the spell so she would not fail them again.
Ava. Be careful.
There is nothing but risk in all we do. The link to Ava faded like seeds disappearing into soil. There. But unseen.
Citrine put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot as she waited in the glade. She turned around and gasped at the creature that appeared from behind a tree trunk. The creature was lithe with silver hair as if she stepped from a moonbeam. Her brittle bones were thin and her eyes high and sunken. Her skin was pale, and she held out a skull before her in both hands like a present. “Are you the one they call Citrine?” the waif asked, her voice high and thin.
Citrine looked the creature up and down, a strong feeling of unease settling in her bones. “Aye.” She gave a sharp nod, hesitant to speak to the creature. “And who might you be?”
“I am supposed to give you this.” The creature glanced down at the skull. “To bury in the middle of the land they call Paradise.”
Citrine snorted. “Why? You can’t expect me to go bury a skull in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry!”
The waif dropped her eyes. “It is not I who does the asking . . .”
Citrine paused, understanding dawning. “Ah, you are the messenger from the Master of the Forest.” She dropped her eyes to the skull to examine it. At first, she’d assumed it was the skull of a mortal like herself; however, it seemed to be the skull of a beast with a misshapen head and a long snout. The sockets for eyes were wide and round like antlers or horns sawn to the nub. A deep foreboding gripped Citrine’s belly, and she stepped back, suddenly feeling lightheaded. She shook her head at the shining creature. “No. I refuse. I’m not taking that foul skull to Paradise.”
The creature took a step closer to Citrine, her white form glowing in the moonlight like the undead. Her face appeared wasted, but her eyes glowed with an arcane luster as she pressed the skull into Citrine’s stomach. “You can—you don’t have a choice. Your beasts will die in this forest unless you follow the wishes of the Master.”
“Are you threatening me?” Citrine demanded, her fingers wrapping around the cold skull despite herself. “I will call my beasts and leave—”
The waif held up a hand, hushing Citrine, her eyes burning brighter. “You called your beasts, and did they come? One did, but the others scattered because of the Master. Now go, bury the skull before you must bury one of your beasts.”
A wail of fury rose within Citrine and her face turned hot and red. She glowered at the creature, her fingers tightening around the skull, willing it to break and shatter.
“The skull is resilient. You cannot break it.” The waif glared at Citrine and the light went out of her eyes.
Citrine stepped back a few paces, a chill coming over her like a shadow of death. Her heartbeat increased as liquid pooled around her body, rising to her neck as if she’d fallen into a lake. A hand gripped her head, pushing her down into the liquid until it poured into her mouth, invading her lungs. She opened her mouth to breathe and nothing but fire poured down her throat, eating her innards alive. Voices whispered through her head, the malicious meaning made clear. Do as I tell you, or your beasts will suffer. Just like the creatures of flesh.
Her eyes flew open as the odd simulation left her and she took deep breaths, turning her back to the waif so it wouldn’t see her fear.
“Citrine.” The creature grabbed her wrist with fingers like frost. The strange glow in her eyes faded. She appeared pale, lost, and tired. “Beware. The Master of the Forest is cruel and powerful. He is coming for Paradise because the balance has swayed and none can stand before him. Do not underestimate him.”
10
Bone-White
Tor Lir slumped against the base of a tree, listening to the occasional silence of the wood. The wind rushed through the treetops while animals rustled through the deep thickets. A malicious intent hung in the air, a sharp reminder of impending danger and how different this forest was from the forest of the Iaens.
He waited patiently, calming his mind with the practice of unconsciousness. It was something he’d learned from the Iaens. After discovering he did not need to sleep like mortals, he still liked to maintain a sense of rest by stilling his mind and turning off his churning thoughts. The concentration was something like meditation, allowing him to empty his mind and focus his energy on something specific.
There in the forest he focused on healing his body, his mind sensing each limb, searching for the brokenness and fixing it. The blood under his bruises spread out, new blood filtering through his veins. The cuts on his face closed with new skin forming over them. He stretched his ankle, letting the bruises heal while the knots in his stomach faded, leaving a vague sensation of hunger and thirst. He brushed those aside, hoping his needs would be met soon. For now, he had to wait.
