Woodspell

Book 1: Tales of Ardonna: Woodspell Series

by C. R. Collins

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

Humanity's time has run out.

She’ll never be a victim again, but Rowena’s new power could destroy her country.

WOODSPELL is Volume 1 in the completed trilogy, TALES OF ARDONNA: WOODSPELL SERIES, a fairy tale for adults.

Content Advisory: adult themes, domestic violence, suicidal ideation

 

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Release date: January 3, 2022

Publisher: Kapeo Press

Print pages: 385

Sample

                        BOOK I

We’re caught in the web of our own fascination, the same as the day before.

Swept up in the tide of our own concentration, struggling for the shore.

 

1

The scenic route turned murky after nightfall. Our land glider’s lights were little help. Alby wanted to push on as long as possible before parking up to sleep, so we kept going. I thought this sensible. Every league forward was a gift. People rarely left Maldhonia Province. Perhaps they’d hunt us down. But the day had passed without issue. Our road wound along the foothills of the northern Wood Mountains, earning its scenic name. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, light scattering through branches. Trees marched vertical leagues over our heads, pausing at boulders along the heights, where anything could hide, then faded into dusk. In the dark, the forest formed one shadowy wall. Mist rose in the headlights. We were both tired, and likely dazed by monotony, but I don’t believe that set us off seeing things.

“She appeared out of nowhere!” Alby gestured frantically at the darkness. “I had to swerve to avoid hitting her . . . and then . . . this tree . . . it literally jumped out at us! Blessed hells, it killed my ‘Luxie!”

I didn’t see the cause of our crash. I woke to crunching metal and shattering glass. But my brother never used the word “literally,” nor any superlative, and didn’t drink or use drugs—he’d lectured me on all these things. Alby favored reason and clarity. Preciseness in actions and speech. If he said there’d been a beautiful woman, naked and glowing, standing in the middle of the road, those were facts. Shame I’d missed her.

“It’s getting to you, then? Quitting your job, my divorce, excommunication, selling Mom’s silver tea service, lying to Kate—”

Alby always called me “dreamy” and teased me about my lack of common sense. I should try to be normal, he’d say. It hurt my feelings, but I’m partly to blame—it’s that image he carries of his older sister sitting in the fields with goats, writing poetry with flies buzzing over her head. Laughing at his delusions was a rare opportunity.

He hadn’t been amused. “Rowena! I know how it sounds. If you’d been driving and told me a story like that—” Our eyes met, and I had to laugh.

Naked, glowing women aside, there are legends of moving trees, we’ve all heard them—campfire tales of the deep dark Wood, the thing that eats stray children. And Alby lacked the imagination to make up such a story. My little brother in name only, he’d persisted in trying to care for me ever since he’d grown larger than me. I’d insisted that wasn’t necessary, he wasn’t responsible for my mistakes, but when my marriage finally collapsed, leaving me stunned and half-alive, though unsurprised, Alby had a solution:

“A change of pace. A better view of life. More money.”

Sharren City, that glittering utopia—as seen in the media—would nurture our ambitions and fulfill all our needs. My brother believed in those sorts of fairy tales, the ones that began with hard work and investment. He planned our move strategically, with his usual flair for accounting. Survival in the Accord capital would be expensive.

***

Two days before we left, I sat at his office information center, scrolling through apartment listings and outside news, while he “liquidated assets” and gathered letters of recommendation. Alby was bound to succeed. Less sure about myself, I strove to be useful, dutifully researching neighborhoods. The news broadcasts fascinated me—so much never gets through to our provincial stations. Church elders in Maldhonia warn about the dangers of foreign cities, but the capital seemed worse. Eyewitness accounts came with graphic image warnings. Sharren City offered no sort of paradise, but it would do. My only goal was to die far from Maldhonia.

I didn’t want to be buried there. I didn’t want my ex at my grave. The city, with its blood-splattered glitter, could have its way, as long as that hellscape province faded into the distance.

