Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1)

by Jonathan Michael

  “What makes you think I’m going to be by your side when you’re dying? I’d sooner be out catching another lunker, you wanker.” I swing my stringer in his direction. He swats it down. And even though I jape in return, he swats my confidence down as well.

  “These other three silvers you caught sure are somethin’, though. These’ll be great with a hint of lemon zest, a few garlic cloves, and a dash of salt, all smoked over some applewood pellets. You have to clean ‘em, though.”

  Goose knows me better than I’d like, but his feeble attempt to mend the humility doesn’t work. Like an ape swinging through the jungle, I am unable to change course mid-air and fly free into the unknown open terrain, so I unwittingly shoot back at him with more defensive sarcasm.

  “I don’t need to claim your boasts just yet. Just you wait… When that tribe of beautiful Cerulean women you’re always fantasizing about comes down from the southern range—all with large breasts, who haven’t seen a man in ages, I might add—then I’ll take all that excess boasting of yours and claim it for myself.”

  “Fair enough. You do have that gorgeous smile and those lustrous locks to attract the mountain women. You can have them all to yourself.”

  He understands I’d prefer not to talk about my embarrassing catch any further. We walk back the rest of the way in silence.

  We arrive at the yurt just after sundown, expecting to find a hungry adolescent girl with a childish temper. Instead, we find the lanterns have yet to be refueled. Then, a broken door and a pool of blood.

  “Jay!” My voice trembles. I drop my fish and tackle to the ground in a panic and burst into the yurt. The Taoiseach. This is his doing! He’s found us! Helios lies curled on Jaymes’s bed mat. He peers through half-opened eyes and stares at me without moving. Lazy tiger. There’s a glowing basket by his side. The thunderbugs. She may still be close.

  I race back to Goose, who’s crouched and examining the scene at the door. “Let’s split up to search the wood. She’s been here recently. I’ll search the Forest Road. You check the surrounding areas.”

  “Don’t be so hasty.” Goose raises his voice. “Check the sky, Stone. It’s too late in the day to go running off into the wood. You know what’s out there. You might not come back. These are your rules, Stone.”

  “My sister is out there somewhere!” My voice grows louder than his. “If it means protecting Jay, then the rules can go to the wayside. If I don’t go out there, I might as well be dead anyways. She’s my responsibility and the only family I have left. Losing her would be worse than death. I have to find her.”

  “You’re right. We must find her. So let’s think.” Goose pauses for a moment and looks around like nature is whispering secrets to him. My impatience heightens. “Look at the blood. It’s still fresh, so we know she’s close.”

  “I’ve already come to that conclusion.”

  “But is it Jaymes’s? If it were an accident, she could be at the river getting some fresh water to clean up. If it’s an intruder, then we have a bigger issue.”

  “I don’t care who’s it is. We know she’s close. I’m going.”

  “Maybe there’s a blood trail.”

  “Yes! Great! You’re always boasting about how great of a tracker you are. Let’s see it. We’ll cover more ground if we split. I’m heading to the Forest Road. That’s the road the Taoiseach’s men would travel to get back to the capital.”

  “Very well. And I am an excellent tracker, so you have my word I will find her, if you don’t.”

  I haven’t been able to shake the blame of my parents’ deaths. I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to Jaymes too. Let’s hope Goose’s cockiness is actually justified, for Jaymes’s sake.

  “And take Helios with you,” Goose adds. “He may be unfit to carry your growing posterior, but he still has his heightened senses and a deadly pounce.”

  I rush back into the yurt to summon Helios. Goose is hanging our fish on the curing rack when I return outside. My stomach grumbles at the sight — certainly not the smell—and I find myself annoyed that hunger is on my mind, and even more annoyed Goose has not started on the trail yet. But I don’t waste any breath on the argument for it’ll only slow us down. “I’ll be back before sunrise.”

  Desperation is a difficult stink to scrub away. The men, women, and children all reek of it. I, too, have the stink emanating from my pores, so I must not fault them. This is not how we envisioned it. It's a side effect we could never have anticipated, for we are only man.

