Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Read online

  While bandaging my leg, I stare at the etching of the plant, and an exciting realization strikes me. I saw that plant earlier today. That hare was nibbling on it—the plant I used as an outlet for my failure.

  I’m hesitant to forfeit my current position, though, as the day grows older. We’re not supposed to be out past twilight. Plus, Goose is boisterous and often secretive, so it can be difficult to trust his word at times. In fact, it’s public knowledge why my brother and I are secluded in this wood. The entire region knows of it. As for Goose, he’s never opened up about why he’s here. His father chased him away. That’s as much as we know. At the time of our escape, Goose was a ray of light in the dark. Our only chance at survival. We went out on a limb in trusting him in that moment and it was all we needed to accept him into our deteriorating world. I rub my fingers over the etching and ponder a moment. I want to find it.

  I push myself to my feet and limp to the window. The sky holds enough light. Looking at my improvised bandage, I press down on my foot. It offers more pain than I’d like to endure. It could slow me down. It’s not going to stop me, however. Knowing exactly where I saw it, I can venture there and back before twilight. I know I can. I empty the contents of my haversack next to Helios, and I make way into the forest again.

  As the shadows grow larger in the undergrowth, I keep an eye out for the smaller predators—the coons, pumas, wolverines, and the like. They don’t prey upon humans, but they’ll try their best to turn me into a savory meal if I cross their path. But when night falls, they’re no longer the concern. The prime reason to stay behind closed doors at night has many names across Azure. Creature of the Night, the Broken Behemoth, the Spirit of the South, and, most commonly, a Cryptid. My family always referred to them as Lost Souls. My father said they were once humans in a past life. Humans who lived a nasty and malicious life and have been reborn as beasts of the worst kind.

  Who knows, though? They’re mere legend. In fact, none of us have actually seen one, but the legend originates from this wood, and we haven’t been willing to take any chances thus far. But that’s one of Stone’s many rules to keep us safe. Not mine. There have been a few tell-tale signs we’ve encountered, but we’re not positive. It’s a sight I’ll never forget. Just last Spring, the doe was hanging from a tree, entangled in forest vines, swaying like a dead man from a noose—and it’s unfortunate I can make that comparison. The pelt was draping from the hooves as if it had been peeled away. Judging from the small amount of sinew remaining, a savage tore into it once the hide was flayed with precision. The remnants had turned a purplish-blue color. Part of me was intrigued, but I was mostly terrified something capable of doing that lives amongst us.

  We haven’t witnessed anything else like it in all the seasons we’ve been here. It was an isolated incident, which is why I haven’t jumped to the conclusion it was a Lost Soul. It was possibly a drifting mad hunter passing through the wood. We simply don’t know. Regardless, Stone has ground rules in place for our own safety, and the foremost is nobody goes out after twilight. It’s a rule I’d prefer not to bend. But I have plenty of time.

  Despite the pain, I make it to my destination rather quickly. I scurry around the forest floor, ravaging bushes and raking through fallen brush in search of the Everweed. I know it’s here somewhere, but the fading light poses a challenge.

  I’m regretting having smashed it with the very leg in need of it now. If I recall, Goose mentioned small clusters roughly ankle high with thick leaves resembling aloe shoots and vibrant blue flowering with a radiance about them that shines day or night. But he also said there’s a flower out here that can make others desire you. Yao grass…or yao weed…or something like that. So who knows if he was blowing hot air out of his pie hole or not about this Everweed. Though, the benefits of having a cure-all remedy on hand are countless. I have to at least try to find it. Knowing it’s within reach is tantalizing.

  The outlandish variety of plant life with similar features in this damned forest isn’t helping the search. There are hundreds of species of trees from apple and cottonwood to gumwood and araucaria trees. The groundcover is just as overwhelming, including everything from small coniferous bushes to huckleberry bushes and even a variety of different grasses, including the infamous rune grass that caused this disaster. It’s as if all the known species of Azure all conglomerated in one area. I can only hope the plant I saw and the legendary Everweed are one and the same.

