The Shadow Throne

Only the bridge remained.

And beneath it, the Deadly Forest.

“Anyone who crosses disappears,” his grandfather had warned.

Kael had laughed then.

He was not laughing now.

A plank cracked under his left foot.

Kael sprang forward. The board split behind him and dropped into the mist. He caught the rope with both hands as the bridge lurched hard enough to wrench his shoulder.

“Wonderful,” he gasped. “The bridge is eating itself.”

Another board snapped.

Then the wind stopped.

Not faded. Not weakened.

Stopped.

The ropes hung motionless. Kael remained crouched above the mist, one boot pressed against a plank, the other hovering over empty space. Complete silence filled the valley.

No birds called from the forest. No insects buzzed. No water rushed through the ravines.

Nothing moved.

Kael slowly raised his head.

A long, slow hissing rose from below.

It slid through the fog like breath drawn between teeth.

The bridge jerked.

Kael lunged for the far side. His fingers brushed the stone ledge.

The ropes tore loose.

Wood exploded beneath him.

He fell.

For one frozen instant, the world became gray mist, broken planks, and the empty sky above. Then something struck his ribs. A rope caught beneath his arm and snapped tight, stopping his fall so violently that his teeth clacked together.

Kael swung beneath the ruined bridge.

“Still alive,” he wheezed.

The rope creaked.

“Possibly temporary.”

Below him, the mist shifted.

Black scales glimmered in the pale light.

A serpent slid through the clearing beneath the collapsed bridge, thick as a tree trunk and long enough to coil around one twice. Its scales were dark as polished glass, each one edged in a faint blue sheen. Two pale eyes lifted toward Kael.

Then another serpent uncoiled beside it.

Then a third.

Obsidian Constrictors.

Kael remembered the name from another story, one told in a whisper after his grandfather had bolted the cottage door. They hunted by vibration. They could crush a bear. They could swallow a man whole if the man was foolish enough to fall into their nest.

Kael looked at the rope beneath his arm.

The rope trembled.

The serpents raised their heads.

“Of course,” he said. “Why would there be only one?”

One of the constrictors struck.

Kael swung sideways. Its jaws snapped shut inches from his boot. The impact shook the rope and sent splinters of ancient wood raining into the clearing.

He clawed upward, trying to reach the bridge remains. His injured shoulder screamed. The rope burned through his sleeve.

The largest serpent coiled beneath him, its body tightening in slow, patient circles.

A tiny voice shouted from somewhere above.

“Stop wriggling!”

Kael glanced up.

A small figure crouched on the broken bridge, clutching a crooked stick in one hand. It had red skin, two short horns, a nose like a hooked nail, and wings that looked far too small to be useful.

An imp.

The creature peered over the edge at him.

“You’re making them hungry!”

“I’m dangling over their nest,” Kael shouted. “What would you prefer I do?”

“Become quieter!”

“That was my plan until you started giving advice!”

The imp considered this. “You’re welcome.”

The rope lurched again. One of the serpents wrapped its tail around a fallen beam and lifted its head toward Kael’s legs.

“Can you get me up?” Kael asked.

“Certainly.”

Hope flickered.

The imp pointed its stick at the rope. A spark jumped from its tip, struck the fibers, and died with a pathetic puff of smoke.

Kael stared at it.

The imp stared back.

“That was a warning spark,” it said.

“To whom?”

“To the rope.”

The nearest serpent lunged. Kael kicked hard, catching its snout with his boot. The creature recoiled, but its fangs scraped his ankle and tore through leather.

Pain flashed hot against the cold.

Kael swung toward the cliff wall. His shoulder struck stone. He nearly lost his grip.

The imp leaned farther over the edge. “What’s your name?”

“Kael!”

“Kael what?”

“Currently? Kael who is about to be eaten!”

“That isn’t a family name.”

“Kael Varrin!”

The imp’s expression changed.

Not fear. Recognition.

It looked down at the serpents, then back at him. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“That’s inconvenient.”

“Everything today has been inconvenient!”

The largest constrictor slid closer. Its black coils filled the clearing below. A thin red glow appeared between the scales along its throat.

Kael’s hands tightened around the rope.

The imp’s voice dropped. “Do you have a mark?”

“What?”

“A Blood Mark.”

“I have several bruises.”

“Not bruises. A sign. Red lines. A symbol. Something that says the forest has noticed you.”

Kael looked down at his left hand.

