1.1 – The Life Walker

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The sound of footsteps moving through leaves and underbrush felt far too loud, like the uncomfortable whispers of gossipers upon entering the room. Each crack of a twig was an accusation, and each rustle of grass was comparable to judgmental eyes from corners of the forest.

Sorrel Spicer clenched her jaw, pushing a branch out of the way as she moved through the rich woods nestled in the rolling hills of southern Bascor. Leaves grabbed her dress as she moved, twigs tugging at the periwinkle cotton as if to tell her to slow down, to stop. Instead, she made a frustrated noise, bunching the end of her skirt in one hand so she could move unhindered.

The trees provided some shelter from the late afternoon sun, but no reprieve came from the humidity in the air. It clung to her skin, uncomfortable and unwanted, making her curly, auburn hair stick to her neck. Sorrel only half noticed, far too focused on things more important than the unpleasant heat of late summer. She knew her father was waiting for her to come home, but she wasn’t ready to come home yet.

And yet…all she wanted was to be home. She wanted the touch of mossy stones under her feet. She wanted the smell of herbs drying from the rafters and of potions brewing over the hearth. She wanted the taste and comfort of home, of the apple trees and the wild mint that grew around the cottage.

She wanted to hug her father and tell him how much it hurt.

She wanted him to hug her back and tell her she would be okay.

Tears burned her eyes, salty as her sweat, and she angrily wiped her freckled face with the end of her skirt, removing as much of both as she could.

Sorrel had tried so hard. She had tried, and tried, and tried. For twelve months, she had given it her all, and what did she have to show for it?

A ruined marriage, a hopeless future, and her heart broken. 

She didn’t stop the tears this time, letting them blur her vision as they swept away her anger, allowing hopelessness to seep in. The one thing she wanted most she couldn’t have, and now she felt like nothing would be right again.

Eventually, the woods parted and Sorrel found herself at the edge of a small glade with a bubbling brook. She came to a stop, her breath labored from a combination of her emotions and the heavy air, rather than the walk itself.

She wasn’t sure how far away from the path she had veered, but it was a fleeting thought as she tried to place exactly where she was. The brook should have been the same one that fed into the river behind her family’s house, but the clearing itself was unfamiliar.

For starters, the trees were all covered in flowering vines that hung down like a great curtain around the glade. Thick, plush moss carpeted the ground around the stream, and butterflies danced across the wildflowers poking up from the earth. It was beautiful, but the way everything was organized felt almost… deliberate. 

Brow furrowed, Sorrel stepped into the glade, looking around as she let her fingers drag over the flaky bark of a birch tree. Overhead, birds chirped and chittered loudly, and across the brook, a rabbit spooked and darted off into the underbrush. The scent of flowers was strong, mixing with the humidity in the air and clinging to her like a layer of sweat.

Never in her seventeen years of life had she seen anything like this in these hills, and the exotic view scattered many of her spiraling thoughts.

The view also made her completely miss for the first few seconds that she was not alone.

When Sorrel realized, she froze, eyes falling to the man across the glade. He sat with his back against a tree, one leg drawn up and a hand resting on the back of a deer tucked into the moss beside him. While the deer was as still as could be, the man himself regarded Sorrel with no small amount of scrutiny, his fingers lightly petting the creature beside him.

He was… striking in appearance, with long, wavy hair that draped over his shoulders and pooled in his lap. It was loose and dark, dotted with small flowers without a pattern. His viridian eyes looked almost like they glowed under the dappled sunlight, brilliant enough that she could see them from across the clearing. 

He wore unusual clothes in shades of green, loose and thin. His shirt was open in the front, showing off a collection of necklaces made of wooden beads and dried seeds. Strangely, he was barefoot, toes curling into the moss at his feet. And most unusual of all, perhaps, was the birthmark on the inside of his forearm. Sorrel’s eyes fell on it as he petted the deer, and honestly, it looked like burl wood painted on his skin.