  “Aha!” I locate the smothered plant at the base of a cottonwood. There’s a small cluster of them. Unsure of which part provides the remedy, I rip out the root and all. An entire crop might be justified with the amount of lacerations I’ve suffered, so I stuff my undersized haversack to the top.

  The distance back to the yurt feels as though it has grown immensely with the pain creeping further up my leg. And the rags I wrapped it with are turning a darker shade as the blood soaks through. I’m not typically soft at the sight of blood, but this one seems to be affecting me. I look around and see the trees spinning, so I sit down on a fallen tree to collect myself. The dizziness isn’t subsiding. I just need to get back, and quickly before the twilight captures me.

  I press into the log with my hands to aid myself in rising. I only take a few more steps before collapsing back to the forest floor. I’ve underestimated the damage done. My vision blurs, and I can no longer feel the pain. I climb back to my feet. I’m stronger than this. I can do this.

  I manage a short distance, struggling to place each foot in front of the other before collapsing to my knees once more. Fatigued beyond reason, I am unable to remain upright. I lumber forward, and my face hits the debris-covered forest floor.

  I muster enough energy to roll onto my back, and I see sentinels on guard all around me. Their silhouettes stand tall, and their leaves weep. They tower over me and stare down in mourning as if I were lying in a casket. I fear they are going to bury me. Then she appears, and the sentinels fade behind her radiance. She glides between them, moving closer to me. I wish she could help, but she is only an illusion I won’t let go. She’s angelic, as usual. She places her hand upon my injured leg. Any pain overpowering the numbness that has bestowed me subsides. Just before my exhaustion takes over, her angelic figure is dispersed by an encroaching dark silhouette.

  I should be remorseful for the future that awaits this world. But I am not. I am fearful down to the core. Fearful for myself, for all of those who I love, for all of those who will lose their lives, and for all the other innocents in the world.

  2 Stone

  C limbing never was at the top of my skillset. Nor am I fond of hanging about in high places. With my lanky limbs and natural ungainliness, I don’t long to participate in such activities. However, the hunger of a young man is constant when fending for himself in the Broken Forest. Occasionally the temptation of a ripe pear causes me to go against my own grain and up several layers of branches.

  “Goose! Help get me down, will you? My legs are going numb. I don’t think I can hold myself much longer.”

  “What’s wrong, mate? You’re upside down. Do you need the assistance of The Almighty Goose Greyson?”

  He leaps to grab the lowest branch and climbs from limb to limb like an ape.

  With his arrogance and the fact that he’s proving his worth, I find it rather difficult to resist throwing the pear at him. I would probably miss anyways.

  “Hurry, please.” I didn’t know such muscles existed in my ankles. With one leg wedged between a fork in the branch and the other dangling aimlessly, I am only hanging on by an acute curl of my toes. The situation is further pressed because my anxiety mixed with the humid air covers my body in a light coat of sweat. How do I get myself in these messes?

  Goose rises to my level in no time, offering his hand to help pull me upright, but I don’t have enough leverage to reach him. Instead, he pulls me up by my dirty blue tunic. Once upright, Goose lets go, unaware my tunic has snagged the most flexible branch on the tree. My bod
y whips backward. Goose reacts by grabbing the first thing he can, which happens to be my oily brown locks.

  “Argh!”

  Fortunately, I’ve let grooming go to the wayside for the past four seasons, so its long enough for him to capture a nice big wad, which eases the pain as well.

  “Stop crying, and be thankful my hands are quicker than a frog’s tongue, you wailer.” He grabs a fistful of my tunic to ensure I’m stable before letting go. “I’d wager to say you were hungry enough to eat a tiger’s rump to strike up the courage and climb this high for a lousy pear. And you only have one! What’s that all about? You know what my nana would say, ‘A pear solo and you’ll go rolo; a pear in pairs ignites your inner flares.’ You should always eat pears in twos, or you’ll end up rolling over into an early grave. It’s common folklore. My nana would be shaking her head at you.”

