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

a half-eaten thigh. She pulls a small jar from a pouch at her waist and rubs the contents onto her wound. She does the same for my wounds.

“Persia is worse off than us,” she comments.

I can’t help but admire her courage and strength. I’ve never met a woman I’ve aspired to be.

“How do you do it?” I ask.

“What?”

“The fighting. You’re fearless.”

“A life of pain.” She stares off into the distance. She looks disgusted.

“I’ve had a life of pain. Can I fight like that too?”

“It’s a different kind of pain than what you’ve experienced. We’ll see what the Taoiseach wants to do with you.”

I have always kept to myself, spending the majority of my time in my athenaeum. That has ended. Now that word has spread that I’m the Hybreed, I have new friends waiting outside my residence daily. They neglect to hear me when I tell them to leave. If I can muster enough courage, maybe a true friendship will arise. It may be needed to endure the trials that await me.

23 Goose

T he treetops are ablaze, lighting the entirety of the canopy plaza. Not with wildfire, but a controlled one. The smell of burnt wood has always been an alluring one to me. Centrally located in the canopy plaza, the villagers of Redcliffe dance and socialize around an intense bonfire. A danger I hold at a safe distance despite its appeal.

The deck they dance upon is an ankle-turner—a grand web of intertwining vines and branches. But these villagers have been gallivanting through the treetops since they could walk, so they are more likely to turn an ankle on the forest floor.

More impressive is their vigor. Several benches encircle the fire—enough for half the village—but they’re mere decoration with none being occupied. Neither the elderly nor the adolescent seem to utilize them. Even a mother with her babe at her tit lightly jostles around amongst the others with the babe wrapped tight to her breast. The energy of these people is euphoric and seemingly infinite.

“Thank you, Graytu, for allowing me a bath and fresh garb.” Bath is an exaggeration. It included a pail of chilly water being dumped over my head after a barrage of elderly women stripped me of my attire, unwillingly, and discarded it. I was then forced to adorn a faded green tunic and a set of brown twill trousers.

“You are very welcome, Goose of House Greyson. You will find the people of our community are generous. Even to fellow drifters such as yourself.” Graytu speaks earnestly.

“The women attending to me…they burned the tunic and trousers I was wearing,” I add. “I recently bartered for that outfit. They didn’t give me much choice. And they made sure to acknowledge my trousers were soiled beyond redemption.”

The squirrel on his shoulder chirps wildly. “Ah, yes, my nose has grown large with my old age. I was cognizant of your trouser situation.” His nose wrinkles as he places a finger under it.

I cross my arms with a frown. He taunts with utter sincerity, and I find it more irritating than if he were to make a mockery of me.

The two of us approach the energetic plaza together with Helios trolling behind. I thought it wise the cat stay behind in the sole stable they have in this village, but Graytu insisted I bring him along.

“Tell me again what this celebration is for?” I ask the odd old man.

“Life.”

“Life?” I repeat.

“Yes. Life.”

I don’t understand, but I accept the answer. I’ve noticed the more answers he gives me, the more questions I have, and after the day’s events it will only cause my head to hurt more.

I was quite surprised when the invitation to this gathering was passed along to me. A stranger welcomed with open arms. It’s not something I’m accustomed to, but I am more than eager to attend. Too many seasons have passed since I’ve had such an opportunity. I chose the life of near solitude, but I never anticipated the miseries that would accompany it. One of them being the lack of socializing. Being a man—and a man raised by my father—I would have never thought it a necessity in my world. It’s something women fill their empty days with. Although, approaching this energetic scene filled with smiles and laughter strikes an emotion buried deep within me. Not forced, not a result of prank, nor the product of somebody else’s misfortune, but a true genuine smile rises between my cheeks.

A sudden bellow of a drum thunders, silencing everyone. My body tenses. I anxiously look over the crowd to see where the war drum is coming from and where the assailants will appear. As I look around at everyone, nobody else is alarmed. I suddenly feel like the fool here to entertain the party.

Graytu places his hand upon my shoulder. “The show is starting. Let’s squeeze to the front of the crowd. You’ll want a better view. With the children.”

The blazing fire softens to a mild glow of embers. Hanging high above the celebration amongst the highest reaches of the canopy, giant thunder lanterns spring to life. First, two above the stage light in unison, accompanied by massive booms from the drums. Then, consecutively, they all spark in synchronization with the thunderous booming. About a dozen in all, the entire plaza fills with the ambient, energized light of the thunderbugs. These are not conventional thunder lanterns made with glass but something more organic, as I have come to expect in this village. The grandeur in the mere opening moments of the show set the expectations high for the remainder of it. I find myself filled with anticipation.

Next, a white screen unfurls from above, and another dozen smaller thunder lanterns charge the stage, lighting up the screen and sending silver waves flowing throughout it as if the screen