He seemed unbothered by her sudden intrusion, although he tilted his head to regard her curiously. The movement snapped her out of her daze, and she swallowed, realizing she was alone in the woods with a strange man staring at her intently. Nervously, she took a step back, blindly reaching for the tree behind her.

“Ah, watch for the—”

She tripped, shrieking as she fell back onto the forest floor. The sound sent birds scattering, and the deer beside the man scrambled to its feet and took off, leaving them more alone than before. She winced, looking down at the root that had caught against her heel before her eyes flicked back up to the man. He hummed thoughtfully, gaze still on her. 

“How curious,” he started carefully, tapping a finger against his chin. “You announced your presence so loudly, and yet now that I have perceived you, you seem frightened. Do you want attention, or do you not?”

“What?” The word left her mouth before she fully processed what he said, but even after his words caught up with her, the question remained the same. 

He gestured around him. “It is as I said. You stomp through the woods with emotions even the trees can feel. You wanted your feelings known, and the forest heard you well. However, the moment you realized your company was more than trees, you closed up, like a moonflower touched by morning dew.”

He chuckled, tapping a finger to his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I find it so funny how so many treat the forest as if it does not listen.”

Sorrel pushed herself to her feet, bracing her hand against the tree as she pursed her lips. “I didn’t think someone would be out here. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I–I’ll be taking my leave now.”

“How does one take a leave?” he asked sincerely, giving her a confused look. “I do not understand. Please explain.”

Sorrel stared at him, brow furrowing. Truth be told, he spoke strangely with an accent she couldn’t place. While he seemed articulate, the formality and choice of words made it feel as though this was not his native language or that he came from aristocracy. Honestly, she wasn’t sure which, but most people of influence didn’t sit in forest glades barefoot and petting deer. 

They probably also understood the phrase ‘taking my leave.’ 

Despite herself, Sorrel replied, “It means to say ‘goodbye.’”

He tilted his head again in a manner very animal-like. It was disarming, in a way, because his words and mannerisms carried almost a childlike curiosity, especially with the way he furrowed his brow like she had told him something asinine.

“Well,” he replied, shaking his head, “I do not understand why you would not simply say ‘goodbye’, but I suppose it does not matter. Do you truly wish to make such a grandiose entrance, then immediately announce your departure?”

“I don’t understand,” Sorrel replied, huffing. She was tired and miserable, and she came out here to be alone with her feelings, not have some stranger prod at them. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

“Why not?” He glanced around, eyes skimming over the flowering canopy draping around them. “Is it not a good place to be?”

Sorrel exhaled harshly out her nose, frustration seeping in to mingle with every other emotion simmering inside her. She could have directed it at him, given how he prodded at her already thin patience. However, she swallowed those feelings, letting them sit in her gut instead. 

Truthfully, as much as she wanted to admit it was because she tried to be a kind and gracious person, the reality was that she understood the potential danger she was in. She was alone in the woods with a man who didn’t act quite right, and she was far enough from the road to know no one would hear her scream.

And yet, instead of walling off completely or letting fear overtake her, her face simply contorted into one of emotional anguish as tears once again gathered in her eyes.

“I just wanted to be alone so no one could see me cry,” she replied sadly, leaning against the tree beside her. She looked away from him, staring forlornly at everything and nothing at once. 

“I do not understand the privacy of such a matter, but perhaps that is a shortcoming of what I am. Would it make those heavy emotions of yours go away if you hide your crying?”

The question was… strange, and Sorrel slowly looked up at him, giving it thought. “It… no. It doesn’t make things better. But people seeing me in such a state would make it worse.”

“They do not sound like good people then,” he said thoughtfully, reaching up to touch the ends of a wisteria cluster hanging above his head as if admiring its beauty. “I do not understand what good it does to surround oneself with people who you must hide from.”

He paused, blinking, then chuckled. “And yet, here I am, hiding myself in a similar way. What is the word used for this? ‘Irony’, yes?”

“And what do you have to hide from?” Sorrel found herself asking, although she felt a touch embarrassed by the accusation in her tone. 

