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Heart Wood

Katey Hawthorne

Heart Wood

ISBN 978-1-7357854-2-4

Editors: Suzene Campos del Toro and Sarah Eldridge

Cover Artist: Amanda Pillar

This e-book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters, places, or events within to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

We do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model, machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize, or otherwise replicate any part of this creative work, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or other medium. We support the right of humans to control their artistic works.

Acknowledgements

Endless thanks to Suzene and Sarah, who helped and supported me, laughed and cried with me the whole way through the Stone City and into the Heart Wood. Thank you to Jenna Rose, who never fails to encourage and enthuse no matter what the project is. And finally, thanks to the cabin in the woods crew. This is why we need more cabins in the woods.

Love y’all.

Part I: Hendrik

Chapter 1: The Great See, Stone City, Granite Era 113, Spring

Dark-hooded priests said the Prayer over and over, each repetition a little louder, their voices blending together into one overwhelming string of holy syllables. Incense, slightly intoxicating even in limited amounts, swirled around their heads as if rising from them, then slowly curled its way out to the pews. Intricately carved faces watched from the stone buttresses above, Children of The Blood elevated to godhood a century or more ago. An endless procession of holy and blooded citizens spilled down the central aisle, each more beautifully dressed than the last, flashing with gold or gems or expensive dyes.

Hendrik barely noticed any of it. During the full moon services, he only ever had eyes for Kaspar. When the first Children of the Blood appeared, beautiful in their bright white, gold-trimmed linen, their skin fresh-scrubbed and hair shining, Hen’s breath caught. It always had, almost from the beginning, in anticipation of Kass’s face appearing. It used to take forever to find him, with Kass at the back with the other young ones; now, Kass would be in the second or third row. He’d have his 21st nameday this year.

Then, it was only a matter of time until he inherited his godhood.

Hendrik pushed the thought away and kept scanning the white-robed crowd. Kass’s liquid black eyes caught his gaze, and Kass winked. Right there, in the middle of a full moon procession. Hendrik flushed to the tips of his ears and tried to look stern, but his heart soared.

Kass’s full, red lips formed silent words, see you soon, as he passed Hendrik’s pew.

Piret snorted behind him. “By the Stone, how do they even let you keep him? Is he disordered?”

Hendrik elbowed her as he turned to face the front of the chamber. Piret grunted in protest, smoothing her tabard. Identical to Hendrik’s, it showed the white outline of the central tower, the Guardhall. “Don’t call him disordered. He’s perfect order and light, thanks very much.”

“I’m just saying, he’s going to get you both in trouble,” she whispered. “Look at that priest; she’s watching you.”

Hendrik had noticed, actually, but he shrugged. Such things used to scare him: What if they found out? What if they gave Kass another guard? What if they stripped Hendrik of his guard’s tabard and sent him to shovel donkey shit? Lately, he cared less and less, even if Kass’s lack of discretion still embarrassed him sometimes.

What did Hendrik have to be afraid of? Of shaming his family? He’d already risen higher than anyone in his line ever had. Of losing Kass?

Hen refused to follow the thought to its logical conclusion. “He’s a god,” he said under his breath.

Piret was silent for a moment. The Prayer grew louder. The breaks and stops, the places the priests paused for breath, made no sense; nobody interrupted sentences like that to suck in air. And yet they said the Prayer the same way every time, every full moon, every day, every inheritance. In one of the silences, she whispered, “Not yet.”

“That's where you’re wrong.” Hendrik fixed his gaze to the back of Kass’s dark head, watching him move farther down the aisle, smaller white-cloaked Children of the Blood trailing after him.

The Prayer grew louder and louder, until there was no point trying to talk, and Hen was grateful. He could feel Piret's gaze, hot with concern, and needed a moment to collect himself before he faced it. When it finally stopped, one of the high priests stood and recited the names of the Children of the Blood who’d inherited this moon. Two names, as usual. Hen tried not to flinch.

When it was over, Hendrik muttered “So it is” with the rest of the congregation, then tried to escape the chamber before his fellows of the Guardhall could invite him to share a drink. Piret grabbed his sleeve, though, which meant he’d have to tear out of her grip if he wanted to get away. “I promised I’d come to the back door,” he told her quietly.

She shook her head and leaned in close. “Can we talk?”

“Tomorrow after drills.” Hen pulled his arm away as gently as possible. “Really. He’s impossible if I don’t follow through with things.”

She frowned and shook her head again but let him slip into the stream of worshipers exiting down the aisle.

Sunshine and fresh air blew the lingering foggy sensation of incense off quickly, and Hen ducked through the square in front of the See deftly, avoiding people who knew him or might otherwise slow him down. He wasn’t the first guard out; a string of soldiers in matching white tower tabards leaned against the massive granite wall, waiting on their charges, most likely. Hen nodded to those who greeted him and ignored those who watched him with irritatingly knowing expressions.

A small crowd of families waited at the side door, but Hen didn’t bother looking for Kass’s—they never came. Hendrik envied and hated them for it. Some younger children rushed out all at once, their white linens rolled up in their arms. A few of them hugged family members, others went to stand next to their guards. Little guards, 12 and 13 years old, fresh out of Academy and full of idealism, swords hanging awkwardly at their hips. Hendrik envied them, too, but he couldn’t hate them. He’d been them.

Kass pushed out the door next, talking to someone over his shoulder as he spilled into the sunlight, curls glinting. When he spotted Hen, he bounded over and dropped his balled-up linens in Hen’s outstretched arms. “Come on, I’m starving,” he announced.

“You could at least fold these properly,” Hendrik said with a sigh. “I’m not a damned maid.”

“I was in a hurry to get to you.” Kass’s smile lit up his face, teeth flashing white, prominent canines ever-so-slightly crooked. His dimples formed the most charming little valleys to frame it. He’d been a pretty boy but he was turning into an extraordinarily handsome man, now that all his sharp angles and lines were emerging.