by Rhett DeVane
Sim jumped up and drew his knife. “I’ll fight ’em, every one!”
Grant and Jen watched their elders and mimicked their defiant stances.
“There’s so little time. How can you . . . ?” Bernice’s eyes scanned the defiant group.
Taproot stepped over and cupped Bernice’s chin in one palm. “My dear, you forget. I have faced down far worse.”
“And you always have a plan,” she said.
Taproot tapped his temple. “One is taking form.” He addressed the others. “I can’t ask you to stay. Leave with Bernice and her soldier if you wish.”
The four looked at each other, then back to Taproot. Sim spoke for the group: “Nope.”
“I don’t mind telling you, this is a fools’ mission. Ah well.” Bernice opened her arms. “Might I have a hug?”
Elsbeth and Sim rushed forward and jumped into her lap. Jen and Grant watched, then joined them, with Taproot last. Elsbeth snuffled when she pulled away, then Jen. Sim held his chin up, but tears threatened his eyes. Grant watched the others, silent and stoic. Taproot’s eyes watered. They backed off and regarded the old woman.
“I don’t know what you have in mind, but I fear for those who cross you.” Bernice reached over and touched Elsbeth, Sim, Jen, and Grant on the tops of their heads, then patted Taproot’s hand. “I must go. My young friend took great risks bringing me this far from New Haven City. He shouldn’t pay with his life if we’re caught.”
Leaning on Taproot, Bernice struggled to her feet and settled the worn navy wool cape around her thin shoulders. “I can’t say goodbye. I’ll cry and never stop.” She looked them over as if she memorized each face. “You will always live in my heart.”
Taproot helped to steady the old woman, then escorted her to the place where the path started. The forest swallowed her image. In a few minutes, they heard the truck’s engine start up and fade away.
Taproot turned to the others. “Come. We have much to do.”
After they settled Grant and Jen onto sleep mats, Elsbeth and Sim rushed to Taproot’s den. The mountain man dug through a wooden chest, flipping books and papers.
“What are you looking for?” Elsbeth asked.
Taproot pitched items over his shoulders. “A drawing. It’s on a piece of onion skin paper, tied up with blue twine.”
Elsbeth and Sim crawled into the chest and shuffled through the layers of papers and old books. Many of the aged documents cracked and turned to dust.
“This it?” Sim held up a yellowed scroll. The string, faded with age, still showed a faint blue.
“Good work.” Taproot plucked it from Sim’s hands and grabbed a shovel. “Follow me.”
Elsbeth studied the faded diagram. “How’re a bunch of old grave markers going to help us?”
Sweat beads shimmered on Taproot’s forehead. “When I first moved to this valley, I found this old cemetery. I moved the stones to protect them, and me.”
Sim lay on his back and used his strong leg muscles to help Taproot shift one of the markers into place. “Got this one!”
Taproot stood the stone upright and pushed dirt around its base. “That’s the last of them.” He swiped his brow. “You must understand—lowlanders are very superstitious about their dead.” He double-checked the sketch. “Underneath us lie the bones of people who came through here, who knows when. Someone would’ve stumbled upon this spot and turned it into a tourist trap. Lowlanders love that. I would’ve been overrun with your people mucking up the place.”
“What about Nana B and her family?” Elsbeth said.
“One respectful family is different from throngs of ill-tempered, littering folks.”
“Okay,” Elsbeth said. “But why put the stones back now?”
The mountain man’s eyebrows flicked up and down. “I’ll use the same reasoning to get rid of the soldiers. Only this time, to spook them instead of attract them.”
“They kill people,” Elsbeth said. “Why would they be scared of some old graves?”
“We’ll use their fear of disturbing the dead. They’ll see these markers and hesitate to disrupt the sacred dirt.”
“It’s the army.” Sim scowled. “They won’t care.”
Taproot considered. “Possibly. But it might buy us a little time.”
Elsbeth rolled the map, careful not to tear the crumbling paper. “If it has to do with something sneaky, you and Sim can pull it off.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Nana B was wrong,” Sim commented. “It’s been two weeks and no soldiers.”
