Thorn easily kept pace with the oxen pulling the caravan along. Fresh mud splashed over his heavy boots. His dark clothes obscured the filth that accumulated from each trip. He ran a hand through his short, black hair and tugged until it hurt.

This trip, these clients, there was nothing special about any of it. His next clients, however, were constantly on his mind as he turned the plan over and over in his head.

The sheer luck that Trev of all people was able to dig up information on one of the people Thorn hated so much he wanted them dead. It still had him reeling. Catherine would regret turning him and his brother away when they were in need.

Thorn stared at the road ahead, noting the change of crops as they passed by patches of neatly planted cabbage along one side, and an orchard bearing flowers and ripening fruit along the other.

The others were commenting on it, and Sahara picked some fruit off a nearby tree as they passed. She handed one to Moloch, driving the oxen, and hesitated on giving one to Thorn. He couldn’t eat it anyway. The only food he could stomach was meat. He got whatever else he needed from being out in the sun.

Sahara returned to her post several paces ahead of the caravan, attentive as ever. Straight-backed and calm, blond hair tied back in a no-nonsense tail, hat shading her face. Patchy sunburn covered her pale arms. She strolled purposefully and eyed both sides of the road. The orchard could easily hide enemies. Bandits, wild animals, neither were likely this close to the farms, but Sahara was vigilant.

Moloch drove the oxen at an even pace. His thick, shoulder-length dreads were pulled back and wrapped behind his head. A cloth sunshade protected him from the beating sun. He hummed a familiar tune, but Thorn couldn’t place where he’d heard it before. Maybe a tavern in Sylvan Hollow.

Thorn picked at the sunburn on his left shoulder, the one sporting the Guard and Guide spoked wheel tattoo. The burn was bright red on his dark skin. Painful, and healing slower than he’d expected. His fingers brushed against old scar tissue. He pulled away, refocusing on the wagon and the farmlands surrounding them. What he wouldn’t give for a drink of Linlea’s saltwater whiskey at the moment. Alcohol was the one thing other than meat that didn’t make him puke his guts out.

Thorn could see just inside the caravan, Merrin and Zel curled up in a pile of cushions, Zel’s feathered wings wrapped around Merrin in a loose hold. Her feathers were green and turquoise blue, matched by Merrin’s dyed hair. Linlea homebodies who decided Alden Town would make for a fun vacation. He’d warned them before the trip of the bias’ they’d encounter. People weren’t especially kind in Alden Town to those who didn’t look as human as possible.

He had something of a soft spot for others like him. Often humans called them monsters, but they didn’t understand. Thorn, maybe, was a real monster. But harpies like Zel were just like anybody else. They wanted to live their lives in peace.

If he had the time and energy, Thorn would’ve taken out the entire council that ran Alden Town alongside his current target. But he really didn’t care about the town or the humans living there.

A couple of men caught his attention. They appeared at the treeline of the orchard, picking fruit to put into some invisible basket. From a distance, he might’ve mistaken them for farmhands, but their behavior seemed erratic. The fruit ended up all over the ground at their feet, yet still, they kept their gazes up at the branches, their hands busy pulling fruit and dumping it onto the ground.

There was a symbol emblazoned on their clothes, one he recognized well from a client two months ago. A half-closed eye of dark blue and crimson. A symbol of someone from the sky city of Adhar, across the sea. They were far from home. Thorn cursed his impulsivity. They were definitely looking for the client he killed. He had a bad habit of making annoying clients go missing, and with Sahara’s help, he always managed to cover it up.

It had been a mission from Alden Town to Sylvan Hollow. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. He’d been a noble. Marik, or something like that. He was rude, petty, and talked down to all of them as though they weren’t aware of their jobs.

‘Make sure you’re careful putting my bags up front, I don’t want anything to go missing,’ he’d said and eyed each of them carefully as though they’d go out of their way to steal their clothes or drop them onto the dirt road. Thorn was tempted to ‘accidentally’ drop them in the mud, but Sahara took the bag before he could commit to it. He complained the entire time about how hot the caravan was, but refused to get out and walk alongside when it got unbearable. Because in his country, there were people whose job it was to cool him off. And anyway, living in the sky had its perks as it never got too hot when the windows were open.