A dark red shape had appeared across his palm.

He had not felt it form. The mark spread beneath his skin in branching lines, curling around his wrist like a thorned vine. At its center sat a small black circle, pulsing once with each beat of his pulse.

The serpents stopped moving.

All three raised their heads.

Kael stared at the mark. “That seems bad.”

“That,” said the imp, “is the most accurate thing anyone has said all morning.”

A low vibration rolled through the clearing. The sound came from the trees, from the earth, perhaps from the bones of the bridge buried beneath them.

The serpents began to coil.

Kael pulled himself higher, but the rope had twisted around a jagged beam. It would not move. Above him, the broken bridge hung beyond reach. Below, the Obsidian Constrictors tightened their circles.

“What does the mark mean?” he demanded.

The imp swallowed. “It means the forest believes you owe it.”

“Owe it what?”

“Payment.”

The word settled more heavily than the cold.

Kael looked at the mist between the trees. Shapes moved behind it, too tall to be branches and too slow to be animals. The forest seemed to lean toward the clearing.

“Payment for crossing?” he asked.

“Payment for entering. Payment for surviving. Payment for being noticed.” The imp’s little wings twitched. “The forest keeps accounts.”

“I didn’t agree to any account.”

“It doesn’t ask.”

The largest serpent opened its mouth. Its fangs slid down like white knives.

Kael drew his dagger.

The blade looked absurdly small against the creature.

The imp glanced at it. “That won’t help.”

“It helps me feel prepared.”

“You’re holding it backward.”

Kael looked at the dagger.

He was.

The serpent struck.

Kael slashed wildly. The blade scraped across black scales, throwing sparks. The serpent’s jaws closed around his forearm.

For half a second, the world vanished inside pressure and darkness.

Then the Blood Mark burned.

Red light burst from Kael’s palm.

The serpent recoiled with a shriek that rattled the broken bridge. Its scales smoked where they touched him. The other two constrictors whipped away, smashing through trees and showering the clearing with black bark.

Kael swung beneath the bridge, stunned.

The mark pulsed brighter.

The mist began to move toward him.

The imp went pale beneath its red skin. “You really should not have done that.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You activated the payment.”

“I hate this forest.”

“That feeling is mutual.”

The ground split.

A shockwave erupted from beneath the clearing, blasting outward with enough force to flatten the grass and fling the serpents into the trees. Kael’s rope snapped free from the beam. He shot upward, slammed against the underside of the bridge, and dropped onto a broad stone shelf beside the cliff.

For several moments he could do nothing but cough.

The serpents were gone.

The trees still shook.

Dust drifted through the gray mist.

Kael rolled onto his back. His ribs felt cracked. His ankle throbbed. The Blood Mark glowed faintly on his palm.

The imp landed beside his head with a soft thump.

“Good news,” it said.

Kael turned his face toward it. “If you say I’m alive, I’ll throw you back into the snakes.”

“You’re alive.”

Kael closed his eyes.

“Bad news,” the imp continued. “You’re marked.”

A figure stood at the edge of the clearing.

Kael pushed himself upright.

The stranger wore ancient armor blackened by time. A helmet concealed most of his face, but two dim lights burned within its eye slits. Tattered cloth hung from his shoulders. Beneath the armor, no living flesh showed.

The Zombie King.

Kael’s grandfather’s stories returned all at once: a ruler who refused to die, a guardian who had waited thousands of years beneath the trees.

The king looked at Kael’s palm.

“The forest has accepted your payment,” he said.

His voice sounded like stones grinding beneath a crypt door.

Kael rose unsteadily, dagger in hand. “What payment?”

The Zombie King tilted his head.

“Your blood.”

Kael looked at the mark.

The red lines tightened around his wrist.

“And what,” Kael asked, “did it buy me?”

The king’s gaze shifted toward the mist, where something enormous moved between the trees.

“Passage,” he said. “For now.”

The forest answered with a distant crack of splitting wood.

The Zombie King stepped aside, revealing a narrow path descending into the Deadly Forest.

“But the mark has named you,” he said. “Soon, everything beneath these trees will know your name.”

Pip crept behind Kael’s leg.

Kael stared into the fog. The bridge was broken. The path behind him was buried. The serpents had fled, but their hissing still seemed to coil through the roots.

He tightened his grip on the dagger.

“Then let them come,” he said.

The Blood Mark pulsed once.

Far beneath the trees, something answered.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters in the full book.