Chapter 11 Sam
Sam
I lunged for the ancient book that lay forgotten on the floor of the hunting blind with its pages splayed open where we’d dropped it.
My hands trembled as I picked it up, scanning the strange symbols and characters that covered the yellowed paper.
I expected them to be incomprehensible—some archaic language lost to time.
But as tears gathered in my eyes, the markings shifted and blurred, suddenly resolving into actual words. It was as if my grief had become a lens, translating what should have been impossible.
“I can read it,” I whispered.
Callie crouched beside me, her brow furrowed. “But how?”
“I don’t know how, but I can.” I ran my finger along the text, and the symbols shimmered beneath my touch. “I see the words.”
Bethany peered over my shoulder. “That can’t be. Those aren’t even letters.”
“They are to me.” I turned the pages with growing urgency until I found what I was looking for. “This was the spell Randy did. And I know exactly where it went wrong.”
Carefully, I picked through the strange language. The symbols matched the cadence of the words I remembered him saying, and caught on the spot where he’d stumbled.
But more importantly, I could see where he’d stopped.
“Not only did he screw it up,” I said. “He didn’t finish it.” I scanned the page again. “This isn’t just a summoning, it’s a complete cycle. There’s supposed to be an exchange.”
“What kind of exchange?” Callie’s voice was small in the flower-scented air.
I swallowed hard. “A sacrifice.”
Bethany’s face went pale. “I really don’t think we know enough to mess with this.”
“It’s not like we can make it any worse.” One of the sentences called out to me, and I put all my focus there. “It says ‘that which is valued by the summoner shall be given freely to the land.’”
Callie and Bethany exchanged worried glances.
“We have to complete the ritual,” I said, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. “We have to do it right.”
Callie placed a gentle hand on my arm. “Sam, think about what you’re saying. We don’t know what this means.”
“I do know what it means,” I insisted, my eyes fixed on Faelan. The vines that had seemed so vigorous were curling at the edges, the flowers in his beard dropping petals one by one. “We started something we didn’t understand, and now we have to finish it.”
Bethany nervously fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “Maybe we should try to find someone who really knows about these things—”
“There’s no time,” I cut in, gesturing to Faelan. Another cascade of petals fell from his hair. “I’m doing this. And either you’re going to help me, or stay out of my way.”
“Sam, hold on—” Callie started, but I was already reading.
The words felt strange on my tongue, ancient and new all at once. I couldn’t have told you what language I was speaking—it most definitely wasn’t English—but the meaning was clear to me as I spoke. I was acknowledging the power of the forest, the cycle of seasons, the balance of giving and taking.
The air in the hunting blind changed as I read, growing thicker, charged with a primal energy. The vines along the walls pulsed with each word, stretching toward me like they could hear. Faelan’s breathing steadied slightly as his chest rose and fell in rhythm with my voice.
I was reaching him.
I continued to read, letting the strange syllables flow through me, until I reached the final passage—the part about the sacrifice. I faltered for just a moment, my eyes darting to Faelan’s still form, to the scattering of petals surrounding his head like a halo.
And I knew what I had to do.
“That which is valued by the summoner shall be given freely to the land,” I read aloud in English, then looked up at my friends. “I’m the summoner now. It has to be something of mine.”
Callie’s eyes widened with understanding. “Sam, be careful. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
But I did. For the first time since I’d arrived in these woods, I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing.
I set the book down carefully and moved to kneel beside Faelan. The vines around him parted as I approached, making space for me as if they recognized my intent.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone—the thing that had kept me tethered to a world of concrete and deadlines, the symbol of everything I thought mattered. And yet, it felt cold and lifeless in my palm. A poor offering for what I was asking in return.
“It’s not enough.” I tossed it aside.
Without hesitation, I straddled Faelan’s still form. The vines shifted beneath me, accommodating my weight. His chest barely rose anymore, the rhythm of his breath growing fainter by the second.
“I need a knife,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.
Callie stepped back, alarmed. “A knife? What the hell, Sam?”
“I need to make a sacrifice.” I held out my hand.
“We don’t just carry knives around,” Bethany protested, her eyes wide. “Sam, you can’t be serious!”
“Look at him!” I shouted, gesturing at Faelan’s still form. “He’s dying. The forest is consuming him. I have to do this.”
I scanned the hunting blind desperately, looking for anything that could break skin. “Give me something—anything! A piece of glass, a sharp stick, I don’t care—”
My frantic words were cut short when Faelan’s hand suddenly shot up, his fingers closing around my wrist with surprising strength. His eyes remained closed, but his grip was firm, unyielding.
And then he spoke. “Not your blood.” His voice hardly even sounded like a voice anymore. More like a distant wind sighing through the trees.
I froze, staring down at him in shock. “Faelan?”
His grip tightened slightly. “Not your blood,” he repeated, each word an effort. “But what spills from your soul.”
I didn’t understand. Not until I felt a tear trembling on my eyelash. It hung there for a moment, swollen with frustration and grief, then broke free—and pattered on Faelan’s cheek.
As soon as it touched his skin, the tear began to glow, a tiny point of light against the green pallor of his flesh.
And suddenly, I understood.
The tears had let me read the book. That was my superpower. Not a kiss. Not my blood. Not even my stubbornness—but my emotions.
Another tear fell, and another, each one landing on Faelan’s skin and spreading outward in small ripples of brightness. The vines around him pulsed in response, and their withering momentarily halted.
Tears came freely now as I sobbed in relief. They fell onto Faelan’s face, his neck, the vines that caged his chest. Each droplet carried a tiny spark of connection, flowing through the greenery like capillaries of light.
I leaned closer, allowing the drops to wet his lips, terrified that somehow, even the entirety of my emotions would still not be enough. “Come back,” I whispered. “Come back to me.”
The vines began to loosen their grip, receding from his throat, his arms. The flowers in his beard that had been withering trembled, as if caught in a gentle breeze.
I placed my hands on either side of his face and bent forward until our foreheads touched. My tears fell more steadily now, a rain of grief and hope mingling together, each drop a small surrender, each splash a tiny offering.
“That which is valued by the summoner,” I said, completing the ritual with words that came from somewhere deep inside me. “Freely given to the land.”
My tears were the physical manifestation of everything I’d been holding back, everything I’d been afraid to feel since this whole thing began. The vulnerability I’d spent years building walls against. The connection I had denied myself even as I designed spaces meant to foster it.
Beneath me, Faelan’s chest expanded in a deep, sudden breath. His eyes flew open, bright and green and alive. His gaze locked with mine, and I saw recognition there—and something else. Something like wonder.
The vines around us pulsed once more, then slowly receded from his body, unwinding from his limbs, releasing their hold on his throat and chest. As they withdrew, they took their flowers with them, the blossoms closing as they pulled away.
His hand reached up to touch my face, his thumb catching a tear that was about to fall. “You found the truth,” he said softly. “In the purity of your gift.”
Callie and Bethany stood motionless, watching in amazement as the hunting blind gradually returned to its former state—the explosion of growth ebbing, the fruits and flowers withdrawing, leaving only a faint scent of spring behind.
I sat back and searched Faelan’s face for any sign that he was still in danger. His skin was still green and his ears were pointed. But the vines had pulled away and left him looking almost human. All because I’d blubbered all over him? “What gift?”
He reached up and brushed my cheek with a touch as soft as the petal of a flower. “You gave freely what most guard most closely. The truest sacrifice is that which costs the heart, not the flesh.”
And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of wild growth and with my friends bearing witness, I realized I’d given something I didn’t know I had—and gotten something I didn’t know I needed.