Elsbeth and Sim (Tales from the Emerald Mountains)

by Rhett DeVane

  Elsbeth grimaced. “Suppose this is part of your brilliant plan?”

  “Respect your elders, princess. You don’t think I survived all these long years on my looks alone, do you? Practical magic has saved my life ten times over.”

  The woods fell eerily silent as the five foxfire-painted figures neared the soldiers’ camp. Even the crickets ceased their evening songs. Somewhere in the darkness, the great owl perched, ready for his part in the charade.

  The tents held all of the men except one who sat by the fire pit with a cup in his hands. His gun leaned on a rock within easy reach. Taproot motioned to Sim and Elsbeth.

  “Game on,” Sim mumbled. He slithered to the edge of the pavement.

  Elsbeth followed and took a position a few feet away. The metallic taste of fear stung her tongue. Still hidden in the briars, Jen and Grant watched Taproot for their signal.

  The mountain man emitted a low moan: a sound so unnerving and forlorn, Elsbeth shivered. The soldier’s head spun around. His eyes searched the wide ring of light cast by the fire. Taproot waited, then moaned again, this time using a funnel of curled paper to throw the sound in a different direction.

  The sentinel crouched and slid his hand to the gun. Taproot raised one finger and made two large circles. From the darkness, Benjamin Pensworthy swept low, dangling his talons as he zeroed in. He touched down on the soldier’s head, then flapped away into the dark. The man grabbed at his hair, then jerked his weapon from the rock. He paced, his head snapping back and forth, then upward.

  A few minutes passed. Satisfied he and his company were not under attack, the guard sat down and repositioned his gun on the rock. Taproot and the others waited, silent.

  Every muscle in Elsbeth’s small body tensed. Nana B’s wily tomcat must have felt this way when he stalked mice: watchful and ready to pounce.

  Then, the moment came. The soldier’s head bobbed forward and his chest rose and fell. With a banshee cry, Taproot leapt from his hiding place and dashed to the shadowy edge of the fire light. The soldier jerked awake to witness the old mountain man’s green glowing form, transfixed as his brain tried to process the image.

  Sim and Elsbeth jumped up and zipped to different spots opposite of Taproot’s position. The soldier’s head pivoted side to side. Grant and Jen joined the wicked ballet, dancing between the others.

  Benjamin Pensworthy executed another fly-by swoop, grazing the soldier’s head. The man broke and ran, leaving his gun in his haste to escape. Taproot signaled and the four smaller ones dove into the woods. The mountain man lagged behind and climbed beneath one of the earthmovers. He pulled his hatchet—now sharpened to a fine edge—and cut into the lines. Fuel splashed onto the ground.

  Excited calls of the newly-awakened soldiers sounded as Taproot zipped to the second earthmover. With two hard blows, he cut jagged slashes in its fuel lines.

  Using clumps of dirt, Taproot scrubbed the foxfire blend from his arms and face, then dove into the bushes behind the ruined equipment. He motioned to the rest of the defenders and they climbed onto his back. After a few switchbacks, the mountain man crossed the highway at a distant point and picked the way to the high lookout.

  Sim bit into a hot acorn cake. Honey glistened at the corners of his lips. “Did you see that soldier? Scared out of his ever-lovin’ mind! I bet they’re all gone from here for good.”

  Taproot took a sip of chamomile tea. “I’m getting too old for these shenanigans. When I was a hundred, I could’ve gone without sleep and food for days. Age is creeping up on me. Two nights of camping on this hard rock beneath these stars feels more like twenty.”

  “You’re not that old,” Elsbeth said in a comforting tone. “They surely packed up and left in a hurry. I can’t believe that’s all it took.”

  “Oh, it’s not the last of the lowlanders,” the mountain man said.

  “What do you mean?” Sim wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Elsbeth groaned and handed him a rag. Grant watched and wiped his lips clean with a cloth before she could offer instruction. At least one of those boys had manners.

  “The military are the muscle. They’ll call in the second line of defense now.”

  Elsbeth couldn’t imagine. “Seriously? Who?”

