Chapter 8 Sam
Sam
The trees closed in around us as we hauled Faelan deeper into the woods. His weight bore down like he’d grown roots mid-stride, and every step felt like a struggle against the pull of the land itself—like he had already begun the process of being swallowed whole.
And the forest seemed different than it had before, too. The farther we went, the thicker the air grew. Even by moonlight, the trees were greener than they should have been, and the ground was springy with new moss.
I kept glancing at Faelan, hoping he’d snap out of it once he gained some distance from Randy, but he was only getting worse, not better.
“Just a little farther,” Bethany said, though none of us had any idea where we were even going.
Callie glanced back to make sure nobody from camp had followed us, but the gathering had been too wrapped up in Randy’s nonsense to notice. That was the only good thing about this situation—no one would “helpfully” make it worse, because no one knew we had a problem.
Yet.
“Look—over here,” Bethany said as she broke into a jog.
Callie and I trailed behind her, half-carrying Faelan as Bethany veered toward a low, squat structure tucked between the trees. The wood was gray from exposure and the slatted windows were dark and empty.
“A shed?” I asked, but Bethany shook her head.
“Hunting blind,” she said. “Deer season is a big deal around here.”
I winced. “Nothing says ‘safe haven’ like a shooting gallery.”
But we had no other option.
Callie wrangled the door open, and the smell of damp plywood and mildew rolled out.
The inside was cramped and dark. Bethany pulled out a pocket flashlight.
The walls were particleboard, darkened with age and waterlogged around the edges.
Short horizontal window slats ran along all four sides, just high enough for the wind to slip through.
The floor was dirt, packed hard from years of boots pressing down.
Dry leaves had blown in through the gaps and gathered in corners alongside cigarette butts and a crumpled Twinkie wrapper.
No furniture, no comfort—just four walls built for waiting, for watching, for taking something down when the moment was right.
But it was all we had.
Bethany and I guided Faelan through the narrow door with his weight dragging between us. He was too big for the cramped space, and when we lowered him, it wasn’t graceful—it was more like collapse.
His back hit the packed earth floor, and he exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of something deeper than breath.
Bethany shuddered beside me, chafing away gooseflesh. Callie gave the place a quick once-over. “Okay,” she said. “Now what do we do?”
Faelan pondered this for a moment, then said, “Nothing.”
I turned to him. “Excuse me?”
He sighed as if he’d already made peace with a fate the rest of us hadn’t caught up to yet. His eyes flickered in the dim light, the green in them deeper now, more like moss than fire.
“Samantha,” he said, and my stomach tensed at the quiet weight in his voice. “This is the way of things. The seed breaks open so the tree can rise. The river eats away at stone until it carves a new path. The deer falls so the wolf may live. Nothing lasts forever.”
His hand pressed to the dirt floor as if he felt the land making space for him.
“I was never meant to stay anywhere for long,” he said.
“That’s the way it has always been. I come when the season calls.
And when the earth no longer needs me, I go.
But now the cycle has turned, and this is price of imbalance.
The land will take what it must to restore what’s been disrupted, and I—” He sighed. “I won’t fight what has already begun.”
I gritted my teeth. “Nice speech, but I don’t see you as some sacrificial lamb.”
Faelan gave me the ghost of a smile. “No. Lambs are innocent. I am not. I’ve walked through more lifetimes than you can count.
I’ve shaped forests, guided rivers, whispered to the roots and watched trees rise.
I’ve danced with mortals and left them behind, knowing the seasons would carry me elsewhere. But now, it’s my turn to be claimed.”
I shook my head. “No way. That’s not how this ends.”
“How can you stop it—how could anyone stop the inevitable? It’s a battle as old as man…and the land has always won. You’ll do nothing because there’s nothing to be done,” he said. “Leave me here, go back to your world, and let the land take what it’s owed.”
“The hell we will.” Faelan wasn’t going anywhere if I could help it. I turned to Callie and Bethany, ignoring the fact that the old particleboard was already sprouting tiny green shoots. “Anything that can be done can be un-done. We need that book.”
