The vines clambered up his legs. He hacked and slashed at the tentacles with his machete, spilling acid ichor from their cut, writhing edges. Somewhere in the middle of the tangled vines was the horrible thing’s soft core, and he had only moments to find and destroy it before the hideous mouth pod emerged. He chopped at the grasping tendrils that dragged him toward certain death.
Slowly the tide changed. I’m winning. He cut and cut, leaving flopping brown tentacles in his wake. Almost there.
Too late, he realized his error. The vines surrounded him on all sides, forming a thick wall that isolated him in the center from which they radiated. A green, pulpy sac pulsated on the ground, and the vines shoved him toward it.
The sac split open, and the Sprout’s gaping mouth emerged, splitting out of the sac. As large as Treffen, it opened like a deranged, fanged clamshell, smelling of rotted vegetation. It rose up on a stalk to tower over him. No machete would cleave the hard green shell, and no arrow would pierce it.
Treffen fumbled at his belt, feeling for the right pouch. His eyes were locked onto the dripping mouth that opened toward him. Here it is! Please, please, please let this work.
Without looking, he heaved the entire contents of the pouch into the thing’s open maw. It snapped back and shut, looking as shocked as a plant-monster without a face could look.
Treffen dared a whisper. “That’s a gift from my mother, you cursed thing.”
The plant shuddered, trying to hack up the toxic crystals Treffen had tossed into its mouth. Its vines thrashed and bucked, and Treffen flattened himself on the ground, covering his head with his arms. All around him, the air was alive with angry plant flesh, jerking and convulsing.
In a minute, it was over. The Sprout gave one last quiver and flopped limp onto the earth.
Treffen peeked out from under his arms. Nothing in the clearing moved.
“Thanks, Mom,” he murmured, gripping his machete and rising to his knees. The plant was clearly dead, but Treffen was taking no chances. He hacked the huge mouth pod off its stem and chopped all the vines from their squishy base. By the time he finished, his hands were blistered from gripping the blade’s handle so tightly.
“Too close,” he muttered as he wiped the blade on his pant leg. “What was this thing doing so close to the Glade? And why are these people even here?”
Several human villages surrounded the Fae Wood, but no human ever ventured this close to the Glade. The presence of the Deeproot Tree was too much for them to handle. Only the elves, who were the Tree’s own people, born from Her very branches at the dawn of the world, could thrive so near to its pulsing, vibrant power.
Treffen needed to cleanse the dead plant’s evil taint, but that would have to wait. Those people need help.
He found them just outside the clearing, huddled together under a tree. They jumped when he approached but lacked the strength to run.
“It’s all right,” Treffen soothed. “I’m a Junior Ranger. I’m here to help you.”
The man tried to speak, but the poison in his system had swollen his tongue, and all that came out was a garbled drool.
“We’re from Cross Creek.” The woman’s voice was raw and bubbly. “We were trying to get to the elves.”
Treffen pulled a flask from his pack and eased it between the man’s lips. The man couldn’t swallow, but the elixir inside would stop the swelling while he could still breathe. After dribbling the liquid into the man’s mouth, Treffen rubbed a few drops on the man’s face. The oozing boils crusted and dried. He handed the flask to the woman, and she dabbed a few drops on her own skin.
“Why were you coming to the Glade? Humans never travel this close to the Tree.”
The woman’s eyes dropped. “We were out foraging for wild mushrooms yesterday.” She glanced at the man, whose eyes were drooping in relief as the healing elixir worked its magic. “When we returned to our village, it was under attack. Everything was on fire. We need help, and the elves are closer than any other human village.”
Treffen didn’t say that if their village was attacked the day before, it was already far too late for any help the elves, or anyone else, might give. She must have known it, too.
“We have Druids with healing power at the Glade,” Treffen began, but stopped when a noise in the bushes made him leap to his feet. He knocked an arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming toward the noise.
“Don’t fire, Ranger!” a male voice called from the bushes.
Treffen lowered his bow as an armored figure stomped into view. A helmet obscured the man’s face, and heavy plate armor covered his body.
“Who are you, stranger?” Treffen asked, fingers still tight around his bowstring.
