Free preview
The Map in the Wall
Ellis Grant didn’t believe in fate. He believed in fragments, ruins, and reason. A pragmatic archaeologist with calloused hands and sharp instincts, he had spent fifteen years chasing legends around the world, only to disprove them one by one. Goblin tunnels in Bulgaria—empty caves. A cursed mask in Cairo—cheap forgery. The Dead Prince of Lagos—just a pirate with good PR. He was in Trondheim, Norway, restoring the study of a late antiquities dealer, when he found the map. It wasn’t in a drawer or safe, but hidden inside a false panel behind the bookshelf.
The brittle parchment was curled and sealed with wax bearing a strange crest: two antlers crossed behind a bleeding tree. It was drawn by hand—landmarks inked in red and annotated in runes. At the center of the forested area was an odd grove labeled only in English: THE BONE ORCHARD. And beneath it, scribbled in trembling script: “Find it before it finds you.” There was no name, no date, no coordinates. But Ellis felt it. A pull.
That night, he dreamt of white trees rising from black soil, and a woman screaming soundlessly as her mouth was sewn shut by roots. He awoke with one certainty: he was going to find that place.
Into Dødt Gran
Locals didn’t talk about the Dead Pine Forest. When Ellis asked about it at the village tavern near the edge of the region, silence fell like a heavy curtain. Only an old woman answered. “Dødt Gran watches,” she said, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. “It grows on what it eats.” He pressed her for details, but she only gave him one word: “Våker.” The Watcher.
He hiked in the next morning, following the faint trails that matched landmarks on the map—an overturned stone shaped like a fist, a frozen river that hissed with strange vapor. As he ventured deeper, the pine trees became twisted and charred, though there was no fire. The wind didn’t move the branches. The forest grew still. Even the birds had stopped singing. Then came the whispers. Faint. Fickle. A voice like his mother’s, calling him deeper. Then his own voice, crying for help. By the third day, the compass stopped working. The needle spun. GPS gave only static. But Ellis knew he was close. He found the orchard at dusk.
