The Heart’s Retreat

Excerpt

The Heart’s Retreat
Shannon Blair © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Commander Gar stood on the barge’s deck, leaning against the railing as they sailed into the river port of Taproot, capital city of Cypress’s Domain. If he had to guess, he’d put the hour well past midnight, but the docks and their neighboring fish market bustled with activity. Weathered lantern posts standing along the dock’s edge illuminated the port and its workers. Dockhands—mostly his fellow swamp elves, with thick, water-repellent hair in shades of bright teal to dark green and skin tones ranging from light bronze to burnt umber—rushed back and forth, overseeing the departures and arrivals of fishing boats, trading vessels, and now one very delayed passenger barge.

The barge had gotten stuck on a sandbar somewhere upstream and only fallen further behind schedule with each passing stop. The early morning embarkation Gar and his unit had planned had been pushed back to late afternoon—frustrating for everyone involved, but at least they hadn’t been stuck aboard as long as some of the other passengers. Under normal circumstances, the delay would’ve been a minor inconvenience, but a soldier under Gar’s command had gotten their leg crushed in the jaws of a magically mutated alligator and needed specialized healing soon, or they risked losing the limb.

Gar leaned farther over the railing as the barge pulled into its berth, dockhands and crew working in tandem to make the landing as gentle as possible. Despite the late hour, a small crowd had begun to gather on the dock—friends and family waiting to greet their loved ones. He scanned the faces and clothes of those gathered, searching for someone with medical or military training among the civilians. Normally, no one waited for Gar, but he’d sent a messenger bird ahead at the first sign of delay—technically an unauthorized use of military funds, but he’d foot the bill himself if his superiors objected—so someone should be there to meet him.

Beside him, his second-in-command, Bluegill, sighed. “We better not have beaten the fucking bird here.” Nearly a head shorter than Gar, she stood at her full height to survey the crowd, turquoise eyes narrowed in an appraising squint. “Mallow’s waited long enough. If we’re expected to carry them all the way through the city—”

“Give it time, Blue. Gangway’s not even down yet.” Gar straightened and stretched, fighting back a yawn. Just because it wasn’t obvious at a glance didn’t mean no one was there for them. And worst-case scenario, he and his unit could carry Mallow. It would simply be awkward and uncomfortable.

Bluegill let out a discontented hum, impatiently running her umber fingers through her chin-length teal hair. But she didn’t argue. Under the complaints and sharp remarks, she cared for the rest of Gar’s unit as deeply as he did. Even non-lethal casualties hit her hard. He could let her have this one.

As the gangway dropped into place, a masculine elf wearing the crisp, white linens of a temple acolyte—not a priest, his eyes and hands were elven—pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Before the barge’s passengers could begin to disembark, he crossed onto the deck, offering a polite but disinterested nod to those he passed. His distracted gaze sharpened when it landed on Gar and Bluegill. Gar wondered why they’d caught his attention. They stood out among the other passengers in their long-sleeved field uniforms and boiled leather armor, but that couldn’t be the only reason.

“Commander Gar?” The acolyte called out, eyes flickering between Gar and Bluegill.

Gar raised a hand. “Over here.” He understood the acolyte’s confusion. Cypress’s Domain was a matriarchy; outside the military, it was rare to see a man in a position of authority. In any other career, Gar would be Bluegill’s subordinate.

The acolyte responded with a grateful nod and continued weaving through the crowd toward Gar.

While he waited, Gar exchanged a confused glance with Bluegill, trying to figure out why a temple acolyte, of all people, had come here looking for him. The messenger bird must have arrived ahead of the barge, or no one would’ve known to expect him, but he didn’t understand how military correspondence could’ve ended up at a temple. Maybe someone had misread his message and thought he needed funeral services instead of a healer?

The acolyte came to an abrupt stop a few paces away from Gar, the corners of his mouth slowly turning downward as he looked Gar over. “Hardly presentable, but it’ll have to do,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, but what will I ‘have to do’ for?” Gar and his unit were fresh from a monster-hunting expedition, and he hadn’t bathed in days. He wasn’t going to impress anyone in this condition, but he didn’t know why he’d need to.