Taproot stuffed a clump of foxfire into his pack and walked over to where Grant, Jen, and Elsbeth weeded a patch of brook lettuce. “Just because things didn’t happen right away, doesn’t mean they won’t.” He rubbed his neck. “I have faith in the little hairs at my nape. When they bristle, danger’s coming. And they’ve been prickling like a poison ivy rash for two days.”
Sim grabbed his knife from its scabbard. “Bring ’em on!”
“We’ll see how brave you are when the earthmovers come,” Taproot said. “One wheel could snap that little blade like an oak twig.”
After a quick breakfast, Elsbeth, Sim and the two young ones retired for day sleep. Taproot bid them good day, then slipped from his hollow a few minutes later. Sim trailed him, careful not to make noise, watching every move the old magician made. Something big was up.
From high atop a hill, Taproot scanned for signs of intrusion. Sim listened, too. Other than an occasional bird call, the hills seemed at peace. Lulled by the warmth of the morning sun and the drone of bees collecting nectar, Taproot dozed. Sim tucked himself between two small boulders and waited.
A good while later, Taproot awakened with a start and Sim snapped to attention.
Engine noise, close! Taproot scrambled to his feet and covered the half-mile to their valley, with Sim not far behind. The mountain man hid behind a hickory tree and watched. Two men stopped in front of the burned-out cabin, then proceeded down the slope toward the brook.
Taproot slipped from one tree to the next, careful to leave plenty of vegetation between himself and the intruders. Sim mirrored his stealth.
One man pointed to the headstones, and they circled the cemetery, gesturing and talking in low tones. Finally, they turned and left on the same path. Sim heard the bray of the engine, then listened to it fade.
The magician snapped his fingers and grinned. Careful of twigs and leaves that might relay his presence, Sim returned to his burrow. What could it all mean?
The earthmovers arrived the following afternoon: two gigantic faded yellow metal dragons riding piggyback on flatbed trucks, with dirt-pocked maws wide enough to uproot the largest mountain poplar trees. Soldiers poured from smaller vehicles and unloaded equipment, exchanging jokes and bawdy laughter. Then they left in a convoy of rattling jeeps.
Taproot peered through the tall grass. When he looked back, he saw Elsbeth and Sim, their eyes round as a harvest moon. Grant and Jen cowered behind.
“Wha . . . what are those?” Elsbeth whispered.
“The end of our peace, if we don’t stop them,” Taproot said. “Back to the hollow. We have plans to make.”
“What if they come alive and start chewing up stuff?” Elsbeth asked.
“Silly girl. They can’t drive themselves.” Sim’s eyes sought out Taproot. “C-can they?”
“Two like them broke ground for the trash dump. No magic there. They need a lowlander at the helm.”
“My grandfather had a tractor,” Sim said. “but nothing like that.”
“Ever been inside the bowels of an engine?” Taproot asked.
“Sure. I helped him a lot.” Sim jutted out his chin.
Taproot clapped Sim on the shoulders. “Good. Between your knowledge and whatever we can find in my books, we’ll figure a way to slay the ugly monsters.”
“Why don’t you use magic?” Elsbeth asked. “Shrink them down, or something?”
“I can affect small gadgets and books, but my powers work b
est on living things. Those things were never alive.” Taproot squinted in the direction of the bulldozers. “All things—even giant, metal monsters—have a weak point. The smallest beetle can bore holes in a tree thousands of times its size and bring it crashing down, given time.” He pulled on his beard. “But time isn’t something we have, so we’ll have to find a soft spot and hit hard.”
Sim used a stub of a pencil and a piece of torn paper—dump-dive prizes—to draw what he could remember. “The engine looks like a big lumpy block with wires coming out, like spider legs.”
The group hovered behind him. The hearth fire cast dancing shadows across their faces and flickered on the cave’s walls.
“We might be able to stop them if we cut off the power or fuel.” Taproot consulted a battered reference book. “I can’t tell by these pictures what goes where.”
“My grandfather removed these things . . .” Sim tapped his temple to jostle the long-ago memory. “Spark-somethings.”
“Spark—could be the power source.” Taproot nodded. “If an engine’s like a living being, the vital fluids pass through tubes, like veins. I say, let’s cut holes in as many as possible.”
