Tree of Bone and Mist

Chapter One

Chapter One

In the forest, you find the light

In the forest, you will have sight

The blood of the stone cries out

The blood within cries of doubt

Green hills, tall mountains, and a river of life

Blurred faces, hard hands and a land of strife

You will find what you most desire

Your life, as p*****t, it may require

A black spider abides within white walls

With her sticky web and fangs of poison, she calls

She needs to eat of you in the red light of dawn

She needs to stop the Old Word before she is gone

What will you do, oh daughter of the North

Will you take the power from its source

Can you slay the raven and out of her life bring forth

-Spider Web; author unknown

Like the cry of an angry river the sound of rushing blood filled her ears. As her heart thumped wildly in her chest, a cold mist started to swallow the damp earthen floor. The twisted, gnarled tree trunk began to hum, the still air vibrated with its life song. Her wide black eyes saw the tree start to glow a warm amber color. Brighter and brighter it burned until she was forced to shield her eyes.

A mist engulfed her and filled the air with the dull smell of earth, roots and blood. A voice echoed in the forest. She knew the voice, though she could not ever remember hearing it before. A voice strong and tender all at once. A voice that tickled the edges of her memory. A voice that she knew belonged to her mother. The voice kept crying out to her, yet the words would not be revealed.

She moved closer to the tree, knowing she had no other choice. It could be denied no more than she could refuse her next breath of air. She had to answer its call, for it spoke to her soul. Fear receded into acceptance and wonder into impatience. She crept closer still, never wavering from her course. Aroma and mist swirled around her long black hair as she cut a path to the hollow heart of the tree.

From somewhere deep within the tree she heard another voice. A voice much different from her mother's–his voice. At first, it was as faint as a quickly passing memory, but it grew in both life and color and began to call to her. His voice was like a soothing melody to her ears and tasted of the sweetest golden honey on her tongue. She peered hard into the center of the tree to discern the source of this voice and his form melted subtly from the mist and glowing light. Vague at first, his features began to take shape. His face was obscured as always, leaving her aching to look upon his likeness. Her name floated from unseen lips upon the warm air as he called to her.

Suddenly his form dissipated into the mist and an arm darted from the hollow trunk. It seized her wrist in an angry, demanding embrace and started to pull her into the tree. The feelings of contentment and belonging exploded into fear and repulsion as she tried to rip from her captor. He would not be deprived of his prize though and pulled her even further into the gaping mouth of the tree.

Pain blossomed in her arm as his fingers burned into her skin. Grabbing onto a small branch that grew near the base of the tree, she felt blood dripping from her clasping hand as the sharp, knife-like bark carved through her tender, desperate flesh. She lost her grip, the slickness of her own blood playing traitor, and was quickly pulled into a darkness so bitter it chilled her very bones.

Wakefulness took Rhiannon Kossi so hard and sudden it was like being caught up in a violent churning wind. After she had become aware of her surroundings, she sat up slowly and drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in the soft blanket around her. After a few moments, she slowly crawled out of bed. Her father, Peter, had changed little in her childhood room since she moved out into the main house years before. She sighed and staggered into the central room of the cabin then stopped short. A man sat comfortably on the couch, watching her. The smile on his lips infuriated her.

"What are you doing here?"

"What kind of welcome is that, Peach?"

"The kind a woman gives a man who she finds in her home, uninvited." She eyed him suspiciously.

Matthew Foster laughed. "I see you haven't changed at all since you've been away." She did not answer. "So, when are ya coming home, hun? You've been away long enough."

"Matt, we've talked about this before." She did not want to have this conversation.

"Okay, okay," he said and stood up. "So ya broke my heart, but that didn't mean ya had to move away. This is just as much ye'r home as it is mine."

She shook her head and started towards the kitchen. "Daddy isn't here Matt." She yawned and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, but when I find him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

He walked over to her. "It's our busiest season, for God's sake, where the hell is he?" He leaned on the counter, crossed his arms and smiled broadly at her. "Ye'r welcome for mak'n the coffee."

"Thank you for the coffee," she said finally.

He stayed silent for a long time, and then: "Ya don't know where he went?"

"No Matt, I don't."

"We had two mares foal last night, we've got some sick cattle, and we need to start getting the near fields ready for summer." He shook his head.

"I called him yesterday morning and told him I was coming out. Everything seemed fine then." She shrugged.

"What's this?" He picked up a small dagger that was sitting on the counter and turned it over in his hand examining the knife.

"I'm not sure. I found it on the floor when I got here yesterday. Daddy always picks up weird things here and there."

Matt frowned straining to make out the detailed carvings in the polished ivory handle.

Finally satisfied, he replaced the dagger on the counter. "Well, if ya see him, please tell him I was here." He put on his ragged, brown cowboy hat and started walking towards the front door.

"Matt?"

He turned to look at her. But when she said nothing, he finally left.

