My brow tightens. “I’ve heard the name, but she’s just some crazy old lady. Right? A hermit living in the woods outside of Greybark. How could she possibly be an answer to our woes?” I ask.
Gunther answers. “Yes, you’re correct, Elder.” He winks again. It’s becoming irritating, but I mustn’t judge the Advocate. “She is a crazy old lady living all by her lonesome in Greybark. However, I don’t see how that is decisive of her not being a solution to your despairs. As I was informing Goose, I have personal experience that tells me living alone is not a terrible thing. In my case, I like to believe it results in a wisdom beyond that of a constantly active and jabbering tongue.”
Goose and Gunther both stare at me as if they’re waiting for me to make the decision. Since when did it become my choice? I’ve told Goose many times I am not his fearless leader. I rise to my feet. The leather boots are a welcomed change.
“I’m sorry, Goose, but I have no interest in chasing down ‘possible’ solutions. My path is directly to the capital.” All this crazy talk sounds just that. Crazy! I don’t have the time to chase down crazy solutions, but I choose not to be so blunt and disheartening by telling Goose that. “I am already well behind the Woman-in-Red. They’re half a day ahead of us, likely more. She has a panther, for Susy’s sake. What do I have access to that’s faster than a panther? Nothing!”
“Not true,” says Gunther. “A panther…that’s impressive…” Gunther trails off as he rubs at his scruff. “You’re in a fishing village, lad. The river is the most direct route to the capital. I’m sure one of the captains will be willing to offer his ship for the right price. In fact, I know just the captain.”
I perk up. “Goose?” He lowers his head. He’s not coming with me. He’s choosing the path of crazy. “So…this is it, then?”
“No, Stone…” he replies calmly. “I’m not coming with you. I know how important it is for us to find Jay.” Goose rises to his feet, giving a nod of acceptance to the new footwear. He continues, and his tone strengthens as he starts pacing. “We find Jaymes, we quite possibly even rescue her, then what? We go back into hiding. Where do we go that the Taoiseach can’t find us? We defied the limits of the Broken Forest, but I doubt we’d have the same luck in the Thunder Bluffs living on the sheer cliffs, or the sink holes of the Cypress Marsh. And the Blood Plains are out of the question. We were lucky to discover the Cryptids are wary of light; otherwise, we’d never have survived in that damned forest. We were lucky, and we won’t have that same luck in the other uninhabitable regions. Besides, with the Taoiseach knowing we’re alive, we would never stand a chance against his unlimited resources. There will be no usurping him from his throne atop Parliament because we don’t have any evidence of his malicious intents. Our only way out would be to murder that monster. It’s the only way to truly save Jay and ourselves. We can’t go on living like this, Stone, and you know it. There’s nowhere else for us to run, and this Old Lady Windblown sounds like an opportunity to end it.” He stops pacing and turns to face me. “Plus, after being in this town for a night, I’d much prefer to get back to normal water closets and hot baths.”
“What are you speaking of, young lad?” Gunther inquires. He grips his back and squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. I lend him a hand to rise to his feet.
“May I?” I gesture to aid him with his back pains. The Advocate raises a hand that signifies by all means, have at it. I stand beside him and place a palm on his neck, ensuring I have flesh-to-flesh contact as he continues speaking.
“You speak of murd—ah—oh—that feels good…”
Goose’s body stiffens and he answers with confidence, ignoring the Advocate’s sudden display of elation. “Yes. It’s our only chance of survival. If Old Lady Windblown is as wise as you lead me to believe, she will have the wisdom to guide me beyond his unparalleled talents. And it will not only give us our freedom, but every other citizen of Vedora as well.”
Gunther looks at me with a smile as I sit back down. “We need one of you around here permanently. My spine feels fifty seasons younger.” He raises his arms over his head to stretch, and the sleeves of his cassock fall, revealing the leathery skin of his arms and the reality of his age. “The Captain will surely let you on his vessel with talents like that,” he assures me.
Gunther’s grin fades as his focus shifts back to Goose. “My intentions were not malicious,” the Advocate proclaims. “I simply believed you to need some guidance.”