Marik didn’t know when to shut his mouth, and it had gotten him into trouble.

Thorn felt uneasy as their caravan neared the two men. They turned their attention solely to Thorn, and he knew for sure they were there looking for him. He tried to ignore them, but as they started following the caravan, Thorn called to Sahara in her mind.

None of them, even Thorn, was quite sure how the power worked, but Thorn had implanted a seed like a tiny parasite into her wrist and it enabled him to communicate with her telepathically. Thorn believed it had something to do with his strong connection to plants, and the seed had been coated with his blood to further the connection. All they knew was that it usually worked.

She agreed, they looked as Thorn remembered. She stopped to let Thorn catch up and nodded to the cart. “Can you put them to sleep? We don’t need witnesses if we need to kill them.”

Thorn jumped into the back while Sahara kept an eye on their surroundings. The men followed as though they wanted to be sure about their target before attacking.

Merrin and Zel were sleepy, so putting them out entirely was easy. A vine snaked out from under the back of his shirt, covered in small prickles thin and needle-like. A sting from one injected a small amount of poison sedative. He needed just enough to help them relax into a deeper sleep.

Zel unfurled her wings from around Merrin. She muttered in her sleep. Her claw scratched at a spot near her head and she squirmed lazily until she was in a different position. Then Zel rewrapped her wings around Merrin.

Thorn jumped from the moving caravan to Sahara’s side just in time for her to push him down. A long blade dug into the wood of the wagon behind him.

It was attached to a thin silver chain. The contraption pulled out of the wood, splinters flying, retreating to where the two men stood watching.

The caravan shuddered and almost stopped.

The attackers advanced toward the caravan. Scowls marred their faces as they closed in on Thorn and Sahara.

Sahara took a stance and reached for the daggers at her hip to deflect the next movement of the chained blade. It worked once, but when the blade stopped in midair and redirected its attack, Thorn knew they were up against more than just mere humans.

Sahara kept them at bay while Thorn got to his feet. He took the time to brush himself off, but now it was three against the two of them, the chain blade wielder, an axe wielder, and a guy in the back barking orders.

Thorn called out to them, “What do you want?”

The man in the back hissed, “The monster speaks! We are Nerek, Fontaine, and Altair. Fighters from the great city of Adhar. And we want retribution for our cousin’s murder.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Who was your cousin?” Thorn sneered.

“Our cousin, the great and noble Merrick, went on a trip escorted to Sylvan Hollow to obtain some important business documents but according to our source there, never made it into town. That was two months ago, so we started investigating.”

“Oh?” Thorn acted intrigued. “What led you to me?”

“You’re listed as having been part of the group who traveled with him. It was concluded that he was slain by a wild boar with tusks the length of swords, but our cousin was a well-established hunter. A simple boar could not kill him.”

While they talked, Sahara had both daggers clenched tightly in her hands. Her body was spread out, belly down on the dirt road. She clawed herself upright, breathing hard. The long blade attached to the chain was buried deep beside her. She’d ducked just in time. There were cuts along her right side. Shoulder, upper arm, a graze against her cheek that leaked more blood than looked healthy. Sahara wiped it away, “It’s a surface wound,” she huffed.

The chain blade wielder, Altair, was red-faced and bloody. The one beside him with an axe seemed to wait his turn. Fontaine. Thorn bet he had a slower movement style and wasn’t cut out for dealing with Sahara’s swift attacks. Thorn tried to shift the fight, ganging up on Altair and hoping Fontaine would misstep into the fight.

Instead, he went for Thorn, blocking his path to Sahara. “You think you can get away with murdering our family, asshole? I’ll soak the road with your blood.”

Broad shoulders held the axe and swung it so fast that Thorn barely had time to avoid it. He noticed the sting before the blood. It was the lightest graze, but Thorn’s stomach curdled like sour milk. Very few people touched him, let alone got close enough to cut him. It was such a shallow wound, that it knit back together almost instantly, leaving the faintest scar and a line of dry blood.

Altair spun the chain blade into the air, and Thorn could tell there was something besides momentum pulling on the chain. It flew unnaturally high into the air and dropped toward him with impossible speed as though thrown. It wasn’t falling.

