12

Sister

“IT ALL BEGAN ROUGHLY A month ago or so, but it has gotten quite worse of recent,” Captain Conifer said to Calla as they walked.

“We’re currently dealing with several incidents of dead wilders found near the villages. No larks so far—thankfully. Thus, there’s no need for too much panic.”

Calla frowned. That didn’t sound much better to her ears. It was still concerning to see a wilder in such a state. The image of the dead winged-moose still haunted her mind, and to imagine it was happening to multiple wilders in the very woodland they now walked in was awful. Larks were always dismissive and thought of wilders as just wild, feral beasts incapable of thought. But they had emotions and lives as well. Pye was sensitive and playful. Mischief could be mischievous, but he could be quite clever and brave.

They mattered, even if folks didn’t care to see it.

“What happens to those wilders may happen to us,” Calla pointed out. “We do share the same home, rivers, and food.”

“That is the worry,” Captain Conifer replied. “I am not dismissing the lives of those wilders. I am just relaying the current state of this matter. Folks aren’t panicking and that’s ideal. The last thing we need is hysteria as the Keepers sort this out with us.”

Calla was still bothered; it didn’t sit right to keep it under wraps, but at least something was being done.

Behind them, the guards marched through the tangly wild plants of the Dark Agrestal. Under the shade of its tall, pine-like trees, they made their way to Runnelloom. Thimble let out an irritated grunt as she rode on Calla’s shoulder. Below, Mischief and Pye trotted alongside her, with Pye eyeing Thimble.

Pye whined.

Calla gave him a sympathetic look. “Easy Pye, it’s just for today.” And the way back. She turned back at the captain, concerned. “So what’s causing these dead wilders?”

The captain tugged on his beard. “We don’t know yet,” he admitted. “That’s why you’re being summoned.

“The current theory of the Keepers and your sister is that the dead wilders have consumed or reacted badly to an invasive plant species that sprouted up around the weeping ravine. Maybe a seed or thistle was carried by some bird or other creature. But until we know for sure, we’re trying to keep these incidents under wraps to stop panic from spreading.”

Calla furrowed her brow. “Are you sure that’s wise? I don’t mean to overstep, but isn’t it dangerous, then, for larks to travel through here?”

Spruce huffed from nearby. “He just told you no larks are ill. It’s probably just some dumb wilders eating plants they’re not supposed to.”

“Most likely,” Captain Conifer said. “But yes, no larks have been afflicted or have fallen ill in the same manner.”

Calla blinked. “So why were Thimble and I summoned?”

“We weren’t told,” Captain Conifer said. “We were simply told to escort you safely. I’m sure they’ll have an explanation when we get there.”

“They better,” grumbled Spruce. “They made us trek to Runnelloom to seek this kid.”

Calla gave her a look. She’s pricklier than a thistle in a basket of thorns. She looked forward again. Nonetheless, if this situation was as serious as the guards were making it out to be, her studying and training for the trials would have to wait.

THE TOWN OF RUNNELLOOM WAS loud— louder than Calla remembered from her visits with her mother. The streets bustled with folk from all walks of life. A bearded sprig-wik clattered old pans and pots from his wooden stall, speaking loudly about their durability. A flutist whose face was covered by long grass-like tendrils played on the dimly lit street corner to the awe of some young larks.

Calla struggled not to bump into passersby as she and the guards made their way through the stone-paved streets of the packed village. Calla apologized as she scooted past a mosshrew, whose arms were overflowing with glass bottles of nectar. She swerved just in time to miss a stout gopher-like lark heaving a crate of orange-splotched apples. Budding greenery bloomed on and around buildings, and flowers and ivy crept around towers and buildings. Ferns and wildflowers burst from street corners, windows, and alleyways, leaving leaves, petals, and pollen to litter the streets.

Thimble hated all of it. She growled and fidgeted on Calla’s shoulder, glaring at any passerby that came too close. Pye and Mischief were hardly any better; they sniffed and walked up to anything they found even mildly interesting. It took more than one stern call of their names to keep them moving.

A shop door flung open in front of her, and a goose-like lark with antlers waddled out with a basket of muffins. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the bakery’s windows, reminding Calla she hadn’t eaten since the morning of her departure. Nor had she packed any food. How could she have? Given how quickly she’d been rushed, she’d been lucky to remember to pack a change of clothes.

Long wisps of cloud now drifted across the orange sky. With each step, Calla’s feet ached, and for a moment she felt less hung up about Saffron’s lack of visits to Red Heath.

As they finally reached the giant stone steps of the Grand Hall where the Keepers of Runnelloom congregated, Calla gave a hearty sigh of relief. Never had she been gladder to see the old building.