“You’re an Advocate. I know what your intentions are, but I must do this.”
“Have you not heard of the Immortal Ruler?” Gunther adds.
“Immortal?”
“The Taoiseach dates back to The Old Races of Azure—”
“A history lesson,” Goose interrupts. “What’s your point?”
“Goose! That’s a bit brazen, don’t you think? I apologize, Your Elegance. Please forgive him.” Regardless of the direction Goose has carried this conversation, in the end, we still need Gunther’s help. He can maintain his manners.
“I’ve been around long enough to see the Taoiseach has not aged. That man is more than an ordinary Dihkai. And you’ve heard of the Grafts, no doubt. The shunned races that harbor more than one of the seasonal talents. Cursed spirits, really. Not humans. They’re demons that walk amongst us. Susy has stripped them of all integrity by muddling their blood with two races.”
Goose rolls his eyes and paces back and forth behind the pew I sit on. “Yes,” he replies. “And I suppose the Taoiseach is one of the Grafts he’s deemed taboo…” He stops pacing and grips the back of the pew. “That means he fears the Grafts,” he says with determination. “A weakness…”
“Fear, maybe. Weakness, perhaps,” Gunther replies. “An Immortal is said to have the talents of both the Hiberneyt and Lahyf—the talents of Winter and Spring. They have the ability to both preserve and regenerate tissue, which is how they create the fallacy of immortality.”
“So he’s not immortal, then?” Goose continues his pacing. “He’s a pretender.”
The Advocate shrugs. “He’s certainly a Dihkai. He’s publicly demonstrated the power to rot a man to his core. This is known. Beyond that…” Gunther shrugs again. “He’s not a Shaman, for they only have the talent of the Lahyf and Sprhowt. He’s neither, so I would presume. He could be an Imp with the talent of the Sprhowt and Dihkai, but that doesn’t quite explain the immortality and his ability to preserve his nature. The other alternative is a Grim, which fits both his ability to rot and preserve. But preservation of the tissue alone isn’t enough. He must have the talent of the Lahyf to regenerate tissue to create the fallacy of immortality. Otherwise, he’d be as stiff as the impenetrable wall that fortifies his estate.”
“So what are you saying?” I ask. “The Taoiseach is Susy himself?”
“No, no, no.” Gunther chuckles. “What I’m saying is the Taoiseach defies what we know to be true. And you may find some answers hidden within Old Lady Windblown, who challenges the Taoiseach’s own age. But these are all fables of course. Where the truth lies, I’m uncertain, but I suspect Old Lady Windblown can offer insight. One thing I do know, murder is not the answer. And Old Lady Windblown will attest to this.”
It doesn’t take Goose but a moment to dismiss Gunther’s lecture with a wave of his hand. “I can overcome the fallacy of immortality if it means getting my freedom back.”
“Can you?” I say woefully as I rise from the pew to face him. “I need your help, Goose. Please. Come with me to the capital. We can rescue Jay, then we can seek out your Old Lady Windblown. Please.”
“We split ways here, Stone.”
His mind is set. Everything about his comment—his tone, his gaze, his posture—is rigorous and unwavering. My stomach suddenly feels queasy. Four seasons our family has held tight. We escaped the Taoiseach’s grasp once before. We survived the beasts of the Broken Forest, and what now? I’ve lost the last member of my family. I plop back down onto the pew, defeated.
“So, it’s settled,” replies Gunther cheerfully. He cracks his knuckles with a few boisterous moves to validate the possibilities of his regenerated spine. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.”
An idol rises alongside the Hybreed. Competition for the savior of mankind. This man, the Taoiseach, a Dihkai, represents strength and power. The balance we strive for is weighted by this idolization he demands.
18 Jaymes
“P
eaches! Can we not find anything better to eat in the forest?” My stomach rumbles. I sink my teeth into the fuzzy fruit, cringing at the soft, succulent texture. It’s not right. The two don’t belong together. It tames my hunger, regardless, and rescinds my thirst a tad too.
