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

haven’t learned anything during your stay, have you? Did Fairview not tell you what she is?” Zoie comes into view and starts plucking bark scales from my skin one at a time. “C’mon. Help me get this off you.”

“Hold on. What does Fairview have to do with this assassin?”

“He’s a Graft, just like Fairview. Except he’s not a Shaman, he’s an…Immortal.”

“Fuck! My arms. Get my arms first.” I watch intently until the first one is plucked. I wince as it sends a searing pain into my flesh, but it’s only pain. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Cursing. It has been an extremely overwhelming night.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Let’s just get this stuff off you while he’s down. What were you thinking anyways? There’s a reason the Redcliffe Warriors only wear small plates of this stuff around their most vital organs and limbs.”

“I saw Graytu do it right before he…” I let my comment trail off, afraid of the reaction I might spur in Zoie.

“He’s not dead,” Zoie proclaims. “And no, he’s not an Immortal either. The people of Greybark simply have a few techniques…”

“He is dead.” I correct her. “I watched him die. And everybody else is dead too, including Fairview. This is too much. I still need to grasp the Immortals, the Shaman, the death of a village, and of…my father. Ouch!”

Zoie stops plucking the bark from my skin and looks up at me. “Sorry,” she says compassionately. I balk at her uncharacteristic apology. “Not for the pain, Sheela.” She yanks another slab of bark from my forearm. I cringe. “About your father.” And she leaves it at that.

I know she understands my sorrow. Probably even more so than I do. Neither one of us seems to be interested in consoling one another, so we let silence be the healer.

She peels enough off one arm so it’s functional again. We both peel away the bark, and in a matter of moments, I rise to my feet with a weightlessness I’ve never experienced before. My skin is tarnished with itchy red blemishes. Lesson learned.

Once free, I start toward the crossing. I look back to see Zoie isn’t following me. “What are you doing? You said he’s an Immortal. Let’s go. Before he wakes up.”

“What about Coloss? We can’t just leave him,” Zoie says.

“Yes, we can. This is his home. Do you truly believe he’d follow us? Plus, he’s a giant ape. He can take care of himself.”

“But—”

“Zoie.” I shrug my shoulders.

“I feel bad, leaving him here all alone. All his kin are gone.”

“He’s dedicated to protecting the crossing and his tree. His loss is severe, but it won’t pry him from his home.”

“Maybe I should stay, then.”

“And what? Live with a monkey for the rest of your days?”

“He’s not a monkey!”

“When that creep awakens, he won’t let you live. He’ll kill you. Or worse, make you his slave. He already informed me he’s interested in your marksmanship—”

The snapping of a twig draws my attention. The assassin is sitting upright and pulling an arrow from his skull. It’s a disturbing sight to witness. After pulling the bolt from his eye, he tosses it to the side and shakes it off.

“Dammit.” He pokes at the hole on the back of his head. Then, he sticks a finger into his eye. “That’s going to be a tough one to work around.”

“Zoie, we have to go. Now!” I start running and hear Zoie’s light footsteps right behind me. “We have to close it off. Zoie, can Coloss retract the bridge by himself?”

“I don’t know,” she replies.

I halt at the base of the steps leading up the towering granite wall. Zoie fails to stop and runs into me, following too close. I embrace her as she does to keep her from bouncing off and falling into the ravine. She looks up to me with wide eyes. I don’t know what’s hiding behind those eyes, but it’s passionate, whatever she’s feeling right now.

“Go on. I’m going to figure out how to get Coloss to retract this thing.”

“That’s a horrible idea!” she protests. “You know he doesn’t respond well to you. Let me go.”

She’s right. I may have earned his respect, but we haven’t experienced a smooth road to get here. And my Instincts aren’t as fluent as Zoie’s.

“Okay. We’ll both go,” I suggest. “The assassin still looks disconcerted.”

“As he should be! He has a hole in his neck and his face.”

We rush back over the crossing to the base of the fig tree. Coloss is perched a few branches up in his typical spot. Zoie, with her exceptional relationship with the beast, simply approaches the tree to summon him. If it were me, the ape would drop down on top of me and squash me. For Zoie, he drops down with a sense of servitude, like he is willing to do anything she requests. And sure enough, she silently communicates with him, and he gives her a nod of approval.

“Come on!” Zoie cries out. “The assassin is on his feet.”

Zoie and I hastily cross the bridge and make our way up the steps. Having experienced this climb once before, I know there is a long journey ahead of us. I hope the steps don’t retract from under our feet.

We race up each flight of steps, avoiding the unsettling amount of dead bodies littered across the path, and at each switchback, we slow because the footing is sketchy and often involves a bit of three-point contact to climb up and over the lifeless bodies.

Coloss’s rhythmic thumping begins.

At about the fifth or sixth flight, I pause for a breather and, more so, to see if we’re being followed. The red-stained granite wall goads for retaliation, but I can’t. I can’t defeat a man who can survive an arrow through his skull. Zoie’s safety