Thorn thought he dodged it, but the blade dug a deep gash across his upper arm this time. It hurt like hell as his body mended the wound. It was a pain he hadn’t felt since the time Sahara stabbed him. His whole body shuddered. He didn’t have time to wait for the pain to stop. He pulled back and watched Sahara dodging the axe like the professional she was.

His attacker was relentless. The chain blade was up in the air again, preparing an attack. Thorn knew their surroundings well, and though it wasn’t a perfect option, he could still duck into the tree line, and use them to his advantage. Branches whipped out from the edge and stabbed Altair as he tried to close the distance.

Roots extended up from the dirt and out into the road. Thick and ropey, they wound around Altair’s feet and pulled down. He lost focus and the chain blade fell out of the sky, into the ground. The axe and Fontaine followed suit.

Thorn grabbed the chain and yanked it out of Altair’s hands. There was a weak telekinetic pull on the weapon, and Thorn kicked Altair hard. He released a deep breath once the weapon stopped moving, and looked at the plants he had to work with. While the roots were doing their job, they’d only managed to grab Altair and Fontaine. Nerek was nowhere to be seen.

The roots had them fully under control, so Thorn closed his eyes and reached out to the orchard and the trees within until he sensed Nerek running wildly through their branches. At his command, they closed in, blocking his path until he was so tightly surrounded he was trapped.

He glanced at Sahara, certain she could keep an eye on the two tied up in the road and headed into the trees. They moved and parted their branches for him until he found the leader, Nerek, tearing at unmoving branches. “Was coming here worth it?” Thorn asked. “Did you get any satisfaction out of our meeting?”

Nerek turned to face him. “Our cousin wasn’t the most beloved in our city, but he was still human and a part of our family.” He fidgeted with a ring on his finger, “Other people gave up on him ever coming back, but we knew better. So I found his contact in Sylvan Hollow and dug up any information I could on his trip.”

Thorn only half listened, the rest of the information starting to bore him. He knew all of this, how else would they have found him so easily? “Yes, yes, you were the only one who didn’t believe the story we told about the storm cat and his run into the woods,” Thorn guessed. “And so you just had to follow your gut.”

“You haven’t even admitted to it yet. You murdered him, didn’t you?” the man’s voice started boldly, but trailed off meekly. He had no injuries, but he was scared shitless.

Thorn’s lips curled upward in a cold smile and he bent down to peer into the man’s face, “Did I say I didn’t?”

He swung at Thorn, but Thorn dodged back just in time to miss the swing. The sound of bile rose in the man’s throat as he tried to spit at Thorn, but failed miserably as it bubbled onto his lip and dripped down his chin.

Roots pulled up from the soil and coiled effortlessly around his arms and legs, pinning him down. “Usually, I prefer more of a challenge. Letting you run off deeper before I catch and kill you.” Thorn mused, “Would you prefer a chance to run? Or would you rather I end it quickly?”

Predictably, he asked for the chance to run as though it was much of a choice. Thorn crouched to his level again, “I’ll let you go and move the trees out of your way. You run. I’ll give you a count of five to get as far as you can before I start following.” If he ran in the direction away from Thorn, he’d only be going deeper into the trees. Then he stood up and took a step back. The roots unwrapped and the trees parted for him.

“Not much time,” Thorn said, starting the countdown aloud. The pain in his arm was subsiding. Thorn checked and it appeared as though everything had knit itself back together. The skin was raw and dark red around the area, but he no longer felt the searing pain. He tested out the motion of his arm while the man carried himself as far away from Thorn as he possibly could. Thorn forgot to finish the count. He took a few strides forward, then broke into a sprint.

The further they went, the deeper and denser the orchard got until it was more forest than farm. Thorn felt the man through the vibrations in the earth. The roots, the branches, they all communicated to him the exact location, the direction, and how far away he was. Just a little further, he let the man get just to the edge before closing off his path.

When they came face to face again, there was terror in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “What kind of monster are you?” he asked.

