by Rhett DeVane
He poured a dark liquid into a pottery bowl and raised it to the sky. “In honor of spring and the new birth.”
Taproot drank first, then handed the bowl to Elsbeth. She sipped the bittersweet brew. The blended flavors of berries, honey, and something she couldn’t identify teased her tongue. Warmth spread like wiggling fingers through her body.
Sim took the next sip and made a face.
“Got a little kick, eh?” Taproot took the bowl and set it on the table rock. The animals filed by and took sips. A whoosh of air fanned from above and Benjamin Pensworthy glided to a silent landing and settled his wings.
Elsbeth rushed over and threw her arms around one of the owl’s strong legs. “Benjamin! I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”
“Word gets around about Taproot’s parties. I wouldn’t miss it . . . or seeing you again, miss.” He swiveled his head toward Sim. “Or you, sir.”
Elsbeth sat between Sim and Benjamin. Through the soft murmurings of the animals, she heard Taproot call her and Sim’s names.
“Elsbeth, bring your pendant and put it here.” Taproot patted the table rock next to the foxfire.
She looked at the glowing crystal, then slipped it over her head. After she placed it on the table rock, Taproot smiled down at her. “Spring is a gift, a reminder of nature’s cycles. Life is a gift, too. My gift to you, Elsbeth, is the means to have the one thing you hold most dear—a family. The joy you have given to my old, worn soul, I now give to you.”
Taproot cupped his hands over the pendant and intoned in a strange language. Then he stood back. Elsbeth watched a tiny crack appear in one end of the crystal. A small form clothed in cocoon silk crawled out. The creature studied her with round blue eyes. She stood two inches tall with long silken blonde hair and a serene smile.
Taproot chuckled at Elsbeth’s puzzled expression. “Meet your new family member. She comes from deep inside of you. You already know her well. All she needs is an earth name. You must provide that.”
“She’s so tiny.”
“She’ll grow. In no time, she’ll be looking you eye-to-eye.”
Elsbeth hunkered down and studied the little girl. Her skin wasn’t the creamy brown of Elsbeth’s, nor did she have green eyes. The child reminded her of someone, from before at the orphanage. The same features, the same hint of sadness on her face. “I’ll name her Jennifer, after a friend from back in the city.” She turned to Taproot. “You don’t like long names. I’ll make it Jen.”
As if she approved, the girl offered a shy nod.
“Family brings responsibility, Elsbeth. Unlike a human child, Jen holds knowledge inside. Yet, she has no words. The wisdom of how to use what she knows—that’s up to you to help her learn.”
Elsbeth returned to her sitting stone and patted the spot next to her. Jen descended from the table rock and joined her. The things she would teach Jen flashed through Elsbeth’s mind: talking, sewing, singing, dump-diving!
“This is the best present ever.” Elsbeth grinned so wide, her lips hurt.
Sim looked at Elsbeth, then down to her miniature version. “Great. Now I’ll be overrun with grr-urls.”
Taproot held up a finger. “Not necessarily.”
Sim huffed. “You didn’t give me a pendant.”
The mountain man pulled on his beard. “I’ll need your favorite possession.”
Sim considered, then hopped up and dashed into the darkness.
“No telling what he’ll bring,” Elsbeth said. “Could be a dead beetle. Could be a stick.”
“Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s something he loves,” Taproot answered. “I can make magic with most anything.”
Sim returned, screeching to a halt. He held out a black stone that glistened in the foxfire’s glow.
“You brought a rock?” Elsbeth shook her head. Jen mimicked Elsbeth’s expression.
After Sim placed it on the table rock, Taproot waved his hand across the stone’s surface. At first, nothing happened. Then it glowed with white light and split in two. A small boy stepped out, clad in a garment made of leaves. Opposite of the fair-skinned Jen, everything about the boy seemed dark—thick black hair, chocolate-colored skin, and deep brown eyes.
Sim clapped. “W-w-way cool!”
The animals chattered. Taproot signaled for quiet. “I’ll tell you the same thing, Sim. Family is about caring for each other.”
