Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

“So, are you ready now?”

“Not quite,” I reply with reluctance, anticipating another blow. It doesn’t come. “I’m trying to find the grove.”

“What do I look like, a gatherer? I don’t pick berries. I kill my food.”

She jabs her bow at me again. This time I seize it but not too aggressive as to offend her. Just enough to show an inkling of authority.

“I’m aware of that, but I’m not seeking out the grove for myself. I’m looking to share with another. Someone who I think would be appreciative of the act.”

“So, you’re trying to bribe someone, then?” she clarifies.

“Well…that’s not the way I see it, but I suppose so. I like to think of it as practice.”

“Practicing what? Your persuasion tactics?”

“No, my generosity. Why so many questions? Will you show me the way or not?” I reply with a hint of aggravation.

“Yes. I’m just angry you blew me off this morning. Now you suffer the consequences of a sour start to my day.”

Her face twists with irritation as a rather large grin spreads across my face. Then I suffer another spirited nudge in the gut. She pretends like it was an accident while hoisting her bow over her shoulder.

“Suffer I will, if you help me.” I remain hunched, attempting to relinquish the pain. Regardless of the hurt she inflicts, she puts a smile on my face. Her flaring immaturity and need for drama are quite amusing and…too familiar. I miss Jay. And Stone.

Aside from the plethora of organic bridges and ziplines interconnecting the mass of their village, they’ve integrated a faster mode of travel for more than a single individual. The various outbuildings and hollows throughout the village finger out across a large portion of the canopy and to cover the distance from one end to the other could take all morning using solely the organic infrastructure. The zip lines are a bit faster but arduous with sending the mechanism back and forth if more than a single person is traveling. So, in addition to the bridges and ziplines, they’ve manifested some type of flying carriage they refer to as an arborcar. It’s essentially a large wooden plank box attached to a reinforced zipline, and it allows for multiple people to step aboard.

The two of us board an arborcar and are on our way. The grove, to my surprise, is a quick shot across the village, and we arrive in moments.

“Alright, here we are.” Zoie states with much ambiguity toward irritation.

We step out of the arborcar onto a wooden platform that planes just below the underside of the canopy. I imagined there would be a variety of fruit trees due to the morning deliveries I’ve been receiving, but as I look upon the grove, the sight is unforgettable. Rows upon rows of trunks as far as I can see create unnaturally clean contours. Every tree is in line with the one before and after it, and all the branches grow at the same height, regardless if it’s an apple, cherry, or sugar plum tree. It’s a never-ending ceiling of colorful and bountiful foliage. And the aroma leaves me craving something sweet. I can’t pick out any one smell. But the collage of perfumes wafting through the air is pleasurable to the senses, to be sure.

Like all other areas of the village, organic bridges are formed throughout the grove, lining each corridor. And they are at the perfect height for any villager, young or old, to easily access the bounty. As I stroll down one of the corridors, it’s like looking at a forest of rainbows. The discipline necessary for a Sprhowt to accomplish this is nothing short of impressive.

“You’d best grab a basket to gather what you need.”

I stare at her blankly. I don’t see any baskets lying around anywhere.

“Right there.” She points up and rolls her eyes. Several large watermelons hang from the branches overhead.

“Wha…what is that?” I reply, dumbfounded.

“No, it’s not a watermelon tree.” She looks down and shakes her head, pressing a palm to her forehead. “That is ridiculous. Watermelons grow on a vine down by the Moonblood bay. That’s what my mother would say. The rind is the basket. We hang them from the branches overhead when not in use.”

I pull a large one from the tree, and sure enough, the inside is hollowed out with a hemp rope handle. It’s a genuine fruit basket.

“I don’t really know which fruits to gather,” I declare. “Do you have any suggestions for an ape? What is Coloss’ favorite?”

“An ape has a brain the size of a nut. They’ll eat whatever’s put in front of them. I recommend a fresh kill. Nobody can pass up a juicy, red sirloin.”

“Don’t be foolish,” I lash back. “These are apes, not Cryptids.”

“Whatever you say. I don’t know anything about the mighty Coloss and his kin,” she replies.

I browse my choices while walking down each elevated aisle, occasionally checking my balance by gliding a hand across a tree trunk or whatever is in arm’s reach. Climbing a tree is within my comfort zone; walking on them will take some time to master. Especially when they’re thin and overgrown with moss.

One of the trees moves ahead of me. Its trunk rises into the air with a root ball to follow. It resembles a giant wooden hand with long, gangly fingers. As it silently elevates from below the timber deck, it outstretches its enormous arborous fingers. I leap back, and the moss-covered platform gets the best of me.

“Goose!” Zoie shrieks as I plummet. In a mere click, the arborous hand wraps around me, preventing me from falling to a very painful evening. I cannot see where the arm originates, but it appears to be an extension of a tree. Not a tree