  “The scientists. Someone, perhaps two or three, will show up here. They’ll do a study. Always, a study.” Taproot bit off a chunk of dried wild plum and chewed. “That’s the thing with lowlanders. Always trying to explain things. If they can’t mow over something right away, or they find a thing they can’t wrap their minds around, they pour energy into studying it.”

  “How do we deal with that?” Elsbeth said.

  Taproot’s eyes held a vacant stare. “I can leave. Travel deep into the mountains where the terrain’s rough and lowlanders never come.” His shoulders drooped. Even his beard seemed to lose its curl.

  Elsbeth’s mouth dropped open.

  Taproot snapped back to the frightened stares of the little clan. “But I won’t. I’ll think of something.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Two weeks passed and the group settled back into a normal routine. Eat, sleep, search for food, and hit the trash heap for prizes. Oh, and teach the young ones, a huge task.

  “Jen never talks,” Elsbeth said. “She copies every little thing I do, but never says a word.”

  Taproot monitored the dump-dive lines. Jen stood watch, ready to blow Elsbeth’s silver whistle if either Sim or Grant’s ropes jerked.

  “I don’t have much experience with the young of your type,” he said, “but I have heard on occasion from the travelers that most branch into speech only when they have something important to say.”

  Questions bumped around in Elsbeth’s mind. The old mountain man seemed as mysterious as his ways, and she rarely had him all to herself. “Taproot, where did you come from?”

  “Figured you’d get around to asking me. Not like it’s some huge, amazing secret.” Taproot settled back and rolled a brown grass seed stalk from one side of his mouth to the other. “I was once a lowlander. Hate to admit it, given their recent history of ruining or blowing up every place they touch.”

  Elsbeth chewed on a dried plum. At first, eating near the dump would have made her stomach lurch. Now the stench blended into the background. She rarely used Taproot’s herbal nose salve.

  “I traveled with a circus, back in the day.” He smiled with the memory. “A troupe of dwarfs. Called ourselves actors. Did sleight-of-hand tricks, juggled a bit, and picked more than our share of pockets.”

  Elsbeth tilted her head and studied him. “I thought you were from some faraway magical place.”

  “Nothing magical about me. Not at all.”

  “What about all the things you do? The herbs? The cures?” She pointed to herself. “Me?”

  “Nature’s the magician, princess. I’m merely an apprentice.” He motioned to the earth and sky. “I studied the animals and the Great Mother’s ways.”

  “Why did you come up here?”

  His features darkened. “Greed ate the heart from the lowlanders. All they could do was fight and kill.”

  “Seems so sad. Being in the mountains all alone.”

  “I wasn’t. Not at first. There were five of us.”

  Elsbeth’s eyes lit up. “Where’d they go?”

  “Three passed into the light where all must return. One remains, somewhere in the deep mountains, an old wise woman named Dell-Fee. If she’s still alive. She might’ve passed into the light, too, by now.”

  Taproot’s expression grew wistful. “I stayed behind. Living and living and living. Someday, I’ll join my old friends in that marvelous light. Have no clue as to why I have such a strong spirit, one that doesn’t wish to make the change. But it’s not for me to ask.”

  They sat for a moment, caught up in musing. The thought of being without Taproot caused Elsbeth a blend of fear and sadness. She said, “My parents weren’t all about being mean or making war. And what about Nana B?”

  “Did
n’t say all lowlanders were horrible. Just a good number of the ones who’ve crossed my path—the ones busy stealing power for gain.” He considered a moment, then added, “If you had a pound of plums, and you didn’t remove the bad ones, then the whole batch of jam would taste bitter.”

  “Is there nothing good about the lowlanders?”

  “Books.” Taproot nodded once. “Books are the only things of real value. I’ve collected as many as I could over the centuries. If they would read the words of the wisest of their kin, lowlanders might have a chance to redeem themselves. Alas . . .” He sighed. “I hold little faith in that.” Taproot swatted the air. “I don’t want to talk about lowlanders anymore. I’ll get cross, and I’d rather be content on a nice spring morning such as this.”

  Subject closed. The end. No use prodding Taproot when he got that exasperated expression. Elsbeth glanced toward Jen. The little girl watched the dump lines with great focus. “You’d think our recent adventures might have been important enough for Jen and Grant to say something . . . anything.”

