by Rhett DeVane
That evening after a meal of honeyed berries, fresh greens and cattail flatbread, Taproot jumped to his feet and paced, mumbling to himself. Sim and Elsbeth exchanged concerned glances. The mountain man often did odd things. Lately, he had acted stranger than usual.
Taproot turned to face them. “I’ve been mulling over a problem. I’ll need your help to make an important decision.”
Elsbeth tore off a piece of flatbread. “Sure we’ll help. Don’t we always?”
“Always is a very, very long time.” Taproot settled cross-legged onto a sitting stone. “Fact is: I am old. Older than I’ve told you. Older than I want to admit. I care about your safety and happiness, but I find it hard to continue to protect you.”
Sim jabbed the air with his whittling knife. “I can protect us.”
Taproot offered a thin smile. “I’m sure you can, boy.” He squinted into the darkening woods. “Winter is whispering in the night wind. Soon, the first snow will fall.” Taproot motioned toward their lean-to tent. “You won’t make it through the long frozen nights in that.”
“We’ll dump-dive for stuff to add to the roof and walls,” Elsbeth offered.
“That’s not the only problem.” Taproot stood and paced again. “You’re large creatures, you lowlanders. And you will only grow. Your type needs too much energy, too much food. We could work non-stop and not put away enough stores for the dead months.”
Fear settled deep in Elsbeth’s chest. “We can stop eating so much.” She motioned toward Sim and added, “at least, I can.”
Sim looked up from his carving and frowned at Taproot. “What’re you saying? You kicking us out of here?”
“I’m not kicking anyone out. Yet.” Taproot halted in front of them and tapped a staccato rhythm with one foot. “If you want to stay, there must be a change. Or you must return to your own kind.”
Elsbeth fought tears. A vision of lonely streets and empty shops popped into her mind. And soldiers, always soldiers.
Sim lifted his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t make us leave,” Elsbeth said in a soft voice.
Taproot looked first to Sim, then to Elsbeth. “I’ve taught you many of the ways of these old hills. The cries of the animals, the food, but I wish to teach you more . . . for when I am no longer here.”
“You sick or something?” Sim narrowed his eyes.
Taproot chuckled, then ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “No. I’m not sick. But I have no way of telling how long the magic inside of me will let me stay.”
Elsbeth stood and propped her hands on her hips. “Teach me anything you want, Taproot. Magic, whatever. Just don’t make me leave.”
Sim jumped up and mirrored her pose. “Me neither.”
Taproot pulled on his beard. “I have a certain control over things—mostly common sense and an understanding of nature’s ways.” He winked. “And a smattering of magic. I can protect you if . . . If I concentrate your life force into a smaller form, you will be able to attain greater wisdom and age.”
“I don’t get it,” Elsbeth said.
“I can shrink you.” Taproot held up his hands four inches apart. “To about this tall.” The old magician smiled at their shocked expressions. “Take time to think about it. Once it happens, you can’t return to what you are now.”
Sleep wouldn’t come for Elsbeth. She rolled over and peered through the moonlit shadows toward Sim’s side of the tent. “You awake?”
He sat up. “Yep.”
“I’m thinking about what Taproot said.”
“So am I.”
“I always thought about getting bigger, not smaller.” Elsbeth paused. “It could be kind of fun, maybe.”
“Sure could fit into little spaces. Could find all kinds of things when we dump-dive.”
“We’d be easy prey.” Elsbeth shivered. “The rats would be huge. And the hawks and everything!”
“We could learn to hide.”
Elsbeth strained to see Sim’s face in the shadows. “What if Nana B comes to get us?”
“She’s not coming,” Sim said in a sad, low whisper. “Don’t you get it? It’s been forever, Lizard.”
“Guess you’re right.” She sat for a moment. “What if we went back?”
Sim huffed. “I can’t. My dad’s a soldier.”
“What?”
“He sent me to that horrible orphan place to keep me safe.” He fell silent for a beat. “Like that worked.”
“You could find him. I’ll go with you.”
Sim shook his head. “I promised him I wouldn’t. The others would kill me because of him. Besides, he said if the war started again, he would be the first they captured and tortured . . . or worse. He’s the resistance leader.”
The same crushing sorrow Elsbeth had experienced when her parents disappeared washed over her. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Yeah.” Sim lay back, turned away, and pulled the covers over his head.
Elsbeth stepped from the tent and walked until she reached the clearing. Above her, the stars spread out in the night sky. As she played a favorite game of Taproot’s—picking out the shapes of animals in the stars—a sense of calm settled over her like a cozy cloak. A breeze ruffled her hair. The pine needles moaned a low song. The whoosh of night-wings passed overhead.
She loved these Emerald Mountains—the lush valleys, fern glens, and bubbling springs. So different from the city, with its tall buildings choking the sky and fear stalking the streets. No, never again.
Elsbeth lowered her body and pressed her cheek to the earth. How interesting the world might look from a height no greater than a dandelion stalk.
Chapter Eleven
“My feet hurt,” Sim said.
Elsbeth patted a soothing poultice of wet mint leaves on her own aching feet, then handed him a bowl of the mashed blend. “Try this.”
As time rushed toward winter, Taproot woke them early each day to forage. Taproot carried the filled crocks and baskets to an underground storage cave. Was there even one trail they hadn’t trudged with bulging packs?
Taproot plopped onto an oak root. His coat held bits of grass between the bare threads. “I really must take time to dump-dive for a better jacket. The winter wind will pass right through this.” He poked his fingers through a gaping tear.
“I don’t know if I have enough thread to mend that,” Elsbeth said.
Taproot grabbed a twig and used it for a toothpick. “Judging by the signs, I’d say we aren’t far from the first frost. Have you two given any thought to our talk?”
