Prologue
Twenty-five years ago
The white skeletons of aspens taking their winter rest didn’t utter a word as Savine stalked through the woods. Yet something drew him deeper into the forest — something called for him.
“They’re coming,”whispered the firs and pines as Savine tucked his head to stop being pelted by the blinding snowfall. The snow was the least of his concerns. In all his years, he’d never heard the trees speak directly into his mind; the intonation of their voices settling in his thoughts. He had always been the one to approach the trees and speak to them. He immediately knew this was a dangerous gift for him as a Latian fae. This was the gift of the true king of Latiah. One that had been denied to the current Latian king.
The quiet chanting was so persistent that it had infiltrated his dreams. He had tried to ignore the constant chant for nearly thirty minutes before he gave in and dressed for the frigid winter night.
As he walked through the woods in his soft fur parka, fur mittens, and insulated pants, he wondered if he was the only one in Orofine who heard this bewitching whisper in the wind.
The iron blade of his sword glistened with snowflakes. It would make quick work of any enemies he encountered as he traversed the deep forests at night. Would the woods betray him? Would these trees, many of whom were his companions, dare to lead him to harm?
“They’re coming,”the woods murmured.
Reaching out to touch a young fir tree, Savine spoke in the language only a few fae could understand. “Friend, I heard your call. What is coming?” Savine asked.
The woods spoke into the wind, yet the voice echoed distantly through Savine’s mind.
“They’re coming.”
Why wouldn’t this fir speak directly to him? Younger trees were notorious for not speaking to fae with the gift of mycilious. But hadn’t he communicated with this particular fir before?
Savine’s sure-footed steps left hardly a mark on the snow. Thank the Premier Goddess Althea for his nimble steps. With so much of the trees’ trunks under the snow, Savine knew there had to be several feet carpeting the forest floor.
The old pine before Savine was one of the few trees that shared these secrets with him when he began developing his power as an adolescent.“They’re coming,”the pine shook as it spoke.
“Who? Tell me why you have called me tonight, old friend.”
The pine didn’t respond to his question, but continued to quake in the driving snow. The trees themselves were in a trance. He’d need to go deeper into the woods and up the mountains to seek the ancient cedar grove that his grandfather had known so well. Those trees were nearly two-thousand years old. Surely they would not succumb to a trance like this.
Savine traipsed deeper into the snow and the tangle of branches. With each step, he could feel the trees shudder and vibrate, energy building beneath their bark. Savine took off his mitten and pressed his copper skin to the bark of a fir tree.
“THEY’RE COMING! THEY’RE COMING!”said the trees. The chanting echoed and reverberated through Savine’s mind, making hisessence respond instinctively, rippling like whirling waves under his skin. Savine’s pulse of magic connected with the tree’s and his body shook like the last leaf in a winter breeze. The voice continued to pound through his mind and his body. His hand felt irretrievably connected to the tree, as if a force pressed his flesh against the cold, hard bark. The snow blew harder, pelting his face as he pulled and tugged his hand from the tree.
Savine wasn’t about to stay here, locked in, as the whole forest went to the damned Abyss. The pounding voice in his head was almost too much for him to take. It reminded him of those years of torment when his mind and soul were assaulted and invaded. No, he had to stop these voices now before he went back to that part of him he left buried so deep.
Savine didn’t want to harm the tree. He’d never used his essence against a tree, and he wasn’t ready to hurt one now. He drew a small amount of his essence out.Let’s take this slowly. See if this will get him free.
Savine’s power shot forth to his immobilized hand, shooting brambles out. The brambles and vines he formed wound around the tree, freeing the grip on him. The overwhelming chanting in his mind died down to a whisper.
He struggled to slide his chilly hand back into his mitten and drew a bit of his essence forth to warm the icy skin. The cedars weren’t far now. Hopefully, he’d get some answers to these Goddess-damned strange events.
The thick underbrush was deep under the snow, but that didn’t mean the tree branches themselves weren’t an obstacle for Savine to navigate. With this much snowfall, the lower tree branches made navigating through the dense forest a challenge. Careful to avoid touching a branch or trunk, Savine made his way through the densest sectionof forest on the mountain. Soon, he knew things would open up and level out.
The clearing lined with cedars was so close. They might be as unlikely to have the answers Savine was looking for as the other trees. But there was no way in Abyss that he could ignore this unearthly summoning from the forest. One way or another, he’d need to figure out the cause of the trees’ trance-like state.
The steep terrain evened out. He could see the first of the ancient cedars rimming the edge of the forest. Suddenly, Savine heard a groan as all the trees shifted away from him. Branches bent sideways and the chanting,they’re coming,approached a fever pitch. The incessant sound echoed off the surrounding mountains. It wasn’t just in his head. It filled the entire forest as the trees joined in one voice, booming with the chant.
Savine looked up at the sky. The snow stopped falling, and the wind no longer blew. Clouds cleared from the sky as the first bit of star rocketed toward the ground. Burning bright and hot, the star landed with a hiss in the snow directly in front of Savine.
Thousands of tiny, burning particles of stardust illuminated the sky. They were all heading for Savine.
Sword in hand, Savine used his other hand to cast a tangle of vines and branches around himself. He ground his booted feet into the snow and pushed his essence to create a ditch for him to take cover in. His protective barrier of brambles and vines kept the molten stars from scorching through his fur-wrapped body. But how long would they hold?
The stars heated his makeshift shelter while the trees continued their chant.They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming.The reverberation of the trees’ chant mingled with the chaos of the star fall.
Minutes or hours seemed to pass. Savine lost all sense of time and space as he huddled under his branch and bow shelter. The cry of the woods changed to a high-pitched shriek.