“High Priest Azalea has need of you. You are to meet her in her sanctum beneath Mother Cypress.”

Gar blinked at him, certain he’d heard wrong. “The high priest…needs me?”

“Yes.” The acolyte’s expression softened. “I realize how strange this must seem, but there are…extenuating circumstances.”

“When’s the meeting?”

“Hours ago, ideally. But now will have to suffice. She’s been waiting for you.”

Gar tried not to gape. High priests didn’t wait for anyone, especially a field commander like him. If she’d planned to meet with Gar without even knowing when to expect him, something earth-shaking must have happened, but no one on the docks seemed any the wiser. He guessed he’d find out more when he got there.

“Then I’ll go now,” Gar replied. “But I have an injured soldier belowdecks. Their leg’s hurt bad, and they need—”

Bluegill cut him off with a bump of her elbow. “I’ll take it from here, Commander. Just get to the Heart.”

The acolyte nodded and turned his attention to Bluegill. “Whatever you require, I’m happy to assist.”

Gar left them to it, heart racing as he jostled through the crowd of passengers making their way off the barge.

*****

Mother Cypress, the great Heart Tree of Her swampland domain, stood at the center of Taproot. Separated from the elf-built world around Her by a vast pond that rivaled some lakes Gar had seen, She towered over the surrounding city, Her topmost branches seeming to brush against the stars. Her roots formed a living boardwalk across the water so Her elven children could reach Her—a central ring around Her trunk with a handful of winding spokes extending outward to the shore. Illuminated by fireflies and floating lanterns alike, the path gave off a warm, welcoming glow, silently beckoning any passers-by closer.

A pair of priests, one masculine and one feminine, stood vigil at the boardwalk’s edge to greet any visitors. Their regalia, richly dyed to offset the gilded and jeweled chains of office worn over it, left their arms bare to display their clawed fingers and the scales covering their hands and forearms. Alligator masks covered the upper halves of their faces, their reflective, slit-pupiled eyes shining through the eyeholes. And their bonded alligators—nice, normal-sized and normal-shaped ones—lay partially submerged in the pond behind them.

The priests smiled and nodded when Gar approached them, sweaty and breathing hard from his late-night jog across the city. Taproot summers were sweltering, even after dark. Before allowing Gar onto the boardwalk, the feminine priest went to the water’s edge and knelt to dip a wide, shallow bowl into Cypress’s pond. Visitors were expected to wash their face and hands before approaching the Heart, but only a priest could reach into the water safely. As Cypress’s sacred beasts, a healthy population of wild alligators made their homes in Her pond, hidden among the duckweed and water lilies dotting its surface. They saw priests as fellow alligators and either ignored or avoided them, but they wouldn’t hesitate to snap at any other elves who got too close.

With the bowl filled, the attendant rose and turned to offer it to Gar with glistening, scaled hands. Gar caught a glimpse of his reflection in its polished surface: pointed ears framing strong, angular features, unwashed, dark green hair tied back in a loose bun, deep bronze skin smeared with grime from the road, teal eyes bleary from stress and lack of sleep. Definitely not presentable, but it would have to do. He dipped his hands into the bowl and gave his face a quick but thorough scrub, the cool water a welcome relief from the night’s hot humidity. When he’d finished, the masculine priest offered him a linen towel from a nearby basket. Despite Gar’s best efforts, the cloth came away from his face smeared with dirt. He handed the towel back with an attempted apology, but the priest cut him off with a shake of his head and an even-toned “Cypress welcomes all Her children.”

Both priests would probably complain about Gar once he was out of earshot—his mother and sister always did when unwashed visitors soiled their temple supplies—but Gar appreciated their professionalism. Washed, dried, and ready as he’d ever be, he stepped onto the boardwalk and began the long, winding walk across the pond. He couldn’t see any other visitors—unsurprising at this hour. Taproot never truly slept, but most people out this late didn’t have worship or quiet contemplation on their minds.

