Page 223 of Vasmora

No, no.

I scrambled forward, and a searing ache tore across my shin, drawing my attention to bright purple blossoms, where bruises had already bloomed. Using my upper strength, I pushed myself onto my better leg, though it was just as battered, and clutched the tree. In a futile and laughable attempt to climb it, I lifted my injured leg, frustrated when it slid across the bark. Lifting it again sent it gliding over the surface, never finding purchase.

The opening dissolved into the flat surface of the bark, as if it had never been there.

Panic gripped my lungs.

The sensation of something watching me sent a creeping chill across the back of my neck, and I turned around. In the distance stood a vast tree with a maze of upturned roots, its limbs resembling arms and legs.

And in the center of its trunk glowed a red opening.

Just like the one in my book.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

MAEVYTH

Pools of moonlight illuminated an untrodden path toward the Grymswood tree, the silvery bands pushing through the thick canopy overhead that blocked the sky. I hobbled cautiously over moss and ferns that swayed with each step. Pockets of steam hissed around me, a crawling fog obscuring what looked to be faces etched in the dirt, their expressions pained. Icy wisps of air sliced across my face, the cold burrowing into my bones, while hoarfrost clung to branches, the rind that coated the ground crunching beneath my boots.

“Maevythhhhhhh.” Eerie whispers carried on the air and chewed at my nerves

Pausing my steps, I looked around.

Nothing but the dead stillness of the forest and a cold fear pounding in my chest.

My foot caught on an upturned root, and I snapped my head toward the ground, where the face of a child, carved into the coarse bark of the tree, appeared twisted in pain. Fossilized arms reached out for me, her body formed into the roots, as if she’d fused with them. To my left, the face of a young woman, mouth hung open in a silent scream, also reached out, and I followed the path of her outstretched hand toward the child. Her mother, I guessed. Scanning my surroundings showed more women and children reaching out, as if they’d been swept up in a sea and drowned by the roots.

I kept on toward the tree, where the face of an older woman protruded from the trunk. The deep ridges of the bark carved aged lines on her face, her mouth curved around an unvoiced outcry. With a trembling hand, I reached out to touch her, but before my fingertips made contact, her eyes flipped open to show black orbs.

I snapped my hand back and gasped, staring at my reflection in their glossy surface.

“Sole mortiz facje salvirun,” she rasped. Only death can save us.

A red glow pulsed just below the carving of her face, like a heart beating inside the tree.

Terror curled up my spine, my own heart pounding in my chest so hard it ached. I placed my hand to the tree’s trunk, feeling a steady drum of life against my palm.

“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.”

The red glow intensified. A pulsing over the surface thumped in time to my own heart.

The bark split open beneath my palm, and my hand sank into the trunk, pushing past the rind to a wet, meaty center. An object met my fingertips, but when I tried to draw my hand away, just like when I’d reached into the book, it remained lodged. I clutched the object that thudded across my palm, and the tree released me, allowing me to pull it out.

A wet glisten coated my skin, and the face carved into the tree let out one long sigh that sounded more relieved than pained. Eyelids lowered over the black orbs, as her peaceful expression faded into the bark.

Until she could no longer be seen.

I dropped my gaze toward the object captured in my palm and frowned. What looked to be a small, wooden, heart-shaped box, with valves and striated muscles, beat in my grasp. I glanced to the tree and back.

Her heart.

A clasp attached to a tiny chain on the side snagged my attention, and I flipped it open on a quiet creak, revealing a small black berry inside. I lifted it from the case, examining it in what tiny bit of light filtered through the trees.

“A rosehip.”

The familiar voice arrived from behind, and I turned to see Morsana standing there, bathed in a soft, glowing light.

“All of my power, my very essence, resides in that small bit of fruit. If you consume it, it will belong to you.”