Novel-Verse

The forest of Oakhaven demanded a toll of bone every solstice, and this year, the briars had woven themselves into the shape of a child.

Kaelen stood at the edge of the tree line, the damp fog of the Deep Woods clinging to his leather armor. The villagers of Oakhaven were huddled in the distance, their lanterns casting long, nervous shadows across the frost-bitten fields. They were waiting for him to do what he was paid for. Kaelen was a Warden, sworn to uphold the ancient pacts between the humans and the terrifying entities that ruled the ancient timber.

Before him, forming a crude archway between two massive, decaying oak trees, was a structure made entirely of bleached white bones and thick, black briars. Blood-red roses bloomed from the thorns, glowing faintly in the dim twilight. But what chilled Kaelen wasn’t the archway itself. It was the figure standing just beyond it.

A little girl, perhaps seven years old, stood perfectly still in the green, rolling mist. Her dress was made of woven dead leaves, and her skin was the color of old parchment. But her eyes—her eyes were solid black, like polished obsidian.

“I know who you are,” Kaelen said, his hand resting on the hilt of his silver-inlaid longsword. He kept his voice steady, masking the deep, primal fear that always bubbled up when dealing with the Fey. “You are the emissary of the Briar King. Where is the toll we agreed upon?”

The child tilted her head. When she spoke, her voice sounded like dry branches scraping against a windowpane. “The King is displeased, Warden. The bones you offered last year were frail. Old cattle. Sickly hounds. The forest requires strength to hold back the rot.”

“The pact states that the toll is bone, not the source of it,” Kaelen countered, taking a slow step forward. “We honored the agreement.”

“The pact is broken,” the child said simply. She pointed a small, twig-like finger at Kaelen. “The King demands a new toll. The bones of a Warden. Or the briars will consume Oakhaven by dawn.”

Kaelen’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked past the child, deep into the woods. The trees seemed to be leaning closer, the thorny vines writhing like serpents in the underbrush. The air smelled thick with the scent of crushed roses and copper. The Briar King was waking up, and he was hungry.

“I cannot give you my life,” Kaelen said, drawing his sword. The silver blade hummed softly, reacting to the heavy magic in the air. “But I can give you a fight.”

The child smiled, a terrifying expression that stretched too wide across her face, revealing teeth made of jagged flint. “The forest does not fight, Warden. It simply grows.”

With a sudden, violent crack, the bone archway shattered. The black briars exploded outward, twisting and elongating with terrifying speed. They shot toward Kaelen like spears, the blood-red roses bursting open to release clouds of blinding green pollen.

Kaelen swung his sword, the silver blade slicing through the thick vines with a hiss of burning magic. Black sap sprayed across his face, burning like acid. He rolled beneath a swinging branch and lunged at the child, knowing she was the anchor for the Briar King’s magic in this realm.

But the child didn’t move. As Kaelen’s blade came down, she dissolved into a pile of dry leaves and thorns. A deep, rumbling laugh echoed from the trees—a sound that shook the very ground beneath Kaelen’s boots.

“Foolish metal,” a voice boomed from the shadows. “You cannot kill the woods.”

Roots burst from the soil, wrapping tightly around Kaelen’s ankles. He slashed frantically, but for every root he cut, two more took its place. The briars were closing in, forming a dome over him, blocking out the twilight sky. The scent of roses became overpowering, suffocating.

Kaelen dropped to his knees, his silver sword slipping from his grasp. The briars wrapped around his chest, tightening like a vice. As his vision began to fade into a sea of green mist, he saw the child re-form in front of him from the swirling leaves.

She reached out and gently touched his cheek with her twig-like fingers.

“Do not fear, Warden,” she whispered, her obsidian eyes reflecting the dying light of his silver sword. “You will make a beautiful rose.”

Explore more dark fantasy from Novel-Verse: Spells for a Broken Heart, The Merchant of Whispers, and Shadows of the Silver Forest.