A drum echoed in Citrine’s mind. She stared at the bone-white creatures marching down the hillside toward her and Tor Lir. Some gripped bones in their hands, held up like clubs. Others carried drums made of skin pulled taut over hollow bone. They had tied the drums about their waists and beat on them with short dark bones.
Dum. Da dum. Dum. Da dum.
When she glanced behind, she saw them circling around and flashbacks whipped through her mind.
Crawling through a tunnel. Darkness. Gray vines reaching out like fingers, snatching at her hair and tugging her forward. The skull in her hand, the horns growing longer and sharper like the fine point of a needle. Setting it in a nested throne deep belowground. A beast carrying and then dropping her. Waking during daylight.
Memories returned to her, but it was the voices that flooded her mind.
Beat the drums. Beat them. Don’t let them stop.
Take them to the Master. Move.
Flesh becomes bone. Bone becomes flesh.
Save me from the monsters. Save me. Save me.
Beat the drums.
Move.
Save me. Save me.
Bone becomes flesh.
Beat the drums.
Save me.
Flesh becomes bone.
The Master calls.
Move.
The words filtered through her mind like hundreds of voices speaking, feeling, thinking all at once. She sensed emotions, fearful and angry, obedient yet longing for release. A tidal wave roared through her mind and as she watched, opening her eyes wider to take it in, darkness consumed her vision. She held out her hands, her fingers snatching for support. Something reached her, its arms sliding around her waist. When she put a hand down, she felt the sickly skinny bone and fainted.
Citrine opened her eyes to darkness. As her vision adjusted, she saw a shadowy kingdom, with gray vines growing along interlocking trees. The bark was black with sap and a bitter sweetness hung in the air mixed with a hint of sulfur and the disgust of decay. Citrine shifted, surprised she stood upright, but when she flexed her fingers, rope dug into her wrists. Glancing down, she found they had tied another rope around her waist, binding her to a tree. Sap dripped onto her fingers and she realized while she was passed out, it had coated and crusted on her hands.
The voices that had been in her head were silent and while she wanted to reach out feelers of communication for her beasts, she didn’t want the multitude of voices to return. It must be how the Master controlled them—he held their minds hostage. It was a vengeful act and something Citrine wondered if she could do with her beasts. Nay, it was violent and evil to take free will away from any living creature. A desire to vomit rose in her belly and she swallowed hard, fighting to keep it down.
Distracting herself, she looked around. Before her was what appeared to be a throne carved into a towering redwood tree. Telltale signs of death gathered on its trunk while gray vines and black branches curved toward the sky, creating the seat and back to the wide throne. At the base of the throne, she saw something moving back and forth and as she squinted in the darkness, she saw black-and-red snakes slithering on the ground as if creating steps for the owner of the throne to walk upon.
Hanging from the branches above the throne were different bones: a jaw with bloody teeth in it, the skeletal fingers of a hand, a skull, smaller without teeth, and several feet. Bones littered the ground right up to her feet, several gnashed and broken as if some great beast with teeth gnawed on them.
A terrifying realization came over Citrine as a creature moved out of the shadows. He had limbs like branches of a tree grown out of dark wood. Black ivy crawled around his limbs, as if holding them together, while a cloak of blood-dusted feathers swirled around him.
His face appeared to be the skull of a strange animal, a cross between a deer and something bigger and broader. Bone-white covered the creature’s face and yet its bones were rotted to the core, giving off the distasteful odor of sulfur and decay. A crown of antlers at least a foot tall rose from its head. The black slots for eyes regarded her with a chilling menace.
The Master walked on the snakes that froze as his feet squashed their bodies. The snakes resumed their movement, some jerking back and forth in pain as the Master turned his antlers and interlocked them into the branches of the throne. He sat down and waved his three-fingered, clawed hand at Citrine, his words whispering through the stillness.
“Enchantress.”
