Mysterious Writing Blackwater Novels & Stories

Tasted blood that wasn’t human. We broke apart. Circled. “Stop!” Isla was pulling at the chains. The wards burned her. Her skin smoked. She didn’t stop. “Lucian! Darius! Stop! Please!” We didn’t. Darius raised his hand. The air changed. It got heavy. It got hot. The water in the lake started to steam. “Technique,” he said. “Black Tide.” The lake rose. Not a wave. A wall. Twenty feet high. Black water, full of things that weren’t water. It hung there. Then it fell.

No scratch that, were probably using me as a pawn to please themselves and their side pieces. I laid awake in bed, staring at the cracked pristine of the Blackwater chambers. According to the little piece of lore and backstory I'd managed to gather, the Blackwater fortress was one of the most fortified place in the entire pack. It had been built and carved out of pure stone, with the intention of lasting for centuries. It was a fortress like they called it, and best believe that it lived up to its name.

The "Page White" sky of the North did not dissolve so much as it bled. The vibrant violet and gold of the present began to drain away, replaced by a heavy, monochromatic amber that smelled of old parchment and cold iron. Silas Blackwood felt the transition in his bones, a slow, grinding shift of his reality as the "Golden Threads" of the Reader’s interest pulled him through the floor of the keep and into the marrow of the mountain.

I closed my eyes. Hunter. The book trembled. Color slowly spread across the blank pages. Not ordinary ink. Watercolors. Soft blues. Greens. Silver. As though someone were painting directly onto the paper. An image slowly formed. Hunter. Beside him... Molly. They stood near a lake deep inside a crystal cave. Behind them... A waterfall. No one spoke. The paintings moved. Not like ordinary pictures. Like memories. The water shimmered around them. Glowing softly. Another page turned on its own.

"We continued toward Blackwater." "No interruptions?" "No." "No strangers?" "No." He watched me carefully. "You answer quickly." "Because I don't need to invent anything." Another pause. Then... He asked almost casually, "Describe the Blackwater River." "The current was stronger than usual." "The water level had risen." "There had been rain upstream." "The western bank was muddy." "The eastern crossing stones were slippery." His pencil froze. "You remember that too?" "Yes." He exchanged another glance with Bobby. Neither man spoke.

When the small black ritual book with what looked like it had, some hand-painted a design on it and a few vials of mystery liquids that had landed safely across the grass of Megan’s older neighbor, Allison. Megan noticed the little black book with what looked like ritual writing all over it. The girl looked like she was ready for the lady to freak out but there was nothing. Sage was not use to that. Most people freak at any weapon, but the Wiccan book usually made people disappear fast.

He showed her no compassion and that's when the young woman felt that her cause was truly lost. For a moment, the young woman could hardly breathe. No! Not now... she said to herself. Not now... She began to make the hundred steps under the vigilant eye of the man. She was choking... She had more and more difficulty to breathe and in a last look of pity towards the man, she felt herself losing her balance... She closed her eyes and fainted. Before closing her eyes, she had time to see the face of the stranger who had caught her in time... Black hole... ***

*Move. She pushes up. Legs shake. Vision swims. She forces one foot in front of the other. The ground begins to soften. The grass thins. Ahead, the first tendrils of fog rise from the earth like ghosts waking. The Blackwater Marshes. She can smell them now—rotting vegetation, stagnant water, the faint metallic bite of blood long spilled. Dangerous. Deadly for most. But small. Light. Quiet. A child might slip through where a grown man in armor sinks.

I picked up the quill and wrote carefully: ‘Sable Howl Pack. Nothing happened. I bit my lip, thinking. Then I wrote a question instead. ‘Where are we now?’ The page shimmered faintly, then, like a breath exhaled, letters began to appear: ‘You are traveling through the Drowleaf Forest, a land untouched by man but watched by many.’ I blinked, the quill hadn’t moved, but the words appeared all the same. This book was alive. I turned back to it and wrote slowly: ‘What are you?’

"The Well." Through the trees, I could see it. The ancient stone circle. But something was wrong. The water wasn't reflecting the lightning. It was absorbing it. Black water. Just like in my vision. We ran the last hundred yards. Slipped and slid down the muddy slope. The Well was worse up close. The water was completely black. It moved wrong. Like it was alive. "What happened to it?" Kael asked. I knelt by the edge. Looked into the darkness.