Elsbeth rested one hand on Sim’s shoulder. “You can do this. You’ve helped me, sometimes. What’ll you name him?”
“Grant.”
“Mean anything to you, in particular?” Elsbeth asked.
“The rock he came from was granite. So . . . Grant.” The little boy leapt from the table rock, landing squarely on the stone next to Sim’s.
What if Sim had provided a slivered branch? Elsbeth shook her head. Would the boy be named Tree? Or a bug—would he have named him Grasshopper?
Sim handed Grant a twig and a flint shard. Grant studied the way Sim held his blade to strip bark and copied his mentor’s careful movements.
Elsbeth compressed her lips. Wonderful, two of them leaving shavings everywhere.
Sim talked and carved. “Pretty soon, there’ll be lots of us. We’ll take over the mountains! Heck, we’ll take back the city!”
Taproot frowned. “Greedy thinking is what got the lowlanders into such dire straits.”
The great owl pivoted his head and regarded Sim and Elsbeth with intense golden eyes. “You must never take more than you need, nor create more than the Earth Mother can sustain.”
“Makes sense, Benjamin.” Elsbeth handed Jen a mug of herbal tea. The animals gathered around the table as the spring feast got underway.
“Oh, I suppose.” Sim rolled his eyes and waggled his head side to side. Grant mimicked the actions exactly.
Chapter Seventeen
Sim and Grant stepped next to Elsbeth and Jen, intent on Taproot’s movements as if they waited for him to do something wise and profound. Taproot stooped over the foxfire patch, inspecting the fungus-like growth. He heard the snap of leaves and jerked upright.
“What have you four been up to?” Taproot asked before turning his attention back to tending the foxfire bed.
“Swimming lessons,” Elsbeth said. “Then, we gathered fresh dandelion greens.”
“I took Grant to the dump today.” Sim hesitated when Taproot huffed. “Don’t get all wigged. We didn’t dive.”
When they continued to stare, Taproot asked, “Anything I can do for you?”
“We don’t mean to interrupt,” Elsbeth said. “There’s something I . . . er . . . we wondered.”
Taproot held up his hands. “Well?”
Elsbeth’s gaze flicked toward Sim. “We wondered how . . .” She blushed.
Taproot’s eyebrows knit together. “How what? Out with it. I’m getting older by the second. I don’t have all century.”
“What she means is,” Sim supplied, “how did we get Grant and Jen without . . . ?”
Elsbeth took over. “Okay, so we both had a mother and a father.” Elsbeth shuffled her feet.
Taproot held up a finger. “I think I know where you’re going with this. Children generally require both a mother and a father. Correct?”
Elsbeth and Sim looked at each other, then nodded toward the magician.
Taproot wiped mud from his hands. “Pull up some sitting stones. I could use a break anyway.”
After they settled into a semicircle, the elf tugged a flask of lemongrass tea from his pack and offered to share.
“I wondered when you’d get around to asking.” Taproot chuckled. “I keep forgetting kids are smarter these days, about everything.” He took a long drink before continuing. “One thing you must realize about magic. It’s very singular in its intent.”
“I don’t get it.” Elsbeth pursed her lips.
“Let me finish. Explaining this is like trying to put into words why the earth revolves around the sun, or why you can feel the wind on your ch
eek, yet not see it.”
Taproot sipped his tea. Sim and Elsbeth waited. Grant and Jen watched for the elders’ reactions. It never worked to hurry Taproot. From the way he cocked his head as his lips twitched, the answer had to be important.
“Most animals—lowlander humans included—are of what we’ll call a ‘split spirit.’ It takes the combination of spirits, one male and one female, to produce a new being. Follow?” He paused with his eyebrows raised. Elsbeth and Sim nodded.
“I asked the magic to concentrate your life spirit into much smaller forms. I don’t know why, but this causes the spirit to magnify, and you no longer require a separate spirit to reproduce.”
Sim’s lips formed a circle. “Wait. You mean, I can keep on and on, making more like him, by myself?”
Taproot started to reply, but Sim interrupted, “Wow! Cool times a million.” Sim jabbed Elsbeth. “Lizard, we can learn the magic and cover the valley! Heck, the world!”