  3 Goose

  T races of blood are effortless to spot. There is so much. It’s upsetting. It’ll prove helpful, though. And with my proficient tracking, I’ll surely find her before the Creatures of the Night get unruly. A blind dog without a nose would be able to follow this trail.

  As the crimson clues guide me, my thoughts race through different scenarios of what could have happened to Jaymes.

  A masquerade involving the Taoiseach is the obvious conclusion, as Stone cautioned, but it’s doubtful the Taoiseach or any of his men would find us this deep in the wood. Four seasons have come and gone, and there’s nothing we’ve done to surrender our position. The three of us have all taken the necessary precautions to stay hidden because we know our livelihoods depend on it. Four daunting, lonely seasons is a long time to remain hidden, and most men would consider us deceased by now. However, my memory of the Taoiseach is that he’s a relentless man. I would speculate he has only put us to the side, knowing we’re alive somewhere, knowing one day he will tie up his loose ends. It would be impossible, with his character, for us to slip his thoughts entirely. The hunt will never be complete until he personally pierces our hearts or has absolute proof of our deaths. But not today. Not like this.

  My accusations drift from the Taoiseach to the true terrors in this forest, but it’s unheard of for them to prey upon humans in their homes. On the contrary, most human’s homes aren’t in their yard. It’s said the Creatures of the Night tend to be cautious of light, natural or false. The few thunder lanterns we hang about our yurt have done the trick thus far, and Jaymes is no loafer at keeping the lanterns properly fueled, so there’s no reason that would change now. We don’t even have solid evidence of their existence. For all we know, these mythical creatures could be another ruse the Taoiseach orchestrated to contain his subjects.

  This is Jaymes we’re searching for. She’s an adolescent girl starving for attention, but unsure how to acquire it without forcing a dramatic scene. And she went over the top this time. Yes. That’s it. I’m sure of it. This is all just a game to her, and she’s hiding in the brush having a ball while the two of us get worked up over her childish nonsense. This is because we refused her the hunt this morning. Except for one thing…the blood. I wouldn’t put it past her, though. She is rather wicked from time to time. A smile crosses my face at the thought. She keeps things interesting if they aren’t already.

  I access an area where the forest is less dense. Had the sun been high yet, it would be blanketed in warmth, but with the sun wavering and Cerise climbing higher, it’s shrouded in crimson shadows. The undergrowth has thinned, and the trees are a bit sparser and reedier in the trunk, allowing for better visual. The peat moss and fallen debris covering most of the forest floor has faded into a lush green grass along with patches of clovers. Jaymes has described this scenery more than once, always talking about the warmth it brings her. This must be her gathering spot as of late. And the blood trail stops here.

  With only a faint amount of sunlight remaining, I shine the thunder torch around the area, searching for more clues. Footprints, the tiniest drop of blood, flattened grass—anything will help. It could be the wound began to clot.

  At a closer look, I notice disturbed soil, as though something has been uprooting the plants. No beast would do this. Then I see a vibrant blue flower radiating from behind a leaf on an undisturbed plant. “Remarkable!” I mutter under my breath. “Everweed.” I’ve sought them out on my ow
n before, traveling leagues throughout this forest without any luck, and here they are right under my nose. Jay has been here. But where is she now? And how did she acquire a wound so severe she couldn’t wait for Stone to heal it? I probably know the answer to that.

  “Jay?” I call, but not so loud to bring unwanted attention. “Jay!” No response. There has to be some trace of where she ran off to next. Maybe we crossed paths and she’s already back home. I do a onceover of the area with the thunder torch to ensure I’m not missing anything. There’s a faint sign of flattened ground coverings. I’ve been prudent with my step, as all trackers are, so it must have been Jay or some wildlife, which leaves a wide array of possibilities. It’s a weak clue at best, but I follow it anyhow.

  There are far too many disturbances in the vegetation for a smaller beast to be the culprit. In fact, these prints are larger than any human.

