Born with visions pressed against his chest like a second heart, Song walks along a road no other can see. Omens follow him, the scream of the panther from the ridge, the pale Indian Pipe rising in the dark soil, the red-banded Cecropia moth beating its wings against firelight. These are not accidents. These are messages. Song has been chosen to carry them.

But every song casts a shadow. That shadow has a name: Cypian, the River Wolf.

A renegade of the Chitimacha, Cypian leaves only ruin in his wake, rape, murder, fire. He crowns himself with scars and a Spanish coin, carving his crimes into his very flesh. Yet even he cannot escape the curse that dogs his steps. For when he slew a child in the womb, that child was named Eidolon Dunn and bound to him forever by a liturgy of damnation.

Now Song’s visions show him more than omens. They show him the curse itself: the ghost-child laughing in the night, walking in Cypian’s shadow, waiting to drag him down. As the tribes gather to judge the River Wolf, Song must speak what he has seen, knowing his words may bind not only the guilty but himself.

Dark, mythic, and unflinching, The Road of Song is a tale sung in the cadence of firelight storytelling, a story of visions and curses, justice and vengeance, and the thin line between the living and the shadows that follow them.

When the panther screams in the night, you will know: The story is not yet finished, change in inevitable.