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  Arrow of the Mist; 2013 Christina Mercer

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  Summary:

  Terror strikes the Celtic inspired kingdom of Nemetona when barbed roots breach the land and poison woodsmen, including 15-year-old Lia’s beloved father. Lia embarks on a quest to the forbidden land of Brume to gather ingredients for the cure. She relies on her herbal wisdom and newfound gift as a tree mage through a land of soul-hungry shades, trickster creatures, and uncovered truths about her family.

  March 2013 © Christina Mercer

  Hosted by indie-visible ink

  www.indie-visible.com

  Cover art by Chelsea Starling

  Formatted by Novel Ninjutsu

  Edited by Susanna Rosen

  For Dwayne and our boys, Joshua and Quinton.

  And for Grandpa,

  who inspired me to achieve my dreams.

  You will always be remembered.

  Chapter 1: Roots

  Chapter 2: Buds

  Chapter 3: Shade

  Chapter 4: Fertile Ground

  Chapter 5: Deadwood

  Chapter 6: Split

  Chapter 7: Lumber

  Chapter 8: Rootbound

  Chapter 9: Waterlogged

  Chapter 10: Sap

  Chapter 11: Hedge

  Chapter 12: Kindling

  Chapter 13: Keys

  Chapter 14: Whorl

  Chapter 15: Crown

  Chapter 16: Stump

  Chapter 17: Taproot

  Chapter 18: Hollow

  Chapter 19: Reseed

  Chapter 20: Family Tree

  Nettles stung Lia’s flesh. She pressed her fingers against her mouth for relief. This is what I get for letting my thoughts wander. Grandma wouldn’t have been so careless while harvesting sting-leaf. She wouldn’t have let the villagers’ opinions prick at her mind, no matter how many called her mad for crafting remedies in the old ways.

  Koun whined and nudged Lia’s arm with his nose.

  “I’m all right, boy.” Lia gazed into her hound’s violet eyes and then turned her attention to the friendlier mallow plant. Its white flowers matched Koun’s coat and its leaves and roots promised a soothing balm for the nettle’s bite. She’d make another batch of salve for Da, too. He swore her “potions” kept his hands fit enough for hewing wood and soft enough for holding Ma. Her ma could use a bit more mallow infusion for her soaps, as well, and she’d take a bundle of clippings to Granda—

  Her thoughts scattered as Koun shot from the garden. Lia whirled around to the pair of horses charging up the path. She squinted in the dusky light and recognized Da’s friend, Kenneth, on one of the horses. Then her insides went cold. Across the other horse’s back lay Da’s limp body.

  She dropped the harvested mallow and sped from her garden toward them. Ma’s scream shot like a bolt through her, but Kenneth’s words, “He’s alive,” offered Lia a morsel of hope.

  Kenneth carried Da into the cottage, and Lia caught a glimpse of her father’s torn and bloodied clothing. “I’ll fetch Granda,” she cried, and hurried to her filly.

  Clad in her usual boy’s breeches and high leather boots, Lia raced her horse down the path with her heart pounding in rhythm to the hoof beats.

  Stay strong, Da! Just a little longer, and Granda will be there to heal you.

  Why hadn’t her dreams forewarned her? What good were fate-dreams if they showed when the mares would give birth or when visitors were coming from afar, but failed to give a timely warning for Da?

  She blazed across waves of shamrock green hills dotted with the ancient quartz towers unique to Rockberg. She turned down the main road and rushed into the heart of the village. A few villagers lifted curious eyes, but many only cast contemptuous looks her way.

  Let them glare until their eyes fall from their hollows.

  She jumped off her horse and bolted into the makeshift store where she found Granda Luis at the counter cutting willow-weed. “Come quick!”

  Her grandfather’s brow shot up and he reached for his walking staff. “What’s happened, child?”

  “Da went chopping in the Bryns. Kenneth brought him home,” she stifled a sob, “passed out and covered in blood.”

