Tree Lord's Oracle: The Brother's Keep, #3

Chapter One

Valkimpre

(Psalm 37)

Here within my deep dark fog... if you could possibly reach me, touch me

Then would I forever love thee

THE DREADED ILLNESS that struck the village seemed to worsen with each passing season. Arekel knew of a patch of soil where she could always find Mabba, the curative root, but that place stretched far from safety—clear on the other side of Barren Blue.

Soon it would grow dark. She didn’t want to traipse the mountains at night. But Arekel wanted—needed—to forge forward. She had to help those who suffered.

Scaling along a high wall, the bitter wind howled and threatened to knock her off balance. Having overcome the hardest span, she could start the decline that led her to that garden of bulbous roots.

Arekel collapsed to her knees when she reached the prime ground. The cold numbed her fingers as she worked feverishly in the dirt to dig, sweep, and pull. Her breath rose like steam. She stopped to wipe her nose, stealing a glance at nearby Deadwood.

Movement and then a passing shadow caused her to look up. She stood and squinted. Then a feeling of gratitude swept through her, realizing her friend had followed her after all. It’s about time you showed up, Liella. I hope the others are with you. Here’s a large patch of—

She froze, not daring to move an inch. Chills assailed her skin. A massive body crouched near the top of Barren Blue. It bobbed up and down from its haunches as it overlooked the village.

Arekel pressed her soiled hands over her mouth then sank to the ground, her entire body trembling. This had to be Valkimpre, the very beast her people, the Dagály, feared to speak of yet believed in. The superstition was true!

She needed to warn the others.

Without thinking, Arekel darted, rushing further down the opposite incline.

Still clutching a basket, Mabba spilled out, leaving a trail of sacred roots. Arekel heard a noise, a shifting through the foliage, and spun, dumping the rest of the basket’s contents.

The beast had moved. Where? She couldn’t see him.

Heart pounding in her chest and breath coming in forced pants, Arekel dropped the basket and ran, tripping over rocks. Her slippers flew off. In a dithered stall she moved to gather the pair, but fear pushed her to abandon them.

Feet sore and half frozen, she kept going until she rounded a corner and saw the menacing black shadow. Its head snapped in her direction.

Arekel gasped.

The grotesque form, massive and ill-proportioned, focused on her. Its bulky head, black with eyes even blacker, stretched its neck forward and back in succinct jerking motions, moving ungainly.

Barren Blue offered no nearby haven. Running proved her only chance to escape.

Arekel sped down the craggy slope that continued to cut her flesh. Her long under-gown swooped across the grating rocks and caught. As she tugged and pulled, her weightless shroud soared over her head, taken by the wind, and hindered her vision. The azure outline of the mountains whipped in and out of sight. Her snagged garment ripped.

Stumbling backward, Arekel screamed.

The thick black shadow fed on her fear, shaking the earth when it landed in front of her.

Nothing—not even the sacred Mabba root—was worth the dread of facing this creature. She cried.

The shadow took a step. The ground quaked beneath Arekel. Sand and rock shifted beneath her fingers as she tried to anchor into the moving dirt.

Valkimpre, now closer, opened its mouth. Rancid air, hot and sickening, raged in her face. Its breath, the odor of death, choked her when bile rose in her throat to meet its stench. Saliva oozed from its fangs of rotted yellow.

Wretched, wretched creature. Arekel’s voice quivered.

She clamped her eyes, preparing to die. Then a strange, chilling wind brushed her body.

It seemed an eternity lingered in heaviness as she waited for Valkimpre’s clutches. She dared open one eye a slit. Something had distracted Valkimpre.

Arekel inched upward, trying to slink away.

A flash that pained as if lightning—though dark—struck through her core and caused her to fall backward with force. Another bitter gust covered her, searing into the depths of her bones, as an instant fog emerged.

She distinguished another form, but this one was like a man’s. The sense of evil swam around him—yet he was beautiful, captivating.

Arekel blinked, trying to clear her head. Thick waves of raven hair adorned this man’s face. He stepped in front of the beast that had pursued her and pointed across the terrain. In an instant, the creature’s demeanor changed from menacing beast to that of a scared dog being commanded.