Rhiannon stared after Matthew a long time after he was gone. She expected to feel pain, or at least emptiness, but she did not. Again, she was stymied by the numb feeling that had grown over the winter and now seemed to run through her whole body and mind. She tried to pinpoint the exact time when her heart started to harden towards him. She wondered why his touch suddenly turned her cold. As always, she came to the conclusion it was at the advent of the nightmares. It was almost as if she were looking down from a high tree observing her life and having no control over the twists and turns. She sighed and took a long drink of coffee and wondered again where her father had gone off to.

She knew her father was upset when she called yesterday and demanded he tell her, once and for all, what had happened to her mother, Sernia, but she did not expect him to just leave. She felt she was owed some answers and when Rhiannon told Peter about the vivid nightmares she had been having for months, he grew quiet. He finally told her to come to the ranch, and he would tell Rhiannon all about her mother.

All she knew is that she was six when her mother died, and she and Peter came to Daniel Foster's northern Montana ranch twenty-four years earlier, but not much else. She thought it odd that Peter had no pictures of her mother. No pictures of when they were dating, no wedding pictures, no photographs of her of any kind. Throughout her growing years, she would persist with asking questions about her mother, but Peter was stubborn, and her questions went unanswered. This time she would not be put off, but here she was, standing in the kitchen of his empty cabin with a growing uneasy feeling.

Rhiannon looked down at the huge, silver she-wolf that had walked into the room and sat beside her. She patted the wolf's soft head. "Let's go find daddy, Luna."

Quickly, she ate, dressed, and left her father's cabin, and for reasons she did not understand, took the dagger with her at the last moment. She left, determined to get the truth from him even if she had to hunt him down. She went to the stables and saddled her horse and led him out into the bright sunshine. Suddenly she stopped and took the strange dagger from her pocket wanting to look at it one more time. The polished steel tip caught the sun and threw it back into her eyes. Her fingertip mindlessly crossed over the hungry blade. "Ouch!" Tiny crimson beads formed along a small cut across her index finger. Quickly she stuck the injured finger in her mouth. Examining the offending knife, she carefully turned it over in her palm.

An intricate picture of a tiny white castle at the edge of a red ocean was carved into one side of the handle. On the other side, an image of a fierce purple dragon stared out at her. Under the dragon was an inscription that she could not read. The letters looked oddly familiar, yet distant-almost menacing.

Quickly she stuffed the knife in her jacket pocket and hauled herself up onto the back of her stallion she called Zellan. She whistled, and Luna darted from around the corner of her father's cabin. Pulling the reins, she quietly led her horse from the stable and towards the great pastures.

Wind pulled at the thick, black ribbons of her hair. Faster and faster she pushed the large stallion, so shiny and black. On the steed's heels was the enormous form of a she-wolf. Her tongue hung from her mouth framed with large white fangs. Thick bristly fur danced in rhythm with the wind.

Free as a violent storm that roamed the oceans searching for victims, she crossed the horizon disappearing into the sun. Winter was now taking its last breaths as an early spring began to spread across the never-ending golden fields of the west.

A purple shadow painted the jagged mountains as tawny grass danced across the meadows. As she rode on, she scanned the horizon for any sign of her father. She raced through acres of grazing land that were set aside for the herds of cattle during the winter but were now empty and raw as the day they were first settled.

A sky of the deepest powder blue sat atop the mountains and meadows. A bright yellow sun covered the earth with a warm blanket and seemed to be urging her on as she raced across the land. The air was unusually warm for a spring day, and the smell of pine and grass hung thickly in the air.

A sly fog of exhaustion crept in over her like a spoiled lover. The nightmares had grown steadily worse all winter. Now she pushed the fog aside, discarding it to the warm Montana wind.

At the top of a small rise, she stopped to scan the golden hills that gently rolled out before her. Carefully, she searched the small rocky outcroppings that broke up the grassy landscape. From the west, a huge black cloud quickly formed in the distance. Where sunshine had been just a short while before, now loomed a billowing, raging storm. Gray sheets of rain fell from its belly, saturating the land. Hot bolts of lightning struck the earth with deep echoes of might. At this time of year, rain was not uncustomary, but a thunderstorm was very unusual, so she sat and looked at it for a while before she turned her back on it and lopped off towards the mountain.

A brisk wind blew up from behind her as they continued to the base of the mountain, the temperature had dropped quickly. She carefully looked for her father in the shade under huge oaks and between rocky crags.

Cold drops of rain started to fall, drenching horse and rider. Rhiannon turned her face into the rain. She followed a small path that cut into the mountain-a path her father had taken her hundreds of times when she was growing up. Perhaps she would find him here, among the trees, seeking respite from a demanding daughter.

As they rounded a stand of pines on the edge of the small trail, Zellan's ears went back flat against his glossy black head, and he slowed to a walk. All the tiny hairs on Rhiannon's arms stood erect. A strange tingling vibrated through her skin, and everything began to glow an eerie white.