The vines from Thorn’s back oozed from his sleeves. Some had sharp, needle-like thorns, some were smooth and bare. Each thorn oozed sap that acted as a muscle relaxant in small doses and a poison in large.

“Your cousin was fun to hunt,” Thorn said. He got up into the man’s face and could smell the bile on his breath as he tried not to vomit. “You’ve been comparatively boring. Do you think anyone will come looking for you or your lackeys?” Thorn waved his fingers and the trees pushed the man closer to him, keeping his arms locked between branches.

“The whole of the city’s government will notice my absence. They will send more of us to take you down and get revenge.” His voice faltered slightly. “You may as well let me go and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened. You can go on living your pathetic life murdering people for fun in the woods, and we’ll go back to our city where the people wait for us. My family would be upon you like dogs on meat.”

Thorn ignored him. He didn’t care if the man had family or friends. He was dead either way. Thorn already made the decision, and he would stick to it. He palmed along the man’s chest for the bottom of the ribcage. This time, the tree slammed him onto the ground, onto his back where he flailed like an upturned turtle.

Nerek droned on, pleading, begging, but it all sounded like whining to Thorn. He slammed the sharp heel of his boot into the space just below the ribcage. The man screamed, and blood pooled around his midsection. Thorn injected the man with sap, just enough to paralyze him and cleanse his blood of anything harmful.

The blood around the wound clotted and, once Thorn was sure, he clawed a hand under the man’s rib cage, into his chest, and clamped onto his squishy, beating heart. The man’s shriek was cut short as he tore the organ down and out of his body.

It pumped halfheartedly a couple of times.

He was so deep into the trees, he let them enclose around him and the body. If anyone tried to get through, he would know. Thorn went to work carving up the body, wrapping each bit, and eventually getting it into his duffel bag. The sap would cure it enough for it to last throughout the trip. The trees and dirt soaked up most of the blood, and it looked as though fruit had been smashed upon the ground rather than a bloody death.

Thorn returned to the road, but the two once-rooted men were long gone. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sense them anywhere. He glowered at Sahara. “You had them under control. What happened?”

Sahara stared down at the muddy holes, her face red with shame. She didn’t need an excuse. Nothing she said would be a good enough reason. “It’s my time of the month,” she said, blushing. “They were secure, there was no way they could get out on their own,” she insisted, but the evidence was there. “I was only gone for a moment.”

They could’ve killed you,” Thorn murmured. “And then they could’ve killed me while I had my guard down. You know never to turn your back on an enemy. It could’ve been over for both of us.” It didn’t make sense to him, she never got careless on missions like that. Was it him? Did she feel overconfident when he was around? When he thought about it, he rarely left her alone like that on purpose. Usually, they’d take care of the situations together, but this time had been an exception. He shook his head, “It’s fine, just be careful next time,” he glanced around the woods but they were long gone. “We’ll just have to expect them to ambush us in the future.”

Roughly a week later Thorn returned home, entering the cabin with the grace of a ram headbutting the door. His brother Spike was startled from his place at the bottom of the stairs. Thorn saw enough to know he’d been sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. He was on his feet now, hands behind his back to hide something.

A few long strides took Thorn to the base of the stairs. He tilted his head curiously and held out his hand. “What’ve you got, Spike?”

Spike brought his hands forward and slowly unfurled one with a shiny crystal wrapped in silver wire. “I found it when I went scavenging nearby. Just a dropped bag, nothing fancy.” His gaze dropped as soon as Thorn’s eyes met his. He was hiding something.

“How far did you go?” he asked. While it was feasible he found a dropped bag on the side of the road, which meant there were people around, or he’d gone somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. “You remember what I told you, right? If you stray too far, you could run into the humans who hunt us.”

Spike nodded vigorously, “I didn’t go far, I swear. I just…” he trailed off.

“You wanna show me the bag? Or did you happen to stumble across something bigger? A house or abandoned camp perhaps?” Thorn rolled the piece of jewelry through his fingers, the crystal cool in his palm. It held a glow reminiscent of the magic relics his father used to collect. A wall of them remained locked in the basement, but Thorn hadn’t had the stomach to go down there and sort through any of it since his father died.