“First, you’re too hot. Then, you’re too sweaty. Then, too hungry, and now, you don’t like peaches. Do you come from a line of princesses?” Ellia shakes her head at me. The look in her eye is murderous. But then again, that’s her norm.
“I would agree with Jaymes,” Astor pipes in.
That was a mistake. Ellia takes every opportunity to make Astor her chamber pot, disparaging her in any way possible. How does Astor not recognize this?
“Peaches are not ideal,” she continues. “And everyone is entitled to their own opinion. It doesn’t warrant frustration.”
There’s that murderous glare again. The band concealing one eye, her dark hair, her olive skin, that intimidating claymore strapped to her back—they all complement the wickedness within.
“If you keep expressing yours, I’ll pull out your teeth one by one until your mouth is so swollen you won’t be able to open it. Understood?”
“Why are you so crude?”
Oh no, Astor reaches for her limit. Too much sass. This could get ugly.
“Did your mother not teach you anything about being a lady when you were a child? It’s not me who needs to…understand.” That last bit comes out hesitantly. “You need to understand that I have an allergy. When I was a young girl, I ate a juicy peach just like this one. And you know what came of it?”
“No!” Ellia swats the peach from her hand and stomps on it. “And I don’t fucking care. Now you’ve lost your breakfast and you’re on your way to losing your first tooth.”
Ellia punches Astor in the mouth, knocking her down. “Argh! You fucking wench! What was that?” Ellia palms her fist, massaging it, then inspects her knuckles. “It’s not broken, but damn near. What the fuck was that? Did you just petrify your face? That’s taboo, you know.” Ellia sneers at Astor, then wanders into the wood. Likely nature’s calling.
Astor quietly rises to her feet and massages her jaw. She appears to be in good condition. She doesn’t spit any ivories this time, but she hangs on the edge about to flop into a ravine of real pain.
“Did you?”
Astor smiles. A few curse words nearly slip off my tongue, but I refrain.
She gestures for a glance at my wounds. The body exams have become routine, so I no longer retract or tease when she touches my bare skin. I lift my tunic on her approach to be done with it quicker.
“May I?” she asks politely.
Her hands are warm on my abdomen as she pokes around at the lacerations. They remain ghastly, but that’s because they weren’t properly healed by a Lahyf. This is the product of a Hiberneyt, not a Healer.
I adjust my posture and bare my cheeks, not without offering a suspicious glare.
“The bite doesn’t appear to be getting any worse,” she notes and leans back.
Done already? And she managed to keep her hands off my ass, thank Susy.
“May I take another glance at your abdomen?”
I roll my eyes, pull up my cut-off trousers, and lift my tunic again.
“That Cryptid really did a number on you,” she mutters.
“No shit.”
“The precision. I cannot get over the magnificence of how clean this laceration is. It’s hard to fathom this was done by a beast. Once we find you a real Healer, I do believe it ought to close up fine. You really lucked out.”
“Yeah, I suppose you can call it luck. I was strung up like a piece of meat and almost eaten alive by a wild beast. A miracle, really.” I roll my eyes again and pull my shirt back down, implying the exam has ended.
“Unfortunately for me, your wounds are doing great,” she whispers. “The suspended animation has prevented any further infection. Some phantom pain will remain until it is properly healed, and you’ll continue to have a bit of a limp, but overall, you’ll live.”
“Thank you.”
Astor looks at me with a caring expression. She smiles.
“How is it?” Ellia appears from the shadows.
“Compassion?” Astor replies.
I can see on her face there are so many more comments waiting to escape. She’ll be one ivory down if her mouth opens too wide.
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
“Besides the creeping infection, she’s fine,” she lies. “I can keep it at bay for the duration of the journey, but she requires a Healer proper. If I continue to suspend the newly infected tissue daily, it’ll slow the rate immensely. So I’ll keep at it. It may be her only chance of survival.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to save your own ass, would you?” Ellia moves closer and pulls my tunic up. She grimaces and drops it.
Astor stands firm with a fixed stare. “Well…I suppose you’re going to have to trust me for now.”