The armored figure raised the visor on his helmet. “I am Sir Gawain Ursinus, Questing Knight in the service of light.” He said it like Treffen should know the name, but it meant nothing to the elf.
Treffen looked around. “Where’s your horse?”
The Knight scowled. “I do not ride.”
“Why not?”
Sir Gawain rolled his eyes. “It’s . . . a vow.” He turned toward the man and woman, still huddled on the ground. “These unfortunates need care. We must find them shelter and healing.”
Treffen sighed. The people needed to get to the Glade. But his solo circuit of the Wood was supposed to last two more weeks. Every Junior Ranger had to prove himself by completing the journey alone. What would they do if he came back early and without completing his circuit? Would he have to start all over? Would he be allowed to start all over? His throat tightened. Would he be eliminated from Ranger training entirely?
Then what? You go home to the mountains and tell Father he was right all along and you’ll never be a Ranger? Return to the dusty hallways of books and science, of droning lectures and endless scrolls, where the most exciting thing that could ever happen was someone proving a theorem that nobody else understood anyway?
No way. Even if they threw him out of the Glimmerdusk Rangers, he’d never go back.
Gotta admit, though, Mom’s little science project sure was useful today.
“I’ll take them back to the Glade and let the Elders sort out what to do.”
The man tried to stand, but fell back to his knees, and the Knight creaked down to kneel next to him. He paused for a moment before speaking.
“I’ve been summoned to Stonebridge. I was on my way, but you will not manage these two alone. I will help you.”
“Stonebridge?” Treffen rubbed at his legs where the Sprout’s vines had grabbed him. “From where?”
The Knight looked down for a moment. “From Crystalia Castle.”
Treffen raised an eyebrow. “You’re nowhere near Stonebridge. I think you took a wrong turn.”
A sigh escaped the silver helmet. “Perhaps. I may have become . . . turned around.”
“Lost, you mean.” Treffen sighed. “Humans always get lost in the Fae Wood.”
The Knight stood up. “The delay will make me late. Later. But you require aid, and a Questing Knight never refuses to aid unfortunates.” He reached down to help the injured man from the ground.
Fantastic. Two injured humans and one weirdo armored Knight. Everyone at the Glade will be so pleased to see us. But he had to admit, the help would be welcome. The woman seemed able to walk, but the man would need a lot of support for the long journey.
“Fine. You help him up and start off that way.” Treffen pointed in the direction of the Deeproot Tree. “I’ve got one more thing to do here before I can leave.”
He stepped back into the clearing where the dead Sprout was already starting to stink. Even in death, the dark plant’s taint was palpable. It seeped into Treffen’s nostrils and into the pores of his skin. The wrongness of it sickened his heart. He reached for another pouch on his belt.
Unlike the yellow crystal toxin he’d used on the Sprout, this pouch was full of a sweet-smelling, orange-gold powder. He inhaled the scent of it, and his stomach quieted.
All over the evil-touched clearing, he sprinkled the powder. Made from the shed leaves of the Deeproot Tree Herself, the cleansing dust glittered as it fell to the slimy ground in handfuls. It would take time for the Tree’s healing power to reclaim this patch of earth, but the powder would speed the process along.
Several kodama appeared around the edge of the area, drawn by the sweet scent of Deeproot powder. These spirits of the forest took the forms of animated plant life. There were small ferns that crept along on spidery roots and huge shrubs whose bushy arms reached out to the other kodama, embracing them in a green, leafy hug. The largest were Treant tree-spirits, smiling their woody grins. Indeed, the evil-touched Sprout he’d just killed had once been a gentle kodama, protector of the woods, until the Downs’ evil took root in its heart. Now the gentle plants hopped along behind him, and where they touched the Deeproot powder, it sparkled on the ground. Fresh green shoots sprang up in the kodama’s footsteps as their inherent magic combined with the Deeproot Tree’s essence to cleanse the taint of evil from this place.
“Thank you, gentle ones.” Treffen bowed to the kodama, who made happy squishing sounds and waved their leaves at him. He tossed the last of the powder onto the tainted ground and turned to rejoin the strange trio of humans heading for his home deep in the Wood.