Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
There are many things for me to deal with on Earth, and I’ll get to those, but first, I need to put a smile on my mate’s face.
Chapter 69
CAZ
I have several men load a truck with food, rubies, and guns. After they’ve finished, we start our venture to Whisper Grove, which is a three-hour drive from Blackwater.
Before we can even enter the territory, I sense something completely off about the place. Rowan has the windows cracked, and I feel a difference in the air as we approach the border. There are no birds cawing, and the air is as stiff as cardboard.
The last time I was in Whisper Grove (when I was stuck in the inn with Willow for the night) there was serenity swarming throughout this territory. You knew you were in Whisper Grove by the way the temperature dropped to a comforting cool and the gentle breeze that drifted by, causing the leaves on the trees to sway. There was peace upon entry—a welcoming energy that was hardly found in any other territory.
I have to wonder if that tranquility and peace was the image Manx wanted to portray. Whisper Grove was always a comforting place, but perhaps he upped the performance when I visited. He increased the energy so that I’d have no suspicion against him.
As a boy, this was my favorite territory because it was so natural, thriving with thick green grass, beautiful bodies of water, and abundant hills with cottages speckled throughout. I’d roll down those hills until I made myself dizzy enough to vomit. It’s not like that anymore, and I realize that truth the deeper we get into it.
As Rowan drives on a dirt path that leads downward and overlooks the village, the scenery ahead has become something straight out of a nightmare. The grass is dead, the trees naked and without leaves, their branches reaching to the sky like ancient mythic fingers. The village is dull, lifeless. Several people move across the cobblestone roads, guiding thin, malnourished horses by the reins. The village normally thrives with citizens as they work in markets, or come in and out of shops, but not today. It’s a damn near ghost town.
“Where is everyone?” Rowan asks, parking in front of Tribal Hall. I expect this Conan person will be here if he’s trying to get things in order.
I step out of the car, and Killian stands next to me, drawing out one of his guns.
“No animosity,” I order, focusing on the ivory building. The vines that were once lush as they trailed across the face of the building are now browning and shriveled. The leaves that remain drop to the ground in a sad silence. “Something strange may be going on here, but they probably still have a protection spell over this place. That was here long before Decius took over. No violence unless we’re proven wrong.”
After my statement, there’s a wail in the distance. Killian raises his gun instantly, Rowan immediately going for his too, as a woman runs out of Tribal Hall.
“Stop running!” Killian shouts, pointing his gun at her.
“Please!” the woman shouts. “Please, m-my son! H-he’s not well! I—I need help! Please!”
“Lower your weapons,” I order as the woman clasps her hands together, dropping to her knees on the ground before us. Her tears stain her chubby, freckled cheeks, and her bottom lip trembles. Killian and Rowan follow my orders, lowering their guns.
“Where’s your son?” I ask, taking a step forward.
“Inside.” The woman stands, and as she does, a man ambles out of the building with a boy in his arms who can’t be any older than seven. The boy is thin, frail, and his skin ashen despite how tan he seems beneath. The closer they move toward us, I can see his lips are cracked and split. Blood lingers between each split. The man holding him is large with almond skin and dark-brown hair. His eyes immediately lock on mine as he stops midway with the boy.
“What’s happened to him?” I ask.
“He needs to be hydrated and fed,” the man informs me. He speaks with confidence, certainty.
“Kill, Row, go to the truck and get some water,” I tell them. They rush off, heading to the truck as several of the other soldiers remain standing next to it.
I move closer, eyeing the large man with the boy. “You must be Conan.”
“I am, and I’d shake your hand, Monarch Harlow, but…well.” He gestures to the boy in his arms.
“How many more children need to be fed and hydrated?” I ask.
“Oi, Tribal Hall is full of children,” he informs me, and though he’s mustered a smile, his voice is laced with pain. “I had everyone gather here last night to see what we could all pull together. All the food we grew just…disappeared. Right out of our sight, as if it were never real.”