Alone with his thoughts and surrounded by a silence broken only by his footsteps, crickets and an occasional frog, Gar walked with purpose where he usually meandered. The high priest wouldn’t have called him here so late and on such short notice without good reason, and Gar wanted to get the facts before his tired mind started making guesses. His job was to follow orders, not make up stories.

Gar reached the boardwalk’s central ring, feeling none of the usual calm that settled over him when he stood at Cypress’s base or in one of Her temples. The absence only grew more pronounced when he rounded Cypress’s trunk to reach the hollow in the wide knee at Her base: the high priest’s sanctum, cut off from public access by guarded arches on either side and usually reserved for high-ranking priests, government officials, and visiting dignitaries.

Instead of the usual guards, Gar found a man in an officer’s dress uniform waiting for him. He stood tall and broad, green hair graying at the temples and skin weathered by long decades of service. Gar had never met him in person, but the medals pinned to his chest were all the introduction Gar needed. This was General Mangrove: head of military affairs in Cypress’s Domain, the most powerful man in the matriarchy, and one more person who should’ve had very little interest in someone like Gar.

Gar stood at attention and saluted with a hand over his heart. “General. Commander Gar, reporting to High Priest Azalea, as requested.”

The general gave him an appraising look. “Took you long enough.”

“Apologies, General. My barge was delayed.”

“I know. We got your bird.” General Mangrove exhaled sharply through his nose and tilted his head toward the hollow. “With me, Commander. This has waited long enough.”

Gar fell into step behind him, pausing at the hollow’s threshold. He’d joined the military as a fresh-turned eighteen-year-old, and over the seventeen years he’d served, his work had taken him across Cypress’s Domain and into the mountains and shrublands beyond its borders. He’d seen his share of the Hearts’ glory and then some, wild and elf-built alike, but never anything this sacred. He hoped he was worthy.

Gar pressed a reverent palm against Cypress’s warm, rough bark to pay his respects, then followed the general inside.

The gap in Cypress’s knee—just big enough for Gar to pass through without ducking or turning sideways—opened into a large, circular chamber. The moment he passed the threshold, every outside noise went silent, and the air inside was cool and dry instead of hot and humid. No lamps or lanterns lit the space, but the high ceiling gave off a bright, blue-green glow the same shade as a healer’s magic. The walls and floor looked sanded smooth and polished, though no elven hands had shaped them. In a few places, the walls protruded at the base to form natural benches, and a round, flat table grew out of the chamber’s center. An embroidered cloth covered the table, obscuring a lumpy, wedge-shaped object. At the chamber’s far side, the floor sloped gently downward into a shallow pool of water, occupied by one of the biggest alligators Gar had ever seen—the high priest’s bonded companion.

High Priest Azalea stood on the opposite side of the table. Her hair—mostly white now, though a few strands of teal remained—hung loose over her shoulders, and beneath her mask, her face was as craggy as Cypress’s bark. On her right side stood a masculine shrubland elf priest from Juniper’s Domain, soft down covering his wrists and feathers sprouting along his hairline to mingle with his tight, indigo curls. An eagle mask covered most of his warm brown face, matching the features of the bonded eagle standing on a wheeled perch beside him. A mountain elf priest from Larch’s Domain, who seemed to have made an effort to appear neither masculine nor feminine, stood at the high priest’s left side. The design of their lynx mask gave their pale features a permanent amused expression, and they’d tucked their silvery hair behind their ears to show off the tufts of fur on their pointed ear tips. A similarly tufted lynx sat at their feet, more interested in washing its paws than the room or the elves around it.

A masculine elf from the woodlands, Aspen’s Domain, stood apart from the priests. Unmasked and alone, he wore an embroidered yellow tunic over homespun clothes instead of a priest’s regalia, his orange hair pinned neatly back from his freckled, beige-toned face. The woodlands had had no priests for centuries now. Their Heart had turned His back on them for a grave, but long-forgotten offense, and no one had laid eyes on Aspen for almost half a millennium. Some wondered if He even still lived.