Ellia treads closer to Astor until she’s face-to-face with her. “It may seem as though I’m full of empty threats with just a few pushes and shoves, but remember your dear friends back in Greenport. The second I find out you’re no longer needed, I’m going to cut out that lying tongue and shove it somewhere unpleasant before selling you off to the Amorous Artillery.”
“How dare—” Astor starts but gets cut short with a backhand across the face that sends her to the ground again.
An unexpected sting flares in my cheek as a hand strikes across my face too.
“What did I do?”
She takes one step closer and I shrink in cowardice.
There’s something odd about the way she struck me. It had the normal sting, but usually there’s a warmth to it. This one was cool, and the pain lingers. Not a week ago, I wouldn’t have been able to analyze the aftermath of a slap, but it’s become routine around Ellia.
Astor remains wide-eyed, staring at me now. What’s she looking at? Does she want me to fight back? I look to the ground to avoid angering Ellia further.
“Enough wasted time. Let’s move. Jaymes, mount up.”
Ellia’s had me riding the panther for days now. I don’t know if it’s to infuriate Astor or if she doesn’t want me slowing us down, or maybe both. But it’s obvious Astor is fatigued. What can I do, though? Arguing will only make matters worse. Ellia mounts the beast behind me with Astor bound and in tow yet again.
“We have one more crossing not too far off, then it’s all navigating the Ancient Redwoods from there. The passage is marginal, and the drop is far.” Ellia hasn’t divulged any information about the risks ahead this whole time. So why now? To keep us in a state of unwavering fear? Or maybe she herself is fearful of the passage.
I eventually realize Ellia’s meaning of the phrase not too far off differs from the rest of the world’s. We trek through the thin underbrush for nearly three or four hours before arriving at the crossing. And it turns out there isn’t even a crossing.
“There’s no way I’m jumping across. Only one of the Human Knots is acrobatic enough to even attempt that leap.” I immediately find myself falling off Persia, proving my point that I’m far from the talent of that traveling contortionist group. Thankfully, the forest floor is somewhat soft here.
“You’re right. You’re rather clumsy, aren’t you? Runs in the family,” Ellia suggests.
“What in Susy’s name do you know about my family?” I shouldn’t have said that.
Ellia maneuvers to dismount the cat and plants a foot right into my ear
on her way down. I lie on the ground for a long while. I don’t recuperate from this one so quickly.
“Your sass has reached its max. No more, or you’ll find yourself at the bottom of this ravine. I don’t care what the Taoiseach sees in you.”
“So…” Astor starts hesitantly. “Where is the crossing?”
“We create one,” Ellia replies. “Jaymes, get up.”
And what do you expect me to do? Build a bridge? I wonder but refrain from saying it out loud to avoid finding out how far down this thing is.
“Exactly,” she proclaims.
Exactly what? Did I say that out loud? I didn’t. I know I didn’t.
I try it again. You want me to build a bridge? Out of what? My lips remain tight as a poor man’s purse.
“Are you so unimaginative?” Ellia grins at me, pleased with herself.
I look to Astor. She has a peculiar stare flashing between the two of us, but not one so exaggerated it tells me she knows what just happened. Ellia heard my thoughts. Ellia can hear what’s inside my head! How? What does this mean? I’m not safe. I was never safe. I never had a chance of escaping her. What is she? My thoughts run wild. But they’re no longer safe. I can’t let them run wild. My eyes fix on Ellia, and her pleased grin fades as she continues lecturing me.
“Have you not been living in the wood, fending for your life? You ought to know how to be resourceful by now.”
I stare blankly, trying to keep my mind closed, fearful of what she’ll do to me if I express the matter verbally. I raise the oasis pouch I made from palm fronds at the start of our expedition.
“Ugh.” She throws her hands in the air. I flinch. “Fell a fucking tree, for Susy’s sake. A tree is a bridge.”
“H-how?” I make sure I’m out of reach before replying. “You’re the one with the blade. I doubt you’re willing to arm me, so…” Why is she targeting me to build a bridge? Why not Astor? Err…I’ve got to keep my thoughts chained.
“Astor’s weak.”
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 20