The black roots of the Straif swirled beneath Wynn’s feet. Merrie and Nolan reared and backed away, but numerous thick arms shot up and grabbed the horses’ legs. Within seconds, the roots pulled both horses to the ground and bound them there.
Wynn swung his sword wildly, slicing through the countless arms reaching up around him. His shield glared at the Straif, reflecting the pythonic roots aiming to strike.
Lia stood against the base of the Eadha, her crossbow useless against the menacing Straif. Wynn’s blade sliced the Straif’s arms to pieces; black shoots flung into perished bits. But no matter how many roots his blade cut through, endless more reached up to take their place.
Lia leapt toward the trapped horses, but with her first step, woody arms shot up before her. The Straif twisted into a tall open-topped cage, walling her and the Eadha stump inside.
“Nooo!” She tugged madly at the fibrous roots. Frantic, she grabbed her knife and sawed at one of them. Fleeting satisfaction filled her as she severed her way through, but then more shoots drew up from the soil, strengthening the cage once again.
Wynn fought on. His battle cries had turned hoarse, but his movements held swift and sure. The gnashing barbs carved trails of blood across his face and hands. He stood knee deep in severed arms of the Straif, a black sea of death that grew by the second.
Merrie and Nolan lay pinned, their muzzles pressed and frothing against the menacing ropes.
“Please! Let them go!” Lia yanked at her immovable prison, but stopped at the sudden tingling in her hands.
The sensation emanated from the Straif’s limbs, its energy like tiny needles of heat running under her skin. Lia struggled to quiet her panic and dared to connect with the tree. She sensed the Straif’s haggard and bitter nature, its cold determination to obey the bidding of some unseen master.
She leaned her head against the Straif’s arms and probed deeper, peeling through the layers of apathy, delving beneath the scars of slavery, to the tree’s true essence. Then a force pulled Lia’s focus to the east.
Her mind flew through the mists like an arrow hitting its target. There among the Eadha stumps, grew a dark twisted shrub tree with yellowing leaves and purple-black sloe berries. The Straif tree was motionless while its roots battled Wynn’s blade. Just like its strangled victims, the tree suffered from shackles imposed by a ruthless captor. Who the captor was though, Lia couldn’t tell.
“Hear me, wild Straif. Stop your attack. Use your strength to break free from your captor—”
Lia’s connection with the tree splintered and she choked for air. The Eadha stump boiled fiercer, the steaming miasma setting off waves of nausea within her belly. Its waters smelled of death, rotten and vile, like the stench from a thousand corpses. She fell to the ground and sucked in fresher air, but it did nothing to diminish her nausea.
Her eyes watered and she retched, the sweet apples and hazelnuts now bitter on her tongue. She gritted her teeth and willed her body to still. Then, like ice running down her spine, a familiar voice oozed forth. “Ahhh, here you finally are.”
Lia lifted her head and peered into the clouds of steam. “Who … what are you?”
She stood, pulled her cloak over her mouth, and breathed through its thick cloth. “Why don’t you show yourself instead of hiding behind some wretched tree?” She swooned and coughed under the fumes, commanding her insides not to spew again.
“Brave girl. Good. Your fire will serve me well.” An enormous black shroud loomed over the open top of her cage.
“Shade!” Lia’s eyes froze in terror.
This shade eclipsed the tattered forms of the Scalachs. Never had she seen this hue of blackness, as if its body had sucked every ray of light, every tiny glimmer into its enormous form. She strained to find the borders of its body, barely making out where the edges blackness met the fog’s gray.
The faceless anomaly pressed down, undulating over her like an ocean of pitch. “I am Draugryd, master to the Scalach legions.”
Lia’s knees nearly buckled and her voice stuck in her throat. A gust of wind shot forth as numerous smaller shrouds plunged through the mist like ink splatters. Their awful moans followed, filling her mind with, “Lia, Lia …” Her emptied stomach revolted, and she fell to the ground, clawing at the soil as her gut heaved.
