Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [42]
Morgynn admired the simplicity of the plant's resources as she watched the leaves slice her hands and wrists, imagining the frustration when the wounds quickly closed, refusing to feed the plant's appetite. The razorvines and bloodthorns lashed her calves as she passed, receiving equal reward for their efforts. The forest, impassable for some, was to her a savage and malicious garden of delights and wonder. Her progress was unhindered where others might fall and become food for the vicious foliage. This thought gave her short and hidden journey purpose, bringing her to a solution that stood in the form of three white oak trees.
As Morgynn stepped into the semicircle of oaks in the small grove, pale leaves shook, creating a feline hiss, despite the wind being gentle this far into the forest. Their trunks were a blend of white and ash colors, looking almost petrified if not for the sharp-angled leaves that hung from gracefully twisting branches. Morgynn could feel their presence, hiding behind the bark, peering from knotholes and the healed cracks of old wounds. Her feet felt the shuddering of long roots beneath the ground, trembling at her approach.
The hissing turned to whispers. Syllables and voices hid in a cacophony of tiny noises, growing into a wave of sound and sylvan magic that carried the scents of decay and tainted soil. The bark writhed and flowed like liquid as the power sought to overcome her. A chorus of words and soothing chants filled her mind, flowing through her and seeking weaknesses in her spirit.
Her previous amusement with this encounter was gone.
Though she'd expected resistance, this outright assault made her angry. In kind, she cast a spell of her own. She wove her words around theirs, countering their effects and wrapping around those seeking songs with melodies of thorns. Her magic followed the charms back to the trees, to the roots, to branches and leaves, a burning and stinging surge of power.
The whispering stopped, and the grove was silent a moment before screams and shrieks shook the branches, sending a shower of autumn leaves down on Morgynn's feet. Bark erupted in violent movement. Twigs grew, sprouting clawed fingers, then withdrew back into the trunks. Mouths opened and closed around knotholes and veins in the wood, exposing needlelike fangs and tongues of pale green.
Agony permeated the oaks and subsided only at Morgynn's word, and she enjoyed feeling their suffering through the forced link between them. The power they had sought to work upon her retreated swiftly once freed. She had barely released the magic before a trio of rasping, feminine voices erupted from the trees.
"Why do you torment us? Leave us, and keep your ruins!"
The voices overlapped and echoed each other. Morgynn reined in her own emotions, adopting a tone of diplomacy.
"Why do you defy me when there is much we could share with one another?"
"The forest is ours!" The trees' branches shook with each word, emphasizing their rage and hatred at this mortal woman.
"This forest will belong to the hearths and homes of your enemies, should I so will it!"
The oaks fell silent, considering Morgynn's words and weighing her possible power. She knew she had struck a nerve by threatening the forest itself. Though they were of a darker nature, nature was still their life's blood. Finally they replied.
"Your boasts are hollow, human. Such magic has not walked the Realms for centuries."
Morgynn heard an edge of hesitation in their voices and noticed pale, red eyes blossoming like sick flowers from their trunks, looking her up and down.
"You are correct. Power such as I claim is old and forgotten, a relic sought and rarely found."
Laughter was their response, mocking her bluff and echoing through the forest like a swarm of insects and snapping twigs. Morgynn smiled back at them, enjoying the moment and cupping a hand next to a small pouch at her belt. At a word of command the pouch responded, sending its contents into her open palm. She closed her fingers around the