  My heart beats heavier. I inhale and, with the back of my hand, brush a drop of sweat that has found its way down my forehead. I know what these tracks belong to. But why now? Am I projecting my ambitions—to slay a Creature of the Night? I grab a handful of Everweed from the ground and reluctantly head in the direction of the trampled vegetation.

  My experience with these beasts is nonexistent, but then again, there isn’t another who can claim otherwise. They’re the type of animal man stays far away from, which was the primary reason for choosing this location as a refuge. We chose to risk being mauled by the Creatures of the Night over the public execution we would have inevitably encountered by hiding in a small village. Some would consider us the biggest halfwits in all of Vedora, all of Azure even, for making the decision we made, but I know Harris Martelli personally, and the fact he is capable of persuading a strong-willed and morally sound man like my father to do what he did is far more threatening than any beast living in the wood.

  The one thing I do know about these beasts that isn’t often conveyed in the terrifying tales is they have a very distinctive smell. Almost the smell of a rotting carcass, but worse. A scent that can bring a man to his knees. I’d be curious to know whether it’s a defense tactic or the effect of an introverted species. Regardless, I’ve come to believe they’re not exceptionally clean animals.

  I continue down the trampled path until, as anticipated, a mallet of rotting flesh hits me right in the nostrils. The waxing stench is the smell of the deceased. There’s no possible way anything living could tolerate that aroma.

  Despite the horrendous smell, I know what I must do—be the man my father would expect me to be. I continue pushing forward, setting down the thunder torch in an attempt to detect rather than be detected. And the stench is my ally. If I learned anything in my limited time at the Academy, it was the act of surprise is my best advantage. Especially against a foe that can send me passing through the heroes’ gate.

  My instincts tug me in the opposite direction, but my father always said I should seize the opportunity. And this is a great opportunity to show the world how great I can be. To be the only man ever to slay a Creature of the Night and live to tell the tale. And to save a damsel in distress at the same time would be an unachievable task that I achieved. Ambitious, maybe. But I can already hear the bards’ tune.

  Cryptid Slayer! Cryptid Slayer!

  Vile creature of the night

  Goose the Great! Goose the Great!

  Victor burning with might

  Could use some work, but I’ll have time to fine-tune it after the deed is done.

  I creep forward into the darkness and through the faint ambiance of Cerise struggling to pierce the canopy. A silhouette forms in the distance. I steal behind a large trunk several paces ahead to gain better sight of it. There’s a second silhouette. Much smaller. And it appears as if it’s floating. No…it’s dangling from a tree, swaying back and forth like a pendulum in the evening summer breeze.

  Susy save us. Is that you, Jay? Am I too late?

  I see the behemoth much clearer now as I attempt to protect my nose from its odor. A beast as malicious as they come. A beast feared by all others. A beast that leaves no survivors. An elusive beast formally known as the Cryptid.

  It’s more of a primitive man than animal. It walks upright with a hide as hairy as an ape, and the claws and teeth of a murderous wolverine. Legend has it they stand a head taller than any man. This one, however, looks to be a few heads taller, which is perfect. The bigger the beast, the grander the kill.

  The Cryptid is distracted with prepping its meal. I slip to the cover of the next tree, and then to the next. At this proximity, the stench is revolting, but I manage to tolerate it. It wouldn’t surprise me if the beast found most of its meals by strolling past its prey with the punishment of its stench knocking them to the ground. If I don’t kill it with my blade first, I’m going to drown it in the Scarlet to wash that stench away.

  I push some foliage aside to get a better view of Jay and notice my hand shaking mildly. It must be the smell attacking my nerves. I ignore it and edge closer.

  I step out from behind the tree with whip in hand, the thieving beast still unaware of my presence with its back facing me. Jaymes is hanging from her ankles. It’s a low branch, her arms limp and extending nearly to the forest floor. Her right leg is an overflowing chalice of wine, saturated in blood. And her shirt is bunched around her breasts as she dangles seemingly lifeless.

  The Cryptid shifts. I pause. My hands continue to tremble. It grabs her by the throat with one hand and, with its thumbnail, slowly and skillfully slices one single line down her body from her ankle down to her chest. Her skin curls back.