Wynn roared his fury at the winds beating against him. He swung his blade high in the air, and though he had no sight for the dead, Lia watched him hack through numerous Scalach shades. With every sword thrust, their black shredded bodies disintegrated into dust, extinguishing their foul gusting breath forever. Laguz had been right, the sword cut through anything, even creatures roaming from the Underworld.
Lia’s voice freed. “You’re destroying them, Wynn—the shades above you—you’re tearing them apart!”
Wynn fought wildly, his strength and stamina enduring, his weaponry unmatched. His yellow hair shone under the light of his sword like a crown of gold. A true king’s heir, she thought.
“He fights well, for a boy,” Draugryd mocked, his voice grating against Lia’s mind. “He’s quite amusing to watch. But even with that glamour-blade, he is one against untold many. It’s only a matter of time before he falls.”
Lia seethed at his cruelty. “Coward! Call off the Straif, call off your wretched army, and stand alone.”
A chilling stillness followed—the thrashing Straif’s arms fell in a heap, the Scalach shades flew away, and the air hushed. All at once, the mists darkened and the winds roused into a howling rage.
Fierce gales slammed Lia like a rag doll against her cage bars. She barely caught her breath before the gusts tossed her into a somersault and she landed with a thunk at the base of the stump. She curled her body tight against the Eadha, grasping at the shredded remains of her ma’s cloak. Wynn had no such shelter, and through blurred eyes, Lia saw him fight against Draugyrd’s storm.
The winds ripped his enchanted shield from his arm. The blaze of metal flung high and away as if the shining lindwyrm dragon on it took flight. He took countless gusts from all sides, his cloak whipping around him in tatters. His face and arms, his sun-yellow hair, all ran scarlet in the frenzied winds beating against flesh and bone. And though his mouth gaped open, his scream evaporated into silence.
In one final effort, Wynn swung his sword, and then collapsed to the ground.
“No!” Lia’s scream turned to sobs. “Oh, please wake up, Wynn. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have provoked Draugyrd. Please, don’t die!”
Fresh Straif roots coiled around his arms and legs, Only the glowing blade beside him remained untouched by the Straif. The winds died in victory and the dark waters of the Eadha stump calmed.
Lia unfolded her trembling body and rose from the ground, tears streaming down her face. Draugyrd hovered somewhere in the fog above, laughing. Wretched demon! Then her eyes fell to the lingering vapors of steam taking form before her. And her breath seized in her throat.
She was now face to face with Grandma Myrna.
Lia clenched the stump and barely uttered, “Grandma.” The copper-haired woman floated like silks on the clouds of steam with her face creased in misery. Their eyes met, green-to-green, and Grandma Myrna’s voice rang urgent. “He craves yer soul, child, enchanted blood touched by the Nion—”
“Silence!” Draugyrd’s command echoed through Lia’s mind, ripping away Grandma’s voice. His mass came down like a suffocating mantle.
Grandma Myrna floated in silence, though her eyes screamed in terror. Lia aimed her face up into the inky abyss of Draugyrd, willing her legs to stand firm. “Vile wraith! Why do you bind her?”
“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “I desire what all great rulers do: no less than total dominion. And your elder has summoned the key—you.”
He paused, letting Lia grapple with the notion, and then continued, “I’ve used your kinswoman’s essence to charm the Straif, dominate these Eadhas, even be-spell a Ruis tree, all passable efforts to touch the living. But t
hat is the limit to her powers. You, on the other hand, shall serve in carrying out my ultimate conquest. With your magic, I shall force the trees across the lands under my control, and through them, each and every earthly soul will become bound to me.”
Each and every soul?
Lia’s body shook. A vivid picture of his plan flashed inside her head. He would use her inborn gifts, her wisdom of nature, and her connection with the trees to form a massive root system from the Eadhas in his dismal grove. The monstrosity would thrust forth through the fog, snake underground, and infect every other root in its path. Each leaf, nut, and fruit across the lands would carry his darkness. Earth’s vital bounty would bring doom to all.
Draugyrd snickered as the revelation of his plan sank into Lia’s mind. “Yes, you see it now; the living will feast upon the poisoned fare. Their flesh will die and their souls will become mine. I shall achieve what none from the Underworld has—total domination over the minions of this world.”