He smiled slightly, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Many things. People are unkind, as we both know. They make rash decisions and unfair judgments without regard to those they may harm, especially now with the undead army pressing against your borders.”

Sorrel shuddered at the mention of the undead coming from the west and the reminder of how they were slowly encroaching upon Bascor’s territory under the command of the dragons. Once upon a time, the Bascori people worshiped dragons as gods. That time had long since passed. Not wanting to dwell on it, she returned her attention to his explanation.

“And walking these lands used to be of no consequence to me, but now it poses great risk. My brethren are persecuted by someone I once considered a brother. His followers chase us every time we leave the safety of our home.”

“Then why do you leave?” Sorrel asked quietly, turning to face him. As much as she wanted to sit, the ground was damp and uninviting, and standing made her feel like she had some control here. So she remained standing.

“I have a job to do,” he said firmly, “and I must do it no matter the cost.”

Sorrel fell silent, unsure of what to say to that. He seemed unwilling to give details, and she wasn’t going to press, but it made her feel… small.

Of course, that wasn’t a hard feat, given so many things felt monumental when compared to her personal troubles.

“I think that is enough about my plight, for talking about it shall not mend it,” the man said after a moment, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Idly, Sorrel noted he had wooden earrings with flowers dangling from the lobes. “I would like to know what makes your emotions so loud but also makes you need to hide them from prying eyes.”

Sorrel shrunk in on herself, her own reality being drawn back from where it had been lurking. She pursed her lips, brows pinching together as she wrapped her arms around herself, not from cold, but from discomfort.

She wanted to be alone. She wanted to cry in the solitude of the forest, to drown in her misery and anguish without the background of hushed whispers and prying eyes. She wanted to pretend, for just a few minutes, that she was a child once again, and that she was allowed to have big feelings and fall apart without repercussions.

Something in her gave, and Sorrel sighed, running a hand through her sweat-damp hair. It clung to her fingers as if trying to comfort her, but really, she only found it a nuisance.

“I… am barren.”

The three words sounded so loud, like booming thunder in the still of the night. She bit back a sob, speaking a truth that she knew intimately but did not want to acknowledge. 

“I have been trying for a year.” Slowly, she sank back down to the ground, damp soil forgotten and fingers fisting into the fabric of her skirts. “I saw healers. I tried every concoction I knew how to make. Nothing worked. I would have kept trying, but my husband did not want a wife who could not produce children. Our marriage has been annulled at his request.”

Sorrel swallowed, staring down at the water tumbling over the stones of the brook. “I suppose love is conditional for some. I didn’t think of myself as so disposable, and yet I see that the love he had for me had a price, one of which I couldn’t meet.”

She smiled bitterly, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “Right now I can’t even be angry at my former husband because I have also lost love for myself. I dreamed of motherhood, of raising children. I wanted a house full of giggles and laughter, to grow old and see my children’s children come into the world. And I know now that is not meant to be.”

She took in a shuddered breath, the sound stuttering over the noise of the bubbling stream. “The healers told me that perhaps the fates had chosen to spare me from raising a child during a war with the dragons, but I cannot accept that. What do the fates know? What does anyone know? Now I have this hole in my heart that can never be filled!”

She pressed her hands to her lips, eyes squeezing closed as the tears left searing streaks down her cheeks. Now that the words had been uttered aloud, she couldn’t stop the emotions from tumbling out. They spilled out of her like a torrential downpour, filling the glade between them.

It only got worse as she realized that she had just spilled such personal information to a stranger—a man—who certainly could not understand her plight. Men did not have these problems, nor did they care unless it involved their own families. And yet, she had just laid out her most intimate secrets to some strange man in the woods who spoke like he wasn’t even human.

That realization, new and sudden, invaded and interrupted her despair because it was both utterly ridiculous and, yet… 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that it had some truth to it. 

The Reprised Shores had many things, from great dragons that wielded powerful magic to Salamander people who lived in the caves in the south. There were even the Otherkin, tricksters that disguised themselves as humans. And while Sorrel had never met anything otherworldly before, she understood that they existed and that they could be anywhere.