  Without any further hesitation, I gather my courage and launch the attack. My whip cracks toward the throat of the beast. I know the whip is too short, so as it unfurls, I focus my growth on the fibers of the vine. The beast effortlessly turns faster than I would have ever imagined possible. It grabs the end of my arachniwhip, yanking me in its direction. Caught off guard by its unnatural speed, I stumble forward over the reaching roots of a tree. When I hit the ground, the whip escapes my grasp.

  The beast drops the toxic spider vine and scratches at its forearm. I’ve only handicapped it. I was targeting its neck. Had I succeeded, it would likely be kissing the forest floor right now.

  I snap to my feet, and the Cryptid is already on top of me. It hurls its massive fist with rage, leaving me barely enough time to evade the attack.

  Such intelligence…and speed. I wonder where the tales come from because none have ever spoken of such things. Doubts of survival hit me for the first time, reminding me of the day I fled from my father.

  I will not flee without Jaymes, and the only way to do that is by taking down this malevolent beast. But to battle this thing with fist and a small kukri the size of my forearm in hopes of a victory would be foolish. And bards don’t sing songs about foolish dead men. I need that whip.

  I tuck and roll past the Cryptid as another hairy-knuckled maul swings toward me. It brushes my shoulder and sends me tumbling over to where my arachniwhip lies unattended on the ground. I seize it and quickly get back into a defensive stance, ready to stab at it with the short blade interlocked into the butt of the whip. My hands are shaking more violently now. The beast snarls and attacks with a slash of its claws. I sidestep and puncture its hind quarter, followed by a crack of the whip across its back.

  The toxins in the vine have enough potency to put down a human for hours with the intended attack of the weapon to be stun and gut. I can only hope it’s enough to take on a beast of this magnitude.

  A curdling roar whales from the beast, and it turns to face me. The leather handle is tight between my fingers, and I crack the whip once more. This time in the direction of its feet. The vine curls around an ankle as it lurches toward me, and I pull back with all my weight to uproot its trunk-like legs. But the beast is far too heavy, and I end up falling on my backside. A feeble attempt. The Cryptid is unfazed by the attack.

  I scramble backward on my hands and feet. The beast adv
ances. I give my inadequate blade a reproachful look. It’s not enough for a counterattack. Not against a beast this massive. As it gets within a pace of me, the poison in its leg takes effect, but adversely ill-timed.

  The Cryptid stumbles and topples onto me. I feel my dagger puncture something upon impact, but with the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I’m unsure if it was me or the beast. Our crash against the forest bed drives it deeper, and I gasp for air, unable to find it.

  I’ve met my father’s expectations, as usual. He would be so proud. I can hear him now. Goose! Goose, what’ve you done? Your over-confident ego has finally caught up to you this time. Goose, are you alive? You’ve managed to kill the beast, son, but you ended your own life in doing so. Just as I would expect. You never were any good at seizing the opportunity. It’s probably for the best. My father’s voice fades, and the shroud of the grim envelops the dark forest.

  A spark of contrasting light in the ever-growing crimson shadows. An unsuspecting adolescent Sprhowt stood up against a gang of Dihkai to protect his kin. He failed, but in his failure, there was value. It is apparent to me now. They require a fear more potent than death to reclaim virtue.

  4 Stone

  T he horizon has swallowed the sun, leaving an orange and red glow in its wake. Although it’s not the black of night yet, it might as well be in the thick of the wood. I regret not grabbing a thunder torch, but at least I have Life Bringer with me for protection. Goose may have been right about my hasty decision-making. But there wasn’t any time to waste. Not for Jay’s sake.

  “Helios, you might have to be my eyes and ears tonight.” I whisper.

  After heading north on a game trail for a brief period, I jog west toward the Forest Road, keeping a steady pace. Helios casually trots by my side. Because there isn’t a clean, solid trail with landmarks leading directly to the Forest Road—that would defeat the purpose of our hideout—most of my trek involves ducking and hurdling low branches, hopping over grounded trees, and forcing my way through thick patches of undergrowth. The Broken Forest isn’t lacking in obstacles.