It was tall and green with ornate columns covered in curling stone vines. As they neared the large square doorway, two plant-larks standing guard saluted the captain. Thimble shot them a mean glare as well.

Captain Conifer looked to Spruce and Nettle. “You two will accompany Calla and the rest of the Keepers on their journey.”

Neither guard looked pleased.

“Very, well sir,” Spruce replied. Nettle nodded.

Calla looked up curiously. “Journey?” After all that walking? And to where?

The captain nodded. “The Keepers will explain more to you inside. Good luck on your endeavors, fair Calla.”

“Er, thanks,” Calla said.

With that, the captain turned and led the rest of his guards away, leaving Calla with Spruce and Nettle.

“Well,” Spruce said, she gestured to the doorway, “are you here to meet the Keepers or collect dust? Get on with it.”

As Calla began to climb the steps, she found that for once she was glad Thimble growled at someone she passed.

THE ECHOES OF THEIR STEPS rang out as they walked along the long corridor lined with tall wooden doors. The marble floor was covered in imagery of curled and frilled vines that endlessly looped around each other.

As they neared a large door to the right, there was an audible click.

A young yellow flower-elf curiously poked her head through at the commotion. On her shoulders was a long, ornate green cloak that matched her tunic. She carried a tattered old book in her arms that seemed to be falling apart at the seams, with loose pages sticking out between its covers.

She beamed at the group.

“Calla!” she said in surprise. “And you brought Mischief and Pye!”

“Saffron!” Calla raced over to meet her, Mischief and Pye following. As she went in for a hug, Saffron stopped her. “Careful! This book is over a century old, and in horrid condition.”

Calla awkwardly put her arms down as Saffron gave her a half-arm hug. “It’s great to see you,” she said.

As more Keepers streamed out of the door, Calla noticed a slight difference in Saffron. For one, she seemed slightly taller. The petals on her head seemed longer, with a more pronounced curl. Beneath her eyes were bags, and in her eyes a certain tiredness.

“You look exhausted,” Calla blurted.

Saffron sheepishly pushed back the petals on her head. “It’s been busy the last few weeks.”

“Busy doesn’t begin to describe it,” said a voice. From behind Saffron emerged a sprig-wik with a short leafy tendril atop her head.

“Nia,” Calla said, surprised.

Despite the many years since she’d last seen her, she recognized her. A long time ago, Nia read old poems, stories, and sonnets to Calla and Saffron while they waited for their mother to finish her Keeper work. She grinned at Calla. “It’s nice to see you again, Calla. You’ve grown so much grown taller since we last met.”

“I suppose,” she said. Something about seeing her old face was bewildering to the flower-elf.

The door creaked as two other cloaked Keepers stepped out. The first she recognized was Oakbur, a tall, lanky lark like Captain Conifer, only much taller, lankier, and beardless. Below his nose was a bushy mustache and above it, small spectacles. He used to lecture her and Saffron whenever they raced through the long corridors of the Great Hall.

“Calla,” he said stiffly.

“Oakbur,” Calla said.

The other brown stout badger-like lark had beady black eyes, pointed ears, long claws and a round pink nose. Calla stared in confusion as she searched her memories for any recollection of him. She brought up nothing.

The Keeper laughed. “My name is Rowan,” he said, sticking out a paw. It’s nice to meet you.”

Calla shook it.

Saffron sniffed. “I told you about him in the letter. The Keeper from Knotrest? You do read the letters I send, right?”

“I do,” Calla said defensively. They’re just super long and forgettable. “Anyway, why exactly did you send for me? I mean regarding the dead wilders and such?”

Nia frowned. “Oh, it’s been quite awful. I don’t know if the villagers of Red Heath have taken notice, but there have been mysterious deaths of wilders left and right. We’re worried it may be a type of plant but we’re reaching a dead end in our research.”

“How so?” Calla asked.

“We’ve been swimming through piles of books, scrolls, poems, ballads, anything that mentions the type of plant we’re looking for. No luck.”

“So far,” Rowan jumped in. “But now that the guards have successfully brought you over here, we might be able to finally make a breakthrough.” He looked at Spruce and Nettle gratefully. “And we are quite grateful for all your help regarding this matter.”

Spruce huffed. “Well, we don’t have much choice about our current circumstances.”

Calla looked up at the guard, surprised by her crossness. Even Nettle seemed a bit surprised.

Oakbur paid them no heed, instead squinting at the twig-trots that surrounded Calla. “Which one is Thimble again?”

“Thimble is the one she’s carrying on her shoulder,” Saffron said.