Citrine fought against her fears as the creature spoke her name and the bite of revulsion made her shiver. She was well aware of her situation and licked her dry lips as she decided what to say. If she called her beasts to save her, the Master would take them. It was best to determine what he wanted with her. In her first meeting with him, he’d shown no animosity—only asked her to be the agent of chaos.
“We meet again,” the Master of the Forest continued, his voice low and sultry. “I did not expect to find you in my forest again, not after our agreement some months ago. Yet here you are with heightened powers, which is curious and fortunate for me. I think you belong in my world.”
Citrine spoke once she got her feelings under control. “I don’t think so.” This time she would control her temper. “Why am I tied up? As you said, we had an agreement. Are you changing the terms?”
The Master’s snout curved up in what Citrine assumed was a wicked smile but appeared more like a grimace. “Do not take me for a fool. You went to Paradise and fell in love with its charms and then came here to shatter the realm of beasts by taking my forest and my beasts from me. My beasts determined you would harm them or myself, and I instructed them to tie you up so we might speak to clear the air between us.”
Citrine narrowed her eyes, frustrated the Master of the Forest saw through her plans. For a moment, she regretted distracting Tor Lir’s parley with the Tribe of Fyn. She should have listened to him and entered the realm prepared to fight. She eyed the glade, yet it seemed it was just her and the Master. The bone-white beasts and Tor Lir must be elsewhere.
“You have a flair for misdeeds and mischief. If you join my revolution, you may have safety for all your beasts and the Paradise you so desire. Why do you care about the mortals? Especially after what they did to you, your herb garden, and your beasts. They never cared for your gifts.”
Citrine felt something tear within her. How did the Master of the Forest know about her past life? Who had spoken to him about it? “Nor do you except for personal gain,” she snapped, furious at the knowledge he held concerning her past life in the village.
“Personal?” The Master of the Forest tilted his head as he considered the word. “You think this is personal? Nay. The forest is my domain and the dead have woken. They are weary from life and need flesh to cover their bones. Once they are clothed, they may walk upon the ground and mingle with mortals.”
Citrine glowered. “They already walk upon the ground with their sickly bones.”
“Flesh is what’s needed to complete the change.” The Master lifted his clawed hands and clicked them together. “Then they will feel life enter their bodies and they will live a second life, a transformed life with a new chance.”
“To what end?” Citrine muttered, yet still curious about the Master’s plan.
The Master rested his arms on the throne, his claws still tapping against the wood. “In the days of the war, life was not precious and priceless. The Black Steeds—those who made their alliance with the Monrages and Changers—destroyed all without a thought for life. The people groups fell and their numbers became scarce. In order for the Four Worlds to continue, there must be an abundance of life, and I will give life back to the land. Many of the lost souls became stranded in the afterlife, and I am giving them a chance to remedy their ways. Given the opportunity, would you want to change your destiny and give yourself the chance to enter Paradise?”
A horror gripped Citrine and twisted her heart, and yet she could not deny the curiosity that glowed there. What w
ould it be like to be a lost soul called back from the Beyond to live a second life? “I would agree with you, but calling the dead back to life is drastic. They are dead. Their spirits should rest.”
“Nay. It is the cycle of reincarnation. The dead come back to life and are given a second chance to live again. Wouldn’t you like the chance to live again with a clean slate? Mistakes of the past gone? A chance to get your life right this time?”
“It sounds exhausting,” Citrine murmured. “I don’t want to die and I don’t know if I want to live forever.”
“When you lie on your death bed, you will realize you should have taken my offer. I will not call your spirit back into the world. I will let your bones rot and sink into the ground to renew the plants of the forest. They are old and dying. New life must grow from here.”
“What will you do when the undead regain flesh?”
“Fill the land with them. All other secrets are mine. If you become my mistress and rule in this realm of beasts, all knowledge could be yours.”
Citrine shuddered at the word mistress, yet she recognized the chance she had there. The Master did not mean to kill her. “Answer me this. Why did you invade the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”
“He is powerful, and with the power in his land the undead will have flesh again and live like mortals.”
