by Tracy Lane
Kayne wondered if, wounded, the rest of the Hooter would wither and die itself. Or was Kronos’ magic so powerful that a new talon would form, bigger and stronger than the one before it?
Lutheran leaned against an outcropping of trees, bending over to catch his breath. Aurora gently let go of his hand, peering up at Kayne closely.
“What… what did you just do?” she asked, eyes searching desperately for an answer.
He looked at her, slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Aurora.”
“Sorry for what?” Her pert nostrils flared.
He sighed. “It’s forbidden for mortals to know the exact location of the Land of Morgis, so I… I couldn’t tell you we were already here until, well…”
He spread his arms, taking in the majestic, if intimidating view just inside the hollow mountain. “… until we were already here.”
“Here?” she asked, looking around.
There was a smudge of dirt on her face, and a leaf in her hair from where the Hooters had flapped their giant, leathery wings during their aborted attack.
He picked it out for her, gently, tenderly.
“You mean…” she persisted, waving his hand away. “We’re already here? At the Morgis, the Land of the Oracles?”
He nodded, then shook his head. “Well, first we must pass through the Sacred Forest, and evade capture by the Wandering Spirits, but once we do we’ll be…”
As if on cue, there was movement behind them. Kayne turned, his hood falling down off his face with the sudden gesture. He scanned the horizon, seeing only the dense woods of the Sacred Forest that protected the Land of Morgis.
The trees were giant, massive, towering and bleak, like a wooden maze filled with dagger-like branches and sharp, dripping vines and rich, leathery bark.
They stretched high into the sky, blotting out the sun’s rays that burst through the top of the hollow mountain. The thick treetops and sheer number of branches and leaves lining the canopy high above cast the three of them into near darkness.
Kayne sensed a presence at the edge of the forest, a kind of low, threatening hum he always felt in the presence of magic – dark or light. He inched forward, the hem of his enchanted cloak hovering mere inches off the ground, like white, shimmering leaves swirling at his feet.
Aurora inched beside him. He felt her before he saw her, face smiling and uncertain next to his own. On the other side, Lutheran limped along, bruised and battered by the eventful morning, using the shattered remains of his walking stick more like a cane.
She reached for his hand then, their young skin crackling with power – white-blue hot power – as she raised his hand in her own to light the treacherous path in front of them.
“There,” she said with a satisfied tone. “It was growing dark in here.”
“I never thought of myself as a human torch,” he said, “but this does come in handy.”
“You’re not human, remember,” she snickered by his side as they approached the dense, dark forest that lay just behind the closed door to the mountain.
Next to them, seeking the warmth of their light, Lutheran cracked, “I’m the only human around these parts, remember. You’re both some kind of magical, at least when you’re together—”
“You’re all human!” shouted a voice, loud and thundering, hoarse and cracked, just in front of them.
“Who goes there?” asked Kayne, raising his and Aurora’s hands to cast light onto, and into, the thick forest.
“Show yourself!” he commanded, trying to sound braver than he really was.
“Right in front of you,” came the voice and, peering closely, Kayne saw a large face looming in the trunk of the nearest tree. He approached it, dragging Aurora with him.
It was sticking out of a gnarled tree trunk, a broken branch for a crooked nose, two mossy bulbs for eyes that glowed a misty green and a deep gash in its bark for a leering, crooked mouth.
Suddenly, the mouth moved. “Now you see me,” it said, just before the face disappeared. They all inched closer, like children around a candy store window, peering at a random, generic tree trunk. No longer did mossy eyes or a broken branch or a leering grin mar its leather bark. It was now just a tree, and only a tree.
“Now you don’t!”
The voice was disembodied, but nearby. It could have come from above, or behind, or beside them. Or perhaps even beneath them. Kayne had heard only tall tales about the Sacred Forest, never having entered it for himself before.
“Over here,” it called and suddenly appeared in another ancient tree trunk just to the left of them. This one featured the same mossy eyes, blinking with a low, green, spectral glow, the same knobby branch shaped nose and the same rough gash in its bark for a mouth.