“No, no!” Taproot shook his hands. “When I told you this came with responsibility, I didn’t mean only teaching Grant and Jen to speak and survive. You can’t go willy-nilly creating life. As Benjamin said, you mustn’t impose on Mother Earth’s generosity.”
“If there are others—whole clans—didn’t they create more?” Elsbeth asked.
“True.” Taproot picked at a sprig of grass that had taken up residence in his beard. “However, given the years they’ve been of one-spirit, they’ve chosen to restrict their numbers. Even in freedom, one must have rules.”
Sim snorted. “Who needs those? My father and his soldiers had rules. I hated all of their rules.”
Taproot stood. “There’re good rules and bad rules. Make sure yours are fair, and you’ll live in harmony.”
“Who gets to make them?” Elsbeth asked.
“Nature dictates most, up here. I make a few, based on years of study, and sometimes doing the wrong thing. For you? Suppose you’ll have to work together and figure it out.”
Elsbeth and Sim stared at each other for a moment before Elsbeth said, “This is going to be a challenge.”
Taproot resumed his work. “Most things are, princess. Most things are.”
Sim heard the grumble of an engine, a sound he’d almost forgotten. He hunkered down, calmed his breathing, and focused on the noise: Close. Too close. It came from somewhere on the cracked asphalt road leading to New Haven City—the same one he and Elsbeth had traveled so many months back.
Sim’s thoughts jumbled. He forced the important ones to the front. He had broken one of the rules. He was alone, in the daylight, away from the safety of the caves. Everyone had been asleep when he slipped out. What was the harm of a quick trip to the bee tree? He had mastered the trick of gathering without alarming the hive. Taproot and Elsbeth might get all bent for a bit, but they’d be happy when they saw the full honey crock.
The problem: the road lay between him and home. Not good.
Sim pushed fears of predators aside, jumped up, and ran as fast as he could with the loaded backpack. When he reached the highway, he knelt down and rested one ear on the ground. The vehicle was gaining. He shoved off and dashed across. One quick look back over his shoulder confirmed the source of the noise—a military jeep. He ditched his pack behind a bush.
Sim’s feet flew across the forest floor as if they barely touched down. With no thought to how grumpy the mountain man might be, he barreled into Taproot’s hollow and shouted, “They’re here!”
Chapter Eighteen
Taproot motioned for quiet. Elsbeth and Sim exchanged worried glances and gathered Grant and Jen close to their sides. The motor sound ceased. Now, they tuned into the crunch of dried leaves as something moved closer.
“What—?” Elsbeth whispered.
Taproot held a finger to his lips.
They watched from the safety of the hollow log. In a few minutes, a figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. A stooped old woman shuffled with the aid of a cane, pausing between steps as if each movement caused pain. She stood a few feet from the remains of the cabin. She wavered a bit then, as if she might faint.
“By the light!” Taproot motioned for them to remain, then crawled out and scampered toward the figure. “Bernice? Could it possibly be you?”
Bernice Grumly clasped her chest and staggered backwards a couple of steps. Taproot gently touched her arm and helped her to sit on a nearby log.
“Tapswillowipahzkroot?” she managed to whisper between breaths.
“Even if I didn’t know it was you for sure, I would now. Few people can pronounce my true name.” He gave her a careful hug.
When the old woman smiled, her eyes twinkled and the little girl she once had been shone through. “I convinced myself years ago that I had imagined you.”
Taproot spread his arms and twirled around. “Real as rain.” He noticed her expression lose its mirth and moved his attention to the spot where her gaze had traveled. “Oh, dear. Your family’s little cabin.”
“It is . . . it was . . . only a building.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “But the children . . .” The old woman’s gaze took it all in: the blackened hearth, the charred timbers laced with vines.
“Let me get you a nice cup of chamomile tea and a bite to eat. We have much to discuss.”
As Taproot passed where the others waited, the message in his eyes was clear: stay back!
