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

will be so bold to say he is the tyrant controlling the pawns of this realm. But not me. He’ll never control me.”

“The Taoiseach is your enemy?” The rat stops in its tracks and faces me, poking his pointy head through the bars. It raises its paw, fixing its gaze on me, and points. “That is a bold comment when you don’t know to whom you speak, young lad.”

“Oh hell…why is this rat talking to me? Have I been poisoned?” I think aloud. And for some reason I answer his question, making eye contact with the rat. “Yes, he is my enemy. I have my reasons, and he is aware of them. And what’s it to a little pest like you? What do you care?”

“Rat? This is Chippie, the Tailless Avenger you speak to. Not a rat. A squirrel. Young lad, you need a father figure in your life,” squeaks the voice. “You should not speak so ill about that which you know nothing of. A squirrel or a rat are not pests. A squirrel is an intelligent and prized asset in the world we live in.”

The rat-squirrel is now waving its forearms up and down as if I’ve angered it. What in Susy’s four hells is happening?

Unexpectedly, an elderly man drops from the top of the cage. I shuffle backward, having thought I was losing my mind talking only to a rat. His feet plant firmly into the ground with strength and finesse. With his tall stature, lanky appendages, and leathered and sagging skin, he’s much nimbler than a man his age should be. His attire, however, is much more youthful than his physical characteristics, resembling that of a jester. Greyish bark plates guard his shins, thighs, forearms, biceps, and chest. Each includes a bright painting of an animal—all different. His shoulders are capped with horned turtle shells, and his groin is covered with a grass kilt. Atop his head, maybe entwined into his hair, is a crown of miniature palms. And behind all his juvenile armor, somehow, he exudes a confidence.

“If you are not a Regal Rider, then why the regal beast?”

I look down at the squirrel—sort of an assurance I haven’t gone mad—then back to the man. Both are staring at me with their arms crossed. Then I see the old man’s lips move, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Not many drifters travel with a beast of such luxury, you know. Did you steal it?” He continues his interrogation without acknowledging the quirkiness of his unveiling.

Who is this jester?

“The tiger is not mine, but I did not steal it either,” I reply, chin up and chest out. “He was left in my care, and I will see to it nothing happens to him. That’s your warning.”

“Ooh, a boisterous lad. But deep down, I’m certain your sad. For you’re all alone, trapped in a cell, by a man who could be your grandad. Whom you believe to be raving mad. But you should know, this cell was designed by an—”

“Enough! Enough with the rhymes! What’s your game?”

The squirrel climbs up one of the cage bars and starts chirping at me from above. I look around for something, anything, to throw at it. My stomach rumbles.

“No game. I simply inquire.”

“There’re more of you. Yes? You’re not alone in this wood?”

“Of course not,” he squeaks. “Did I not mention the Redcliffe Guardians? Are you deaf or dull?”

“Neither. Are you a crazy old coot?” There’s nothing within reach except pine needles and dirt, so I give up on what would be a lousy breakfast anyways. Rodent is a beggar’s meal.

“Ah, that I am, but I’m not alone.” He responds with a grin then physically wipes it away with his hand before promptly continuing his interrogation. “So, if you have a tiger as a companion, what’s with the stallion? Why not ride the regal beast?”

“If your eyes worked, you would see that regal beast is far too seasoned. The stallion was lent to me by a generous man who believed I was on a justified path.”

“Believed in you, or your ‘justified path’? And to do what?”

“Too many questions.”

“We choose to know who roams our wood.”

“So, you lock up any traveler that enters this wood? Isn’t that a bit taxing?”

“Not every traveler, just the ones who’ve no business here.”

“Let me go, then. My business is in Greybark.”

“Greybark?” The coot paces and massages his hairless chin. The squirrel bounces to the forest floor and paces alongside him. “Why Greybark? I here there’s not much to see save for a withering old village and a grumpy old goat.”

“I seek Old Lady Windblown. I’ve been told she resides there. I hear she’s full of wisdom, and wisdom is what I seek.”

“Wisdom, huh? You’re more likely to get modsiw out of her. Everything she says is backwards or in riddles.”

I stare at him, unsure how to respond to that comment.

“What? She’s absolutely whacky. Crazy. Unhinged.”

He’s either absolutely mad himself or a mad genius. I decide to bypass his games. “You know her, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Can you tell me how to reach her?”

“Possibly. There’s really only one way to get there, but by the status of your current situation, I know you don’t have what it takes.”

“I have what it takes. I always have what it takes.” This crazy jester assumes too much. He thinks of me as some incompetent fool.

“Ah…you may be right. I’m not the best judge of character. But you can’t seem to escape a simple cage.”

Dammit. I must escape this inane cell, if only to give this imbecile a wallop. There must be something. A mechanism to open a hatch or something. Stroking his squirrel, the old man watches as I inspect the cell.

“Alright.” He throws his hands in the air, and the squirrel