  Taproot stretched out on a tattered dump-dive quilt, tilting his face to the morning sun. “Sometimes lack of speech is a good thing. You should try it.”

  “Good spot today. Like, real good!” Sim emptied the pack and rummaged through its garbage-scented contents. “Here, Lizard. Special for you.” Sim handed her a black velvet box.

  “What is it?”

  “Duh . . . open it.”

  Elsbeth unsnapped the hinged lid. Inside, nestled between folds of faded purple satin, rested a heart-shaped silver locket on a thin chain. “It’s beautiful. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Lizard. Don’t ever say I dump-dive without you in mind.”

  Sim helped her with the clasp. She’d never owned jewelry, especially something so sparkly and delicate. The enchanted moment stopped when they heard the distant whine of an engine. Taproot jerked upright, and yelled, “Get Grant out, now!”

  Elsbeth and Sim grabbed handfuls of rope and pulled three times, the signal for Grant to surface. In seconds, Grant’s head showed in the midst of the rubble. Sim and Elsbeth pulled him to the edge and onto solid ground.

  “Hurry.” Taproot stowed the quilt and untied Grant’s guide rope. “It’s a ways off, from the sound.”

  “We going home?” Elsbeth said.

  “No, to the watchtower cliff. Here, climb aboard. We’ll make faster time this way.” Taproot held his backpack open and all four of the little ones scrabbled inside.

  Taproot reached the granite hiding spot as a white van pulled to a stop in the same spot where the military men had camped weeks before. They watched from far above as two humans emerged—one woman, one man.

  “They don’t look like soldiers,” Sim said.

  Taproot studied the lowlanders. A thin man wearing glasses and a long ponytail. A woman with cropped blonde hair. For the next few minutes, the two made several trips back and forth between the van and the clearing near the burned-out cabin, lugging packs of gear.

  “Dealing with soldiers is easy-peasy compared to the ones who claim special knowledge. They’re not readily fooled by ghostly tricks.” Taproot’s voice dropped to a murmur. “My dears, I do believe the scientists have arrived.”

  Elsbeth and Sim hid behind a fallen limb and watched. The light from a small campfire threw dancing shadows through the clearing near Taproot’s hollow. Behind them, Jen and Grant crouched. “Don’t go near the researchers’ camp unless I’m with you,” Taproot had warned several times in the three days since the white van appeared. Still, something about the odd couple drew Elsbeth and the others from the safety of their burrows. The day before, Taproot had left with a bulging daypack—all weird and secretive—with no clue as to where he was going or how long before his return.

  What harm could come from a little spying? Taproot would surely get past any anger when they reported new information.

  “The lady likes to stay up late at night, like us.” Sim kept his voice low.

  “Her name’s Cynthia. I heard the man call her that. His name’s Brian.”

  “Geez, Lizard.” Sim picked up an oak branch, slipped a flint knife from his pocket, and whittled. “You always have to know the name of everything.”

  Elsbeth glowered. “How would you like it if I called you yellow-haired short boy?”

  “Makes no difference to me.” A long strip of bark fell in a curl at his feet. “What are you going to do, anyway? Be her new best friend? She’s one of them.”

  “You forget, Sim. We’re lowlanders, too.”

  Sim frowned. “Were.”

  The woman’s head jerked up from the notebook she studied and she searched the darkened woods beyond the firelight circle. She stood and walked a few steps.

  Sim gasped and dropped his stick. Elsbeth held a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Come on out,” the woman—Cynthia—said. “I know you’re there.”

  Elsbeth and Sim looked at each other, then flicked their gazes back to the scientist standing inches away from their hiding spot.

  Cynthia folded her arms. “Let me tell you what I know. Those grave markers were moved into place recently. The bones we unearthed and tested beneath may be old, but not terribly. There aren’t any green-faced ghouls like those army grunts reported. I’ve never known a spirit that could sabotage machinery.”

  The group watched as the woman paced, still talking aloud.

