The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 36

Chapter

Thirty-Six

Mason

When Mason joined the town’s search for Emiliya Delathorne, he hoped she’d be found quickly; but three days went by, and there was no sign of her anywhere. This, of course, only served to cement the conviction that she’d been kidnapped. The villagers tore through every inch of the forest they could map out, and yet they always missed something. No matter how many times they thought they knew where they were going, they discovered new places—groves and valleys that simply hadn’t been there before.

The twists and turns that sprung with every expedition inspired more and more paranoia. The deeper the search party went, the more shadowy everything became. The air grew foggy and dense; trees cast ghoulish shadows that appeared alive in the white vapour, moving like creatures from storybooks. Some gave up, going home and wanting nothing more to do with the forest. Others grew more militant in their efforts, stocking up on rifles and all manner of hunting equipment. The most radical enthusiasts even brought ghost hunting paraphernalia—night vision accessories, EVP recorders, spirit boxes, EMF readers and the like. They were convinced that if they could somehow contact the spirits of the Dreamwalker’s previous victims, they might find clues regarding Emiliya’s whereabouts.

Throughout the chaos, Mason was a fly on the wall, eavesdropping on conversations while refusing to engage. Even though he’d awoken the following two mornings exhausted and sore, he couldn’t pull himself away. He feared he’d miss some integral piece of information—or worse, the search would end without him bearing witness to its resolution.

On the third day, the party broke up into groups of five or six, hoping to cover more ground. They set out in the morning and continued well after dark. Fatigue had worn down Mason’s mental faculties enough that he’d forgotten—or perhaps simply given up—on recharging his phone. He had trouble focusing, losing himself to the fleeting sounds and sights of the forest. He’d broken away from the others, opting instead to use the maps that Annabelle gave him. Up until that point, he hadn’t bothered checking Mathias’ trails. Jenny had continued to take the lead; her family had a long history in Black Hollow, giving her access to old documents, maps, reports, and journals. Even then, the information was fragmented.

Mason had grown weary of walking in circles. He pulled the dream stone from his pocket—something he now kept close at all times. Placing it on the map in the palm of his hand, he muttered a haphazard little prayer, not expecting it would actually do him any good. But it couldn’t hurt. He asked the forest to be merciful—to keep him from getting lost.

Much of his path was dictated by the height of undergrowth. He passed through a thicket of towering pine trees interspersed with firs, sugar maples, and aspens, then came across a small glen with a gorgeous white oak, densely surrounded by paper birch trees and a shallow stream. But the deeper Mason ventured into the woods, the less he noticed time pass until night fell and he was unsure of where he’d wandered and how to get back. Everything looked the same—the trees, the rocks, the spaces between them. Occasionally he’d hear whispers—or were they the cries of birds and animals? He swore they were telling him, This way! But whenever he turned in their direction, there’d be nothing there.

Something in his periphery grabbed his attention—the way the breeze sounded, gently nudging the leaves and branches. The stone in his hand began to hum, the song growing louder as Mason trailed the wind until he found himself drawn into the glade where the grand willow resided. He knew by the size and shape of its great mane that it was the same tree from Mathias’ photo. Had he found it, or had it found him?

Mason felt compelled to touch this magnificent beast, to feel with his own senses what was behind the town’s madness.

“What are you?” His fingertips hovered near the bark before he finally laid his hand on the massive trunk.

Drawn into a vacuum, the tree took hold of him. Sensations, perceptions, and emotions Mason knew weren’t his own penetrated his body in disorienting waves. It was like they belonged to a multitude of people who had come to this place before him.

Then he saw the girl, the same one from his dreams. He recognized her even without the cloak—her long, dark locks swaying in time with the willow’s limbs. A torrent swept through him—one he’d only felt twice before: in the dream with Gavran, and when Amanda died. Was this girl Amanda? It was torture—to recognize a person he was unable to place. When would his failures cease haunting him? He couldn’t seem to bury them, no matter how deep he dug the grave.

“Why me?” He asked, meekly. “Why was I chosen for this?”

From somewhere within, the response echoed loud and clear.

Who says you were chosen?

When it became too much, Mason tore his hand from the tree. The girl disappeared like vapour, severing their moment of contact.

Mason quickly shook his head. “No, no, no, no,” he whimpered. “This isn’t real. You’re not really here. I’ve heard the story—I don’t want to hear it again.”

From the forest behind him, Mason heard thrashing wings approach, and although he couldn’t see him, Mason could feel his familiar, uncanny presence pressed against his neck.

He heard two voices—the boy’s and the old man’s—their every syllable in perfect synchronicity, enunciated by the same, chilling entity.

“Everything beats in cycles.”

The words sucked the breath from Mason’s lungs and pulled the strength from his body. Before he could utter his watcher’s name, Mason released the singing dream stone and crumpled to the forest floor, his consciousness extinguished like a candle flame.