The Legacy of a Demigod

Shadow of the Tall Grass

[Hazel's POV]

The boat slid ashore, cracking through a fine layer of ice and black silt. Over the months, Hazel and her mother had worn a path from the beach into the woods.

She hiked inland, careful to stick to the trail. The island was full of dangers, both natural and magical.

Bears rustled in the undergrowth. Glowing white spirits, vaguely human, drifted through the trees. Hazel didn't know what they were, but she knew they were watching her, hoping she'd stray into their clutches.

At the center of the island, two massive black boulders formed the entrance to a tunnel. Hazel made her way into the cavern she called the Heart of the Earth. It was the only truly warm place Hazel had found since moving to Alaska.

The air smelled of freshly turned soil. The sweet, moist heat made Hazel feel drowsy, but she fought to stay awake. She imagined that if she fell asleep here, her body would sink into the earthen floor and turn to mulch.

The cave was as large as a church sanctuary, like the St. Louis Cathedral back home on Jackson Square.

The walls glowed with luminescent mosses, green, red, and purple. The whole chamber thrummed with energy, an echoing boom, boom, boom that reminded Hazel of a heartbeat.

Perhaps it was just the sea's waves battering the island, but Hazel didn't think so. This place was alive. The earth was asleep, but it pulsated with power. Its dreams were so malicious, so fitful, that Hazel felt herself losing her grip on reality.

Gaea wanted to consume her identity, just as she'd overwhelmed Hazel's mother. She wanted to consume every human, god, and demigod that dared to walk across her surface.

'You all belong to me,' Gaea murmured like a lullaby. 'Surrender. Return to the earth.'

No, Hazel thought. I'm Hazel Levesque. You can't have me. Marie Levesque stood over the pit. In six months, her hair had turned as gray as lint.

She'd lost weight. Her hands were gnarled from hard work. She wore snow boots and waders and a stained white shirt from the diner. She never would have been mistaken for a queen.

"It's too late." Her mother's frail voice echoed through the cavern. Hazel realized with a shock that it was her voice, not Gaea's. "Mother?"

Marie turned. Her eyes were open. She was awake and conscious. This should have made Hazel feel relieved, but it made her nervous. The Voice had never relinquished control while they were on the island.

"What have I done?" her mother asked helplessly. "Oh, Hazel, what did I do to you?" She stared in horror at the thing in the pit.

For months they'd been coming here, four or five nights a week as the Voice required.

Hazel had cried, she'd collapsed with exhaustion, she'd pleaded, she'd given in to despair. But the Voice that controlled her mother had urged her on relentlessly. 'Bring valuables from the earth. Use your powers, child. Bring my most valuable possession to me.'

At first, her efforts had brought only scorn. The fissure in the earth had filled with gold and precious stones, bubbling in a thick soup of petroleum. It looked like a dragon's treasure dumped in a tar pit.

Then, slowly, a rock spire began to grow like a massive tulip bulb. It emerged so gradually, night after night, that Hazel had trouble judging its progress.

Often she concentrated all night on raising it, until her mind and soul were exhausted, but she didn't notice any difference. Yet the spire did grow. Now Hazel could see how much she'd accomplished.