High Priest Azalea had made sure each of the four domains had representation at this meeting. But why?

General Mangrove cleared his throat. When he had the room’s full attention, he urged Gar forward with a firm hand on his back and announced, “He’s arrived. Thank you all for waiting.”

Gar saluted and inclined his head. “Apologies. My barge was delayed,” he repeated. The excuse was beyond inadequate for keeping so many important people waiting so long, but there was nothing he could do but apologize.

“What matters is that you are here now,” High Priest Azalea replied, expression unreadable beneath her mask. “Let us begin.”

She stepped forward to rest a clawed hand on the cloth-covered table. The other priests watched her intently, while the woodland representative kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Drumming her claws against the table, she began, “General Mangrove tells me you specialize in…eliminating the monstrous creatures that threaten our more remote villages when our Heart’s magic grows too wild. For years, you have served us honorably, and with fewer casualties under your command than most in your field. Your work has also extended beyond our borders on several occasions, with laudable results.”

The mountain priest smiled at Gar, exposing sharp canines. “I recall you assisted my people some years ago, when our own hunters struggled to locate a monstrous bear that had all but annihilated a small village. You and your subordinates tracked the creature to its lair and dispatched it, bringing closure to the families of its victims. We remain grateful for your efforts on our behalf.”

“He’s certainly built for the job,” the shrubland priest said, eyeing Gar with interest. On average, the people of Cypress’s Domain stood taller than their neighbors, and Gar was big even by swamp elf standards. “And we do appreciate you and your colleagues’ work in keeping your problem creatures from straying across our border.” He turned to face the woodland representative as he finished speaking.

The wood elf cringed under his gaze. “I-I think he looks very capable. My people have no objections.”

The praise and attention made Gar uneasy. None of it was wrong, but he wouldn’t have phrased it in such a self-congratulatory way. These people wouldn’t have gathered here just to discuss his capabilities either. And what about Gar or his service record could the woodland representative have possibly objected to?

General Mangrove looked on in silence, shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back. He looked at Gar with a mix of pride and pity that only set Gar more on edge.

“We are gathered here today by the will of Cypress, Juniper, and Larch. There has been…a disturbance, stemming from the woodlands’ silent Heart, Aspen.” Digging her claws into the embroidered cloth, High Priest Azalea continued, “What you are about to see is not public knowledge. It is to be spoken of only on a need-to-know basis, and with the utmost caution even then. Do you understand?”

Gar nodded. “Yes, High Priest.”

The high priest whisked the embroidered cloth off the table. It slid smoothly to the ground, revealing the severed head of an alligator. Or something that used to be an alligator.

Instead of dark gray with a lighter underside, its scales were pitch black from the top of its head to beneath its jaw. Its teeth were longer than normal and serrated where they should have been smooth. And its snout had split into two separate, fully formed mouths, joined in the middle by a third eye.

Black alligators weren’t unheard of. Neither were two-headed ones. But the odds of both happening at once were almost nonexistent. Two-headed alligators born in the wild never survived past infancy, but this one must have been nearly the same size as the high priest’s bonded alligator before it was decapitated. And Gar had never seen any mutation, natural or magical, that resulted in anything like those teeth.

Gar had heard the stories of what happened to wolves in Aspen’s Domain after its Heart went silent. Once Aspen’s sacred beasts, the Heart’s absence had changed—corrupted—them into twisted shadows of their former selves. Their full, multi-colored fur had become black and sparse, leaving large patches of their skin bare. Their limbs and canines had elongated, giving them a starved, spindly appearance. Each had grown a third eye in the center of its forehead. And they’d become wary and feral, shying away from elven contact and settled areas.

The priests of any bonded wolves had fared even worse than their sacred beasts. The legends said they’d all abruptly and painfully transformed into werewolves—hulking, rage-filled combinations of elf and wolf with an infectious bite—before fleeing into the deep woods or massacring the elves who’d once been their friends and family. The weres had spent the intervening centuries killing or turning any elf unfortunate enough to cross their path, and to this day, no one knew their exact numbers.