  Granda headed for the door, and Lia hurried outside and untied his horse while he walked as fast as his ailing legs would allow. Granda pulled himself into the saddle, wincing. Just then, two women in lacey frocks passed, scowling at them. More newcomers from Nemetona’s southlands, more people to shun the old ways.

  Lia set her jaw tight and mounted her horse. She didn’t give a thistle about what they thought. All that mattered now was Da. With a silent nod from Granda Luis, they urged their horses into a run and left a cloud of dust behind them.

  They roared like a gust of wind from the marketplace to the outskirts of town. Granda gripped his amber-tipped staff like a fighting lance, and he offered no explanations to the villagers despite the cries of alarm his urgent pace claimed.

  They turned off the road and darted around the towers of quartz, lofty prisms standing proud and brilliant in the setting sun, and sped down the path to the whitewashed cottage.

  “Lia girl, grab m’satchel,” Granda said, dismounting his horse.

  Lia’s heart stampeded as she unstrapped the travel bag full of concoctions while Granda hobbled ahead.

  Koun greeted her as she entered the cottage, whining and nosing against her. “Easy, boy,” she soothed. She ran a hand over his snowy fur and hurried to the bedchamber.

  She neared Da’s bed and halted. Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. Oozing green blisters dotted his body like a strange pox, and jagged red sores covered the spaces in between.

  She’d never seen her beloved da hurt or sick beyond a winter fever before this day. He was always her rock, hammering away on a new table or bench in his woodshop, tilling soil for her gardens, or teaching her how to hunt with her bow. And whenever he accompanied her to town, his quick wit put anyone with a wagging tongue in his or her place.

  Ma lifted his head and struggled to pour some ale between his lips. She placed a wet cloth on his forehead, and then turned to Granda Luis. “Kenneth’s gone ahead to fetch Doc Lloyd. Surely, between the two of you, something can be done.”

  Granda nodded, though storm clouds had settled on his brow.

  Lia peered at Da’s riddled flesh and a chill crawled up her spine. Her mind spun with recollections of the handful of elders that had come into Granda’s store the past week, imploring him for a remedy to help their kinsmen. Like Da, the men were carried back from their hunting or chopping treks in the eastern Bryns, all feverish, pained and blighted by sores.

  “His sores … the strange blisters … just like the others.” Hope withered like leaves within Lia. She and Granda had tried to craft skin salves and decoctions to cure the odd symptoms. Granda searched through Grandma’s Grimoire for a remedy, but Lia knew every word of the beloved book, and nowhere on its pages did it mention such ills.

  If Granda couldn’t help the others, how could he heal Da?

  The lump in Lia’s throat grew thicker. Her family was everything. She had no friends, save her hound Koun and the horses. She spent every waking hour in Granda’s store, in her gardens, or in Da’s woodshop. It was a simple life, and fine by her, but now it was starting to splinter.

  Ma’s lips trembled. Several strands of copper hair escaped from her bun, clinging to t
he sweat beading her face. “He felt fine this morning, eager to go chopping. What could have possibly happened?”

  “Briars, roots … took hold,” Da sputtered, “dragged me down … I held to Merrie’s lead … she ripped me … from them.” His muscles tensed, and his feet writhed under the quilted coverlet.

  Roots? How can roots reach up or drag someone?

  “It’s all right. Rest now, Dylan. Just breathe easy, and rest,” Ma cooed, gently stroking back tendrils of his ash-blond hair. “Kenneth said he found him passed out more than a hundred feet from the half-chopped tree, Merrie standing over him, her lead rope still clenched in his hands.”

  Lia shot a beseeching look at Granda Luis, but his eyes never left Da.

  “What sort of roots?” she barely uttered the words before Doctor Lloyd waddled into the room with his face flushed like a beet.

  “’Tis something breaching the walls of the northlands, from Brume, young lassie,” the doctor said in the thick tongue of the older generations. He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. “This morning, young Shawn watched black roots covered in barbs sharp as a hedgehog’s reach through Brume’s mists and grab hold of his uncle. If he hadna been there to hack it away, well, I don’t think his uncle’d be in his bed this eve. Dylan here makes twelve now this week in Rockberg, and Doc Maddox in Kilnsgate sent word today of nine there, and he’s heard of six over in Springdale. With the growing number of attacks, official warnings are going out to all the northern villages.”