Sim drew his flint sword, one that had taken him several long winter days to knap into a thin sharp edge. “I can do that.”
Grant pulled out a smaller version of Sim’s weapon and jabbed the air.
“A hatchet I found at the dump is in there somewhere. I’ll dig it out.” Taproot motioned to a storage chest.
Elsbeth held up a finger. “I have an idea for Jen and me. Might not stop the engines, but it could slow down the soldiers.”
Taproot folded Sim’s drawing and stuck it into his coat. “Lowlanders don’t dig at night, usually. If we’re lucky, they won’t start until morning.”
They huddled in a briar thatch and searched the area around the earthmovers. No lowlanders. The glow from a three-quarter moon painted silver on every surface. A shadow fell over them and Benjamin Pensworthy landed on a nearby tree limb. Elsbeth and Jen dove behind a rock. Sim and Grant stood firm with their knives drawn.
“By the light, Benjamin! You scared a good twenty years life from me!” Taproot said.
“Sorry. Thought you’d want to know . . .” The great owl pivoted his head, his keen eyes registering every detail. “The lowlanders have a camp in the plateau before the foothills. A lot of coming and going, and going and coming.”
“Your timing here is perfect, my friend. Would you please keep watch? You have the advantage of seeing for many miles.”
Benjamin bowed, then spread his wings and lifted. He swooped once and sailed upward to settle high on a dead branch.
The stench of something foreign interrupted the perfume of the early spring wildflowers. Elsbeth wrinkled her nose. “The earthmovers stink.”
“And they’ll belch disgusting smoke when they come to life,” Taproot added. “You all know what to do. Remember the call for help . . . like the cry of a whip-poor-will.”
Elsbeth and Sim exchanged nervous glances. She looked behind them to where the young ones stood. No matter what, she had to appear brave for the benefit of Jen and Grant. Sometimes, it was tough being an elder.
Taproot crawled up one of the massive nubby tires of the first earthmover and threw a rope down for Sim and Grant. After three tries, the mountain man loosened the metal clasps holding the door to the engine compartment, and the three of them shimmied inside to a confusing maze of metal and wires.
Sim whistled. “Wow. Where do we start?”
Taproot unhooked the hatchet from his belt. “Stab and cut anything you can. We’re bound to do something harmful to the beast.”
While Taproot and the boys scrabbled over the engine, Elsbeth and Jen squeezed through an opening into the driver’s booth.
Elsbeth motioned to the long, rubber-handled metal levers. “All of these.” She pointed to a bank of switches and knobs. “Those, too.” The tang of human sweat mixed with motor oil lingered in the cab. Elsbeth smeared lavender and mint gel beneath her nose and handed the jar to Jen. “This will help you get past the awful smell.”
Using brushes made from frayed green branches, Elsbeth and Jen climbed around the cab, painting a sticky blend of putrid-scented plants, ground-up stink bugs, and honey across the controls, levers, and seats.
Taproot checked the position of the moon in the night sky. The mission had taken longer than he planned. They had jabbed small holes in the hydraulic lines until liquid drained out, but the spark plug wires resisted their efforts. The hatchet, dulled by years of exposure to the elements, proved less than ideal. Sim’s flint blades were no match for the thick rubber and steel. They managed to loosen a couple of connections, hopefully enough to slow the engine.
Taproot jumped to the ground and held the rope for Sim and Grant to rappel down. “Hurry!” The mountain man whistled and Elsbeth’s head popped from the cab. “You done inside?”
“Yep.” She wiggled out, followed by Jen.
The group jogged to the second earthmover. Taproot squinted up to the tree where Benjamin Pensworthy perched, a silent sentinel. The owl hadn’t moved. Good.
Since they knew what hadn’t worked on the first one, the second phase of tampering moved faster. In a few minutes, the group met at the edge of the road.
Sim cupped his hand over his nose. “You stink, Lizard.”
“Not like you smell like a flower, either. You’re covered with that nasty black stuff.”
