Chapter 1 #2
“Sometimes, when it’s dark and quiet out here, I hear strange noises coming from the mountain. Not animal sounds. Ghost sounds.” His prepubescent voice crackled.
I forced a calm I didn’t feel, scanning the surrounding shadows. “You’ve nothing to fear, Speck. All those stories about Gravestone Mountain are just tall tales.”
Generations ago, the Puritans chose this place because of its lack of obsidian—a substance only found in kingdoms blessed by Goddess Hathor’s magical arbor trees.
Those lucky kingdoms flourished while places like this one often struggled to eke out enough food to support their population.
And yet the Puritans considered magic a bane upon the realm.
A great plague whose influence should be avoided at all costs.
“But they say the mountain is haunted.” His brown eyes rounded. “That the ghost of a terrible monster lives in the caves. Any who dare to tread there is swallowed whole, cursed to be digested for eternity in the beast’s belly.”
“Nonsense. Who told you such a thing?”
“Master Mortis,” he murmured.
“Mortis. That figures.” My temper flared. “I swear that man is rotten to his core. Torment is his favorite pastime.” I should know. “You stay far away from that devil’s spawn. You hear me?”
“Yes, Sera. I hear you.” Speck rolled his cajoling eyes, groaning.
If only I could stay away as well. Except with Mortis as steward of our little village, and me, personal servant of Lady Penelope, avoidance was downright impossible.
At least Speck spent most of his time out in the fields, instead of beneath the blowhard’s overly long nose, with its wiry, jutting hairs.
The man’s breath would wilt a crop of turnips.
Worse, he always stood close enough to spray me with spittle, his gnarled hands accidentally brushing my breast or backside.
My skin crawled merely thinking about it.
If only I weren’t a slave with no power.
Oh, the pain I would inflict on the man, repaying him for every offense.
“Sera. Your hand.” Speck’s fingers wrapped my wrist.
“What’s that?” I followed his gaze to the thin cut along my palm, blood trickling from where I’d squeezed the knife in my fist. “Well, that was foolish of me. But no worries.”
I tucked the blade into my skirt pocket, extracting a strip of fabric from my basket. Once I’d tied it around my hand and secured the knot with my teeth, I turned to him and smiled.
“See? All better.”
“What the—” Speck flinched, hiking his hip. “Hey, Sera. Look!”
Over the once barren patch of ground, dozens of tiny ruby-red flowers nodded their bell-shaped heads. “Red sacris. Holy flower of Goddess Hathor.” I skimmed my palms over the petals, inhaling their spicy scent. They grew thickest where my blood had fallen.
I clenched my bandaged fist to my chest. Heart in my throat, I turned to Speck. “Promise me you won’t mention this to anyone.”
He scratched his head. “Tell them about what? The flowers?”
“Yes.” I clutched his hand. “Promise me.”
“Sure, Sera.” Confusion crinkled his youthful face. “Though I really don’t see the problem. They’re only flowers.”
Except they’d grown directly under me. A rare species only found near Goddess Hathor’s temples. Magical temples. An occurrence that was unnatural.
Unnatural! Burn the heretic! Voices rang in my mind.
With the Puritans, anything outside the norm was often scorned and feared. The sacred arbors with their mystical obsidian didn’t grow in this despondent place as they did in other regions. Blessed regions. Places I ached to visit.
I crushed the thought. No, I didn’t. Puritans did not covet magic. I did not covet magic. Ours was a pure race, free of such wicked influences. Or so we were told. Often at the end of a switch. Sometimes at the stake.
“Help me! I wanted only to feed my children.”
“Burn the vile wench.”
“Look upon me, you fools. For you’ll be next.”
“Let her burn.”
“He’s coming for you. None will be spared.”
“Heretic. Evil’s whore!”
I shivered, shoving the voices back.
Since my birthday, these strange occurrences had become more frequent. A woman in my position couldn’t afford to draw this kind of attention. Speck, in his sheltered pasture, may not understand. I suspected he didn’t even realize another magic wielder had been burned.
“Speck. Please listen to me. If the others—”
Startled bleating interrupted my explanation. The wary flock of nerf grew restless, their shaggy bodies shoving into each other.
My heart raced. Though I had no magic, some innate sense prickled with foreboding. Invisible eyes pressed down on me from the shadows, predatory, calculating. There was a hunter in our midst.
“Something’s got them spooked.” Speck ambled to his feet, his crutch tucked under his arm, his manner far more subdued than mine. He was accustomed to such occurrences, living at the foot of the mountain.
“It could be the trogg,” I offered in a shaky voice.