“Here I am,” it bragged, the gash moving just like a human mouth. “Right here!”
“Who are you?” asked Kayne, dragging Aurora’s hand along with his for a closer look.
“What are you?”
“I am the Guardian of the Sacred Forest,” said the tree trunk proudly, voice booming in the ancient woods. Its crooked mouth creaked when it spoke, adding to the dry timbre of the Guardian’s scolding tone.
“I help protect the Oracles by keeping outsiders from the Land of Morgis.” Its mossy eyes glowed greener as they peered out at them suspiciously.
“Outsiders like you!”
“What if the outsiders are trying to right a wrong?” asked Kayne, inching closer still. Aurora followed closely, her hand awkwardly high like his own. “Shouldn’t they be allowed to see the Oracles then?”
“If you were trying to right a wrong, my dear boy,” said the Guardian, “the Oracles would already know about it. And when the Oracles knew about it, they’d tell me about—”
“Not if you keep us from them,” interrupted Aurora.
“Silence, mortal!” thundered the Guardian.
Kayne could feel Aurora’s anger rising through the energy pulsing through her arm. A small shock of light sizzled through her fingers, into his, forming a shaft of power that shot out toward the Guardian and cut through one of his higher branches like a hot blade through butter. The smell of burning wood filled the edge of the forest.
Around them, the trees shivered, leaves falling as branches creaked as if tossed about in a sudden wind.
“Who dares wound the Guardian of the Sacred Forest?” boomed the tree, eyes glowing a gassy green.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora apologized before Kayne could stop her. “But as you see, I’m not all human.”
The tree regarded her skeptically, mossy eyes glowing as his bark lips frowned.
“You’re human enough, my dear,” it said cryptically, crooked gash moving up and down as if the tree might be laughing at her.
At them.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Kayne, gripping Aurora’s hand tightly as another power ball threatened to erupt from their palms.
“It means for her what it means for you all,” thundered the enchanted tree, mossy eyes glaring at them. “This forest isn’t just sacred, it’s haunted.”
“By whom?” Lutheran finally found the courage to ask, leaning crookedly on what remained of his shattered walking stick.
“By those who came before you, of course,” barked the Tree, as if he might have had something to do with it. “All who have tried to find the Land of Oracles and failed stayed here, angry and undead and vengeful, haunting these woods so that no one else gets the chance they themselves were denied.”
Kayne glanced toward Aurora, feeling the fear in her heart sap her power. He gripped her hand tightly and said, “We don’t plan to fail, Guardian.”
The tree laughed, a booming sound soon picked up by the Guardian’s brethren. Throughout the haunted wood, the trees formed garish gashes in their bark, chuckling a dry, husky laugh that echoed throughout the Sacred Forest.
“Neither did they,” the Guardian chuckled, slash of a mouth creaking with every syllable. “Neither did they, boy.”
> “We shall pass,” said Kayne, feeling the power surge through his veins. “We shall find the Oracles, and we shall—”
Aurora’s power surged through him as she hissed, “That’s enough, Kayne.”
“We shall what?” heckled the Tree, then all the trees, as Aurora and Kayne made their way into the forest. “We shall what?”
“Be careful what you say,” Aurora warned, still clinging tightly to his hand for light in the darkness. “The trees have ears.”
“Literally,” chuckled Lutheran, using his shortened walking stick to point at the mossy growths of a nearby tree.
38
The forest thinned considerably after the first thick outcropping just inside the mountain walls, but fewer trees did not make for faster going. The ground was soft and moist, covered in a thick white fog that hid gnarled roots and slithering bugs.
They walked closely together, Kayne holding Aurora’s hand to help light the way. The fog thickened the farther they went into the forest, making it hard to tell if they were going north, or south, or east, or east again.
Aurora was leaning over to tighten her laces with her free hand when a voice whispered in her ear, “Turn back, dear.”
“Kayne,” she said, slapping his shoulder playfully. “Quit toying with me.”
