King of the Woodlands

Chapter 29

Time was the spokes of a wooden wheel that had stopped turning.

The trees had come for revenge. Their dark branches curled around his black heart, wrapping themselves around his broken bones, slithering into the cracks between his metallic scales. They whispered to him, forcing him to remember the names of his forgotten dead.

Birgit Wysaquen with her chipper demeanor was gone, lost, her body scattered like petals in the wind. The others were too. Some of them had been only children. One of them whispered Lilibeth's name as he died.

His name was Albion, Kolzryrth hissed in a warped devil's voice. Remember their names. Remember all of their names.

The black waters of grief gathered around him. Lost in their grip, the Woodland King could barely breathe. It was an endless river that led to a fathomless sea. He dipped his claws in that current, holding the rushing eddy of Death's power in his hands. He was a god of chaos, the creator of his own destruction, and in the depths of the ocean, he would finally drown.

Panic closed in. He was drowning again, drowning as he fought to escape the ruined forest. He was dying, he was—

Now he could smell the heavens, a realm that smelled of grapevines and oak laced with sunflowers. He could taste the woody vines, thick with dark grapes. Were the gods coming to take him away and face Trial? Had they taken mercy on him, giving him a second chance?

But then the waters shifted, the tides stranger now. He was out of the water now, washed up on a shore. He was in another world. In this world, the skies were a summery blue. In this world, giant mountains loomed behind the sands and grassy rocks, their tops covered with clouds and rings of mist.

A ferocious, wild, mirthful roar shook the air, skittering across the winds. The Woodland King tilted his gaze skyward and saw the lithe forms of dragons silhouetted against the sky, mighty wings spread wide.

They were Fire-Dancers.

Once, he'd flown with them, felt the clouds against his scales, the sunlight in his eyes, watching the world stretch itself out beneath his feet. But now, he stayed rooted to the ground. He did not belong with them anymore.

Brother, why do you hide from me? I am the space between your wings and the tips of your claws. I am meddled in your blood and burned into your bones. I have made a home inside your body, and you cannot run.

And then he saw Kolzryrth for the first time in centuries. His brother's scales were the color of hot coals, his eyes red as embers. This was the dragon who had protected him, fought for him. The Woodland King had always felt safe in Kolzryrth's shadow.

"Traitor," Kolzryrth hissed, his voice dark and distorted. "How could you? I should have left you to die. I should not have fought for you. I loved you to ruins, and I should be ashamed, but I was not made for shame. So I can only tell you one thing: know true fear now as you die."

He would never forget his brother's words. Even in death he would wear those words as a second skin, keeping them beneath his scales and between his ribs. They would stay, no matter what, even in death.

But then the pain finally faded away to an icy numbness. The earth rattled in its cage, and clouds rolled in blankets across the sky. He felt the gods of violent death plucking at the strings of his wasted life, felt the last of his blood run through him in a hot rush.