  “Tell your nana I’m sorry. I was starving.”

  “Good location for stalking.” Goose looks down to the undergrowth. In search of prey, I presume. “But if you’re going after pears, I take it you didn’t kill anything?”

  I shrug. “You neither, huh?”

  “Nope. Shall we spend the afternoon at the fishing hole? How you getting back down anyways?” Goose’s brow wrinkles, followed by a satisfied grin. “You can eat shit if you think I’m going to carry you back down. I’m no man’s ride. That’s what beasts are for.”

  “Well… I didn’t think it all the way through. Hunger outperformed gravity. Until now.” High places make my knees shake, so yes, the hunger drove me past my better judgment for a single pear.

  Goose will descend without a problem. He’s the type who grabs the bull by the horns and boasts to the beast how amazing he is while doing it. Plus, his fear of heights is nonexistent, unlike me.

  “You’re a Sprhowt. Can’t you use your talent to get me down?” I ask with desperation lingering in my voice. I force a small branch into his face. “Here. Do your work, Greenthumb.”

  “Phh. Yeah. Whatever.” He yanks it from my hands and lets it thwack me in the head. “I could, but that would be too easy and not nearly as fun as watching you try to climb down. I’ll see you on ground level. Wake me when you get there.” And he works his way back down the same way he came up.

  Goose isn’t sophisticated enough to actually accomplish my request. That’s the true reason he mocks me. I’ve seen him enhance the growth of much smaller, less dense objects, but to extend a solid tree branch far enough to lower me to the ground would take the skills of somebody who attended the Academy. His knowledge of his talent is equivalent to mine. The only difference is I am willing to accept I know very little. I’m aware of my incompetence, fears, and the like. Maybe a little too much.

  Since the incident four seasons ago, it seems as though all my fears have increased tenfold. All I want to do is protect Jay, but we picked the most dangerous location in the realm to lay low. Jay and I have been in debate over whether we should remain hidden, but I know it’s too soon to surface. The McLarin name is tainted. The Taoiseach has seen to that.

  The Taoiseach gets complete blame for all of this. I wouldn’t be in this damned tree if it weren’t for his cruelty. It’s not possible my father, the Architect of Parliament and a descendant of The First Four, was involved in conspiring to create genocidal warfare amongst the other races. My parents were honorable with a strong family bond and good values. None of it adds up. Especially because their daughter was born in Autumn, which makes her a Dihkai. The thought that they would seek out annihilation of a race other than their own is not only irrational, it’s asinine. And what would stop future generations from birthing more Dihkai if all it takes is an autumnal birth. The seasons decide our race, or Susy if you’re of the faith., so it would have to be a quick slaughter of the masses to gain a shift in power. My parents didn’t have a strong enough motive.

  The Taoiseach is the only one who knows the truth of my parents’ deaths. One day, maybe, I’ll find the truth behind everything, but for now, I need to find a way out of this tree.

  If only I were a Sprhowt. Every branch would be a tool. Unfortunately, for this situation anyways, I’m a Lahyf. And the ability to heal won’t get me down. The hard way it is. A test of my courage and strength. I suppose I was able to get up here, even if my stomach was the driving force, so I know I can get down. I just need to find the drive.

  I lower one leg, feeling around for the nearest branch. There it is. I plant both feet on it and carefully lower myself. Success. Again, I stretch a leg out to feel for the next one. Again, I plant both feet and lower myself. Success.

  “This isn’t so bad,” I mumble aloud. I move for the next branch, find it, plant my feet, and a loud crack sounds. The branch gives out. I tumble headfirst, getting mauled by several branches on the way down. Unable to grab hold of any of them, I plunge until the ground breaks my fall. I gasp for air as it avoids my lungs. The pain is too much. I close my eyes.

