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

“Indeed, it did. If you’ve learned something from the matter, then it was a fruitful experience.” She places her thin hand on my shoulder. “There are many villagers growing impatient with your presence. But don’t fret. Impatience is their own problem. Let us find you some fruit to pluck, regardless. And don’t give it all to the damned ape this time. Keep some for yourself.”

“Fairview?” I take a long pause.

She nods. “Go on. Before I die.”

“I’m not sure how to ask without sounding crazy.”

“Look at the people of our village.” She waves her hand about the chaotic crowd. “You’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah. Except Zoie. She’s the only normal one.”

“But is she?” She glowers at me.

“Yes. She eats red meat. That makes her normal.” Fairview chuckles and places another comforting hand on my back.

“Be willing to sound crazy. Death is always awaiting us.” She gestures toward the monstrous flames directly in front of us.

“Have you ever seen an animal speak?” I send it her way like a flying arrow.

“No. I haven’t. Maybe you are going crazy.” She smiles and pats my back. She looks me in the eye, and I in return. I shrug my shoulders.

“Animals don’t speak, Goose of House Greyson,” she continues, but her lips don’t move.

It gives me the same sensation I felt when I was with Coloss. I shuffle away from her. My leg burns with pain, but I manage to scoot to the end of the bench.

“What was that?”

“Your key to the Redcliffe Guardian. The beasts do not speak, but if you use your Instincts, they can communicate. But don’t ask me how. It is not anything I can explain.”

“What? Why? If it is the key to get across the ravine and you can’t teach it to anybody, then how does anybody ever get across the ravine?”

“Exactly. Only the worthy, Goose of House Greyson. Oh, my apologies. There I go again, sounding like the crazy old coot.”

“I suppose that is logical. ‘The Worthy’. How do I become one of the worthy?”

“You already are. You just have to find it.”

“So many mind-fucking riddles in this village.” I tense. “Err… I didn’t mean…”

Fairview chuckles. “Your language doesn’t offend me. I’ve heard it all. It is merely emotion escaping verbally. If you keep it in, that emotion will find other routes to escape, and language is the least offensive. Sticks and stones.”

“What?”

“Never mind…an age-old saying.”

“So, if you have no advice on how to get to Greybark, can you advise me on how to kill the Taoiseach?” I ask bluntly. Fairview observes me for a moment, pondering. Her expression shifts to something fierce.

“I will not give you advice to kill a man… But I will advise you how to protect your family. Goose the Great. It sounds nice. It fits you. But it’s lacking. What makes you great, Goose? Is it your achievements? Your passion? Your fine tracking skills? Maybe they all play a part, but what are they without the people around you who care? When death has taken you…” She waves a hand at the flames. “…there may be some who sing about Goose the Great because of his grand achievements, because he gallantly rescued a princess from the Cryptid King. Such gallant stories give inspiration, sure, but does it make you great? I suppose that’s debatable, but what I’m getting at is those around you will decide for you. You have no say in it, so stop trying to accomplish ‘great’ things and do what it takes to save your family. Forget about how others perceive you. Forget about being great.” She pats my leg. “And heal up or you’ll be stuck here forever.” She smiles. “Now…I have a dance with death awaiting me.” She rises and thumps her feet and bounces and sways to the rhythm of the drums. She’s as aged as the forest but as youthful as a tiger cub.

Unable to partake or even flee the celebration, I am a hostage to the festivities. So, I sit and ponder her words amongst death. The evening hours have brought a chill to the air, and I appreciate his blaze in front of me.

Chippie suddenly hops onto the bench next to me and starts chirping. I try to shoo him. He scampers to the edge of the bench but won’t retreat any farther. “What do you want?” Great, I’m talking to a squirrel.

“Company,” a voice sounds out.

I look around, and there is nobody looking at me. Nobody wanting to sit next to me. I look down to the squirrel. I attempt to speak in return but am unsure how. This is crazy!

Chippie scurries closer and hops onto my lap. My arms fly in the air, and my initial reaction is to stand and send him flying, but I can’t. He circles a few times on my lap and curls up into a ball. The orange glow of the fire beams off his silvery-grey fir. He doesn’t have a tail to wrap around himself, so he’s probably seeking the heat of the fire. I gently pat his soft scruff.

My fallacies have morphed into more than intended. The Hybreed was born a creator of the seasons. Now, he is the creator of life itself. Creator of life, yes. Creator of mankind, no. My longings have led to undeniable challenges.

33 Stone

M y anger rises. Sweat drips from my forehead as I circle in place, lost in the quickness of the battle and fatigued from the midday sun. The Master of Combat taunts me further, moving all around me with speed and precise attacks intended to aggravate me further. I cannot match Master Stormwood’s speed, and instead of revealing the skill the Master is seeking, I only shed light on my ineptitude and lack of confidence.

I