Chapter 6 Spreading Sickness
Spreading Sickness
Morning broke with the relentless chirping of birds, dragging Sorcha from a restless sleep. She groaned, stretching the ache from her limbs. After too much ale and too little rest, she’d finally drifted off and now the birds refused to let her keep it.
Then a sharp knock rattled the door. “Sorcha! Grab your gear, let’s go!”
Commander Nethran’s voice thundered through the morning air. She blinked hard, heart leaping awake faster than her thoughts. Still half dressed, she stumbled toward her boots, tugged them on, and snatched her cloak from the chair. The second knock came just as she yanked the latch open.
Nethran stood waiting with Circle members at his back, all already armed and alert.
“What’s happened?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her face.
“A hunter reported a strange plant with a sickness in the woods,” Nethran said, eyes scanning her to make sure she was ready. “It might be connected to last night. We need to check it out.”
Sorcha grabbed her bow and quiver, throwing them over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
They set out at once, moving through the waking streets as pale light climbed the rooftops.
A town scout led them to the trees, and the city’s warmth fell away behind them.
Early sun spread thin across the forest floor.
The deeper they walked, the quieter the woods became, until only the soft thud of their steps remained.
She knew the clearing the moment she saw it.
The trees stood lifeless, gray and brittle, bark peeling in flakes that crumbled at the lightest touch.
At the center, something pulsed. A massive black flower rose from the earth, slick and glistening, its petals curled inward like a clenched fist. Pale dust drifted from its core and settled over the dying ground.
Mason hovered closer. “That’s not normal.”
No,” Nethran said, careful but intent as he studied the thing.
Rhosyn crouched by a patch of shriveled grass. She brushed the blades and pulled back as they powdered beneath her fingers. “The soil is dying. Don’t touch it, whatever it is; it burns.” Her gaze followed the falling dust. “Look, it’s spreading.”
As more dust settled, a dark seep rose from the earth beneath the bloom, thick as tar, slithered outward. Sorcha felt her pulse climb. This was no natural blight.
“Stay back,” Nethran said. “We don’t know what it is.” He looked at Sorcha. “You said the creature fell here.”
“Exactly here,” she answered, and had to swallow before the words would come.
A whisper brushed her ear, faint and singsong like.She stilled, looking to the others; none reacted. The whispers curled around her name.
Sorcha.
She turned around, scanning the clearing, but there was nothing there. Just wind shifting through the dead trees. Then the whisper came again.
Sorcha. She slowly moved away from the group until the voice was closer. The whispers laced with laughter like splintering glass, cracking and cackling.
A slow chill crept up her spine. She turned slowly toward the laughter, but her knees locked in place.
Rooted to the spot, she forced herself to look back.
The others remained focused on the flower, oblivious to the whispers clawing at her ears.
Movement beyond the trees caught her eye as she watched the figure run between the trees, too fast to pin down.
At first, she thought it was a small child as it ran, but when it crouched low behind a tree, she could tell it was no child.
A tail curled behind it, thin and bristled like a pig’s.
Hooves pressed into the dirt where small feet should have been.
Its hands, narrow and ended in talon-like claws.
The head was almost human. Its sunken face gleamed with liquid silver eyes that refused to blink.
Sorcha froze when the thing shifted, its gaze still on her.
In a sickening motion, its body snapped forward.
Bones cracked and limbs twisted as its skin shed away.
Fur rippled over the new skin formed as it hunched down onto all fours.
In the space where the figure had stood, a rabbit now remained.
She stepped back, steadying herself against a tree.
Of all the cursed things to come across, a Pooka.
The rabbit didn’t move as it watched her and the others.
After a pause and a twitch of its ears, it sped across the clearing and vanished.
Sorcha stood motionless. Nearby, Nethran continued his examination of the area.
He gave a quick nod to Emry, who immediately pulled out his notebook, sketching the twisted flower in precise, methodical strokes.
Riona lifted a cloth to her face, shielding herself from the strange dust still lingering in the air.
Mason’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword, a restless habit he had never broken.
Sweat beaded on his sun-kissed skin, sandy hair curling in the damp air.
Amber eyes tracked the treeline as his foot tapped out a steady rhythm.
Eirin leaned against the tree, his cleaver resting across his shoulders.
His obsidian hair falling into his eyes, forcing him to slide a hand through his hair.
Sorcha stood still, her eyes lingering on the spot where the rabbit had vanished, when a hand settled on her shoulder. She flinched before recognizing Eirin’s voice.
“You alright?”
She drew in a breath and forced a smile. “Sorry, yeah. I’m good.”
“It doesn’t seem that way. You’re awfully pale.” “Really, I’m fine. Just tired.”
Eirin studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Is this about the Hudson family?”
The image of the barn flickered behind her eyes. Torn animal bodies, the blood. The smell of decay. Her throat tightened.
“Yeah. It’s been a long week already.”
Nethran’s voice cut through the thick air. “We’ll need samples quickly but carefully. Rhosyn, Emry, take what you can from the plant and soil. We’re heading back to Lumora. The Druid Council has requested our presence.”
Sorcha nodded, her fingers tightening around the curve of her bow. She had faced countless threats before, but this was different.
The trees whispered behind her as they started back toward Lumora. By the time the city’s gates came into view, the towering spires of the library rose against the fading light, pale and watchful beneath the evening sky.