Suddenly an intense flash of light blinded her, instantaneously followed by an earsplitting boom of thunder. A flame shot up where the lightning had struck a tree, and smoke started to drift upwards. The dry smell of burning pine and loud pops of flaming pine cones filled the air. Somewhere an owl screamed out from the trees and fluttered away to safety.

The great stallion reared and shrieked out in fear. He took off at a gallop down the path that led further into the forest, a silvery ghost at his heels. Rhiannon held on to the reins with all her strength. The harder she tugged at the bit, the harder Zellan pulled back. The ground was wet, and the footing treacherous as his sharp hooves slashed through the soft mud. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his mane, trusting him to bring her to safety.

They reached a small clearing and Zellan finally began to slow; his sleek coat had lathered to a froth. A ray of wet sunshine poked through the black clouds. The thunder had passed on, leaving the lonesome sound of raindrops spattering on fallen pine needles. She stopped at the familiar place she and her father had spent many hours just talking and listening to the whispers of the forest.

"Daddy!" she called, her flat voice dissolving into unyielding trees. She wiped at the raindrops that soaked her face. "Daddy!" she called again.

Luna suddenly started barking and snarling and as Zellan's ears folded back again and he let out a deep warning snort. She followed the wolf's line of vision to a gigantic tree half hidden behind a large oak. Just as suddenly as the wolf had started barking, she abruptly sat down, raised her face to the sky, and gave a long, mournful howl. Zellan sidestepped and neighed, seeming to reprimand the she-wolf. Eeriness lay in the forest like a crouching lion ready to spring.

In the deepest moment of thick silence between Luna’s howls, Zellan reared up, and Rhiannon slid from his back. She lay in the mud and looked up at the mighty and proud trees that circled her. As a child the forest had been so peaceful and filled with wonder and possibilities, now it was choked with fear and foreboding. The sky above had cleared a bit, letting a hole of blue show through the blanket of angry gray. All around her, drops of spent rain fell from boughs of sad trees as they reached to the sky in a poetic dance of life. The forest was crying.

Zellan walked up to her and snorted his warm breath in her face as if to apologize. She sat up and patted his inquisitive muzzle. Mud was stuck in her hair and splattered her clothing. "What's the matter with you?"

Luna's plaintive howls once again filled the clearing and echoed through the trees. Zellan nervously sidestepped and shook his massive head. On hands and knees, Rhiannon scampered across the forest floor towards her yowling she-wolf, mud squishing through her fingers as she went. "And what's wrong with you?"

A familiar smell started to fill the air. Rhiannon stopped and closed her eyes tight. The smell of earth and roots and blood wafted across the opening. She opened her eyes and stared at what lay before her: her nightmares realized. The huge tree began to whisper. It was such a faint hum that she was not certain it was there at all. Slowly it became more evident. As if her dreams had been mere rehearsals, her body answered to the call of the tree as it had hundreds of times before.

Slowly she stood before the tree, her eyes were wide, and she began to tremble. She felt Zellan's hot breath on her shoulder and without looking away, reached behind, grabbing tightly onto the reins in a desperate attempt to deny the call she was forced to answer. The stallion proved to be an unwise choice for an anchor, though, for he moved with her, almost pushing her, as they were drawn closer.

The twisted trunk sat in its place as if to mock her and an amber glow started to burn within the tree. The light grew brighter, and a golden mist crawled across the muddy forest floor. Luna pinned her ears back and growled, long sharp fangs framing a feral smile.

The tree began to burn brighter, and she became afraid, but could not move away. Curiosity bade her stay as a familiar feeling sprinkled her soul like an old childhood memory now long forgotten. A heady, dull scent hung in the damp mountain air becoming overpowering as it coated her skin and tongue.

Fear began to recede, replaced by a feeling that this was something she should know, like the words to a well-known song whose name she could not recall. An overwhelming urge to touch the light clawed through her being. Slowly she edged forward, ignoring all rational thought. Like the bitter cold wind calls the winter to come along, Rhiannon continued her path toward an intimate, well-known course.

As though lightning had struck again, she was blinded by a searing light, and a low rumble battered her ears. In an instant, thousands of memories of her life on a Montana cattle ranch exploded in her mind leaving a jumble of brightly colored images swimming within her. Time had stopped, and as each image grew old, she knew they were gone forever.

When all the images were gone, she quietly left that place and flew over the Earth. She was awestruck by its raw beauty and perfectly round shape. As it, too, faded from sight, she drifted farther and farther away into a darkness that could not be explained. She felt as though she were being pulled towards something. A place she could not resist, nor did she wish to.

Onward it drew her into its bosom. And then she saw her: the woman who danced in her dreams. The woman she was convinced was the image of her long-dead mother. "You're almost home, my love," the woman whispered, and then her world went black.