“When you complete your conquest, will it leave anything of the land? Will any of the people be left? Will there be any power for Paradise to grow again?”
“No. You do not understand. Paradise must die so that many will live. It is for the greater good.”
“It is for chaos and evil. You must find another way!”
“There is no other way. Either you join me, or I will end you and take your beasts.”
“You will take my beasts?” Citrine gritted her teeth as rage flowed through her. Again Morag’s filmy white eyes flashed in her memory and hot fury surged through her brain. “Is that why you know so much about me? You’ve been planning to steal my beasts and use them against me? Is that what you did to Morag?”
“I am like you. You left your mind open and now I can read it. I can see your past, your present, and your desires. You forgot to keep your guard up. My offer tempts you and you are afraid to die. But if you will not join me as my mistress, I will take your flesh.”
The Master of the Forest freed his antlers from the crown and strode down the steps of his throne. Crossing the clearing toward Citrine, he lifted a clawed hand.
Citrine drew back, pressing her head against the hardened sap on the tree, her eyes growing wide as a claw touched her face and then stroked her cheek. It felt like the lightest scratch moving over her skin, something she wanted to press harder into until it drew blood. Torn by her dark desires, she moved her head away in anger. The unexpected slap of the Master’s bony hand against her cheek made her eyes water. Her head jerked back and slammed into the tree. A dull pain thudded in her skull.
Citrine turned her furious eyes on the Master, speaking through gritted teeth. “You did not give me a chance to respond.”
“You responded. I heard your thoughts. Part of you is enticed by this darkness but deep down inside, you want to be the Master. You want to kill me.”
“You took the thing most precious and dear to me.” She spit her words at him. “My beasts.”
The Master of the Forest gave a deep chuckle, his voice echoing through the trees. “I told you when we first met. If you want your beasts, you must fight for them.”
As if he’d called them, bone-white faces peeked from behind trees and crept toward them on all fours, jumping through the thicket like animals. “I took more than your beasts. Who do you think drove you out of your home and turned the villagers against you? You aren’t the only one who can plant the seeds of chaos.”
Citrine blinked hard as the realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. She felt the bottom drop out of everything she’d known and tears started in her eyes. Bile rose in her throat, but there was nothing in her stomach. She gasped, dry heaving as the ropes held her fast. “You monster! You wanted this to happen. You ruined my life!”
“Nay, I gave you the chance to live again. I gave you a gift, but your thoughts give you away. We made a deal. I assumed you would respect that. Seems I was wrong about you.” His hand came up, and the claws curled around her neck, the sharp ends ready to peel flesh from bone.
“Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will never be your mistress. You are the destroyer!”
“I am the Master of the Forest.” The Master chuckled again as his claws squeezed tighter.
Although her hands were bound, she lifted her leg to knee him in the groin. Her kneecap hit hard bone and her eyes flashed as pain surged through her leg. The Master laughed, delighting in her fury.
“Just for revenge, just so you will never cross me again, I shall destroy Paradise.” The Master of the Forest released her throat and pointed claws at her neck, daring her to speak or move lest he rip her in half. “Beasts of the forest,” the Master of the Forest shouted. “Go to Paradise. Slay all mortals and take up your new flesh!”
36
The Bone Tree
An undercurrent of dread hung in the air as Novor Tur-Woodberry strode through the land. Gray clouds drifted through the sky, not because of the need for rain. No, these clouds were a harbinger of impending doom.
He walked past the cottage where Citrine lived. It looked lonely perched on the hill by itself. No smoke curled from the chimney and the door stood wide open as if she’d left in a hurry and forgot to shut it.
The Singing Men built the cottage years ago for the first family who intended to live in the land. The call of adventure bade them leave after just a few months and after that, Novor Tur-Woodberry decided newcomers would live in the village where the green hills rolled endlessly and the breathtaking view inspired joy. The Mouth of Heaven.
