Grendel Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Grendel Blackwood wanted the cursed axe. The stories said its wielder ruled every soul in Scary Applesville, and a man with that power could reach anyone, anywhere. Grendel did not want power for its own sake. He wanted the man who had lived under his roof twelve years, the man he had taught, the man who had killed his child. The axe rested in a shrine. Grendel knew only that. He did not know the path, and every hour he stood lost, his quarry ran farther. He crouched in the twisted trees and spread his hands over the dirt. No road. No marker. Only roots. He had split a stump here not long ago to free the thing bound inside it. That bargain had been simple. His axe for her help. "You walk in circles," said a voice from the soil. Willow Ashenmist rose from the roots. She was a small phantom, pale, with branches curling from her head and eyes that glowed green. Grendel had felled her once, long ago, with another man and two axes. She owed him nothing. He owed her a path. "You said you would guide me," Grendel said. "The shrine. I need the way." "I know the way." Willow tilted her head. "The roots know it. They touch the stone under the shrine." "Then take me." Willow did not move. "You freed me. That debt is paid when I point." She lifted one thin branch and aimed it through the dark trunks. "There. Past the dead cottage. The ground slopes down. Follow the burnt roots." Grendel looked where she pointed and saw nothing but black trees. "I can't see burnt roots in this dark." Willow was quiet. Then she pulled a slender branch from her own tangle. It glowed, veins of orange and green running through the bark. She held it out. "This came from me," she said. "It shows the roots that still carry my blood. The burnt ones lead to the shrine. Hold it low. Walk where it brightens." Grendel took the glowing branch. In its light the ground changed. Thin scorched roots threaded the dirt, all bending one way, downhill, toward the dead cottage and beyond. "Why give me this?" he asked. "I want something too," Willow said. "Later. Not the axe. When you take the shrine, you owe me one more thing. We will say what it is then." Grendel did not argue. He had no time. He stood and followed the glow past the brooding cottage. The roots brightened as the land dropped away. Then the light caught something ahead. A dark shape rose between the trees, taller than a man. A shrine built around an axe, its head wide and carved with runes, green ooze dripping down old stone. Small flames burned at its base. Grendel had found the shrine. But a shape stood before it already, broad and glowing blue, reaching toward the cursed blade with empty hands.