  “It cannot be.” Ma’s face blanched. “Something’s found a way through the fog of Brume?”

  Lia’s heart thundered in her chest. Brume—the forbidden land. The land that had captured her fascination with her first glimpse of the writings in Grandma’s Grimoire. Brume was where Grandma and Granda used to venture in safety when all others perished in the fog. Certainly, Granda would know something of the monstrous roots, and maybe a way to defeat them.

  “Aye, Carin,” the doctor nodded at Ma, “’tis something aggressive and poisonous. The barbs inflict a strong bane, almost like snake venom, even though ’tis a kind of plant. None we’ve treated show any improvement; our curatives don’t appear to work on this.”

  Lia clasped Ma’s arm and they stepped aside. The doctor placed his hand on Dylan’s forehead. Da struggled for every breath while thick fingers probed for a pulse.

  “I’m so sorry, lad. We’re all puzzling this out.” The doctor retrieved a glass vial from his bag and handed it to Carin. “’Tis a sleeping draught. Just two drops, three times a day. Keep the cool cloths coming, and as much water as you can get down through those lips. I ’spect your father here has some remedies to use on these wounds.”

  Doctor Lloyd turned and peered over his spectacles at his old friend. “In fact, Luis, I’ll be needing to pick up some more skin salves and whatever else you think’ll help. You’re still the only survivor I know of that forbidden place. Got any ideas ’bout what could be coming through Brume’s fog?”

  Lia pinned her eyes on Granda Luis. Hope sparked within her. Now that Granda knew where the attack roots came from, he’d surely be able to craft a cure for the poison. She pressed her lips together, waiting for him to answer Doc Lloyd, just as she’d waited her whole life to hear him speak of the mysteries in Brume.

  Granda sat quietly on a stool with his walking staff gripped in his hands. He pulled his eyes from his ravaged son-in-law and fixed them on his old friend. “I’d wondered the cause o’such strange ailin’s, hoping they didn’t link to Brume. Been a lifetime since I’ve trekked there, Lloyd. Not since the royal guard came here banning any attempts to breach the borderlands. And by the time those fools went back to the southlands, m’stiff old legs had turned for the worse.”

  Granda’s brow furrowed and they all waited for him to continue. “I never entered Brume through the eastern hills, only through the southern border at Dunley Meadow. But if there’s truly a wild root breaking through, well, I can only venture to guess.”

  “Hmm,” Doc Lloyd nodded, “well the warnings should keep most away from the Bryns.” He grabbed his bag and patted Ma on the shoulder. “Stay strong for him, lass. I’ll check back here tomorrow afternoon. Luis, Lia.”

  The doctor walked out, and Lia peered at Granda. “There must be something we can do.”

  “Aye, girl.” Granda Luis dug out several pouches from his satchel. “I’ve a few blends might purge some of the poison and help ease the pain, but there’s only one way to find a real cure.”

  Granda’s ice-blue gaze shifted between Lia and Ma. “I’m going back in, back into Brume. I’ll leave at first light.”

  “Then I’m going too,” Lia blurted, her heart lifting with hopefulness.

  “No!” Ma cried, her eyes brimming with fear. “Not that dreadful place. You cannot, I forbid you.”

  “I’ll be careful, Ma,” Lia countered. “You know I’ll follow Granda’s orders. He needs me there this time; his legs are weak and I can tend to them. I can set up camp, cook, hunt, and gather what we need for the cure.”

  Granda Luis did not interrupt. Instead, he grabbed his things.

  “You’ve no idea the dangers you face.” Ma’s voice cracked. “It’s too risky, and you’re only—”

  “Fifteen is a grown woman by all standards. Three villagers my age are already married. And I’m more capable outdoors than most.” Determination settled like gritstone within Lia.

