Low Tide in Fel-Worth: Part 3

Read part 1! And part 2!

The story thus far: Dyarosa, a nymph and sister to Kellic the satyr, is being held captive by a gang. Kellic and Julia, a human witch, are searching for her.

Dyarosa wondered what Kellic would say if he could see her now, a captive to bandits. Probably call her a naive nymph–as if her very nature misquemed him–like he did when she dithered over their exodus from the cool forests of the Appalachians to this dusty city of Dallas. But they’d lived in such a fine, secluded grove, and–

Pelon poked his bald head through the plastic sheets. She almost dropped her shears in fright. She avoided his hollow gaze, focused on the delicate roots of the mother tree instead.

“Hurry it up,” Pelon said, gesturing with his fat-barrelled lead-belcher. “Or I will burn you and the hierba.”

“Yes,” she replied hollowly. Dyarosa knew she was dallying; one whisper, and she could coax this mother kanab into a new pot. After that, they would transport the mother to another location, to harvest her limbs again. The kanab with its saw-like leaves and sticky flowers was well prized among even her kind since time immemorial, so Dyarosa understood the tree’s value. And her own.

Had she been naive? Had a thousand years of growth and reflection still left her with the mind of a child? She’d asked herself the same bitter question day after day since she’d been locked in this dank room.

She thought she’d been shrewd, working with a human whose eyes were open to the greater mysteries of the world. Pelon had seemed so kind at the start, his smile shining brightly. He showed her the sad state of his plant, and they struck a bargain: some human coin for Dyarosa’s services for two days. Kellic was always harping on the need for currency–maybe this would show her brother how useful she could be.

But the bald man had tricked her, cast a ward to lock her in. The pulse of chaos magic made her fine moss stand on end. Getting close to the doorway singed her skin. Two days had turned into two weeks, just her whispering to the mother tree to make her grow quickly, and giving the bandits cuttings to plant. She’d forgotten the kiss of sunlight on her body, and a touch of her head found the wilted husks of her once rampant crown of leaves.

In the first days of captivity she’d imagined Kellic coming to her rescue. Later, shivering against the dirt floor, she’d found a new dream: her hands, wrapped around Pelon’s neck. Even in an endless age of wandering, the thought of killing humans had never even occurred to her. It was like thinking of a world without love, or trees, or magic. Even in winter was the promise of regrowth, but in death there was but one promise. It scared her.

Voices shouted from the grow room. Her dallying had to come to an end. She clipped the last root and crooned to the kanab; the mother grudgingly lifted her bones from the dirt, and allowed herself to be settled into the new pot. Behind her came the crinkle of the plastic curtain. She turned, carrying the mother tree in her broad arms.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Pelon grunted and gestured. She felt a tingle as the ward vanished. Another hard-faced man, weapon unholstered, watched to see if she’d run.

Then, on the far side of the room, the sheet-metal door burst open. Her brother and a human woman spilled through.

“Kill them!” Pelon shouted, thunder erupting from his lead-belcher. Somehow, the bullets sprayed in random directions, hitting everything but the pair.

“Kellic!” Dyarosa shouted.

Her brother, stubborn as ever, charged headlong through the grow room, scattering boxes of flowers everywhere under the harsh fluorescent lights. Within moments he covered the distance, crushing the hard-faced human to the wall with his horns.

The human woman intoned something and gestured with her hands. Pelon grinned and gestured back. In the center of the room, the air cracked like glass, an eye-watering rent in reality.

Then Pelon leveled his weapon at Kellic, and fired. The bullets found their mark.

“No!” Dyarosa screamed.

She had felt anger before, but it was a candle flame to the inferno of fury roaring in her breast. She called to the thick roots deep under this building.

They answered.

Gnarled white strands shot up through the ground, piercing Pelon in a dozen places. The man spasmed once and died. Dyarosa expected to feel some sense of satisfaction, but she only felt tired.

Her brother still breathed, though he was a ruin of blood.

The short human woman holstered her weapon and held up her arms in placation. “Let’s carry him outta here.”

“Little sister…you killed for me,” Kellic gasped, as they lifted him.

She felt empty inside, like heartwood gone from an oak. “Like you always said, I had to grow up sometime.”

WC: 797

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