Lia shook her head in horror. Draugyrd planned to annihilate every human, every dwarf, and every other race existing in the world. Then he would shackle their spirits as he had Grandma’s.
From her acid-scorched throat, she pushed out the words, “Never, I’ll never—”
A gust of wind punched her and knocked her against the stump.
“You will obey,” Draugyrd said. “There is no fighting me. It is time to join both of your elders.”
Both my elders?
Lia’s insides turned to ice. Grandma’s spirit faded back into the steam, and another image emerged, barely visible. The elder man reached a ghostly hand toward Lia, his winter-white hair and sapphire eyes dissipating on the vapors.
“Nooo!” Lia cried, shaking her head in anguish. It cannot be … She slid to the ground and her body racked with sobs. “You killed him … you killed Granda.”
The master shade’s laughter drummed against Lia’s skull while sorrow strangled her heart. She’d failed Granda. Ebrill’s herbs had failed him, too. And now her beloved granda suffered in Draugryd’s liquid prison. The shade-demon had taken both her grandparents, and she and Wynn were next.
What of Da? Is his soul suffering in wretched torment with all the others?
“It is over for your kind,” Draugyrd sneered, and then his voice turned blithe. “But I am not an ungracious master; I reward those who obey. All you must do is drink. Drink of my waters and your death shall be painless. Disobey me, and die slowly—days, weeks of tortured agony—while I tear your soul piece by piece from your rotting body.”
“Vile thief!” Lia choked on her sobs. “Their souls, the Straif, the fog, none were ever yours to command.”
“You defend the Straif, a hag tree that binds your people and poisons them, the very bane killing your companions as we speak?”
Her eyes darted to Wynn’s cocooned body. Stifled moans emanated through his thorny shackles. Lying near him, the horses pressed against tangled cages, their eyes bulging and foam escaping from their mouths. Her companions suffered, but Draugyrd spared them from death.
Spared them until they no longer served as leverage.
Draugyrd would use their lives and any other clever way to gain Lia’s cooperation. As with any crucial spell, her death required care. Her soul would bind unharmed through the ritual of his roiling brew. Without it, he risked damaging her full magic and his means for total dominion.
The winds died, the roots calmed, and the Eadha cauldron stilled. In the quiet of his victory, Draugyrd whispered, “We are not so different, you and I, for you seek the very thing I promise.”
Lia shook her head, blinking tear-blurred eyes. “I seek nothing but your ruin!”
He laughed low and deep. “Think of the power. You shall spread your magic across the lands and bring those that would shun you to their knees. You will purge the ignorance befouling the world; your magic will cleanse the lands. You, and you alone, can give the world a chance to start anew.”
Draugyrd’s words fell on Lia like snowflakes, soft and pristine despite their chill. She wasn’t be-spelled as with the Nion guardian, but something about Draugyrd’s voice swathed her mind in satin and numbed the rawness of her grief.
Purge the ignorance? Cleanse the lands?
Nothing would please her more than to see the royals of the lands fall. They had poisoned their people against nature and magic, and all the world suffered for it.
A cool breeze brushed across Lia’s face, and Draugyrd murmured in her mind, “You can give the greatest gift ever given—nature back to itself. Give Nemetona back to its namesake, back to its sacred groves.”
The world, the groves, could heal, renew … It seemed so clear, so easy, so … right. But something tugged at Lia’s core. The sensation gave her pause, and she forced her thoughts deeper into Draugyrd’s silken words.
Darkness flooded her mind then, followed by jaws snapping, chains dragging, screams, sobs, silence … No! The smell of burning flesh surrounded her and the taste of blood filled her mouth. This is the fate he plans for us all. I have to find a way to stop this … distract him … The quartz!
She clawed at her tunic, grasping in desperation for what was no longer there.
“Looking for this?” Draugyrd stirred a cloud of mist around the pouch resting several feet from her cage. “Tsk, tsk. Seems during your tumble those winds must’ve swept it right from you.”
Lia’s mouth gaped and she shook in horror. He had ripped away her talisman. Now sword, shield, and stone, all three weapons of hope, lay useless on the ground.