  Years of sadness lined Ma’s face. Lia knew Grandma Myrna had sequestered herself in the shrouded land of Brume, scrambling between two homes to keep the old crafts alive. Then her unexpected death came at the worst time for Lia’s ma—a young bride that same year, with only a moon to go before giving birth to her first and only child.

  “Well, fine then, just dig me a hole right now,” Ma said, tears welling. “Because I’ll not want to see another day once I lose you.”

  Lia’s heart ached for her mother, but her resolve to help Da would not falter. “Ma, I know how you feel about that place, but I have to go. You heard Granda. The only way to save Da from the poison is by going to Brume to find the cure, and I need to be there to help Granda do that. Please, we all must do what we can.”

  Granda Luis paused by the door. He gave Lia his familiar nod of approval, and then shifted his eyes to Ma. “Such events force our hands in startling ways. There are risks to any journey, but I know the way through the fog, and unless much has changed in the southern region, I know what dwells on the other side of it. We’ll not tarry in Brume. Give us four days, maybe five, to return with a proper cure. And with any luck, we’ll put an end to this vile blight.” Then he turned and stepped outside.

  Ma closed her eyes and squeezed Lia’s hands. Tears streamed down her face, as she whispered, “Your granda means every word he says, has complete faith in his skills, but there’s danger in Brume neither of you is safe from. I’ve never ventured there, nor do I know firsthand who or what dwells in such a place, but I do know the dread seeping from my bones.”

  Ma’s eyes met Lia’s, green to green. “Please, go only where you must, Lia, and make haste home. Your da would rather perish than have you harmed trying to help him.”

  Ma took a deep breath, hugged Lia, and followed Granda’s footsteps out the door. Lia didn’t harbor the same fear of Brume that Ma did. She’d be safe with Granda and they’d be home with special herbs or bark or whatever made up the cure before the week was out. She was sure of it. Then she could tell Ma all about Brume and put an end to her fears once and for all.

  “I’m going to find a way to save you, Da, I promise.” Lia reached for her father and kissed his brow, an inferno burning beneath her lips. He made a slight motion with his hand toward her, before it fell back onto the bed.

  She grabbed her knapsack, always packed with a good supply of herbs, and slung her crossbow and a quiver full of bolts over her back. Ma stood waiting outside under a starlit sky, her eyes rimmed in red, and she trembled in Lia’s arms as they embraced.
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  Ma sniffed, her tears never ceasing. “I have dreaded this moment since you were a little girl talking to insects and mashing flowers in your water mug. You’re so like your grandma, Lia.”

  “Ma, I’m only going to Brume for Da, and to be there for Grand—”

  “Of course you are. And then you’ll come home straightaway.” Her lips tugged into a hard smile, a thin crack upon fine porcelain. She ran her hand down the length of Lia’s red tresses. “Be sure to plait your hair, and you must take my cloak. It’s thicker.”

  Before Lia protested, Ma flew back into the cottage, breathlessly returning with her jade-green cloak, two loaves of rosemary bread, a full pouch of jerked venison, two of her handcrafted soap bars, and a boar bristle brush.

  “Let me help you.” Lia grabbed hold of the items, stuffing them into her saddlebags.

  “Remember to keep warm and dry, wash your face and hair, and … try not to be so brave!”

  Lia rode astride her young bay, Shae, alongside Granda and his chestnut mount, Dobbin. They ran the horses under a crisp night sky, her snow-white hound following close behind. She was raring to set off on their journey, but Granda quickly reminded her they had to prepare, and with no clear roads leading to Brume, it was best to travel by daylight. That meant seven more hours before they could leave.

  Seven more hours without a cure.

  She forced back the urge to argue with Granda. He knew best. He was in charge. And she resigned herself to the wretched waiting.

  They cantered through the sleepy town and Lia glanced at the village notice board. There hung numerous royal decrees for all to see, the parchment torn and frayed with age. She didn’t need to stop to read them. She knew them all by heart, had already broken several, and was about to break another: