Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

“Rise, blood of my blood. If you are to be my guardian, you must rise. You are needed,” a serene wind whispers.

My eyes flutter as I struggle to open them. Something bright hovers above me. I find my focus and see massive, pale antlers towering over me, stacked upon a white stag. A warmth consumes me. The beast’s large, crystalline eyes gaze at me with urgency. I prop myself up, and it bounds off into the forest, out of sight.

The White Hart. Blood of my blood? Guardian? What was that?

Helios rushes toward me from out of the wood. He carries something in his jaws. My arachniwhip. I throw my arms around the big cat and give him a generous scratch behind the ears. A loud purr rumbles from within, and he nuzzles into my chest. “Good to see you made it down to my level.”

A monstrous roar bellows off in the distance in the direction of the crossing. Coloss. “Helios, let’s go.”

I halt at the border of the meadow where the great fig tree is planted, which is teeming with upset siamangs. They’re no longer synchronizing to reveal the crossing, but it’s been left open for anyone to pass. I can’t imagine that was intentional. The apes swing wildly from branches, hooting ferociously, and banging fists on anything in front of them. Below the tree, the forest floor is littered with bloodied corpses—men, women, and, worst of all, children. The view is utterly disheartening.

Redcliffe Warriors battle white-cloaked intruders alongside the apes. A select few of the assailants adorn nothing but a loin cloth and shiny iron plates. Some have iron shoulder guards while others have a single plate covering only a thigh. Their appearance is ragtag and shambolic. Worst of all, their flesh doesn’t appear so lively. They’re ashen and scarred.

Blades glimmer in the low light, clashing together with the wincing sound of metal-to-metal contact. Large, body-sized shields of bark are raised in defense and sometimes used to smash against the foe. And figs are tossed from the tree at all who disturb the peace. Zoie is somewhere amidst that chaos.

Upon the cliff, several villagers have crossed the ravine and make the climb to the top. It’s difficult to discern who is who, but I doubt Zoie is one of them. She wouldn’t flee. She’s here somewhere, defending her village. I look to the treetops where I believe she’d find higher ground for sniping.

Where is Coloss? I suddenly realize he’s not defending his tree. Why is he not standing ground? His kin run rampant, tossing fruit and branches down at the assassins, but Coloss isn’t here.

I’m hesitant to draw my bow, for my aim isn’t honed. I would be risking the lives of the villagers. Zoie would give me a gut check for that thought, but it’s the truth. Instead, I rush the crowd with my small kukri blades in hand and Helios by my side. I take jabs where I can, not stopping to fully engage anyone. I slice a limb here and there as I race through the commotion. My primary goal is to find Zoie. Helios’s priority is to kill. He bounds toward the attackers at full speed and attacks with claws fully extracted.

I need higher ground to get better visibility. It goes against The Redcliffe Guardian’s unspoken rules, but I decide to climb his tree anyhow. Helios remains consumed with battle. With all the commotion, the apes pay me no attention, giving me the freedom to climb as I need for once. I scour the battle scene and spot Graytu engaged in battle. It’s a zany sight to see the withered old man fight. And fight well.

I drop back to solid ground. “Graytu!” I call. His back faces me, and I watch as a blade appears near his spine where it shouldn’t be. Then it slips away, out of sight. The assassin moves onto his next victim as Graytu falls to the ground. I sprint to him with Helios by my side acting as my bodyguard. Blood leaks from the corner of Graytu’s mouth. He puts pressure on his abdomen where he’s been pierced. There is a large, fresh blood stain on his tunic surrounding the spot at which he’s applying pressure. “Graytu, what can I do? There are too many of them.”

“He’s spoken to you.”

I look at him inquisitively. What does that mean? “Graytu, how do we stop them? What can I do?” I repeat.

“The Animal King.” Graytu puts a frail bicep to his mouth as he coughs. “He’s spoken to you.”

“Wha…” I stop before my question leads to more questions. “We don’t have time for this, Graytu. Look around you!” Pressing the urgency of the situation, I take my eyes off Graytu to look around. Another Redcliffe Warrior falls. The cloaked assassin scopes his surroundings. For his next victim? No. He bends at the knees and tethers the fallen warrior by the ankles. Then he proceeds to pull him away and out of sight. My attention goes back to Graytu as he continues to speak.

“The White Hart. He found you. He’s spoken to you. He’s touched your heart.” Graytu raises a hand to my shoulder as I lean over him. “He’s chosen you, Goose of House Greyson. Goose the Worthy. Goose the Guardian. You are needed.” He tucks his mouth in his elbow and coughs again.

“What?” I can’t refrain from asking this time, despite the blood and declining state he’s in.

“Goose. We don’t have time for your silly questions.” He shakes his head at me, and his fern headdress falls to the ground. A heavy cough escapes him, along with blood splatter. “All men have moments of weakness. The wrongdoing of another is no reason to end their life. You’re calling does not intersect with the Taoiseach. Your calling is much greater, Goose,