Jul stared at the tangled mass of vines. Before even Deauxama formed
Freehold, ancients carved Greenkeep from twisted mountain passes and then
the planted vines that had protected it from everything except time. This was
Jul’s third attempt to reach the keep.
During the first, he learned the legends of venomous and near-sentient vines
were not exaggerated. Giant thorns raked his skin as he sprang away, but the
poison immediately burned. He barely survived the wild ride through the
mountains and saved by the frantic work of physicians. His coordination and
vision suffered for weeks; the scars where necrotic flesh had been hacked away
would remain forever.
During the second attempt, he severed a bit of vine with a well-timed chop of an
axe. He had tucked it into a soil-filled gourd and transported it back to Deaxa.
With a whetstone, he rounded its thorns to harmlessness. Over months, he
cultivated the vine until it no longer flinched at his touch or tried to strike him,
but wrapped itself around his finger like a babe grasping her mother. He even
coaxed it to flower.
Jul had declined work as one of Freehold’s titled assassins in order to scour the
country and beyond for tracts on botany, venom, and history - anything for a
clue to overcoming Greenkeep’s vines. He pieced together an answer, and then
tinkered with potions. Some made his little vine recoil; some made it lash its
impotent thorns; one wilted its few leaves, almost killing it. When he tested the
final concoction, the plant shivered with delight.
Still, this third time he approached Greenkeep, he was prepared for the worst:
two long-legged horses pulled against their tethers, nostrils showing pink and
eyes rolling white. Tucked in their saddlebags were enough vials of foul
medicine to stave off fever until Jul could reach safety.
He hoped he would not have to use them.
He did not breathe or flinch as the vines fingered his body, caressing him
sinuously and tentatively like raspy tongues testing whether a fruit was fresh or
foul. Others waved in the air to catch his scent. After a moment, they curved
back, wrenching feathery roots from earth and baring the remains of a granite
road twisting upward into the peak until Jul lost track of it altogether.
The invitation was clear.
He rubbed his hands together with nervous eagerness. So far, his oil - a blend
of, among other things, the vine’s own crushed pollen and stamen, shark liver,
anise, gypsum, and eighteen types of mushrooms - worked. He retrieved his
horses and led them into the thorny forest. The vines folded back behind them,
enveloping the road so thoroughly that it might never existed at all...
Freehold, ancients carved Greenkeep from twisted mountain passes and then
the planted vines that had protected it from everything except time. This was
Jul’s third attempt to reach the keep.
During the first, he learned the legends of venomous and near-sentient vines
were not exaggerated. Giant thorns raked his skin as he sprang away, but the
poison immediately burned. He barely survived the wild ride through the
mountains and saved by the frantic work of physicians. His coordination and
vision suffered for weeks; the scars where necrotic flesh had been hacked away
would remain forever.
During the second attempt, he severed a bit of vine with a well-timed chop of an
axe. He had tucked it into a soil-filled gourd and transported it back to Deaxa.
With a whetstone, he rounded its thorns to harmlessness. Over months, he
cultivated the vine until it no longer flinched at his touch or tried to strike him,
but wrapped itself around his finger like a babe grasping her mother. He even
coaxed it to flower.
Jul had declined work as one of Freehold’s titled assassins in order to scour the
country and beyond for tracts on botany, venom, and history - anything for a
clue to overcoming Greenkeep’s vines. He pieced together an answer, and then
tinkered with potions. Some made his little vine recoil; some made it lash its
impotent thorns; one wilted its few leaves, almost killing it. When he tested the
final concoction, the plant shivered with delight.
Still, this third time he approached Greenkeep, he was prepared for the worst:
two long-legged horses pulled against their tethers, nostrils showing pink and
eyes rolling white. Tucked in their saddlebags were enough vials of foul
medicine to stave off fever until Jul could reach safety.
He hoped he would not have to use them.
He did not breathe or flinch as the vines fingered his body, caressing him
sinuously and tentatively like raspy tongues testing whether a fruit was fresh or
foul. Others waved in the air to catch his scent. After a moment, they curved
back, wrenching feathery roots from earth and baring the remains of a granite
road twisting upward into the peak until Jul lost track of it altogether.
The invitation was clear.
He rubbed his hands together with nervous eagerness. So far, his oil - a blend
of, among other things, the vine’s own crushed pollen and stamen, shark liver,
anise, gypsum, and eighteen types of mushrooms - worked. He retrieved his
horses and led them into the thorny forest. The vines folded back behind them,
enveloping the road so thoroughly that it might never existed at all...
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Greenkeep By SC Bryce |
Publication History |
Readers' Comments |
| forthcoming |
First Printing:
Freehold: The Goblin Horde (Monroi
Pass Book 3), Armand Rosamilia, ed
(forthcoming).
Freehold: The Goblin Horde (Monroi
Pass Book 3), Armand Rosamilia, ed
(forthcoming).
| Impatient? Jump to... |
| ...also on this Page! |