“You’re still here.” The bone-white creature crept toward him.
Tor Lir started and stood, resting a hand on the rough trunk of a pine tree. “I waited, as you instructed,” he told her, noticing her aura. A heaviness surrounded her, and she felt both sorry and guilty about something.
“Where were you?” he dared to ask.
“Nowhere that concerns you.” Her voice melted into the silence of the night, her head downcast as she moved beside him. “Follow me.”
She led him through the trees, moving with a surprising quickness as he strode silently behind. She glanced back now and then with an anxious look in her eye, checking to ensure he really was behind her.
They moved like those in a dream, while the beasts of the night hunted and fought, departing from the realm of hunter and hunted on to safer passages. Blackness hung over the forest like a blanket of death, and a rottenness hung in the air, making it dense and musty.
Finally, they came to a place where the trees thinned, and it surprised Tor Lir to look up and see the moonlight hanging in the night sky like a silver slice of light. He paused, waiting for the bone-white creature to speak. When at last she turned to face him, liquid filled her dark eyes.
“Go now, back to whence you came,” she cautioned him. “The less you know, the better.”
He reached out a hand, a wave of compassion coming over him for the beautiful, lost spirit. “You still have empathy—you still have a heart,” he told her, although he did not know her. Something inside him called to her. There was a reason he’d met her in the frightful wood. “I can help you, if you will let me.”
She bowed her head. “You are kind, yet you know nothing. Go back. Go home. Forget this wild day and what you saw and heard here. Your very life depends upon it.”
He reached out a hand, cupping her thin cheek, whispering words into her ear. “Why did you help me? Perhaps there is a way I can repay your kindness.”
“It was not kindness,” she said, a sharpness returning to her eyes. She pulled away from his touch, shuddering. “It was mercy.”
11
Buried Skull
The scream of panic died in Citrine’s throat when she took in her surroundings. The wide-eyed fear faded from her eyes and her heartbeat slowed. Gentle sunlight filled her eyes, and the breeze blew over her face. She patted the ground with her fingers as she took in her location. It appeared she’d slept in the heart of the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She stood up, her bones aching in discomfort as she brushed dried mud off her hand. What happened? The question flittered through her mind. The sky was blue and empty while the whispers of joy hushed through the land. What did I do?
Citrine. The connection to one of
her beasts filtered into her consciousness.
Grift! Where are you?
You seem panicked and worried. Is it happening again?
I think so. I can’t remember everything that happened last night. After the waif and the skull, my memory is hazy. But I know the Master of the Forest is coming for Paradise. We have to run!
Citrine.
You don’t agree?
You know I will always do what you ask, but we can’t always run. The world will box us into a corner, and there will be no other choice but to stand and fight.
Is that wisdom you learned from the fish?
Sea creatures travel far and wide. They know many things and were kind to sacrifice their lives to share their wisdom with me.
Grift.
You may not agree, but it is truth. Knowledge is the key to unlocking desires. Once you know the secrets of one’s heart, you can gain anything and everything you desire. Knowledge will make you invincible.
What are you suggesting?
I suggest you face this challenge head-on.
Grift.
I know you have reservations, but we can’t always run. At least, not from the chaos we create. We must make things right.
We did not start this.
Perhaps. But we caused it. I know not what you learned when you spoke with the Master of the Forest—
No, that thing, that creature has a strong desire, and I made a promise I cannot break without risking the life of you and me.
Don’t forget who you are.
Citrine fell silent, the words stinging like a slap in the face. Do you think I deserve to be happy again?
I think you deserve what you want to deserve.
Chewing her lip, she studied the intricate pattern the grass weaved, a circle within a circle, spiraling out in four directions: north, south, east, and west. A star seemed to twinkle within the circle, yet as she studied the pattern, she became sure it was just an illusion. The command to bury the skull came drifting back, and she squinted before kneeling in the grass. Running her fingers through the thick blades, she tried to find the place where she had ripped through the dirt, tearing it to pieces so she could bury the skull. There was no sign of digging. The grass rippled over the knoll without ceasing.
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