For nearly half a millennium, the woodlands’ corruption had stayed within its borders. Its neighboring domains had been content to let its elven residents lie in the bed they’d made. Now the corruption had broken containment, and Gar had been called to see the aftermath. This alligator must’ve been wild, but if wild alligators were vulnerable to the woodlands’ corruption, so were bonded ones. Gar didn’t want to know what would happen if a bonded sacred beast became corrupted; he assumed none of the gathered priests did either. He began to understand why the high priest had called him here, though he feared what it might mean.

“Someone hasn’t been maintaining their borders.” The shrubland priest aimed another sharp look at the woodland representative. Agitated, his eagle let out a shriek. “Now we’ll all pay the price if we can’t stop the spread.”

The mountain priest curled their lip in distaste but remained silent.

“We’ve done all we can!” The woodland representative’s voice wavered. “We’ve already agreed to comply with anything you decide here. What else can we possibly—”

High Priest Azalea clapped her hands. “We will have order. This meeting was called to take action, not point fingers.”

The shrubland priest nodded, and the woodland representative let out a shaky sigh.

“The corruption has broken containment. And we cannot allow it to spread,” the high priest said. “The obvious solution is to cordon off the woodlands’ interior, relocating its people as necessary, and burn out the corruption as one would cauterize a wound. But this is not the gentlest solution, nor something we or our Hearts would wish to see. Such large-scale destruction is not, and has never been, our way, and all would mourn the loss of a Heart and His lands.

“So, we have, at our Hearts’ behest, agreed on an interim solution. A wood elf-led expedition to the woodlands’ Heart to determine with certainty what has become of Aspen and see if He cannot be reasoned with. Joining them, a smaller group of swamp elf soldiers to support and observe their efforts.”

Gar took a deep, steadying breath. This was where he came in.

High Priest Azalea looked him in the eyes with a sad smile. “This is not an order. For the entirety of His silence, none who have tried to approach Aspen have returned. Likelier than not, this expedition will meet a similar fate. But our Hearts have requested we make the attempt before acting against their woodland counterpart, and we owe them at least that peace of mind.

“Commander Gar, you are our first choice for this task. Should you refuse, a willing volunteer will be sent in your place, and your refusal will have no bearing on your continued and no doubt exemplary service. But we believe a task of this magnitude deserves the best Cypress’s Domain has to offer, and it is our sincere hope you will agree.”

Gar held his silence for a moment, weighing his options. Venturing into the wood elves’ were-infested domain was likely to get him and his unit killed. He’d sooner avoid that outcome, especially for the people under his command. But if he refused, it meant someone else—someone less qualified—would be sent to risk their life in his place. Whether they succeeded or failed, he’d be racked with guilt until he heard news of the outcome. And if they failed, he’d spend the rest of his life blaming himself for their death and wondering if he could’ve done better if he’d gone in their place.

Gar’s high priest and his Heart had called on him tonight. He wouldn’t disappoint them.

“I’ll go,” he said, and the chamber itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The priests and the woodland representative looked at him with gratitude, and General Mangrove clapped him on the shoulder with an approving hand.

“Thank you,” the high priest replied. “We ask that you go only as far as you feel is wise, and that you report back to us if at all possible. Rest now and gather those who are willing to accompany you in the morning. You will all depart on a barge bound for Aspen’s Domain at the week’s end. The intervening days are yours to spend as you see fit. Advance payment and an account of the honors and benefits you will receive upon your task’s completion will be given to all those involved once you’ve made your selections.”

Gar nodded, grateful no one expected anything more from him tonight. He doubted he’d sleep much, but he had a lot to think about, and he’d think better alone at home than surrounded by priests beneath his Heart. As he stepped out of Cypress’s knee and into the humid night air, he felt strangely at ease—calm and collected, even in the face of the grim task before him. He’d made the right decision. He just hoped the rest of his unit agreed.