The village sat just above the Silver-White Heart, which breathed life into the land. As long as it was pure, Paradise would flourish. Earlier Novor Tur-Woodberry had gone to see the pulsing orb of light, and darkness poured out of its core.
Frowning at the memory, Novor Tur-Woodberry continued past the cottage and a Trespiral materialized with a shimmer. A young face peering through wide eyes as Novor Tur-Woodberry approached its tree. “Novor Tur-Woodberry, you’ve come at last.” She bowed her head, bringing her branches together with respect.
“You’ve been expecting me?” He crossed his arms, concerned she hadn’t called for his help.
“I’m afraid.” She cast her eyes down. “The tree is growing. The ravens flee and the woodland creatures are moving.”
“Because of the roots,” Novor Tur-Woodberry finished. He’d heard muttering about the roots being too strong. The creatures must be complaining about the white tree. “Who else have you told about the tree?”
“I haven’t seen it. I’m only telling you what the ravens told me.” The spirit of the tree swayed. “It is coming for my roots. I must hibernate before it takes over.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry frowned. As much as he wanted to reassure the tree, his words would not ring true. He walked away, for he knew what he had to do. Earlier that morning, he’d told his Singing Men to go to the Mouth of Heaven and escort the villagers to his home. Given the speed of mere mortals, even if the wild horses assisted, it would take them the better part of the day to move into his home. It was his last defense against the coming darkness.
Walking down the hill, he moved to the middle of the land where a dirty white object glimmered in the light. The gray clouds covered the sun and only the Green Light hung in the sky, a glow of emerald displaying his path. The once green grass underneath his feet lay like chewed cud, chomped to bits and then spit out. Worthless.
He sniffed. A dry rot hung in the air with faint hints of decay. It grew as he approached the tree. It was the color of bone, a dirty white with dead limbs that reached out like skeletal fingers. Its branches pointed in all dir
ections and it appeared like a giant, spiky bush. Charred black grass surrounded the tree as if it were burnt with an intense fire. The tree moved.
Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes narrowed. The tree moved again. Creatures formed on its branches, budding like flowers but growing at a rapid pace. Novor Tur-Woodberry took a step back, the height of his power ebbing like a dammed river. The largest creature swung on a branch, a head and eyes appearing as it noticed Novor Tur-Woodberry. The thing twisted, snapping the top of its head off the tree, and leaped down, its feet striking the grass with a soft smack.
“Go back!” Novor Tur-Woodberry roared. “You are on my land and must adhere to my laws. Go back to the darkness from whence you have sprung!”
Dark hollows for eyes turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s face as the creature hunched on all fours, grinding its teeth. It opened its mouth and words snaked out as if the creature were poisoning the land with its words. “The barrier is down. The Master controls this land now, and it is you who are trespassing. Do you know what happens to trespassers?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry took another step back, frowning. He knew what the beast would do and watched as one by one, an army of bone-white creatures sprung from the tree.
37
Agrim’s Army
Tor Lir ran through the forest alone and unhindered. After Citrine fainted, the bone creatures had swooped her up and run off. They ignored his shouts as if he wasn’t there, although the female creature gazed at him. Her eyes were wide with sorrow and relief.
Tor Lir felt a swelling in his chest as he ran, but his feet came to a stop when tall reeds rose in his path. He’d have to weave through them, creating a path for himself, but it wasn’t just the reeds that stopped him. There was a knowing, deep in his heart. He held his hands palm down as he knelt in front of the reeds and placed his hands on the mud.
A slight tremor shook the ground. Folding his body in half, he placed his ear against the cool dirt. A rumble in the distance sounded, and he closed his eyes, letting his thoughts swirl as he weighed the pros and cons of his actions. If he ran to the lair of the Master, he risked being caught. He needed a weapon and a way to beat the Master at his game. Tor Lir understood the balance was off because of both Novor Tur-Woodberry and the Master.
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