Arrow of the Mist PDF
Preview Arrow of the Mist
Arrow of the Mist; 2013 Christina Mercer All rights reserved ChristinaMercer.com Kobo Edition No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information visit ChristinaMercer.com Summary: Terror strikes the Celtic inspired kingdom of Nemetona when barbed roots breach the land and poison woodsmen, including 15-year-old Lia’s beloved father. Lia embarks on a quest to the forbidden land of Brume to gather ingredients for the cure. She relies on her herbal wisdom and newfound gift as a tree mage through a land of soul-hungry shades, trickster creatures, and uncovered truths about her family. March 2013 © Christina Mercer Hosted by indie-visible ink www.indie-visible.com Cover art by Chelsea Starling Formatted by Novel Ninjutsu Edited by Susanna Rosen For Dwayne and our boys, Joshua and Quinton. And for Grandpa, who inspired me to achieve my dreams. You will always be remembered. Chapter 1: Roots Chapter 2: Buds Chapter 3: Shade Chapter 4: Fertile Ground Chapter 5: Deadwood Chapter 6: Split Chapter 7: Lumber Chapter 8: Rootbound Chapter 9: Waterlogged Chapter 10: Sap Chapter 11: Hedge Chapter 12: Kindling Chapter 13: Keys Chapter 14: Whorl Chapter 15: Crown Chapter 16: Stump Chapter 17: Taproot Chapter 18: Hollow Chapter 19: Reseed Chapter 20: Family Tree Nettles stung Lia’s flesh. She pressed her fingers against her mouth for relief. This is what I get for letting my thoughts wander. Grandma wouldn’t have been so careless while harvesting sting-leaf. She wouldn’t have let the villagers’ opinions prick at her mind, no matter how many called her mad for crafting remedies in the old ways. Koun whined and nudged Lia’s arm with his nose. “I’m all right, boy.” Lia gazed into her hound’s violet eyes and then turned her attention to the friendlier mallow plant. Its white flowers matched Koun’s coat and its leaves and roots promised a soothing balm for the nettle’s bite. She’d make another batch of salve for Da, too. He swore her “potions” kept his hands fit enough for hewing wood and soft enough for holding Ma. Her ma could use a bit more mallow infusion for her soaps, as well, and she’d take a bundle of clippings to Granda— Her thoughts scattered as Koun shot from the garden. Lia whirled around to the pair of horses charging up the path. She squinted in the dusky light and recognized Da’s friend, Kenneth, on one of the horses. Then her insides went cold. Across the other horse’s back lay Da’s limp body. She dropped the harvested mallow and sped from her garden toward them. Ma’s scream shot like a bolt through her, but Kenneth’s words, “He’s alive,” offered Lia a morsel of hope. Kenneth carried Da into the cottage, and Lia caught a glimpse of her father’s torn and bloodied clothing. “I’ll fetch Granda,” she cried, and hurried to her filly. Clad in her usual boy’s breeches and high leather boots, Lia raced her horse down the path with her heart pounding in rhythm to the hoof beats. Stay strong, Da! Just a little longer, and Granda will be there to heal you. Why hadn’t her dreams forewarned her? What good were fate-dreams if they showed when the mares would give birth or when visitors were coming from afar, but failed to give a timely warning for Da? She blazed across waves of shamrock green hills dotted with the ancient She blazed across waves of shamrock green hills dotted with the ancient quartz towers unique to Rockberg. She turned down the main road and rushed into the heart of the village. A few villagers lifted curious eyes, but many only cast contemptuous looks her way. Let them glare until their eyes fall from their hollows. She jumped off her horse and bolted into the makeshift store where she found Granda Luis at the counter cutting willow-weed. “Come quick!” Her grandfather’s brow shot up and he reached for his walking staff. “What’s happened, child?” “Da went chopping in the Bryns. Kenneth brought him home,” she stifled a sob, “passed out and covered in blood.” Granda headed for the door, and Lia hurried outside and untied his horse while he walked as fast as his ailing legs would allow. Granda pulled himself into the saddle, wincing. Just then, two women in lacey frocks passed, scowling at them. More newcomers from Nemetona’s southlands, more people to shun the old ways. Lia set her jaw tight and mounted her horse. She didn’t give a thistle about what they thought. All that mattered now was Da. With a silent nod from Granda Luis, they urged their horses into a run and left a cloud of dust behind them. They roared like a gust of wind from the marketplace to the outskirts of town. Granda gripped his amber-tipped staff like a fighting lance, and he offered no explanations to the villagers despite the cries of alarm his urgent pace claimed. They turned off the road and darted around the towers of quartz, lofty prisms standing proud and brilliant in the setting sun, and sped down the path to the whitewashed cottage. “Lia girl, grab m’satchel,” Granda said, dismounting his horse. Lia’s heart stampeded as she unstrapped the travel bag full of concoctions while Granda hobbled ahead. Koun greeted her as she entered the cottage, whining and nosing against her. “Easy, boy,” she soothed. She ran a hand over his snowy fur and hurried to the bedchamber. She neared Da’s bed and halted. Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. Oozing green blisters dotted his body like a strange pox, and jagged red sores covered the spaces in between. She’d never seen her beloved da hurt or sick beyond a winter fever before this day. He was always her rock, hammering away on a new table or bench in his woodshop, tilling soil for her gardens, or teaching her how to hunt with her bow. And whenever he accompanied her to town, his quick wit put anyone with a wagging tongue in his or her place. Ma lifted his head and struggled to pour some ale between his lips. She placed a wet cloth on his forehead, and then turned to Granda Luis. “Kenneth’s gone ahead to fetch Doc Lloyd. Surely, between the two of you, something can be done.” Granda nodded, though storm clouds had settled on his brow. Lia peered at Da’s riddled flesh and a chill crawled up her spine. Her mind spun with recollections of the handful of elders that had come into Granda’s store the past week, imploring him for a remedy to help their kinsmen. Like Da, the men were carried back from their hunting or chopping treks in the eastern Bryns, all feverish, pained and blighted by sores. “His sores … the strange blisters … just like the others.” Hope withered like leaves within Lia. She and Granda had tried to craft skin salves and decoctions to cure the odd symptoms. Granda searched through Grandma’s Grimoire for a remedy, but Lia knew every word of the beloved book, and nowhere on its pages did it mention such ills. If Granda couldn’t help the others, how could he heal Da? The lump in Lia’s throat grew thicker. Her family was everything. She had no friends, save her hound Koun and the horses. She spent every waking hour in Granda’s store, in her gardens, or in Da’s woodshop. It was a simple life, and fine by her, but now it was starting to splinter. Ma’s lips trembled. Several strands of copper hair escaped from her bun, clinging to the sweat beading her face. “He felt fine this morning, eager to go chopping. What could have possibly happened?” “Briars, roots … took hold,” Da sputtered, “dragged me down … I held to Merrie’s lead … she ripped me … from them.” His muscles tensed, and his feet
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