The trogg were a race of cave-dwelling creatures with green-tinted skin.
Though half our height, their stout yet powerful build allowed them to navigate the narrow ridges along the steep face of Gravestone Mountain.
Their courage far surpassed that of the Puritans, who refused to step foot inside that soulless place.
Not only was this area devoid of magic, but it seemed to drain the very life out of you. The mountain, a dark predator, feasting on the marrow of your spirit. To stare at it too long was to be sucked in, your soul drawn into a yawning void.
I stood beside Speck, squinting into the darkening landscape. The twin moons climbed the horizon, spilling cold light across the field.
“You’re right. Probably the trogg. Still…” He pulled a carved whistle from the cord around his neck and blew. While our ears failed to register the high-pitched sound, it drove a number of predators mad, forcing them to flee.
We stood in silence, breath held. The restless noises of the flock were the only sounds.
“Did it work?” I whispered.
Woosh.
A massive shadow swooped over our heads, blotting out the twin moons. For a heartbeat, the world went dark.
Speck and I flinched, ducking low.
“What was that?” His voice wobbled.
“I–I’m not sure,” I said over the hard thumping of my heart. “It was too big to be a bird.” Last I heard, trogg didn’t have massive wings wide enough to span half the pasture.
Woosh.
The enormous shadow swept over the field, the flock crying out and scattering, their thick hooves drumming the earth. Their fear ignited my own. Sparks prickled my skin, the sting burning brighter.
Woosh.
This time, the swooping sound accompanied frantic bleating.
“Whatever it is, it’s after the flock.” Dread was a pile of rocks dragging down my innards. The last time a predator had helped itself to Speck’s flock, Master Mortis nearly beat him to death.
No way was I letting that happen again. Fury scorched through my fear, and I plunged into the sea of woolly beasts, shoving past curled horns and musky fleece. Restless hooves stomped inches from my toes.
“Sera, wait! You don’t know what’s out there.”
“Blow every one of those damned whistles, Speck. One of them has to work.” If not, I’d deal with the creature myself. Speck was in no condition to go running about the field, chasing invisible monsters.
Stones slid under my racing feet, threatening to roll my ankle. Wingbeats thudded overhead, sending a chill down my back. The flock bleated in alarm, parting around my strides as I cut a jagged path toward the threat.
“Leave them alone.” I yanked off my kerchief and waved it like a flag. Unrestrained curls whipped around my head. I screwed my face up in a snarl, daring whatever hunted them to try me.
“Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here, you thieving bastard!” Woolly nerf darted left and right, sprinting away from me, the whites of their eyes bared, the panicked beasts unsure of who was the bigger threat.
I broke through the last of the herd—and stopped cold.
Heavy wind gusts buffeted my body. The pounding of gigantic wings beat against my eardrums, matching the powerful thump of my heart.
Before me hovered a massive creature swathed in shadow.
Wings like storm-battered sails pumped powerful gusts on either side of its darkened body.
In its huge skull, twin beacons of furious blue glared back at me.
As I met its steely gaze, it peeled back its lip, moonlight flashing off twin rows of serrated teeth.
Gulp.
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my headlong dash to save Speck from Mortis’ wrath.
My mouth went dry. “Good…lizard…thingy. Let’s not—”
Bahhh!
My panicked gaze dropped to the monster’s massive claw. Between its toes was a bleating nerf.
A red haze clouded my vision. One lost animal could mean a beating for Speck. I’d not sacrifice my friend to fill this bastard’s belly.
Again, my rational brain checked out, anger taking the lead. Not daring to take my eyes off the beast, I patted the ground for a weapon. I needed a rock, a stick. Anything! My fingers closed on something warm and pliable. Mud?
Good enough.
I hurled it at the monster. “Put that down!”
Splat. Dead center.
It was the stench that hit me first.
What was that horrible smell? The nauseating odor made me gag. I eyed the crumbly globs that coated my palm.
Not mud. It was definitely not mud. I retched, frantically wiping my hand on the grass.
The beast’s glowing blue eyes lowered to its dung-smeared chest, heated with fury, then narrowed on me.
I took a step back. Then another.
The mysterious beast dropped the bleating nerf, and the hooved traitor darted away, leaving me to take the fall for its rescue. “You’re welcome,” I grumbled. Talk about ungrateful.
Having lost its dinner and splattered with dung, the enraged predator reared back its enormous head and roared.
At the sound, my knees quaked, my bladder weakening.
“Run, Sera! Run!” Speck shouted from the hill.
Run. Right. Brilliant idea. I spun on my heel and took off at a sprint.