Page 1 of May: Bloom & Bane

CHAPTER 1

root & droplet

—SAGE

Iwake in pieces.

My fingers thrust through the earth like snapped roots, clawing upward until light finally cracks through the soil.

I scream, but the sound is hoarse. I sound more like a dying animal than a man. My throat is filled with rot, and my mouth tastes like dirt and old iron.

The ground groans as I wrench myself free, my shoulders dragging through the mud. My spine buckles as I heave myself out of the garden that cradled my corpse.

I shouldn’t be alive.

I’m heavier than I remember. My bones feel like lead, tethering me to the ground. I try to lift my leg, but I can’t.

I’m stuck.

I look down and watch as vibrant green vines erupt from the disturbed soil, coiling around my ankle like hungry serpents. They move with a mindless speed, winding up my calf, tightening against my skin—which is also green.

What the hell is happening?

Every time I strain against them, flowers bloom along the greenery—beautiful buds that open their petals hungrily against my skin as if they could drink me in. I shove at them, but my new, claw-tipped fingers only make the plants grow faster.

I don’t know what this is or how to make it stop. Fear spreads through my chest like decay, and my heart stutters like it’s remembering how to beat. The purple flowers coiled around my legs start to curl in on themselves. The vivid green vines bleed into a bruised purple before falling away from my skin into oozing, black clumps.

I struggle to regain my balance. My legs feel ten feet long and unwieldy as I stumble out of the trees and into the open meadow.

The world is so much brighter than I remember, and everything is excruciatingly loud. As I lurch through waist-deep grass, I expect things to scatter, but they don’t.

A massive, scarred deer stands frozen a few yards away. It tilts its head, dark eyes fixed on me with a strange kind of awe. Slowly, it folds itself into the grass, watching as I take another step. Something small and white darts through the clover, making me pause. A tiny, fluffy bunny hops directly into my path. It sits back on its haunches, looking up at me with wide, unblinking eyes, while its little nose twitches at the air.

I lower my hand, fingers still stained with the garden’s rot. My nails are sharpened into predatory points, and I expect it to flee the moment I move.

The rabbit tenses its powerful hind legs. With a sudden blur of motion, it launches itself upward, an improbable soaring leap that clears the distance between the dirt and my palm.

I catch it by reflex, my massive hand dwarfing its body. I make no sudden movements; I am terrified that my touch will hurt it—that the black rot will seep through my skin and turn this tiny heart to ash. But the rabbit doesn’t wither. It settles into the crook of my calloused palm, its whiskers twitching against my thumb as it cleans its face, as if my hand is the safest place in the world.

Such a tiny, delicate soul.

I stare at the creature, my heart blooming in my chest as its warmth seeps into my palm. Its ears snap forward, freezing mid-groom. Its tiny body tenses in my hand.

An unnatural chill sweeps through the meadow, turning my breath into a white plume of mist. The bunny leaps from my hand, disappearing into the tall grass as if the devil himself were on its heels.

The warmth of the sun feels miles away. The thrumming life in the soil beneath my feet goes quiet. The earth recoils, pulling away from the silver creature standing at the edge of the meadow.

His silhouette shimmers like moonlight and silver smoke. His form flickers at the edges, though he’s solid enough to cast a shadow that freezes the grass into brittle frost.

He doesn’t look at me with awe like the deer. He looks at me with a cold, vulturine stillness that makes my skin crawl. His translucent tail flickers as his eyes track the vines slowly winding around me.

A low, throaty growl vibrates from the ground and into my body. I beg the vines to stop. I don’t want to have to hurt this animal if it lunges at me.

Please, stop.

I take a cautious step back, my heel sinking into the soft earth, and the fox’s lips curl. He stalks forward with a stealthy grace.

The clover turns to frost under his paws, crystals spreading in jagged patterns that hiss in the summer air.