Her crying slowed from sobs to hiccups as she tried to balance her anguish with her growing apprehension. Wiping her face, Sorrel opened her eyes, only to yelp at finding the man was now crouched in front of her, hands on his knees, and his hair draped over his shoulders like a wavy silk cape. 

Instinctively, she leaned back, fear gripping her as she realized there was nothing she could do.

“I see,” he said quietly, brows pinching together as he studied her like he could see through her. It made her skin crawl, but she could only really feel how her heart was pounding in her chest. “Those emotions are quite justified. Your mind and your body are not in harmony. That is sad, and I am sorry. However, I think I can help you.”

She choked out a noise of surprise, coughing and hitting her chest with a fist. It took her a moment before she replied, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He hummed thoughtfully, expression smoothing over into something mild, if not serene. “I can give you a child if that is your wish. My magic makes it so.”

Sorrel’s mouth fell open, her fear replaced by incredulity as he regarded her like he had simply requested she join him for tea instead of propositioning her.

“Your— What, are you a healer? Are you—” She stopped, sucking in a breath through her teeth as her eyes flashed angrily. “Is this a joke to you?”

He blinked owlishly at her, looking taken aback at the heat in her tone. “It is not a joke. Did I say something funny?”

“I have gone to countless healers who failed! I have taken tinctures that did nothing and elixirs that only made me ill! Why should I believe a random man in the woods can succeed where all of that failed?”

He smiled slightly in the face of her anger. “Because my magic is life itself. Human healers cannot compare.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, disbelief rampant on her features. “Oh? What are you, then?”

She realized as she said it that she had dared him to reveal himself. Perhaps he was an eccentric magus, although she had never heard of the arcane being able to cure infertility. But really, she suspected he was tricking her, and she wanted him to prove her wrong.

The man before her inclined his head, regarding her critically, as if assessing her. With a deep inhale, viridian fire erupted from his eyes, painting his face and hair in a brilliant emerald sheen. The tree above them shivered, its bounty of leaves doubling and flower blossoms sprouting like it was the beginning of spring and not late summer. Small petals of pale pink fluttered down, landing in her hair and lap, like a delicate snowfall.

Flowers erupted at their feet in pale colors and low to the forest floor, tickling her ankles where she sat. Their scent filled the air, cloyingly sweet in the summer heat, and their sudden appearance sucked the moisture out of the soil, turning the unpleasant muddy ground into something far more inviting, almost like sitting in a sunny field instead of deep in a forest thicket.

And finally, he lifted a hand and stretched out a finger, smiling as a finch flew down from the trees to land on it, tweeting softly like he posed no threat.

Sorrel sucked in a surprised breath, staring at him, and despite the fact nothing else changed in his appearance, she suddenly felt like he was much, much larger than he appeared.

“I am Osier the Life Walker,” he said, his voice now carrying a thrum of magic that made goosebumps erupt across her skin, “and there is not another living creature who knows life better than me.”

Sorrel swallowed nervously, recognizing that whatever stood before her was definitely not a human man, despite his appearance. Even if she wasn’t a magus, she knew enough to realize this was the kind of magic that humans couldn’t touch.

No human could bend life the way he just did, but no human could give her a child.

Here he was, dangling hope in front of her, and despite her absolute terror that she was about to make a mistake, Sorrel foolishly and recklessly took that bait.

“You can give me a child? A baby of my own?” No matter how much her voice quivered, it couldn’t hide the desperate hope.

He nodded slowly and held out his hand. She stared at his palm, smooth and fair like he had never seen a day of labor in his life. 

She wanted a baby. Consequences be damned.

She placed her hand in his, then gasped as he pulled her close and into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin as his hair fell around her like a wavy curtain. The silk of his clothes dragged smoothly against her skin like no fabric she had ever touched. 

She waited, expecting more to follow. For him to lay her on her back, or tell her to undress. Instead, a ring of brilliant green fire erupted around them, making her shriek in surprise. It gave off no heat, and the flames that engulfed her felt soothing, like a warm bath after a long work day. It left a taste on her tongue like spring flowers and sun-ripened berries, soft and sweet.