As the Keeper approached to inspect the twig-trot, Thimble snarled, making him stumble back.

“I’m sorry,” Calla said. Oakbur shook his head. I forgot about its aggression towards strangers.”

“Her,” Nia corrected, “and I’m surprised you forgot about her surliness so swiftly.”

As if on cue, Thimble wriggled free from Calla’s grasp. The Keepers and guards alike backed away as she sprinted towards her target.

“Thimble, stop!” Calla called.

“Aster, here! Come here!” Saffron said, shuffling after her.

Thimble dodged and hopped straight into the arms of Rowan.

The sisters stared as Thimble purred and chirped in the Keepers’ arms. They all looked at him, bewildered.

Rowan laughed. “I do tend to have that effect on companion wilders. I actually had a twig-trot when I was younger.”

As Thimble continued to perplex them, Calla asked, “So, why do you need Thimble?”

Oakbur adjusted his glasses. “We’ll need Thimble due to its—I mean, her—ability to sense and locate magic-producing plants. If our theory is correct that these wilders are falling ill after consuming or coming into contact with them, we’ll need a creature with this ability. According to my colleague Rowan, Thimble’s experience makes her fit the bill.”

Saffron nodded. “She’s going to lead us to where we think the source of the plant is.”

Calla paused. “Okay, so then why do you need me to be here? What’s my role?”

There was a pause.

“To bring Thimble,” Oakbur answered.

Calla stared. “What?”

Saffron nervously stepped forward. “Well, Thimble hates most larks, and she’s not too thrilled about me, so I thought it would be wise if you brought her.”

“Wait—wait, you’re not serious, are you?” Calla said, her ears starting to grow hot. “So what about the journey? Captain Confider mentioned something about going on a journey.”

“Yes, we are,” Oakbur said. We’re investigating the source tomorrow. Until then, you can stay in the visitor’s living quarters in the north wing. Then you can take Thimble back after our mission.”

Calla looked back to Saffron in disbelief. “You had me come all this way just to deliver Thimble?”

“Calla,” Saffron began.

“We could be on the brink of a large blight,” Calla said, “an outbreak worse than wiltermould, and you won’t even let me help?!”

The Keepers stiffened at the term. Wiltermould was nothing to be mentioned lightly. The devastation it could cause to plants and larks was no light matter.

“Well, not as bad as wiltermould,” Nia corrected. “Or at least, we don’t know yet.” She glanced at Oakbur, concerned. “Are larks starting to say that?”

Oakbur shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, but spreading hysteria won’t help.” He eyed Calla. “Who gave you that thought?”

Calla was fuming too much to answer, instead she glared daggers at her sister. Saffron glanced apologetically at the Keepers. “Could you excuse us for a bit?” she asked them.

Nia nodded. “Of course.”

Saffron grabbed Calla’s arm and dragged her away from the group. When they were out of earshot, she turned back, annoyed.

“Dramatic much?” Saffron asked.

Calla glowered. “Next time, you can come to Red Heath and bring Thimble yourself,” she said. “And for your information, Thimble’s not thrilled about me either. Do you know how hard it is to carry a wriggling twig-trot?”

“Calla, I can’t just invite you on Keeper missions. Also, this journey is too dangerous for a non-Keeper,” Saffron argued.

“Says the one with no magic powers,” Calla said. “You’re just an apprentice, high-rank or not.”

“Well, you’re too young,” Saffron objected. “Where we’re going is outside of the Awlt. It’s deeper within the Dark Agrestal.”

Calla stared at her. It was the worst excuse yet. “You are two years older than me. Two!”

Saffron sighed. “Look…if you really want to go, I’ll talk to the other Keepers about letting you come along. But only if you let this go and calm down.”

“Fine,” Calla begrudgingly agreed.

“Now wait here,” Saffron said.

As Saffron returned to the group, Calla felt a twinge of familiar annoyance. In her hurry to get to Runnelloom, she’d forgotten the arguments she used to have with her sister. They had grown so frequent that they made up half of what they’d said to each other at one point.

I forgot how Saffron-ish Saffon is…but then again, when you mainly talk through letters, you kind of forget that stuff.

Calla watched Saffron as she chatted with the Keepers. Thimble was still adoring Rowan.

Calla felt her annoyance subside. There was a time when they weren’t at each other’s throats and could stand each other. A time when they would laugh at each other’s jokes.

Calla glanced down at Pye, who wagged his tail. But now that we’re here face to face, maybe things could go back…maybe I can fix things between us.

And just maybe, she wouldn’t feel that nagging sense of loneliness anymore.