The Spine

Oliver’s journey through the desolate plains had led him to the foot of the mountains, their jagged peaks rising like teeth against the deepening twilight. He stood at the entrance to The Spine, which appeared to be an ancient fortress nestled within the cliffs. What remained of the fortress was a crumbled mass of stone, overgrown with creeping vines and wild foliage, almost as though the mountain itself was slowly reclaiming it. The name alone—The Spine—sent a shiver through him, but he pressed on, knowing that this place was significant in his quest.

As he approached the outer walls, Oliver felt dwarfed by their enormity. Cracks ran through the once-solid stone, giving way to tangles of roots and weeds. Moss covered nearly every surface, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation. He squeezed through a break in the wall, the stone crumbling beneath his touch, and entered the fortress grounds.

Inside, it felt like stepping into another world. Which was funny since he was already in another world. The sky above was barely visible through the thick canopy of branches and vines that twisted overhead, filtering the pale light of the Breach Between’s moon. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient stone and the whisper of wind through the overgrowth.

Oliver moved cautiously, his footsteps soft on the moss-covered ground. The air was cooler here, and a faint mist clung to the ground, curling around his ankles. As he explored deeper into the fortress, he saw remnants of its former grandeur—a shattered archway here, the remains of what might have once been a grand courtyard there—but all of it was overrun by nature. It was clear that no being had set foot here for many years.

There was an eerie stillness in the place, as if it were holding its breath. Oliver’s nerves were on edge, every sound and shadow magnified by his growing unease. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to find here, or even who he was meant to meet. The Bone Lord had been vague and now he was thinking it was on purpose.

As he rounded a corner, he spotted something nestled within the crumbled walls of the fortress. It appeared to be a cultivated field, lush and green, unlike anything he’d seen in the rest of the fortress. The sight was jarring, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed landscape outside. Tall, five to six feet stalks grew in neat rows, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

Curiosity piqued, Oliver stepped closer, peering at the strange plants. At first, he thought they were simply overgrown crops, but as he reached out to touch one, he froze. The stalks weren’t just plants—they were male and female humanoids, their forms vaguely human beneath the layers of leaves and vines that clung to their bodies. Their faces were serene, as if they were asleep, their features soft and peaceful.

A chill ran down his spine. This place was not as empty as he thought it was. He stared at the creatures, unsure whether they were alive or some strange, plant-like statues. But before he could ponder further, one of them began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened wide, revealing dark, hollow eyes that seemed to stare straight through him.

The creature let out a piercing screech, its limbs snapping and crackling as it shook off the vines that had held it in place. Oliver’s heart leapt into his throat, and instinct took over. He bolted, running through the field, his boots pounding against the soil as the screeches multiplied behind him. The air was alive with the rustling of vines and the groaning of wood, as though the entire field had awakened.

Just as he thought he might escape, the ground beneath him began to tremble. Oliver stumbled, his legs tangling in something soft yet unyielding. He looked down in horror as thick vines coiled around his ankles, then his legs, pulling him to the ground with a force he couldn’t resist. The more he struggled, the tighter the vines wound around him, snaking up his torso and pinning his arms to his sides.

Before Oliver could scream, a massive shadow loomed over him. The giant bush in the center of the field, which had seemed like nothing more than another overgrown plant moments ago, was shifting, coming to life. The vines and foliage twisted and coiled, growing and expanding until they formed the shape of a towering woman, her skin dark and rough like the bark of an ancient tree.

Oliver stared up in disbelief as the creature stood before him. She was massive—at least twenty feet tall—and her body was an amalgamation of vines, roots, and branches, all of which seemed to flow from her like a living forest. Her face was both beautiful and terrifying, with dark, piercing eyes that seemed to burn with ancient fury. Her expression was one of wrath, her mouth set in a grim line as she regarded Oliver with contempt.

“You dare enter the fortress of the Wicker Goddess?” Her voice was deep and resonant, echoing through the field like the creaking of old wood. The vines tightened around Oliver’s body, lifting him off the ground until he dangled helplessly in front of her.

“I-I didn’t know,” Oliver stammered, struggling to breathe as the vines constricted his chest. “I’m just trying to find someone... I was told to come here.”

The Wicker Goddess narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. “Told to come here? Who sent you? Have you come to kill me and my children?”

Oliver winced as the vines pressed harder against his ribs. He could feel the rough texture of the bark against his skin and the pressure on his bones.

“The Bone Lord,” he gasped, “He sent me here to help.”

At the mention of The Bone Lord, the Wicker Goddess paused, her expression shifting from anger to something more contemplative. The vines loosened their grip ever so slightly, allowing Oliver to breathe more easily.

“I see,” she said, the hatred still in her eyes. “That was foolish of you.”

Foolish? That didn’t sound good.

The sudden movement snapped Oliver’s head backwards as he was pulled forward, almost nose to nose with the giant tree goddess.

“You…are not of this world, are you?”

“No,” Oliver squirmed. “That’s why I am here. The Bone Lord said he would send me back if I helped.”

The Wicker Goddess tilted her head, her vines rustling as they shifted and coiled around her. For a long moment, she said nothing, merely studying him with those dark, ancient eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered him to the ground, the vines releasing their grip on him. He dropped lightly on the ground amid the plant people he saw earlier. They kept their distance but studied him with curiosity.

“He sent you to die,” The Wicker Goddess said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“The Dominion of the Bone Lord has poisoned my child who will succeed me and I have demanded recompense or I would bring all out war to his door,” She snarled, her eyes watching him.

“Sending me something as unique as you might make up for his crimes. Your blood should water my children well.”

This is sooo not going to plan, Oliver thought to himself as he looked around desperately.

She leaned in, the thick root turning sharp.

“Hold still. I’ll make this quick.”