***

The glider’s doors were folded shut. A tree stood where the motor had been. It was a sedgewellow, a hideous thing, with knobby branches.

Alby fretted, fidgeting at my side. “Are you going to be alright walking?”

“Of course. I’m at the nature center every week. Sometimes twice a week.”

“You’re just out of the hospital. We should spend the night in the glider. Someone will be by in the morning.”

“There’s glass everywhere. And this tree is creepy.” It appeared to scowl, surely disapproving of humans and their vehicles. “Come on. Walking will be fun. Maybe we’ll see another Wood spirit.”

My brother frowned but dropped his arguments. He pulled his bag and our blankets from under the remains of the back window, then rifled through the front compartments. “Here!” Alby held up a working hand torch like a trophy.

“Good deal. Has it been charging all this time?”

“No. But I think it will last the night.”

I eased out the broken window, using my backpack as padding. Alby had laughed at my over-stuffed pack. Items stuck out at odd angles. But it proved useful. And heavy.

***

The day before we left, Alby drove me around. First stop was the antique shop, then the federal courthouse. I sold Mom’s tea set and paid for my divorce in full. They gave me a case number so I could track its progress. We went to my apartment while my husband was at work. Alby stood over me while I packed.

“We travel light. Shouldn’t call attention to ourselves. Edwin’s got lots of friends. And we need money more than things. Sell, donate. Leave it behind. Or dump it on Kate.”

My husband, Edwin, said Father Providence demanded sacrifice for advancement in life. It seemed God took satisfaction in our loss. I didn’t believe in Father Providence anymore, but still had faith in the sensible pain of downsizing. I cut deep. Crammed pens, journals, and my favorite books in with clothing and keepsakes, then sold or gave away the rest. The books were the hardest to lose. Poetry and philosophy. Science and fantasy. Magical kings. And the lost ships. I donated them to the federal library. Our provincial library would have burned them.

Kate received my plants, with pages of instructions. She rolled her eyes, but I knew she’d dote on them. Seven years older than me, my sister’s a mothering sort—she can’t help herself. She’d fussed at us the morning we left, clutching me to her floral-scented breast.

“Rowena can’t handle city life. She needs time to grow up.”

I was twenty-six.

***

“Growing up,” to Kate, meant coming around to her point of view. Like Alby, she’d moaned about my inability to act “normal,” but she didn’t approve of him either, so it came out to a different thing. Kate’s a proper lady of the Code, offering concerns but no practical solutions. She lectures, cries, and threatens to pray over you. I did my best to make her proud, but her social events made me itchy.

***

Despite the prolonged goodbye, we got on the road before morning traffic. I asked to take the Old Wood Highway—the scenic route to Sharren Province—promising to find a job as soon as we arrived. Alby preferred the quicker toll road north of the river. It’s paved and well-lit, with no distractions of scenery beyond billboards.

“There’s ultramodern charging stations, with showers and sleeping compartments, and upscale dining options, not the standard buffet.”

“I’ve never been out of our province before. I want to see more than advertisements. The old highway must have a charging station.”

“There’s an unmanned charger, somewhere in the middle. There’s no food.”

“No buffet?”

“Oddly enough, nobody wanted to build a café inside the Wood.” He paused. “Alright, but not because you’ll work. I want you to enjoy the ride. Smile again.”

“I’ll try.”

I smiled watching Maldhonia turn to gray dust behind us—vestiges of factory smoke from its capital—then admired the scenery. The forest looked as pretty as a fairyland. And as mysterious. Eyes peered from shadows, even in midday, more feeling than fact. I tried not to imagine. Mostly, I gazed left, past my brother and his cheery plans, into south central Sharren and the endless forest. Few have explored in there. Fewer have traveled farther, beyond our borders into the unmapped lands.

