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

his tone strengthens as he starts pacing. “We find Jaymes, we quite possibly even rescue her, then what? We go back into hiding. Where do we go that the Taoiseach can’t find us? We defied the limits of the Broken Forest, but I doubt we’d have the same luck in the Thunder Bluffs living on the sheer cliffs, or the sink holes of the Cypress Marsh. And the Blood Plains are out of the question. We were lucky to discover the Cryptids are wary of light; otherwise, we’d never have survived in that damned forest. We were lucky, and we won’t have that same luck in the other uninhabitable regions. Besides, with the Taoiseach knowing we’re alive, we would never stand a chance against his unlimited resources. There will be no usurping him from his throne atop Parliament because we don’t have any evidence of his malicious intents. Our only way out would be to murder that monster. It’s the only way to truly save Jay and ourselves. We can’t go on living like this, Stone, and you know it. There’s nowhere else for us to run, and this Old Lady Windblown sounds like an opportunity to end it.” He stops pacing and turns to face me. “Plus, after being in this town for a night, I’d much prefer to get back to normal water closets and hot baths.”

“What are you speaking of, young lad?” Gunther inquires. He grips his back and squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. I lend him a hand to rise to his feet.

“May I?” I gesture to aid him with his back pains. The Advocate raises a hand that signifies by all means, have at it. I stand beside him and place a palm on his neck, ensuring I have flesh-to-flesh contact as he continues speaking.

“You speak of murd—ah—oh—that feels good…”

Goose’s body stiffens and he answers with confidence, ignoring the Advocate’s sudden display of elation. “Yes. It’s our only chance of survival. If Old Lady Windblown is as wise as you lead me to believe, she will have the wisdom to guide me beyond his unparalleled talents. And it will not only give us our freedom, but every other citizen of Vedora as well.”

Gunther looks at me with a smile as I sit back down. “We need one of you around here permanently. My spine feels fifty seasons younger.” He raises his arms over his head to stretch, and the sleeves of his cassock fall, revealing the leathery skin of his arms and the reality of his age. “The Captain will surely let you on his vessel with talents like that,” he assures me.

Gunther’s grin fades as his focus shifts back to Goose. “My intentions were not malicious,” the Advocate proclaims. “I simply believed you to need some guidance.”

“You’re an Advocate. I know what your intentions are, but I must do this.”

“Have you not heard of the Immortal Ruler?” Gunther adds.

“Immortal?”

“The Taoiseach dates back to The Old Races of Azure—”

“A history lesson,” Goose interrupts. “What’s your point?”

“Goose! That’s a bit brazen, don’t you think? I apologize, Your Elegance. Please forgive him.” Regardless of the direction Goose has carried this conversation, in the end, we still need Gunther’s help. He can maintain his manners.

“I’ve been around long enough to see the Taoiseach has not aged. That man is more than an ordinary Dihkai. And you’ve heard of the Grafts, no doubt. The shunned races that harbor more than one of the seasonal talents. Cursed spirits, really. Not humans. They’re demons that walk amongst us. Susy has stripped them of all integrity by muddling their blood with two races.”

Goose rolls his eyes and paces back and forth behind the pew I sit on. “Yes,” he replies. “And I suppose the Taoiseach is one of the Grafts he’s deemed taboo…” He stops pacing and grips the back of the pew. “That means he fears the Grafts,” he says with determination. “A weakness…”

“Fear, maybe. Weakness, perhaps,” Gunther replies. “An Immortal is said to have the talents of both the Hiberneyt and Lahyf—the talents of Winter and Spring. They have the ability to both preserve and regenerate tissue, which is how they create the fallacy of immortality.”

“So he’s not immortal, then?” Goose continues his pacing. “He’s a pretender.”

The Advocate shrugs. “He’s certainly a Dihkai. He’s publicly demonstrated the power to rot a man to his core. This is known. Beyond that…” Gunther shrugs again. “He’s not a Shaman, for they only have the talent of the Lahyf and Sprhowt. He’s neither, so I would presume. He could be an Imp with the talent of the Sprhowt and Dihkai, but that doesn’t quite explain the immortality and his ability to preserve his nature. The other alternative is a Grim, which fits both his ability to rot and preserve. But preservation of the tissue alone isn’t enough. He must have the talent of the Lahyf to regenerate tissue to create the fallacy of immortality. Otherwise, he’d be as stiff as the impenetrable wall that fortifies his estate.”

“So what are you saying?” I ask. “The Taoiseach is Susy himself?”

“No, no, no.” Gunther chuckles. “What I’m saying is the Taoiseach defies what we know to be true. And you may find some answers hidden within Old Lady Windblown, who challenges the Taoiseach’s own age. But these are all fables of course. Where the truth lies, I’m uncertain, but I suspect Old Lady Windblown can offer insight. One thing I do know, murder is not the answer. And Old Lady Windblown will attest to this.”

It doesn’t take Goose but a moment to dismiss Gunther’s lecture with a wave of his hand. “I can overcome the fallacy of immortality if it means getting my freedom back.”

“Can you?” I say woefully as I rise from the pew to face him. “I need your help, Goose. Please. Come with me to the capital. We can rescue Jay, then