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Whisper of the Tree
Allegorical Fantasy
Cassi Hesid’s world upended the day her brother, Jair, abandoned their family. Four years later, she’s still striving to move on and evade the constant pull of a repeating dimension formed by her memories of him. But when a fire devastates her village’s harvest and Cassi discovers Jair is the apprentice of the supplier they now depend on, she loses her fight against the Repeat and is dragged into the past she’s tried to outrun.
Returning to the real world to help her village isn’t simple though. Unless she accepts refuge from the tree that once asked her to forgive her brother, she will stay stuck in the memories forever. But, after all the years and pain that have passed between them, she’s more convinced of one thing: her brother doesn’t deserve forgiveness.
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With the survival of her village on the line, can Cassi find her way back to the real world before she becomes stuck in the memories forever?
Sneak peek of Whisper of the Tree
A sprig pokes from the soil beside my dugout, heart shaped leaves glimmering with golden dew.
I slam my empty bucket down and attack the plant—tugging, straining, my hands burning as the linden holds firm. Dew trickles along the thin trunk, its light revealing the angry lines that mar my palms. A tree isn’t going to best me. I shake my hands and flip my braid over my shoulder. My gaze latches on the pre-dawn gray that shrouds the glen’s eastern slope. Fading.
With a growl, I latch onto the sapling again. I don’t have time for this. Not today, yesterday, or any morning during the last four years. A linden, a maple, an oak—the type has changed, but never the fact that it’s sprouted repeatedly without fail.
My hand throbs, shifting shades of purple, but the sapling snaps in a shower of golden droplets. I topple against the dugout wall. Glaring at the stem and partial roots, I rotate my shoulder and cast the linden aside. If only crops grew as fast as the nuisances. Not that anyone else in all of Lindendale saw trees that way.
I shove a trowel into my sash and hike up the glen’s edge, muscles burning from past days’ labor. But I must go forward. Maybe my motives are selfish, but I need to know Lindendale won’t simply survive—I need to know thriving again is possible.
I scramble over the rim into Linden Woods and, ducking a branch, glance at the glen devoid of trees. Tonight, I’ll return. I’ve survived entering Lindendale each day for the past week. I can do it again.
The trees break after multiple rises and falls, and I hurry into the space brightening with dawn. Aiming for the well on the far side, I skirt the maple grove and give the stone cabin a wide berth. No need to invite unwanted interaction. Fog circles my head and toys with my braid. I shy away, heaving a breath as I crank the well’s handle and drag the sloshing pail over the chilled stones.
“Go home, Cassi.”
The haunting voice coils around me. I flinch. Dark sludge oozes from the well’s base toward my boots. Inhaling through gritted teeth, I step backward and gaze at the light washing over the fence that crowns the ridge. A large garden crowds the area between it and the place I once considered home.
The fog, the sludge, the voice—they aren’t real.
An acrid smell wafts up the hillside, churning my stomach. I bite my lip. That, on the other hand, is.
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