Taproot pointed to a line of greasy ooze snaking from the earthmovers to the ditch. “That black stuff is the demons’ lifeblood, princess. I don’t much like it leaking into the ground, but better for Nature to handle that little bit than the catastrophe we face if they destroy our valley.”
Elsbeth had seen a few living things die. Some closed their eyes and looked at peace. Others weren’t as fortunate. For a moment, she felt a little sad for the earthmovers as they sat silent with their fluids draining into the dirt. She glanced around the group. Taproot with his beard matted with oil and grease. Sim and Grant grasping flint knives. Jen sniffling from the mint, her hands and forearms smeared with globs of the nasty herb and honey goo. A warm glow flowed from them and wrapped around Elsbeth’s heart. Her misplaced empathy for the earthmovers disappeared.
Nothing would take her family from her if she could help it. Not again. Not ever.
Chapter Twenty
Daylight had painted the eastern sky a soft yellow by the time the soldiers returned. Taproot and the group hid behind a patch of briars and watched.
Elsbeth whispered to Sim, “This feels like when I used to stay up on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa, except less fun.”
Taproot’s head snapped around and he held a finger to his lips.
“Sorry,” Elsbeth mouthed.
The rusty door hinges screamed when a soldier entered the driver’s compartment of the first earthmover. The group of defenders heard a series of metallic clicks, then the whine of the starter. The engine sputtered, backfired, and died. The second earthmover roared to life, its engine making peculiar noises for a few minutes. It fell silent.
The soldiers erupted from the cabs and threw open the hoods. They called back and forth between the motionless metal giants, annoyed at first, then angry. From the way they fanned their noses and wiped their hands on their pants, the special touches added by Elsbeth and Jen had not gone unnoticed.
The lead soldier barked orders and they grabbed guns from the nearby jeeps.
“Let’s go!” Taproot opened his pack and they jumped in. He took off in the opposite direction of the valley, deep into the woods. When he reached an embankment dotted by a series of boulders, he ascended. Near the precipice, he veered, diving into a narrow split in the rock. In a few feet, the slit opened to a high plateau. Taproot stopped and opened the pack.
“Wow.” Sim stood with the others near the edge and looked down. “Why haven’t we ever come up here?”
Taproot held his hand to his chest and g
asped for air. When he could talk, he answered, “A magician must have some secrets.”
From their vantage point, they watched one group of soldiers scan the roadside, and caught occasional glimpses of the two that searched the nearby woods. The men ran in frenzied circles, reminding Elsbeth of furious ants in a kicked-over dirt hill. The soldiers met up beside their jeeps, talked and nodded, and finally loaded up and left.
Sim let out a whoop. “We licked ’em! We licked ’em good!”
Taproot watched the jeep convoy disappear over a far hill. “Don’t go counting your honey pots too soon. They’ll be back. We won’t catch them unaware next time.”
Later that day, the military men returned with tools and jugs of oil and essential engine fluids. Two of the soldiers set up tents and dug a fire pit. The scent of cooking meat filtered through the leaves.
Taproot nodded once. “As I suspected. They won’t leave their equipment unattended tonight.”
“What’ll we do now?” Sim asked. “Wait till they fall asleep?”
“They’re on alert, so at least one will stand guard.” He pulled on his beard; his grin shone with mischief. “The moon is nearly full. We’ll spook them.”
“They don’t look like they’d scare,” Elsbeth said.
Taproot pointed to the sleep mats arranged on the ground of their temporary campsite atop the watchtower. “For now, get some rest. I’ll wake you when we’re ready to roll.”
A few hours later, Elsbeth felt someone jostle her shoulder. She yawned, stretched, and peered into the darkness. A ghoulish green face hovered above her. She squealed and dove beneath the covers. She heard a familiar chuckle and lowered the blanket enough to peek out.
The old mountain man glowed. The whites of his eyes and teeth shone in the moonlight.
“What—?” Elsbeth sat up.
Taproot flapped his arms. “Scared you, eh?”
Elsbeth heard the others moving from their sleep mats. They joined her, mesmerized by the green apparition.
“How’re you doing that?” Sim asked.
Taproot lowered his arms. “Easy-peasy. Smeared on a paste made with honey and foxfire.”