Spike’s bare feet rolled from side to side when he was nervous. And now, he did it so much his whole body followed along. Thorn put a hand on Spike’s shoulder, meant to be firm but gentle. Even so, Spike flinched. Thorn sighed, he wanted Spike to relax more around him. Stop being so worried.

“M-maybe there were the remains of an old house there,” Spike thrust his palm out, face up. “Please, I like how it looks.”

Thorn fingered the necklace and handed it back. “I’m just curious about it,” he tried to sound casual, but Spike’s worried expression didn’t change. “Just tell me about the house. Was it well abandoned? Recently lived in? Were the walls still intact?”

Spike’s shoulders relaxed with the crystal back in his hands. His nervous foot rolling ceased, and he told Thorn everything from why he was out - he wanted to make a special meal for Thorn before he got home, he thought he’d have more time. So he went out a little further than usual, past the high ridges where the crystalline lake was. It always attracted animals so he thought it’d be a good hunting place. But his attempts had been…not so good.

Spike’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “I couldn’t catch anything,” he murmured. “I tried what you told me. I can get real close but…” Spike trailed off.

Thorn already knew why. Spike had the most trouble trying to kill anything. Thorn had come to accept it at an early age, unlike their father who would've forced it down his throat if Thorn hadn't been in the way. The scars on the back of his neck and shoulders suddenly felt hot. “Just get to the part where you found the house. Was it by the lake?”

It was. An old, well-abandoned home still mostly intact. Walls, roof, furniture. Everything set out like a timepiece as it was before its occupants had left. As though they had not come back one day.

Thorn wondered if their father had known the inhabitants. Maybe they’d had them for dinner one night, which was why they never returned. There was no way to be sure, but he considered looking at the place for himself at least once before his next mission.

His next mission. He didn’t know how to tell Spike about his plot for revenge finally coming to fruition. Spike likely didn’t remember or didn’t care enough to think about it, but when he’d been young and their dad was away on a trip, Spike fell very ill. Thorn made a tough choice to risk his father’s wrath and take Spike to the nearest town with a doctor. That just so happened to be Alden Town. But when he came to Doctor Loveless’ doorstep, holding his brother upright, she’d turned them away and offered no help.

Desperation had Thorn stumbling through town, his brother in tow, begging for someone who could help. Moloch, [gods bless him], took them in and through his father’s knowledge of sickness and herbalism, made a poultice to bring down the fever and save Spike’s life.

But he knew Spike wouldn’t approve. Revenge was not enough of a reason for him to willingly go along with this kidnapping plot. But if Spike believed Thorn was in trouble, then perhaps he would be more willing to help. It was at least true that the actions of him, Sahara, Moloch, and Trev were questionable. Sometimes suspicious. But Sahara and Trev were good at throwing off the records. They didn’t need to mess with anything in town, but a distraction from their questionable activity was going to be necessary, especially with Thorn kidnapping a client.

Enough dangers were lurking in the forest to make up a report about the client being mauled by wild animals, assaulted by bandits, or happening upon the experimental crap his father had toyed with and set loose on more than one occasion. It was nothing he or Spike couldn’t handle, but easily dangerous to any wandering humans who didn’t know what they were doing.

Spike pulled him from his thoughts, “You told me you wouldn’t be home til later so, I’m sorry, I don’t have dinner.” He looked genuinely disappointed, and Thorn ran a hand through his brother’s messy hair affectionately. “Not a problem,” he said. He could go for a quick hunt, and work up an appetite. He set his bag down and sifted through it for the notes Trev had gotten for him. From his record-keeping job, he’d found out that Catherine had a sister named Kali, and that she lived in a little cottage on the edge of Sylvan Hollow. From there, Trev spent some amount of time watching the cottage, learning Kali’s routine, then sneaking into her home to rummage through her files for information.

And he’d gotten lucky and found just what they needed. He didn’t ask more details than that, but the last time he and Trev met up, there was just a hint of sappy-looking blood on his hands. A dryad was giving him trouble, he’d claimed.

It hadn’t taken too much finagling after that to convince Kali she needed to take a trip to Alden Town to visit her sister.