“Me?” he asked, fog up to mid-thigh. “I didn’t say a word—”
“Not him,” said the voice, louder now. “ME!”
Suddenly Aurora shot through the air, as if shoved from behind, landing shoulder first against the nearest tree trunk.
“Ooomph,” she gushed, the wind nearly leaving her body. A lance of pain shot through her right arm as she slid down the leathery bark to the cold, mossy ground, shaking her head in confusion.
“Who’s there?” Aurora shrieked, hating the high tone of fear in her voice but unable to control it. “Show yourself!”
She raised her hand to light the path in front of her, but could do no magic without Kayne by her side. She blinked her eyes, the mist rising, and could no longer see her traveling companions.
Have I been thrown that far? she wondered, silently, shivering in the dark and desperate for the enchantment Kayne gave her when they were together.
“I am!” said the voice, vaguely feminine, with dark, masculine overtones. “Right! Here!”
Aurora felt herself being kicked in the stomach, hard, by rock solid feet. Or hands. Or who knew what!?
She grunted and rolled away from the source of violence, finding only the musty cold chill of the earth to greet her. The forest seemed to slide away as she rose, on unsteady feet.
“Kayne!” she called, desperate now, frazzled.
Helpless.
“Lutheran?”
But her voice didn’t travel far, lost in the thick white mist that surrounded her. She felt her way along the tree trunk, hearing distant cries just out of reach.
“They can’t hear you now,” came the voice, more feminine this time. Closer, too. “You’re all mine!”
Aurora felt pressure at the back of her hair before, suddenly, she was yanked off the ground, feet dangling inches above the mist as someone, or something, held her by her hair. She cried out in pain, only to be let go unceremoniously, landing in a heap at the foot of yet another towering tree trunk.
She spun, quickly, spying the shape of a girl as it formed from the mist. It glowed an eerie light blue, the mist taking shape, limb by limb. One leg, then another, a torso, an arm, another, a neck, a head, long, stringy black hair. It was like a block of clay taking shape before her eyes.
Aurora took her walking stick and swung, the wood swirling through the gray-blue mist. But as soon as the danger had passed, the shape formed again. Angry laughter filled the air around her.
“You can’t hurt me, mortal!” it cried. “Just you try!”
Aurora knew, instinctively, the shape was right. It must have been a forest spirit, a haunted soul, one of the angry mortals who’d died in pursuit of the elusive Oracles.
“W-w-who are you?” Aurora stammered on purpose, playing the part of the fearful mortal. “Why are you doing this?”
The shape grew more physical as it inched toward her, long dark hair surrounding a ghostly face, harsh black lips curling in a frown below big, black eyes.
“Who are you?” It mimicked Aurora, like a schoolgirl might, sneering a ghostly sneer. “Why are you doing this?”
Aurora quivered, on her knees, pretending like she needed the walking stick for support. As the shape drew nearer, details of the face became clearer: a nose, sharp and unpleasant, with a sharp chin to match. Piggish eyes and big ears and that stringy, black hair that seemed to surround the ghostly white face like a funeral wreath.
It wore a dowdy dress, made of thin material, as if from olden times and not of the latest styles. Her feet disappeared into the mist, topped by long, bony legs.
“What befell you?” Aurora tried to reason with it.
“The same fate that will befall you!” the Shape cried, proudly, as if Aurora had already been frightened to death.
Aurora watched the Shape drift closer, becoming more real with every misty step. “Won’t you do me the honor of telling me your name?” Aurora asked, grasping at straws.
“Is that your final request?” the Shape laughed, a hollow sound echoing through the Sacred Forest.
“If it must be.”
The Shape wavered, looking doubtful.
“Sharazam,” it blurted, quickly, as if Aurora might change her mind.
“But why did you try to find the Oracles?”
“I wanted to know my future, of course.”
“Did you find out?” Aurora asked.
Sharazam seemed to grow before Aurora’s eyes, her face filing with rage. “Does it look like it?” she bellowed, a cold breeze passing through Aurora’s skin.