***

Alby folded a blanket over his windowsill and flopped onto the road. I helped him up, and he gathered his things, already grumbling. My brother hadn’t hiked in years. We examined his ‘Luxie. It had been a limited designer model. Now, it appeared an integral part of the sedgewellow tree, ready to brave wind and rain, groping for sun.

“I just had it detailed.” Alby sounded like he might cry.

“When you make it big in the city, you can buy a fleet. The important thing is we’re okay, right?”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“It is weird, though. Damn tree’s in our right of way.”

“Told you. Cursed thing leaped. Maybe I should do a cleansing.”

“In here?” I scanned the trees on either side of the road, standing where they were supposed to be. Nothing moved beyond wind through branches.

“It’s my manly task to banish demons. As is written. I found that funny until now.”

“You got a prayer book on you?”

He sighed. “Haven’t had one since I left the farm.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t report you for disobedience.” I patted him, and we set off, as weary peasants into the Wood.

Well, not “into the Wood.” We knew better than that. I entertained him with the legends. All the disappearing wanderers. Not the best stories under the circumstances, but it seemed good to talk. Beat back the overbearing silence. Ahead, darkness swallowed the road.

Alby shivered.

“You cold?”

“No, I . . . can’t we talk about something more pleasant than murderous trees? I’ll even discuss your . . . interesting theories on prehistory.”

“You love those stories. Don’t you ever wonder what’s beyond our borders?”

“More trees, I expect.”

I scowled. “More than trees. The road south is the road into myth.”

“Into myth?”

“Yes. You know: ‘Somewhere inside that forest, the Coastal Range meets the South Wood Mountains, forming a deep-green pass. Beyond that, down where temperate turns sultry, is the mythical kingdom of Quenelle.’”

“You sound like a book. Or do you have one memorized?”

“As should you. Kate and I read it to you a million times. ‘The mythic Queen Jade, flying high above a tangled landscape, found the biggest myth of all. The silver glint of its hull attracted her dragon’s attention.’”

“‘A starship,’” Alby said, “‘holding the mysteries of the ages.’”

“See, you do remember.”

“It made a great bedtime story. But there’s no evidence of advanced technology brought to Sharren during the Dragon Age. Or evidence of a Dragon Age.”

“We don’t know anything. We refer to most of the world as ‘unmapped.’ I want those tales to be real. There should be starships. And dragon-riding queens.”

“You want those books she found.”

“Of course. That was the wisdom of the ancients, or what was left of it after centuries in a rainforest. But think, right now, we’re walking in fairy-tale country. Part of the lost mage kingdom. The Dragon Age started here.”

The Accord is the ragged remains of rumored greater realms. Three isolated provinces held loosely together by a formal pact, with histories as misty as forests. We’ve no formal records on our origins, but the country has a wealth of myth.

“Adventurers might have crossed this path. Prince Derek. Sir Morgan the Bold. Or Prince Brantton, the last of the dragon riders. And further back, King Alamander, when the mage kingdom fell. Those are grander stories than ours.”

Trees leaned in, as if listening. My hair pricked up.

Alby laughed. “Exploding planets and crashing spaceships? And my favorite: giants from outer space. Not my idea of a good time. I prefer modern life. Where all this stuff is fairy tales.”

“Life’s no less scary. Even without giants. People can still crush you. Think of the discoveries to be made outside our fishbowl country. Proof of starships would be worth a fortune. More money for investments. And gliders.”

I loved the idea of uncovered knowledge, revelations of facts that would shake the foundations of our complacent world. Alby loved the thought of profit. He’d dreamed of corporate adventure all his adult life—to live in a suit and tie and eat expensive, dubious food—but imagine discovering a starship.

“We’re on foot anyway. How about we divert south and give the city a miss?”

My brother laughed harder and kept on west. We trudged along the side of the road, steps stirring gravel, stumbling over roots and ruts. The Old Wood Highway wasn’t well-maintained, but it had been scenic. I didn’t mind the walk, but the dark felt oppressive. With the glider switched off, the world had turned black—darker than the shade of a civilized night. Alby’s torch wavered defiantly. Shadows gave reluctant way and followed after.