“Didn’t think I’d miss that, did you? I knew you held it the minute you first entered my fog. Why do you think my horde harassed you so? Gave us all a start, like tiny daggers pricking away, and even now, like a pesky sting … but no matter. Away from your touch, it holds little power. Just like the towers enchanting the fog: ignored, untouched, forgetting their purpose.”
The master shade draped his curtain around Lia’s prison, enveloping her in his darkness. His body oozed like tar around the arms of her cage, and he sent tentacles to brush against her. The feel of him on her skin was nothing like she imagined. His substance was more akin to mists than tar, though unlike mist, his touch burned across her flesh.
Hoarse gasps slid from her lips and she clutched at the stump. No … please … Shoots slithered up her legs, and the Straif’s arms coiled around her. Her mind screamed in revolt, her body twisted, and the ancient tree cried out to her.
Lia froze in her struggle and connected with the Straif. The tree revealed an image of itself, as if displaying a painting from long ago. In it, half of the tree hid within the shadows, and the other half blazed bright. Lia held onto the image, and like the dawn, the tree’s stark wisdom emerged:
Darkness exists so that light may shine;
By its very nature, darkness gives power to light.
Lia wondered how powerful the light was that Draugyrd gave rise to.
She drew strength from the crone tree and her fear of the master shade began to lessen. Draugyrd’s anger stirred within her newfound calm. The Straif had eluded his control for a moment, but fell to his command once more. The roots squeezed tighter and yanked Lia toward the fetid waters.
“Drink!” Draugyrd’s voice boomed inside her head.
Several thorns turned upward, penetrating deep into her legs. She bit back the pain and begged the Straif to stop, to break free as she had done a moment ago, but the slave-tree remained strangled by the shade’s power.
Sweat beaded across Lia’s brow and her stomach tightened as the pungent waters sizzled. Wispy figures swam through the cauldron, their lithe bodies twisting aimlessly.
So many, she thought, so many tormented souls trapped in his foul brew.
“Now!” Draugyrd’s screech tore through Lia’s mind. His Scalach army rallied close, chanting her name in unison.
She stumbled forward and her head grew fuzzy, the Straif’s poison surging through her veins. Her eyelids drooped and her jaw we
nt slack. All she wanted was to curl on the ground and sleep.
“That’s it, heed my wishes and you’ll have your rest.”
Rest, yes. Get this over with and then I can close my eyes.
Her head rolled forward, her silver crown bowed over the waters, and she reached her arm toward the pool of souls. Like fish, she thought dreamily, and the dwarf scout’s words drifted in her mind, “Best not t’fish from the Seren River. Enchanted waters poured straight from the heart of Brume. Life’s special, sacred within ’em.”
Sacred life … heart of Brume … Brume’s blood!
Lia grasped the water skin hanging from her belt. Like a great vessel carrying magic from the mountains, the Seren River provided Brume’s lifeblood. The Nion guardian had told her to use a bit of Brume’s blood on the Straif; it was also a part of the elixir. The sacred waters nurtured and healed life, while Draugyrd took it away. The clever master had missed the one thing Lia held that countered his very essence.
With her heart racing, she drew up the skin, released the stopper, and dumped the silver water into the cauldron. Hissing steam poured forth, the rotten odor muted, and Draugyrd and his army dashed skyward.
The mass of darkness swirled above the plumes of steam, and a cacophony of shrieks tore across the forest. With its master distracted, the Straif tree relaxed its grip, and Lia reached a trembling hand down to her crossbow. She emptied a remaining stream of enchanted water onto the bolt’s tip, forced her shaky hands to still, and released. The bolt flew through the bars of her cage, through the mists, and pierced the base of the Straif.
Lia shuddered. Her sense of the haggard tree grew as Brume’s silver blood ran life through it. The magic waters ran through root, trunk, and limb, freeing the Straif from the binding spell. Lia thought sure the crone tree snorted, like an old woman huffing as she tossed aside a corset. In one great shake, the thorny Straif shed its mutated roots like the skins of a thousand snakes. With its baneful arms discarded, its true roots stretched in relief.