Thorn pulled out a knife, the blade as clean as new, and took a moment to eye his brother’s unkempt appearance. He could wait on dinner for a little bit until he fixed that. “I ran a little ahead of schedule,” Thorn explained. He forced Spike to sit and started cutting his hair. “We got ambushed on the way to Alden Town,” Thorn told him the story of what happened. “But in the end, those other two haven’t shown their faces yet. I’m wondering if killing their leader scared them off for good.” Even as he said the last part, he immediately regretted it. He felt Spike tense under his hands.

“I know, I know, you don’t approve of the way I handle things,” he said, inspecting his work.

Spike changed the subject, “Have you heard from Thistle?” it came out quickly like he’d been holding it in all day. Spike’s shoulders tensed again. Regret. Thorn brushed the hair off the back of Spike’s neck and softly squeezed his shoulder.

“Our dear sister who hates my guts?” he said with a wry smile. “Probably still loathes me just as much now as she did the last time I saw her. When she accused me of, well, murdering the woman I was seeing.” Thorn danced around the topic, knowing it made Spike uncomfortable when he talked more in detail about it. “Nothing I’ve done since has changed her mind, or she would’ve come to see me by now. She knows exactly where I work.” He could pass her in the street, starving, and sick, and she still wouldn’t acknowledge him. “I have heard wonderful rumors that she’s Catherine’s little lapdog. I don’t understand what she sees in that witch.” Thorn ran a hand through Spike’s freshly cut hair and nodded, “You look better.”

“Thistle just hasn’t gotten to know you since Dad died. If she did, she’d see you’ve grown.” Spike looked at him, pleading. “I miss her, Thorn.”

Thorn let out a heavy sigh, “I know. After this, maybe we’ll get a chance to talk to her again.” He doubted it. Thistle would hate him for what he planned to do to Catherine. But maybe Spike could win her back? Talk some sense into her. A little time away from Alden Town would be beneficial for her anyway.

He debated how much to tell Spike. Definitely, not the revenge part. He’d claim she was threatening his job, his entire livelihood depended on it. Spike didn’t need to know what would happen if anyone considered an innocent bystander got in his way. And he certainly didn’t need to know the lengths Thorn would go just to make him happy.

“I’ll be passing by the cabin with our target,” he explained, telling Spike about Catherine’s sister, Kali. Then decided to give Spike a little more worldly context since he’d only been to a town once, maybe twice in his entire life so far. “Sylvan Hollow is where she’s from. It’s a town that hosts a dryad colony that regularly steals children from the town at a young age. They get trained in the magic of their choice,” this is all according to the records in the Sylvan Library. “Then they’re sent home with no memories except for how to use their new magic. Healing, control over plant life, fire, and powers connected to Sylvans, Oceanics, and Primordials. Anyone can learn, but only if they are born into it or taught by one of the aforementioned.”

Thorn stopped to get a drink of water. He gulped down a whole glass before continuing. “Trev got me the most important information from a dryad who wanted to keep their head. Connected to all of these gifted children is an internal clock. When the time comes, they open a void and disappear into it. I figure we can force it to happen early.” It would save me the trouble of getting around Catherine’s magic to get rid of her. But he didn’t tell Spike that.

His brother nodded slowly, eyes downcast. “You wouldn’t happen to be in the mood to hunt now, would you?” Spike said distractedly. “I probably haven’t eaten properly since you left.”

Pieces of cut hair fell onto Spike’s shoulders as he shifted. Thorn smiled despite the obvious deflection of the topic. He was hungry, and he could go for a hunt. “I’ll get us some food, don’t you worry,” Thorn said nonchalantly. “But remember the plan and who we’re dealing with. A few days from now, I’ll take Catherine’s sister from Sylvan Hollow to Alden Town. She thinks she’s meeting her sister, but in reality, her sister has no idea she’s coming. Instead, she’ll end up here at the cabin. That’s where you come in.”

“What’s the name of the human again, the one who’s part of your plan?” Spike asked.

For the briefest moment, Thorn thought he’d finally gotten Spike’s interest, but quickly realized by Spike’s distracted gaze out the window that he didn’t care.

“Kali Loveless,” Thorn frowned, “And you’re going to help me catch her.”

Ch 1: Thorn

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