The bulk of Sharren Province is woodland, with civilization crowded into the western end. Most of central Sharren is unexplored—even the land between the highways. People drive on by. Or picnic just off the road. The Wood is mystery. It’s the same where I grew up. The Maldhonian Nature Preserve, with its trimmed and tended trails, runs parallel to the Accord’s eastern border. Beyond it, legends and theories blend. Code law discourages exploration. The Old Wood Highway ends at a metal barrier, overhung by trees. There are rumors of wolves and bears and nameless dreads, and no tales of brave expeditions.

“Do you think anyone will be by tonight?”

Alby shook his head. “No one lives out here. The last turnoff was hours ago, toward the homesteads in east Sharren.”

Another point for the new highway. No towns had settled along the scenic route. But my brother didn’t complain. He entertained me by reciting what he knew of spontaneous hallucinations. His naked, glowing woman had not reappeared. Alby’s voice echoed along the empty roadway and slid into the void. It answered with silence.

“I’m sorry, Ro. I’ve made a mess of things. I just wanted to get you out of there. And I was afraid to stop. After dark, I kept thinking I saw something behind us. Just dots in the rearview mirror. Maybe a glider, hanging back. Maybe Edwin. Maybe another hallucination.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll get a ride in the morning.”

“Don’t know how you stay so cheerful—with all you’ve been through.”

“What choice do I have?”

He took my hand. “I promise, when we get to the city, things will be better. Nobody’s going to hurt you again. It’s my job to look out for you, as a proper big brother.”

“You’re my little brother.”

He was a fine man, my brother. In other days, he could have been a legend. A mythic hero. Perhaps he still can be. One of the wonders of the world—a sensible man overcome by dreams.

The thin moons trickled ghostly light, offering no guidance. Stars peeked in and out of wandering clouds, too far away to care. Alby’s steady torch lit one step ahead, chipping at the gloom. Conversation faltered around midnight. Even my ever-churning mind went still. I fixed attention on legs and feet, willful steps against the dark. Fleeting breezes rustled leaves but gave no relief from the summer heat.

I shivered anyway. Within the sightless shades, feelings grew—part of me registered presences, vague watchings, subtle changes in the liquidy night. Trees stretched out their fraggly arms. I shifted farther into the road. My brother kept a determined pace, torchlight bobbing with his steps. Up ahead, I saw a flicker of white. Alby stiffened.

“That’s her! Do you see?”

He strode down the road with impressive speed for a businessman who’d walked for hours. I’m usually faster, but my stitches ached. Whenever he wavered, the ghost light switched on again, just ahead in the road, just out of reach. He moaned for every flawless inch, creating disturbing impromptu poetry.

“Oh, my heart, my shining star! How may I reach where you are? Without your touch I shall wither, languish in endless night!”

“Alby, listen to yourself. You never talk like this. Not even about that girl you liked in secondary school—what was her name? In your third year? You cried over her for a week.”

“How can I expect you to understand the purity of our love?”

“You got me there.”

He kept on, in sonnets and free verse, trotting after a vague glow.

I couldn’t find gender in that thing—it was a hint of fog, with a touch of smoky moonlight. A maddening fidgety moonbeam. It reminded me of the comet we’d seen as kids, a fleeting echo of light. I tried to argue, point out his stupidity, as he’d have done for me, but things got worse.

“Do you hear it?” Alby’s face set into a transfixed smile—seemed the best hallucination ever. “Do you hear her singing?” he said, though I doubt he was aware of me at all. “Such a beautiful song!”

The phantom light ran on ahead, then shifted off in a drastic direction. Far to our right. Inside the Wood.

“Alby! Wait!” He wouldn’t—

“I’m coming, my joy!”

“Alby! No!”

He plunged in, full speed, into the Wood.

“Circle of hells!”

I followed, fighting branches. Darkness crashed over me.