They stayed like that, wrapped in a fire that didn’t burn and him holding her like her husband never had. And even if she understood there was no love here, she had to wonder if this was what love was supposed to feel like. To be held without judgment, softly, and with kindness. These were things she didn’t recall having with her marriage, but she supposed that was why few talked about marriage and love going hand in hand.

And when he pulled away and she found her belly round with life and a crown of flowers decorating her hair, she realized that, no, this wasn’t what love felt like, but she didn’t care.

She was pregnant. She was pregnant.

She pressed a hand to her stomach in disbelief, feeling the taut skin through her dress, stretched to hold the life that now existed in her once barren womb. It took her forever to find her voice in the mixture of jumbled thoughts running through her head. When she did, it was hardly eloquent. “You really… You really gave me a child.”

He nodded again, expression mild like he hadn’t just performed a miracle. “It is as I said. No one knows life better than me.”

Sorrel shook her head, trembling hands still holding her stomach. Finally, she looked at him, and asked, “Is there a cost? What do you want in return?”

He smiled at her, baring his teeth in a way that felt animalistic. “Love him and protect him, for he will be special. That is my request.”

Special…

Sorrel swallowed at the potential implications of such a statement, feeling every muscle in her body tense as anxiety blossomed inside of her, settling in right next to her unborn child. She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned his head sharply as if sensing something in the distance. His nostrils flared, eyes glowing a soft, enchanting green, and his face contorted into one of trepidation. 

Whatever had his attention was frightening.

“I must leave now.” He stood smoothly, eyes still trained on whatever was in the distance. “Do not speak of meeting me today or what has transpired. I shall return soon, then we may speak again.”

The unspoken ‘it is not safe’ hung in the air between them as loud as the pounding in her heart. 

Without another word, Osier the Life Walker fled, leaving behind a trail of footprints filled with dandelions and leaving Sorrel alone in the glade.

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An hour later, Sorrel stood at the bottom of the flagstone stairs that led to the cottage she grew up in. The steps had recently been cleared of moss, and the flowers on the bank behind them looked on fire in the setting sun. 

The thick ivy that always clung to the stone walls had been trimmed back, and the waterwheel moved as slowly as always, squeaking and groaning as water poured over it into the basin that led down to the river.

Smoke curled up from the chimney, bringing with it the scent of bread, and Sorrel felt her eyes water as she took in everything that was her home. But as much as she felt relief, she also still felt trepidation. 

By now, she realized the gravity of what she had done. She had what she wanted, but at what cost?

She wondered as she glanced down at her belly, how she was supposed to keep quiet on such a thing. He wanted her to tell no one, but who would believe her anyway? A barren woman with an annulled marriage now months heavy with a child?

And… was whatever growing inside of her even human?

She swallowed thickly, thinking back to what was said. “Love him and protect him, for he will be special.”

She didn’t know what ‘special’ meant, and that frightened her.

Sorrel sighed uneasily and ascended the steps, painfully aware of her foolishness and fearing how she would pay for it. For now, she would just avoid town and… well, there was no hiding this from her father.

It was as she reached the top of the stairs and looked out at the sun setting over the hilly fields that a brilliant green light erupted across the sky. It painted the sunset in shades of viridian and gold before falling to coat everything in soft, glittering mist. 

She could tell by the way it tasted on her tongue and brushed against her skin that it was Osier’s magic, and she had to wonder what he had done.

But later, when flowers wilted and crops failed, and Osier had not returned, Sorrel wondered less what he had done, and more what had been done to him.

Something had happened.

By the time she was ready to give birth less than two months later, all of the Reprised Shores had fallen into gray, from coast to coast. The harvests began to fail, livestock starving soon after, and the natural flora in the forests beyond slowly wilted. Very little bloomed and nothing thrived, and everyone began to suffer.

They called it the Great Wither, but Sorrel silently called it the death of the Life Walker.