16

Impulsive

CALLA TOSSED AND TURNED IN her makeshift bed as the others slumbered.

She sat up and frowned. It wasn’t fair that she had to hang back while the others got to search and explore.

Calla soon found herself rising to her feet. She slipped knitted socks into her curled shoes. As she picked up her pack, she saw a pair of eyes watching her from the darkness.

“Oh, did I wake you, Pye?”

Pye yawned.

“How about we go look for that ourselves?” Calla said. “I bet you can sense magic far better than old Thimble can.”

Pye gave a toothy grin. Twig-trots were always technically grinning. The only time they stopped was when startled or angered. It was the wagging of his tail that told Calla he was all in.

Calla looked over to see Mischief still dozing nearby. “Mischief,” she whispered, “you want to come?”

Mischief lazily opened an eye, then closed it and went back to sleep.

Typical, thought Calla, annoyed. She turned back to an eager Pye. “We don’t need him anyway, huh?”

Pye hopped up and down eagerly. She knew what that meant.

She picked him up and placed him on her shoulders. “There’s your attention,” Calla said. After Pye’s day of eyeing Thimble in Calla’s arms, how could Calla say no to the needy twig-trot?

And with that Calla quietly crept past the sleeping group, and off into the night.

“IN HINDSIGHT, I SHOULD HAVE brought a lantern,” Calla said.

Although the pale crescent moon above helped, it was still quite dark below. The crumbling and rugged exteriors of buildings looked otherworldly as their long shadows stretched across the abandoned village.

It was quite difficult to make anything out. Any signs or other indications of what the buildings might be were lost under the veil of darkness.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. Calla deeply longed for her now splintered staff. She could have gently lit the top and used it as a makeshift lantern to ward off any creatures hiding in the shadows.

But right now, Calla didn’t even want to consider the idea that the two were not alone.

Pye hopped off her shoulders and stared towards a building, deep into the dark entryway of an old shop. Its windows were long gone and a door hung off its hinge. Its wooden sign sagged from a bent metal post on its side. In the darkness, Calla failed to make out its words.

As Pye gazed at Calla, she said, “You sense something in there?”

Pye glanced back at the desolate shop.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,” Calla said. She approached it and carefully stepped over the fallen door frame.

Pye followed.

Around them sat empty wooden shelves and a few broken tables. Around the floor were scattered strips of cloth, rusted bobbins, needles, and frayed old yarn. In the corner was a wooden mannequin of a sprig-wik split in two.

Calla crept around it a. “I guess this was some sort of textile shop for clothes.”

Vines hung from the rotted ceiling and curled on the floor below. After a few minutes of looking around, Calla found that this was the only plant that bloomed inside the shop.

She looked back to Pye. “Are you sure you sensed something in here?”

Pye growled.

Calla paused. Pye never growled at her.

“Okay, sorry, I’ll keep looking,” she joked.

Pye continued to growl then leapt—not at Calla but past her. He sank his teeth into a long line.

There was a loud screech. The vine began to wriggle. Calla stepped back, startled, as Pye let go. The vine slowly slid across the floor till it hit the wall. Calla then saw it wasn’t a vine, but a tail.

She looked up to see the copper-red eyes of a large, long-legged beast. It was covered in draped vines and had skin that blended with the walls and floor. It parted its large fangs, and began to creep towards her.

As Calla backed away, it lunged, snapping its jagged rows of bark-like teeth. Calla dodged and swiftly dug into the pocket of her pack. She ripped out a random assortment of leaves and threw them at the wilder while casting a spell. The spell flew everywhere—one causing Pye to begin to float, and another, causing the splintered mannequin to float. But a bolt of magic did smack into the wilder’s head, causing it to stumble back.

Calla watched it shrug the magic off. She then noticed the wooden-like body underneath layers of vine, like armor. Her heart sank. She was facing a wilder she was all too familiar with from tales her mother had told her.

A wilterwalker, with a tolerance for magic like no other wilder.

The wilterwalker turned towards the floating Pye and raked its long branch-like claws at him. Calla swiftly broke a twig and cast another spell on it. It sliced across the wilterwalker’s arm, and to her horror, severed its vine-like hand.

Calla swiftly grabbed the floating Pye and dashed toward the exit. She glanced back to see the arm crawl across the floor and, with an audible snap, reattach itself to the wilder. The wilterwalker turned and scrambled toward her.

Calla stumbled through the door and into the street. She dug into her pocket as the wilder chased after her, its forked tongue flicking.

Still running, Calla cast spell after spell. Like clockwork, the wilder either stopped to reattach a limb before resuming its pursuit, it simply shook the magic off its wood-armored back.

As the creature lunged at her, she ducked and turned, causing it to slam into the brick wall of a building. It howled in pain as wood splintered from its mask-like head.

Pins and poppies! Calla thought, stopping to catch her breath. That wilterwalker is tough!

The wilder turned, recovered already, and focused on her.

“Rotten oats and dead barley! What’s going on over—eep!” cried Oakbur. The glowing lantern he held shook as he saw the wilder.

Calla turned to see the group looking at her from the camp. Her gut clenched. She had mistakenly led it back to the camp.

The creature turned to them. Saffron stumbled back.

“Is that a wilterwalker?!” she cried.

Oakbur shook his head. “This north of Knotrest, it’s unheard of.”

Nia turned to him. “Unheard of? Native here or not, it’s standing right there!”

The creature began to slink toward them, its long claws rattling as it moved.