He returned shortly with a steaming pot of tea and a basket filled with acorn flour biscuits, cups, and a honey crock. He spread a tattered red and white tablecloth, then unloaded the picnic.
Bernice said, “You’ve gone to such trouble.”
“One last touch. Be right back.” He dashed to the wood’s edge and picked a thick handful of purple asters and wild peppermint. “For you, my dear friend.” Taproot bowed and presented the bouquet as if it was gold for a queen.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Bernice’s features softened. “I remember when I played the fairy princess. But that was many springs past, and I am weary and far from that little girl.”
“But still as fair.”
“The children, did you happen to see?” Bernice’s eyes watered. “I never should’ve sent them up here alone.”
Taproot sat cross-legged in front of her and poured two cups of tea. “Drink this, little one. I’ll tell you a story to make you smile. Then, you must tell me yours.”
“A tale for a tale?” She nodded. “As we used to do.”
For the next few minutes, Taproot related the events of the past year, beginning with the unfortunate cabin fire. Bernice’s expression switched from sadness to hope.
“They were here? My Elizabeth and Simon?”
“Still are.” Taproot waved. Elsbeth, Sim, Grant, and Jen scampered across the clearing and stood on the tablecloth.
“Oh . . . my.” Bernice nearly dropped her biscuit. Her head jerked from one to the next, then to Taproot. “And two more, besides. They’re one-spirits, aren’t they? That wasn’t one of your tall tales.”
Taproot twisted his lips. “I don’t tell tall tales. Might embellish somewhat, from time to time.”
“Hiya, Nana B!” Sim flung himself at the old woman, nearly knocking Elsbeth off balance.
Bernice greeted Elsbeth and Sim with a gentle touch, then met the two young ones. The six of them sat in a circle, sipping tea and nibbling sweet breads, while Bernice told her part of recent history.
“The army moved us. Twice. The sick ones, they took to a different place.” The old woman’s lips turned down. “The rest, the ones who could travel, were taken to an old warehouse. They’re relocating us again, to a town across the Emerald Mountains.”
“What about Jennifer?” Elsbeth asked.
“I haven’t seen her since the first wave of soldiers. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” She hesitated and tapped her temple with one finger. “Elsbeth and Sim. I must get used to those new names.”
“My idea,” Taproot provided. “You lowlanders choose titles way too long for my tongue.”
“Good point.” Taproot wiped honey and crumbs from his lips. “If they’re rationing fuel, how did you manage to come up here?” He nodded toward the path. “Sim heard the truck from miles away.”
“A soldier brought me.” A ripple of fear shot through the seated group. Bernice added, “He’s quite trustworthy. He was friends with my daughter. Grew up two houses down from mine.”
Elsbeth said, “We thought you’d forgotten all about us, Nana B.”
“Never. I worried. I prayed. Every day. I feared that I’d done the wrong thing, sending you here.” The old woman paused. “The soldiers came for Simon . . . Sim.”
Sim leaned forward with a frown and waited for her to continue.
“Your father.” Bernice paused. “I’m sorry, Sim. Your father was captured. They searched for you, too. We heard rumors. Horrible things of what they did to our brave protectors. The families of the soldiers, especially the leaders.” She looked at Sim for a moment. “Your father was a good man. He tried against all odds. There were too many of them.”
Elsbeth rested a hand on Sim’s shoulder. Jen and Grant shifted closer, watching with sadness in their eyes.
Taproot poured another round of tea. The sedative qualities of the chamomile helped to soften the old woman’s news. “Why did you risk coming here, Bernice?” he asked.
“To find Elsbeth and Sim. To take them with me.”
Elsbeth and Sim exchanged glances.
“The same soldier who now waits in the truck told me of the army’s plans to build a base in this valley,” the old woman said. “The earthmovers will come soon.”
Taproot jumped up and jammed his hands onto his hips. “Destroy my home? Not if I have any magic left in my body!”
“I’ve seen you do amazing things, Taproot. But not this. I can take you all far from here. To somewhere safe.”
The magician stomped one foot, spitting angry words with every beat. “I. Will. Not. Leave.”
“Me neither.” Elsbeth stood.