Page 11 of Of Blood & Stone

Nyla stilled, her amber eyes filled with pity. “Your parents are… unwell. But this doesn’t mean we need to find a solution right now.”

“I still might have some power left, and if I do, I intend to use it.” Sylzenya peeled her friend’s hand off of her shoulder. “If you’re truly my friend, you’ll stand with me, not against me.”

“I amalwayswith you, Sylzenya,” she retorted, “but there’s a lot to consider. It’s why I urge you, at the very least, to delay what you’re about to do.”

“There’s no time,” Sylzenya replied, gaze turning to the willow’s roots, “I need to make this right before word gets out that my power is…” she paused, clearing her throat, “I’m going to seek Aretta’s Willow. Its sap can heal any ailment, so it should be able to do the same for this poison.”

A taut silence spanned between them.

“Not only is the tree a myth, we don’t even know if it’s capable of restoring power.”

“And that’s why I’m going to seek Aretta—for her direction and counsel.”

“Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this?” Nyla asked.

Sylzenya’s jaw hardened. “Our life’s path is that of a Kreena, our sole purpose to provide for our people. And pain is merely the price we pay for it.”

“This isn’t the time to use scriptures.”

“Then what times are they made for? When everything is bright and good? I’d thought they were meant for times when we needed hope.”

Her friend stared long and hard at her. Letting out a deep breath, Nyla finally stepped back, placing both hands over her heart and bowing. Sylzenya returned the gesture, one of respect and honor on behalf of their goddess.

Kneeling before the tree and its roots, Sylzenya bowed her head. She heard Nyla’s whispered prayers echo along the walls behind her.

Smooth, cold bark slid underneath her palm. Bright green leaves brushed against each other. Closing her eyes, she listened for her goddess’ heartbeat. The familiar rhythm she sought out not only when she was creating vegetation in the gardens, but also in the cold nights when she yearned for her parents.

Please, Aretta, don’t abandon me just yet.

Something soft sounded in her ears.

Thump.

Sylzenya dug her nails into the root, splintering the bark.

Thump.

Desperation gave way to searing pain, the cut along her back reopening.

Golden threads twirled out of the ground, slow and unsteady. Circling her arms, her goddess’ power faltered, the threads flickering in and out of focus.

She was running out of time.

Everything around her swirled into bright colors—purples, oranges, greens, and blues—like a clear piece of orodyte reflecting the sun.

Sylzenya’s head spun.

She willed herself to remain present as the colors brushed past her vision, illuminating before her a willow as tall as the temple itself. But unlike the willow inside the temple, the tree was as clear as crystal. Thin lines of gold ran up and down its base, into the limbs, and filling the leaves.

The mythical tree—Aretta’s Willow.

Aretta, hear my prayer,she pleaded.Where might I find your tree?

Only silence answered her, the golden light continuing to run up and down the tree.

A flapping of wings brushed by her ear. A bird landed on one of the tree’s many limbs, its gray and white feathers paired with deep blue eyes. It sat on the branch, staring at her, a thin gold object held in its beak.

A ring.

---