  “You’ve moved my tools and hidden them. The tent fell on us in the middle of the night after you cut the lines. Thanks for that, by the way. Brian needs his glasses—I’m sure you filched them. There’s some kind of nasty goo smeared on my boots and the straps of my packs. And you stole three chocolate bars!” She huffed. “Not that I wouldn’t share with you if you’d asked.”

  The woman halted, uncrossed her arms and tucked her hands into her back pockets. “I—we—won’t hurt you. I’d love to find a good reason for the army not to cover this place with barracks. Brian feels the same way.” She paused. “Give us that reason, whoever, or whatever, you are.”

  Elsbeth caught the movement beside her. She had no time to stop Jen before the young one dashed into the orange circle of light.

  The two—one tall, thin lady, and Jen far below—regarded each other with a mixture of wonder and shock. Cynthia crouched down, her lips moving with no sound. Elsbeth understood how the lowlander felt. Before at the orphanage, when she had pulled too far inside of herself, the words that paraded through her mind couldn’t escape either.

  “What . . . who . . . ?” the scientist managed.

  “I’m Jen.” The voice came out like water music. Pleasant. Soothing. A smile wrapped around a song.

  Sim put his knife in his pocket, then grabbed Grant and Elsbeth’s hands. They stepped from the dark woods to stand beside Jen.

  Jen motioned to the others. “We live here.”

  Two days passed before Taproot appeared, disheveled and bone-weary. First, he slept. Then, the others told him of their latest encounter with the scientists. Taproot marveled at the small ones’ bravery. Even more, that the lowlanders had extended friendship.

  “Try one of these.” Elsbeth handed an acorn cake to Brian, a gentle, soft-spoken man who took in stride that he was sitting around a campfire with four pointy-eared little people and a scraggly dwarf.

  Brian bit into the confection. “Good. And you make this with what?”

  “A batter made from ground acorns,” Taproot said. “We don’t have wheat flour. One must use what nature provides. The sweetness comes from sourwood honey. Acorn flour is bitter without a little help.”

  Brian chewed. “Amazing.” He repositioned his glasses back on his nose.

  Around them, the summer evening settled in. Small peeper frogs near the spring sang love songs. Above, the great owl’s form showed in silhouette amidst the hickory tree’s branches.

  Cynthia sipped hot coffee. “We must find a way to redirect the invading ar
my.”

  “My thoughts precisely.” Taproot slipped a cloth bag from his pocket. “I think I might have found something.” He loosened the drawstring. Two small creatures crawled onto his palm.

  Brian studied the amphibians, awe painting his features. “Are those—?”

  “Red-footed highland salamanders. Yep.” Taproot smiled. “Had to go pretty deep in the hills to find them, but here they are.”

  Cynthia moved over for a closer look. “We thought these were long extinct!”

  Taproot gathered the creatures and slipped them back into the sack. “I know. I may live up here in—” His eyes darted to Elsbeth and the others. “—relative seclusion. But I do keep up with your science through discarded newspapers and magazines.”

  “If these live here, we might have a chance to protect their home,” Brian said.

  “Exactly,” Taproot said.

  Sim’s eyebrows knit together. “Those army guys will stay away because of some silly lizards?”

  Elsbeth shook her head. “Not lizards, Sim. Salamanders.”

  “Right. Look like lizards to me. And they help us, how?” Sim asked.

  Taproot chewed on a chunk of chocolate. “The lowlanders have managed to destroy many species over the years.” He tipped his head toward the two scientists. “Not meaning to put down all lowlanders, but you do have a way of rolling over anything in your path.”

  Cynthia blew out a breath. “True. Still, some of us want to change things, Taproot.”

  “When a new group takes over, the leaders love to find causes to make the others think their way is better.” Taproot swept his arms through the air. “Clean the planet! Save the environment!” The mountain magician fixed the two scientists with a solemn stare. “Here’s your chance. Document the existence of these salamanders. I’ll make sure they find a comfortable new home near our stream.”

  Brian considered. “If we allow the leaders to take the credit for discovering a missing species, they might cordon off this land as a nature preserve.”

  Taproot nodded. “They could build in the next valley, far enough away to spare the animals here. The flat land around the landfill’s perfect. They could move earth to cover the garbage, then pave over it. No trees to cut. Plus, roads lead to the site from the city.”