Page 5 of Of Blood & Stone

Poison.

Though this one didn’t kill or maim humans, it stripped her people of their divine connection to Aretta; it stripped Kreenasof their power. Only their kingdom’s warriors were allowed to handle the substance, all ordained by the High One.

Sylzenya’s father wasn’t one of them.

“No,” Sylzenya breathed, looking to her father, “You wouldn’t?—”

“Sylzenya, listen to me, please.”

But nothing he could say would make a difference. She could sense it clearly now, a loss within her fingertips, an emptiness where a heartbeat used to thrum with assured steadiness.

A part of her… lost.

“You—” she whispered, spit thickening in her mouth, “Youbastard.”

“We never wanted to give you to the temple. Sylzenya, we love you?—”

“Love?” she shouted, the branch’s splinters piercing her skin. “You call this love? Stripping me of our goddess’ power? Dooming our people?”

Sylzenya regretted the words as she said them. Everyone in the grove gasped. She shouldn’t be reacting this way; she was supposed to bring hope, not fear.

“Sylzenya, please—” her mother whispered, reaching for her arm.

Sylzenya held up her hands, tears streaking her face. “You’re no parents of mine.”

“Seize them.” The High One commanded.

Bright power erupted in the grove. Shouts rang in the air, warriors entering the ancient sanctum. Her mother and father didn’t fight as they were secured, hands tied behind their backs, pieces of vines secured around their mouths. Their muffled cries muted in Sylzenya’s ears as a soft breeze brushed her face, the earth beneath her nothing but dirt and ash.

She dropped the birch branch.

“Sylzenya,” Nyla called, “come on, let’s get out of here.”

But her friend’s voice spoke to her as if from a distance. Everything around her had blurred. Numb and chilled to the bone, she wrapped her fingers in her robe. The life she’d worked for—breathed for—these last ten years… taken with a tree branch to her back. She should’ve known better than to trust herfather, her holy cut now defiled by his hands. Tears wet the earth at her feet; heat spread to her limbs; a sting ran up her nose into her forehead.

Aretta, please, hear me.

She waited. No answer came.

Someone started to yell. She jolted from her stupor, realizing the person yelling was her. As she beheld the grove, people kneeled before her.

Weeping.

Without her power, the famine would take her kingdom. Herhome. Sadness quickly gave way to anger. It burned hotter than the pain of the orodyte serum in her back. Picking up the branch, she silently walked the only path she knew by heart; the path to the temple.

“Syl, where are you going?” Nyla questioned.

“The altar room,” Sylzenya stated. “I need to commune with Aretta.”

“Hold on. Let’s take this slow?—”

“I need to commune with Aretta.”

The earth felt dead under her feet as she broke into a run, her robe billowing as cold wind whipped her face. Grief threatened to choke her throat, but she held it back. Now wasn’t the time to cry. Her people needed her to be strong, they needed her tofixthis. Willow branches scraped her face as she rushed out of the grove, mumbling prayer after prayer, begging her goddess to meet her through the ancient roots in the altar room. She needed a cure, a miracle—anything.

Without her power, there wouldn’t be enough Kreenas to fend off the famine.

Without her power, her people would die.

---