Page 1

Prologue

Beneath twisted vines and gnarled limbs, something was awakening. Shadowed figures gathered to watch its emergence. Wood and sinew formed their gaunt frames; torn flesh patched with bark, fungus, and rot. Filthy hooded cloaks framed pale faces.

Sunken eyes fixed on the mound of loosened earth pulsing at the center of the clearing—hope clawing its way toward birth. Steam curled in thin tendrils—limbs of a nightmarish beast waking beneath the mound. The air stank of rotting death. Trees leaned away as if they could not stand to bear witness.

Something struck from beneath, sending sludgy soil tumbling down the sides. Three of the shadowed figures dropped to their knees. They bowed, heads low, bodies trembling, their limbs creaking like old wood. The watchers began to chant. Voices older than roots spilled into the dark, stretching into ragged howls.

Not in pain—in adoration.

The peak of the mound bulged outward, then split. A jagged line cracked the shell of the earth.

Their hymns grew feverish.

Black-green bile oozed from the crack, like rancid syrup. Steam burst from the breach—hot and foul—the breath of something newly birthed. A clawed hand emerged, twitching to life, the movements disjointed. Muscles beneath papery skin strained to remember their purpose. Bone-like fingers curled against the soil, groping for purchase. Thick, dark veins throbbed beneath its skin as the arm pulled free, tearing the flesh like wet parchment.

It emerged, bark cracking, shoulders splintering and reforming. The earth shifted with each inch of progress, settling reluctantly, as if it too, rejected the presence. A long, thin neck followed, strung with loose flesh.

Finally, the head broke free. Clods of mossy hair clung to the fractured skull. Its eyes snapped open—pebble-black orbs empty, yet alive with dark, unfathomable awareness.

The chanting reached its climax. Howls split the air—wild cries of fervor echoing through the stifling dark. The creature dragged itself from the earth. Its body was pale as an earthworm, skin stretched thin over muscle and bone. Black muck clung to its limbs like afterbirth.

Then, silence. Heavy. Suffocating. As if the forest itself was horrified by the creature exposed beneath the shrouded dark.

One of the figures bent low, pressing its face ardently in the pooled sludge at the foot of the mound. The others knelt—their limbs folded into the mud—heads hung in meek devotion, waiting.

The watcher rose slowly, and in a voice like squelching wet sewage, croaked:

“Rootflesh. Bound to the Father. Proclaim His message.”

The Rootflesh grinned. Its cracked lips stretched wide, revealing splintered, thorn-like teeth. Resin dripped from its gums.

Its voice rasped when it spoke.

“Spirit Weaver. Thistlehold. Release.”

The others swayed to a rhythm only they could hear. Wet breaths filled the air—the sound of decay made animate.

Soon.

Part One

Fractures in the Veil

But the barrier cracks. The veil wears thin.

Chapter 1

Three For Dread

Alush garden at this time of year should’ve been a blessing. The villagers said it happened this way sometimes. Seasons clung past their time. But this was different. Wrong. Stale in the late Duskwane air and rooted in Wren’s bones.

A fly landed on the curve of her black horn, buzzing at the edge of her vision. She swatted it away with a huff. The insects should’ve vanished by now, but they lingered, creeping through the cold air like bad omens on wings.

Her hooves pressed into the cool, damp soil as she stared at the useless shears in her hand. Brunna had sharpened them the other day, and yet they barely marked the nettle she’d been harvesting. She lifted the blades; a bead of oily black sap crept down the metal, unlike anything she’d seen before. Her pulse scattered like startled birds, and a sour heat rolled through her middle.

She wiped them against her rough tunic, a dark stain seeping into the fabric. This wasn’t normal decay; something was awry, and she intended to find out what.

Wren placed her bare hands around the plant—careful to avoid the sharp, stinging hairs—and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly through her nose, exhaled through parted lips. Concentrating, she drew her focus inward, toward the quiet spark of power that lived beneath her skin.