And with that, I stood up, brushed myself off, and headed for Morning Wood.
By the time we got back to camp, the first rays of dawn were peeking through the trees and the fire had burned low.
Everyone had wandered off to their tents or cabins, including Randy, who had finally crashed in the communal lodge, sprawled across a pile of blankets, with the drone of his snores filling the room.
His book—our problem—was tucked firmly under one arm.
We crouched just outside the entrance and peered at him through the window.
Bethany shifted beside me. “So…how do we do this?”
Callie was rummaging through the stuff on a nearby picnic table, and she held up a book with a small, triumphant sound.
The Cosmic Guide to Unlocking Your Personal Power: Harnessing the Inner Vortex for Manifestation and Spiritual Ascension.
“We’ll just swap it out with this, Temple of Doom style, and he won’t even notice. ”
I stared at the glittery, embossed cover. “It’s awfully…sparkly.”
She shrugged. “We’re lucky to find a book around here at all.”
Fair point.
I pulled a crumpled paper bag from a pile of kindling. “Then let’s cover it up and hope for the best.”
I ripped the bag open and wrapped it around the new book, hoping for something rustic and mysterious. It looked like a fourth-grade math textbook.
Bethany tilted her head to one side. “We need it to look…aged.”
We turned, in perfect unison, to the abandoned cups of nasty campground coffee sitting nearby.
A minute later, we had the worst forgery in history. The page edges were unevenly stained, the paper bag was damp in some spots and dry in others, and the whole thing had the sad, soggy look of a lunch bag left out in the rain.
I held it up.
Bethany squinted.
Callie nodded decisively. “It’s perfect.”
Doubtful. But it was all we had. I squared my shoulders and stood. “Let’s get this over with.”
Creeping into the lodge was easy. Yes, the door hinges complained, and yes, the floorboards squeaked like nobody’s business. But Randy was out cold, mouth open, drooling into his pillow.
Unfortunately, the sacred book was wedged under his arm, clutched tighter than a favorite teddy bear.
I braced myself. This was going to take finesse.
I eased the fake book into my left hand. My right hovered over his grip, waiting for the exact moment his breathing shifted just enough—there.
A slow, steady movement. Swap the books, tuck the new one in, pull the old one free.
Almost there.
Then my sleeve caught on Randy’s blanket.
Not just any blanket. A hideous, scratchy, crocheted afghan, the kind made from whatever yarn was left in someone’s craft bin. It was mostly mustard yellow, with bursts of burnt orange and moss green, and my stupid button had lodged itself into one of the loose stitches.
I froze.
Randy stirred.
Bethany’s eyes went huge, her mouth forming the words “oh no” with a sharp inhale. Callie slapped both hands over her own face like she was watching a horror movie unfold in real time.
I tried to pull back gently, but the afghan shifted, dragging Randy’s pillow just enough to make him grumble.
His arm flopped over his eyes, and I had half a second to act before he woke up for real.
I straightened, put on my best ethereal voice, and whispered:
“Sleep now, seeker…your destiny awaits at sunrise.”
Randy sighed and muttered, “The energies…aligning….” before settling deeper into sleep.
I wriggled my sleeve free and nearly flung myself backward. The book was in my hands. The fake was tucked under his arm.
We bolted.
We didn’t stop moving until we were well past the picnic tables, hidden behind a stack of camping gear.
Bethany covered her face. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Sleep now, seeker!” Callie snorted.
I crossed my arms. “He bought it, didn’t he?”
Bethany sucked in a breath, still catching up to reality. “I think you just confirmed his entire life’s purpose.”
“You’re his spirit guide now,” Callie said.
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Whatever. We have the book.”
Bethany sobered. “Right. And we’d better figure out how to use it.”
I turned the ancient book over in my hands. The leather cover was smooth from years of handling, and the brittle pages seemed heavy with meaning. This was no self-help nonsense. This was the real deal.
Something that had already done damage.
I swallowed hard and met their gazes. “Let’s get back to Faelan.”
We took off into the woods, hoping we weren’t too late.