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

But who would build a cage of this magnitude? Could it be the animal king Gunther spoke of? And why would an animal king have need of a cage if he were king of the animals? Sounds like a ludicrous hoax.

I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep and take a second assessment. Large tree roots. That’s all it is. Looking around outside my living cell, I don’t see anything save for more trees. And a few other cages similar to my own, but they’re all empty. This is a prison.

To avoid raising alarm to whoever, or whatever, captured me, I reluctantly claw away with my inadequate digits. Hand over hand at the perimeter of my cell with forced enthusiasm. The deadfall layered over the soil brushes away with a few swipes, and the ground below is softer than my seasoned hands, making for an inspiring start. I trust these roots aren’t too deep before they thin out and become frail enough to tug free. I dig at a steady pace, throwing the dirt between my legs like a mutt heedlessly digging after a grounded rodent. The pile behind me grows at a rapid pace and so does my escape route. The cage was impressive at first glance, but now I’m wondering who the idiot is that created it. Even the lowest of creatures would discover that digging would set them free.

Soon, the hole is large enough to sit in. I shake the bars, but it does nothing to loosen them. I grab onto one of the bars with both hands and place my feet against the bank of dirt I’ve created outside the cage. I yank, but the bar won’t budge. I must go deeper yet. I carry on, allowing myself no time for rest. My jailer could return at any moment.

As I get deeper, the bars bend inward, making the cage tighter, and they aren’t getting any thinner as I suspected. I’m determined, so I keep at it. They can’t go on forever. No jailer would waste the energy on such a cage unless it were for a Cryptid. But who would capture a Cryptid? Cryptids deserve death, not captivity.

I pause, finding myself standing upright in a hole deeper and wider than I am tall. My fingertips ache and I presume they’re bleeding underneath the thick layer of mud crusted over them. I ravage the bars, trying to bend or break them in any way, without success. They are as solid as ever. Could it be possible they were not only manipulated to grow but petrified as well? If that were the case, I should be able to snap them due to the length and natural brittleness of petrified wood.

I leap into the air and throw both my feet at the bars. I ricochet off, landing flat on my back. I lie there a long moment after, filling my lungs with air. But I’m not defeated. I won’t be defeated. I prop myself up and concede to the fact they’re not petrified, just extremely strong roots.

I revert back to being impressed with the architect of this forsaken cell. What I’m not impressed with is the son of a bitch who left me to die in it. The son of a bitch who left me to die… Someone had to have put me in here, so where’s the door. There must be an opening somewhere. They had to have opened it to put me in here because no Sprhowt, not in this age, is talented enough to manipulate this kind of cage overnight.

After climbing free from my hole, I bat at every root with the palm of my hand as I circle the cell. It doesn’t take long for me to discover every root is alive and well, unbreakable, relentless. There are no doors. No hinges. There is no way out. I slump to the ground, unknowing what to do. Defeated. No, not defeated. I am Goose the Great! I am never defeated. I will figure this out. But how?

“Is that it?” A chipper voice from an unknown source speaks out.

“Who’s there?” I call out in anger. “Show yourself!”

“You can try harder, can you not? You’ve plowed some mud and beat the wood like an eager, aroused old man. There’s more to life than that, lad.” The hidden captor bursts into laughter, making me even more irate.

“Show yourself. Why have you locked me in here? What have I done?” I rise and circle the cell, unaware of which direction the voice is coming from.

“You’re a Regal Rider, riding a stallion as if you’re the head of a battalion, looking like a tatterdemalion and aiming for a medallion.  And that screams danger to the Redcliffe Guardians.” More senseless laughter erupts.

Great! A damned lunatic has captured me. “So, what you’re saying is you locked me up because I look dangerous?”

“Ah, not a light-hearted soul, I can see,” squeaks the unknown voice.

“I’m trapped in your cage! Of course I’m not light-hearted about this.” A tailless rat drops from the top of my cell, arousing a hunger in my gut. “Look. I’m flattered you think me a threat, but I’m not a Regal Rider and I’m not dangerous.” I know there’s nothing useful in my cell, but I search regardless, looking for anything to trap that rat. “Not to those who aren’t my enemy, I must add.”

“And how do I know I am not your enemy?” Just outside my cell, the rat is parading back and forth on its hind legs and waving its forelegs about as the man speaks.

Am I going mad? No, it’s just a coincidence, I tell myself. I answer the faceless voice while glaring at the increasingly annoying rat. “Because I only have one enemy, and he isn’t a hermit. He lives among society like normal folk. In fact, I