Chapter 6: 7 of Swords - Deception

He’d laughed about planting trees on dead bodies. Yet these woods were the opposite of haunted: he couldn’t summon a memory if he tried.

Ammon didn’t resist as the fighters frogmarched him, blindfolded, into the grounds of the Sanctuary. He could have, he assured himself, if he wanted to. But the whole reason he was here was because he wanted in, not out.

He focused on slowing his breathing and inhaling deeply, taking in the smells of wherever it was they were taking him. Overwhelming fresh earth, rich with newly fallen rain, bursting with life. Familiar scents of marigolds, violets, pine, maple, apples, forget-me-nots, broken grass, and the faintest hint of amber relegated the destruction of the fires to undetectable.

The air was disturbingly still and calm. No memories twisted the trunks or laced the roots of the trees around him. No ghosts called out to him or tripped him as he stumbled along the path. 

They sat him down on a bench and removed his blindfold with the order to “wait here.” No fog of forgotten souls blocked the familiar sight of untamed trees. 

The intoxicating sweetness held no interest for bugs or birds flying overhead. The glinting leaves remained untouched by wind or breeze, enhancing the terrifying quiet of the place.

He’d laughed about planting trees on dead bodies. Yet these woods were the opposite of haunted: he couldn’t summon a memory if he tried. The stillness spooked him.