Remnant by K. R. Solberg

Author:K. R. Solberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic Fantasy
Publisher: Epic North Publishing
Published: 2023-12-27T17:11:33+00:00

27

Ghosts of the Deep Wood

The Deep Wood Northeast of Lorinth, Taria

July 22, 1195 PT

Nate

Nate stared into the Deep Wood. He shifted his weight from foot to foot at the edge of the forest. The shadows obscured Arimal’s profile as he ventured ahead between the trees.

Nate faltered as he recalled five years prior when his Lorinth friends had hovered at the threshold of this very forest.

They had goaded Nate, watching as he crossed the forbidden boundary and crept through the undergrowth.

With each step, Nate’s heart had pounded. Lost in wonderment, he hadn’t noticed how far he’d gone. The babbling of a stream caught his ear, and he followed it until he came to the water’s edge. On the opposite bank, a yellow lady slipper wavered in a thin band of sunlight.

Nate snatched the flower and turned. An endless expanse of forest greeted him. Huffing, he tracked his same path through the undergrowth—or so he thought. After a half hour had passed, adrenaline coursed through him, and sweat dotted his forehead.

A tree rustled behind him. He whirled around. No sign of life, but the stirring had shifted everywhere, like the ground itself writhed. He swallowed hard and bolted. His foot caught on a thick vine, knocking him headfirst to the ground.

His vision blurred, and he lay with his eyes closed for what felt like an hour. A cool breeze tickled his face.

He blinked away dust and tears. On his ankle, a bruise had bloomed. A wad of poison ivy lay smashed in his fist, instead of the lady slipper prize. He jumped to his feet and shook the leaves from his hand.

The edge of the woods spanned before him, overlooking the sleepy town of Lorinth. His gaze darted from the forest to the village. The burning rash along his arm had convinced him to never step into the Deep Wood again.

Until now. He shook himself and caught up with Arimal. The man led him along a narrow path, spotted with ferns, and winding around mighty oak trees. In the darkness, Nate stumbled on roots and rocks cluttering their way. Red and blue bands of moonlight cast shadows through the canopy. Owls hooted. The wind whispered. Crickets stilled momentarily, then resumed their music after Arimal and Nate had passed.

The path weaved between towering pines, the ground becoming rockier as they descended a treacherous slope ending in a gully. Arimal rested against the rock wall. Nate panted, his legs limp as he collapsed on a bed of leaves.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” Arimal said through deep, ragged breaths as he sank to the ground.

Hugging his chest, Nate closed his eyes. “Were those men collectors?”

“No. Purifiers.” Arimal clasped his knees and hung his head.

“They came for Jeb. I think he’s a ralenta.”

Arimal’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Fires, Nate.”

“Why else would they come?”

Arimal shook his head. “Purifiers are assassins. The Drawls don’t bring immortals and assassins to nab one ralenta. They certainly don’t turn a whole town into a mass grave to do it. This was something more. I heard—it seemed like Kane knew your mother.

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