Dawn breaks with unusual colors in this alien world, the sky blooming in shades of teal and amber that cast everything in an eerie glow. I'm already up, checking a crude map that one of Nerk's scouts scratched onto a piece of bark. The "lightning tree" is marked with an ominous X, situated in a depression the goblins call "shadow valley."

  "Ready, master?" Nerk asks, approaching with three goblin warriors in tow. They're the biggest of the tribe, though they still look puny next to Nerk's transformed bulk. Each carries crude but effective weapons, stone axes and bone-tipped spears.

  "As ready as I'll ever be to meet a fucking bird-woman-witch," I mutter, fingering the charm Gruk gave me. It pulses faintly against my skin, warm and somehow alive.

  We set out just as the larger of the three moons is setting, hiking through increasingly dense and twisted vegetation. As we approach the shadow valley, the forest changes character—trees grow more gnarled, leaves more sparse. The air grows thick with mist that smells vaguely of rot and something chemical, like ozone after a lightning strike.

  "Close now," Nerk whispers, his enhanced senses alert. His nostrils flare as he tastes the air. "Smell magic. Old magic. Blood magic."

  The goblins accompanying us grow visibly nervous, gripping their weapons tighter, eyes darting to every shadow and sound. One mutters what sounds like a prayer in their guttural language.

  "What exactly are we walking into?" I ask Nerk as we descend into the valley proper. The trees here are dead or dying, their trunks blackened as if by fire, though no burn marks mar the ground beneath.

  "Hagraven powerful witch," Nerk explains, voice low. "Use blood for spells. Take parts from creatures—eyes for seeing hidden things, hearts for strength potions, fingers for curse-sending." He glances at me. "But also know secrets. How to break curses. How to find lost things. How to speak with spirits."

  "So basically a magical Swiss Army knife," I mutter. "If I can control it."

  "Big if," one of the goblin warriors mutters, before Nerk silences him with a glare.

  We crest a small rise, and there it is—the lightning tree. It must have been a massive oak once, but now it stands dead, split down the middle as if struck by an enormous bolt. Its blackened branches reach skyward like desperate fingers. At its base, a crude dwelling has been constructed—part nest, part hut, made of twisted branches, bones, and what looks disturbingly like stretched skin.

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  "There," Nerk points to a small clearing beside the tree. "Hagraven circle."

  A ring of standing stones surrounds a fire pit, still smoking from recent use. Bones, feathers, and strange totems hang from the tree branches above it. The whole scene radiates wrongness, a perversion of natural order that makes my skin crawl.

  "No hagraven," one goblin observes, looking relieved.

  "She close," Nerk counters, sniffing. "Very close."

  I concentrate, reaching out with that strange sense that allows me to feel the auras of potential beasts. Almost immediately, I detect something—a presence that feels ancient, twisted, and intensely powerful. Its aura is a sickly purple-black, shot through with crimson veins of energy.

  "She's watching us," I say, certain of it though I can't explain how I know.

  "Master see truth," Nerk confirms. "Goblins wait here. Master and Nerk go forward. Careful-careful."

  The three warriors are only too happy to hang back as Nerk and I approach the stone circle. Each step feels heavier than the last, like walking through invisible cobwebs that cling and pull at my limbs.

  "She's using magic to slow us down," I realize aloud. "Some kind of ward or barrier."

  Nerk nods grimly. "Hagraven always prepare. Always trick."

  When we reach the edge of the stone circle, I hesitate. Something tells me that stepping inside will trigger... something. But before I can voice this concern, a voice scrapes across my mind like talons on glass:

  "Man-thing comes seeking power. Man-thing brings goblin-slave. Man-thing thinks itself clever hunter..."

  The voice cackles, a sound like breaking bones and rustling feathers.

  "Show yourself," I call out, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice.

  "Show myself? But I am everywhere, man-thing. I am in the air you breathe. I am in the ground beneath your feet. I am in the blood pumping through your fragile heart."

  Something moves in my peripheral vision—a flash of black feathers, a glimpse of a hunched silhouette. But when I turn, nothing's there.

  "Illusion," Nerk growls, his enhanced senses straining. "She play tricks."

  Suddenly, the ground beneath us trembles. The stones of the circle begin to glow with runes I hadn't noticed before, pulsing with sickly green light. The air fills with whispers—dozens of voices speaking in languages I don't understand.

  "Step into my circle, tamer," the hagraven's voice invites, suddenly honey-sweet though no less wrong. "Let us speak properly. Let us bargain, perhaps."

  Every instinct screams that this is a trap, but I also know that I need to get closer to have any chance of establishing a bond. The taming power seems to require proximity.

  "Nerk, stay alert," I mutter. "If this goes sideways, get us the fuck out of here."

  I take a deep breath and step into the circle of stones.