Aurora held up her hands in defeat. “But how did you even get in here?” she asked, buying time. She kept waiting for Kayne to approach her, for her skin to tingle with the presence of his half of their magic connection.
It never came.
She was trying to save herself, one word at a time.
Sharazam cocked her head, black hair waving in the wind of her own making. It was like the hem of Kayne’s cloak, always moving, even when she wasn’t.
“I seduced a mage,” she confessed, almost proudly, “who gave me the spell to chant and open the door.”
“You tricked them?” Aurora marveled, really playing it up. “How… imaginative.”
The air grew chill and, suddenly, Aurora felt the presence of another ghosts. Or several, as it turned out. One by one they appeared from the mist, some more focused than others, some wispy, all surrounding her with their gray, unhappy faces.
“What’s… what’s happening?” Aurora stammered as Sharazam faded into the background.
Sharazam’s voice was distant as she chuckled, “I wanted you to meet a few of my friends.”
The ghostly images wavered in front of her, beside her, behind her. They lifted her up as if she were no heavier than a rag doll, tossed her around, pulled her hair, tore at her clothes.
Aurora was confused. She’d always believed that ghosts were specters, images, ghostly visions to be heard, even seen, but never touched. But these ghosts had physical form, some more physical than others, all painful!
“Stop!” Aurora chanted and, in her anger, small flickers began to crackle at her fingertips. Still the ghosts persisted, battering her, beating her, tugging and kicking and pulling.
“Stop! This! Right! Now!” At last Aurora’s hand was engulfed in power, as if she was wearing a glove full of moonlight.
It glowed as she waved it at the creatures, their faces, horrified and angry, coming into clearer focus as she pointed at them, waved her fist at them, illuminating each one as she passed. Sharazam cowered in a corner, clinging to a tree, as Aurora approached her.
“What have I done to deserve this?” she asked as the ghost, shivering now, sli
d down the tree trunk, covering her head. “What do you have against me?”
39
“You’re alive,” came a gentle voice from behind.
This one was different. It sounded almost… human. Aurora whirled, only to find a small, frail woman dressed in rags and leaning on a gnarled root for a cane.
“That’s why they taunt you, dear. Can’t you see that?”
Aurora approached her, fingers crackling with power as she neared. The woman squinted, raising a frail hand to guard against the powerful light.
Feeling her rage dissipating, Aurora’s fingers dimmed, then extinguished. She studied her hand, feeling disappointed that her power had left her.
Was Kayne near?
Was that why she was feeling so… magical?
“It’s not your friend,” said the old woman, winking at her knowingly. “Your power is your own, dear. You just haven’t mastered it yet. But you will. Give it time, dear, and you will some day.”
“Are you… are you the oracle?” Aurora asked.
The woman cackled, joined by a chorus of ghosts as they inched closer, surrounding Aurora with their spectral bodies.
“Heavens no, child,” she said, voice hearty despite her frail, wizened appearance. “Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that you’re bursting with power just dying to get out.”
The old woman crept nearer, using the cane to hobble along, her legs hidden up to the ankle in the Sacred Forest’s hovering mists. Her hair was wispy white and long, her wrinkled skin covered in a humble, linen robe.
“Then who… who are you?” Aurora asked.
Around her, the ghosts kept a respectful distance. Even so, Sharazam inched closer to the old woman, putting a protective, spectral hand on her shoulder.
With her misty young hand on the stranger’s flesh and blood shoulder, it was even more apparent that the old woman was not, in fact, a ghost.
“I am a guide, of sorts,” said the woman, nodding kindly up at Sharazam. “I’m sorry if my friends were… rude… to you but, you see, they’re very protective of me.”
Aurora nodded. She could see that. All around the old woman, ghosts stood, or hovered, or bent, or glowered. There were dozens of them, all around this tiny clearing in the Sacred Forest. Men, women, children, teenagers, young, old, all shimmering or firm or ghostly or misty, but none flesh as the old woman was.