Valkimpre bound slapdash, descending the opposite crevice, half running and half flying.

The man flinched when he saw she stared at him. Though his black eyes were heartless, they mesmerized. Lips parted, teeth gritting, he stretched his hand toward her as if to claw her face.

Gaping, Arekel tried to find words but couldn’t speak—only stare. Her heart palpitated in fear, yet she couldn’t pull away from him—couldn’t move.

He cocked his head. His brow furrowed. He pressed closer as if examining her. His snarl slowly wilted.

A strange anguish grew on the man’s face. His mouth and jaw shifted. Evil prevailed in him, yet it seemed as if Arekel had opened a door to a dark room and in its depth a flicker of light, though faint, subsisted. Odd how it made her ache.

With tentativeness, the man took hold of her face. Hard. But then his grip softened. He inclined his head again. Warm, he said, as if he’d never felt warmth. A long, cold finger traced the line of her jaw. His voice purred like silk. Fortunate, he said, one side of his mouth curling upward. You will live another day.

Chapter Two

Recompose

AREKEL HEARD THE YAPPING of dogs surround her. Then familiar voices echoed in her ears. She felt numbed, as if in a trance, yet sensed hands holding her aloft where she drifted over the tops of townsmen.

She’s had a curse put on her, I say! Elmay, the old soothsayer, declared once they all arrived at the Gallewink Inn.

Nonsense. Don’t jump to conclusions, her husband, Dirkel, groaned.

Arekel tried to focus on the hand waving in front of her that made her feel dizzier. Listening to the heated discussion, she tried to speak but words came out muddled.

Liella? Amid the rattle she detected Liella’s honeyed tone. Her friend cooed while feeding her from a silver urn. The cool, reviving sweetwater of mint blossoms, terry leaves, and booberries met her dry lips. The dense liquid glided coating her desiccated throat. She sighed with relief.

Coming to her senses, Arekel sat upright from the pew laden with cushions. She glanced back and forth between the innkeepers. Their old faces, appearing more weathered and worn, implored her with quizzical expressions.

Elmay limped beyond the counter and retrieved a soaked cloth she pressed against Arekel’s forehead with shaky, yet nimble, fingers.

Arekel slumped against the backrest with a sigh. She eyed Liella. Close to the same age, the girl bore lines of concern too deep for such a pretty face.

He’ll come after her, I say, Elmay said. Her nagging interrupted Arekel’s wandering thoughts. He’s never lost one he sought—until now. The maidens... they disappear, never to be seen again. He’s sure to be angry.

"It, Elmay, it. Not he, Dirkel piped in. It is a creature—an evil, evil beast. And shut your flap now, you’re frightening young Ar. He pointed his next comment to her. Now don’t mind my wife, the loony old bat. Nobody— He stopped himself mid-sentence and wagged his head with impatience. Nothing will come after you. He addressed his aged betrothed again. Now don’t keep on speaking such things, or you’re sure to bring wickedness to this place. Into this very inn. Hush, now."

Dirkel left Arekel and tended to business at the Gallewink, along with Elmay, in preparation for the evening’s supper and drinks.

Hey. Liella sat with a gentle thump next to Arekel.

Hey.

Are you fine?

Arekel could only manage a slight nod.

After a long pause, her young friend erupted, You are so fortunate, don’t you know! Oh, my dear, sweet, Arekel. You could’ve been Valk— She choked on the name, refraining from uttering it. Why, he could’ve stolen you next. You could have been lost for all eternity. She burst into tears and grasped her in a tight hold. Not you, poor girl. Dear, sweet friend. I can hardly bear to think on it!

Arekel soothed her, yet the irony of consoling her friend when it was she who needed the comfort aggravated her. She shook the negative emotion off. Something far more disturbing weighed her heart down. And she feared to speak of it to anyone.

That man— Was he a man? In her mind’s eye he appeared that much, yet he had preternatural power, and not a good kind. He commanded Valkimpre.

Legend never mentioned a beast such as him, she thought. But then the Dagály grew up on tales of long ago. Who else existed, both in flesh and spirit, that had the authority to control the creature her people have dreaded for thousands of moons? Who? Not to mention that one minute she was staring at him, and