Saffron ducked behind Nia, while Spruce and Nettled charged at the beast with their spears. The wilterwalker swiftly knocked them away with a swipe, snarling as weapons clattered to the ground.

As Calla began to desperately dig into her pack’s pocket, Rowan stepped forward.

“Don’t agitate it further,” he warned . He then turned to the wilder, his palm glowing. “I’ll handle it.”

Calla blinked. Rowan is a caster too? She didn’t recall Saffron ever mentioning it, though knowing her, she’d probably tucked that tidbit away somewhere in the third page of one of her letters.

“Do be careful, Rowan!” said Oakbur, crouching behind Nia.

With a caterwaul, the wilterwalker charged at him. Rowan lifted his hand and made a twisting motion with his wrist.

From his hand bolted purple magic. It crashed against the creature’s chest, causing it to fall back. As it rose back to its feet, it seemed unfazed.

“That’s not enough to stop it,” Calla warned. Wouldn’t a Keeper like you know how strong wilterwalkers are against magic?

As Calla pulled a mottled-bud from her pocket, Rowan’s brown eyes met her gaze. “No,” he said firmly, “don’t agitate it.”

Calla blinked. How he could tell that she was about to cast a spell from the cover of darkness was beyond her.

Even more surprising, she watched as the wilterwalker began to thrash as if bothered by an unseen force. With a horrendous cry, it crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath.

After a few moments of stillness, the Keepers and guards cautiously approached it.

“It’s out cold,” Saffron remarked as the wilder seemingly dozed on its side.

“Just stunned for the most part,” Rowan explained. “It should wake in a couple of hours and hopefully lumber off somewhere else.”

Calla was surprised that Rowan’s magical blast had toppled it over so easily. Faint purple wisps rose from the creature’s shadow. Before she could get a closer look, she heard Oakbur’s loud voice.

“Three cheers for Rowan!” he said, patting the Keeper on the back. “It seems we’re safe enough just bringing you along. You’re a fantastic caster.”

“Yeah, you saved us,” Nia congratulated.

Rowan shook his head bashfully. “Ah, it was nothing. I did study a bit of magic before I became a caster. I guess it just came back to me.”

Spruce muttered something under her breath as Nettle rubbed his neck awkwardly. As Calla approached, the group fell silent, regarding her with judging eyes.

“Calla!” Saffron snapped. Through the dark Calla could already picture her reddened face.

Pye shrank as he ducked behind her.

“It was an accident, " Calla began, “I went out to search and—”

“You just had to go run off and find the plant on your terms,” Saffron said. “Never mind the importance of this whole mission. You just had to show off and find it yourself!”

Calla was taken aback. “Show off?”

Saffron shook her head. “I can’t believe that for once, I thought you could put your selfishness aside to help. It seems I was wrong.”

Calla felt her ears grow hot. “First of all, I was trying to help! Secondly, how dare you call me selfish. You’re the one who ran off to Runnelloom! I have to take care of Thimble, care for the garden, and clean the dumb old cottage! Meanwhile, you’re over here playing Keeper.”

Saffron’s eyes were coals. “I became a Keeper to uphold Mom’s legacy,” she spat. “I did it because that’s what she would have wanted!”

Calla threw up her arms. “Well, swell job you’re doing!”

Immediately Calla felt a sharp prickle of regret. She knew she shouldn’t have said that, but she didn’t care at this point. She steadily met Saffron’s burning gaze with her own. When you’re that angry, it’s hard to care if you’re right.

Pye looked up at her as if sensing the tension.

“Well,” said Oakbur, stepping forward. “It seems that perhaps we were wrong in our assessment.”

Saffron sniffled. “I agree.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “She only cares about herself. It was a mistake to bring her.”

Now Calla felt bad. She looked away and picked up her pack. “Fine, I’ll go back to Red Heath,” she grumbled.

“Good,” Saffron said.

“Saffron,” Nia said calmly. “Oakbur didn’t just mean Calla.”

Saffron stared at her. “Wait, me?”

Nia nodded. “Look, we realize this mission may be too stressful for an apprentice, even one with your expertise.” She looked over to Calla. “Could you leave us for a moment?”

Calla stepped away, rejoined by a sleepy Mischief. She awkwardly watched as the Keepers talked in hushed tones. As angry as she was with her sister, it was still hard to watch her get chewed out.

Nettle gave a fake cough as he picked up his fallen spear. Spruce pretended to inspect the camp equipment as if it had somehow been affected by the scuffle. Their discomfort was clear and Calla blushed a bit. I guess this is awkward for all of us.

As the Keepers reconvened with them at the camp, Saffron didn’t make eye contact. She walked over to her makeshift bed and slowly began to gather up her things.

It was clear as day what the Keepers decided.

Calla’s heart sank.

Saffron was off the mission.

“Wait.” Calla approached the Keepers. “It’s all my fault. Saffron shouldn’t be punished because I—”

“Just drop it,” Saffron said without looking up.

Calla closed her mouth.

Nia looked at Calla sympathetically. “Don’t take it too personally. Maybe one day you both will be ready for a journey of this scale, but for now, we’ll take care of things.” She pointed to where Thimble was still sound asleep in the middle of the campsite. “You can bring Thimble back home now. We’ll figure out some way to manage without her.”

Oakbur turned to Nettle. “Do see to it they get back safely.”

Nettle nodded and turned to the two flower-elves. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Now,” Saffron said, throwing her pack over her back.

Calla watched as she marched past them and continued down into the moonlit path of the village.

Nettle picked up a lantern and glanced back at Calla, who sighed.

Her shoes felt like bricks as she followed.