  I’m unsure how much time has passed when I come to. Squinting, I shade my eyes with my hand as the sun peers through the tiniest of cracks in the canopy above. I roll over and prop myself up, brushing the forest debris from my tunic. My neck is searing with pain, but I realize it is only the scar the Taoiseach left me with. The pain flares from time to time, so I disregard it. I search my body for any other injuries, but there are none. Not a scratch, except on my pride. But that’s nothing new.

  It seems a good portion of the afternoon has passed. We may yet have time to get our lines in the water. I rise to my feet and search for Goose.

  Goose leans against a moss-covered boulder, eyelids closed. To my surprise, it looks naturally comfortable, which aggravates me.

  “GOOSE!”

  He frees his small blade from his belt and flails it about. Wide-eyed and shocked, just the reaction I was looking for. It lightens my mood. One point, Goose—one point, Stone.

  “Oh… You made it down.”

  His arrogance is obnoxious after just witnessing him play the role of a terrified moron.

  “What day is it? I’m not graying… Or worse, going bald, am I?” He combs his fingers through the hard part in his hair, scratches at his tight-cropped beard, and gets up, smacking me on the back with more enthusiasm than necessary. “No, but seriously, what day is it?”

  “How did you not see… Never mind. Shall we get going? We can’t come home empty handed. Jaymes will never let us hear the end of it.”

  We head off to our normal fishing hole where we always score dinner.

  It’s a remote basin of water hunkered deep in a gully with steep slopes on all sides, except where the water flows. Maybe forty or fifty paces across, located at the base of a waterfall not too far from the castle of twigs we call home. The serenity of this spot is rare for a forest filled with predators of all masses and all sizes of fangs. Small prey often bypass it for others with easier access, which also keeps the predators away. But today, a petite water deer wades in the shallows, hardly acknowledging our approach. Above, cascading willows border the ridgeline, which aren’t too tall, allowing for a needed break in the canopy. It adds a majestic sparkle to the clear, red waters. And although the sun is blistering hot, a solid glimpse of it eases the constant damper of darkness this wood creates. Overall, it makes for a great fishing hole and an even better swimming hole. But today we fish.

  I lose my footing when something strikes the line. “It’s the lunker! It has to be!”

  Goose sheathes his kukri and drops his most recent catch to rush over and assist me. However, his form of assistance consists of telling me how much better he’d do in my situation. It’s a hindrance really, but I’ve put up with it for seasons and wouldn’t expect anything less of him.

  “You know… if I were you, Stone, I’d already have that thing fryin’ by now. You’re too tight. What I would do is give him some slack, so he feels free. Then yank it back, crushing its hope. Do that over and over, and you’ll wear it down and have him in your net in no time. It’s a fish
, for Susy’s sake! They’re as intelligent as the ones swimming around in your trousers. All you have to do is tug on the line a few times to get the results you want.”

  Frustrated, I follow his crude and arrogant suggestion. And what peeves me more is his suggestion works. The fish thrashes in the shallow waters in no time. As I pull it out of the water, I hear a horrendous amount of laughter.

  “What…is…that?” Goose continues in his berserk state of glee for a few moments. “Thanks for contributing, Stone, but one fish stick won’t feed the lot of us.” He continues to laugh as he gathers his tackle, his catch of the day, consisting of a half dozen perch, and the arachniwhip he always carries for protection.

  “A bloody bluegill! Is that it? There couldn’t be a smaller fish in this entire water hole. It’s a mistake. There was a larger one on the line before… Four…no five times its size. There’s no way this small fry had that much fight in him.” My face gets warm. How embarrassing.

  “Better luck next time, eh.” He gives me a soft pat on the back as if I’m a weeping boy who’s lost his mother.

  We meander back home through the wood mostly in silence due to the night creeping up on us. Goose breaks the silence with his uninvited mockery.

  “Jay sure is going to be grateful for our catch today. Don’t you think? You know how much she loves bluegill. There’s nothin’ better than a mouthful of seasoned scales and bones. Remember that when I’m on my deathbed. That’s what I want for my last meal.”