The moon was fat and heavy that night, and I manage to fill up about half the circle by the time that twilight had fully set, and night had taken over the skies. Blinking stars emerge from the dark firmament, and moon shines her light over the hill. The pale light made all the brighter by the white sands beneath the oak.

 

A sudden shifting of the earth beneath me knocks me into the air, and sends me crashing to the earth, head over heels. My concentration is broken, and the unstable, incomplete mana circle fades — sending the loosely gathered energy to the heavens in golden wisps that joined the thin clouds in the skies. A great, breathy sigh emerges from the center of the worker village, that then turns into a pained moan. It is soon joined by others. 

Something wraps around my left foot, and yanks me forward. Stones thump against the back of my neck and my shoulders as I’m pulled across the grass. I hold my head up so that my head wasn’t smacked against something causing me to lost consciousness. With my right foot, I kick at the shoe of my left. It takes a few until it slides off and I land flat on my back. My foot aches and burns, and a warmth floods from it as I spring up just in time to avoid the grasp of another thing coming after me. 

I see it. As clearly as I’ve ever seen anything. In the shade of the moonlit bathed oak, two pairs of hollow eyes watch me. The oak’s massive roots and branches braid through the flesh-less ribs and out of the mouth and eyes of the rough human shape, and wrap around its legs and arms, pinning it so that its arms were raised above its head. Its bony chest raises and falls, in a twisted mockery of inhalation and exhalation. The black acorns growing on the tree’s branches are shot high into the air and are flung like tiny arrows into the forests with every shuddered sigh. Their roots tore free from the earth and snake beneath the ground in search of something to grab onto. 

I knew what this was. A Hollow Tree. My grandfather had encountered one further east, but it matched his description. Like the remains of a human and a tree were joined together, that only showed it’s true form under the light of the full moon, or under the emptiness of the new. When he asked how I would defeat the monster, I suggested waiting until morning and burning it, or cutting it down. He laughed. 

“No, they’re only vulnerable when they show their true form,” he said, “People who hit at it with an ax will find the bark as hard as steel. Those that try to burn it will find it inflammable.” 

“Then how did you kill it?” 

“I didn’t. It was my first time seeing anything like it,” he laughed, “I about near pissed myself.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I was scared, son.” He said, quite proudly, “It was my first job. I didn’t expect to come across anything like that. Luckily I was with someone who knew how to deal with it. Roland the Javelin.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“Never heard of him? He was a hero in my time. He dealt with the Hollow Tree quickly and decisively. One shot, is all it took. Even let me keep the core.” 

Another root tears free from the earth and hones in on me. I leap out of the way; clumps of mud spraying me as it zips through the air. The bony ribs braided into the oak rose and fell again. The sound of a haggard breath was soon joined by others as the moon rose higher. There were four skeletal figures braided into the oak facing in the cardinal directions. Aside from the pained groans, the wheezing and the rush of wind wrapping around the swinging branches as they groped the skies for sustenance, the night was silent, as if all life knew to avoid the hilltop that night. 

I duck behind the nearest bunk house and catch my breath. My foot burns. I bend down to touch it. Long red, oozing ribbons had been cut into the flesh. They were tender. Any movement I made sent waves of pain through me that was enough for nausea to assail me. The wooden wall behind me creaked, and I can fell it begin to bulge and press into the small of my back. I lurch forwards as a root bursts through the wall. It wallops me and sends me rolling forwards, down the hill until I smack against a stump part of the ways down. All the breath flees from my lungs, and my vision blurs. 

An attempt to stand sent me falling face-first into the dirt. It takes another two times to step forwards. The thought to flee flew inside of my mind and beat in my skull like a moth battering its head against a window. I looked down the side of the hill. I would be easy. It would be very easy. I could run down there and find some shelter from the cold, howling wind, in the shade of the spires of granite in the outcropping below.

My feet point in that direction, and I even take a few, limping steps down the slope before I stop and chide myself. I had promised myself never to run away again. I would rather die than break that promise to myself. I grit my teeth and turn on the heel of my cut up foot and hurry up the hill. I had to act fast. I knew it’s weak point. I just had to dodge the roots and the branches. I could do it. 

I frantically look for something heavy that I can hold in my hand. I run to where I had connected the circles and pick up the dropped iron bar that had been a part of a bed in the bunkhouse, and charge forwards, past the line of bunk houses. A root shoots out of the ground underneath me and I tumble forwards; rolling to a stop. A massive branch blots out the light of the moon as it comes towards me. I roll to the side; wincing as my bruised ribs compress against the ground. I am near the Hollow Oak. So near. I spring up to my feet and stumble forwards as a wave of pain shoots through me from my mangled foot, but I stay upright until I reach the shade. 

My knuckles whiten as I grip onto the iron bar, pull it back behind me. I swing it forwards, aiming it up at the skull of the pinned skeleton, putting all my weight behind the swing. It connects. The bone gives way to the iron as the skull collapses at the nostril holes and shards of bone fall from the fracture. The skeleton takes one last heaving breath, and those hate-filled hollow eyes lock onto me as its chest rises and fall before stilling. A fourth of the roots writhing on the ground like giant serpents reclaim their rigidity, and a fourth of the groping branches reach to the heavens and still themselves. 

A heavy blow catches on my ribs and sends me into the tree. My head bounces off the bark and my vision spins. The oak is as hard as stone. My hands lose their strength and the metal rod sinks into the white, powdery sand. My ankle pops and a scream of pain escapes from me as my foot is yanked backwards by a root. The white sand floods into my open mouth as I am dragged across the ground. The coppery tinge already on my tongue mixes with a rotten calcium as I leave the ground. The world is briefly upside down before it passes by in long streaks as the ground rapidly rises to meet me. 

All the air flees from my lungs and all the strength does the same with my body. Warm blood pours from my nose and trickles down my ear. I breathe through my mouth, trying to regain the lost air. The once bright moon light is now dull and dim as I feel the snaking roots wrap around my body. The wind rushes by as I am brought face to face with one of the twisted, skeletal figures. Fear courses through me and I try to pull out of the root wrapped around my waist. The burning of a thousand needles piercing my stomach stops my struggle and makes me fall limp forward with a whimper in the root’s grasp. 

Before the blackness overtakes me, the whistle of the wind becomes sharp and I find myself tumbling back to the ground. I land on my back as I watch the wind move with the sharpness of a knife; its whistling my lullaby.