Elsbeth crushed a mint leaf, releasing its fresh aroma. “I have. A lot.”
Sim nodded. “Me, too.”
A few crimson leaves remained, but most littered the ground, brown and dried to a crackle. “I want to stay.” Elsbeth brushed her feet clean and pulled on a pair of socks. “Being small scares me, but so did leaving the city and that turned out okay. Besides, where would we go if we returned?”
Sim pulled out his pocket knife and grabbed a fallen branch to whittle. “Back there, soldiers are everywhere.” He shivered.
Elsbeth’s brows crimped together. “I’m worried about being smaller than everything.”
Taproot flicked the twig he used as a toothpick with one finger. “Lots of things will be smaller than you. Plenty of stuff hiding in these hills you’d never notice.” He scratched aside the top layer of fallen leaves to reveal several beetles and ants. “See?” He brushed the leaves over the small insects. “You’ll have me, at least for a few more years, and protection from my friends.”
Elsbeth offered a shy smile. “You’re our family now, Taproot. I guess you’ll help us figure out what’s best.”
“You’ll have plenty of family. You’ll see. So, might I work my magic?”
Sim stopped whittling long enough to glance toward Elsbeth. He jabbed his stick in the air. “I’m in.”
“And me.” Elsbeth nodded once.
“Very good.”
Taproot stood and dusted the dirt and chips of leaves from his backside. “We’ll have a festival. Celebrate the harvest.”
The mountain man whirled around and his jacket flapped like buzzard wings caught in a stiff breeze. “Work is almost over! Time to play!” He clapped and stomped, then flashed a toothy grin. “I love a good party.”
Taproot’s face lost its joy as quickly as it had appeared. “I need to prepare. You can take care of yourselves and stay out of harm for a bit, can’t you?”
Elsbeth and Sim bobbed their heads.
“Good. In two days, at dusk, meet me in the open meadow behind where the cabin used to stand. Gather fresh greens—whatever you can find by the brook—and berries. Bring a basket of nuts, cook some cattail flatbread, and brew a fall tonic like I taught you.” He paused. “Can you handle that?”
Elsbeth huffed. “You treat us like such children sometimes.”
Taproot patted Elsbeth’s cheek. “My dear princess, when one is well past several hundred years, everyone else seems like a child.”
The evening sky glowed purple-blue and the first stars popped out like pinholes stuck in a dark cloth. Elsbeth and Sim listened to the flutter and twitter of birds settling in for the night. Crickets sang in the shadows, and squirrels barked to each other in the treetops. The two of them had carried water-smoothed rocks from the creek and placed them in a circle as directed by Taproot. Bowls of greens, berries, and nuts stood ready on a central flat rock, and a pot of tonic steamed on a low campfire.
“What do you think Taproot’s planned?” Sim said.
Elsbeth stirred the tonic, careful not to let it spill over into the fire. “Don’t have a clue. Whatever it is, it must be pretty special. He’s been banging around in his hollow, singing all kinds of crazy songs, night and day.”
Taproot appeared at the clearing’s edge, laden with pots and baskets. In his wake followed a parade of frogs, rabbits, raccoons, possums, and squirrels.
“Beautiful festival weather, don’t you think?” The mountain man dropped his packs. The wild creatures hopped or crawled onto the stones. “I invited a few friends,” Taproot said.
Elsbeth had never been so close to the small creatures. No matter how quiet she tried to be, or how sweet she made her voice, they eyed her with mistrust, or ran.
“Why aren’t they scared of us?” Sim said.
She raised her eyebrows at him. No reason to wonder why most of them dashed away from Sim. He was forever jabbing a pointy whittled stick in their direction, yelling “yah” or some such silly thing.
“I told them what was to happen tonight and they wanted to see. I don’t use my heavy magic much anymore. Besides, they’ve worked as hard to prepare for winter as we have. They deserve this party, too.” Taproot opened an earthen crock. An odd glow filtered out.
Sim stared with his mouth open. “What’s that?”
“It’s called foxfire.” Taproot pulled out a clump of the shining moist earth and placed it on a rock at the circle’s center. “You can find it beside the stream in certain spots. It soaks up sunlight, then glows like little green eyes in the darkness. Won’t usually see it in such abundance. I care for a special, secluded foxfire bed.”
Taproot signaled for the group to calm. “Blessed is the light,” he sang in a clear voice. “The light is with us. We celebrate life. The light and the life are one. We are the light. We are one.”
The tune wound around and around in Elsbeth’s head like a lullaby. The foxfire glowed, bathing their faces in its peculiar light. Taproot raised a wooden challis, took a sip, then passed the cup around the circle until Elsbeth, Sim, and each of the animals had sampled the tonic. The bitter sting of unfamiliar herbs stung Elsbeth’s tongue and her eyesight blurred. Did Sim feel as punch-drunk?
Taproot faced Elsbeth and Sim. “Ready?” The elf motioned to a rock by the foxfire.
Sim jumped up first and grabbed for Elsbeth’s hand. “C’mon, Lizard. Don’t be scared.”
The swimmy feeling vanished. Elsbeth’s skin tingled. “What makes you think I’m scared?”
“Your eyes go all round and funny-looking. Gives you away every time.”
Taproot waited for them to settle onto the center stone, then he stood behind them and rested one hand on Elsbeth’s shoulder and the other on Sim’s. “Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to do so. Go deep within yourselves to where the power of life dwells.”
“Ahh Ma, Ahh. Ma, Ahhhhhhh Ma,” the old elf intoned. “Eh ma, Eh Ma, Eh Ahhhhhh Maaaaa.”
The animals chattered in unison with Taproot’s chant. A rush of energy pushed from Elsbeth’s heart and raced outward to her fingers and toes. Colors exploded inside her head, rainbow splashes like campfire sparks. Memories passed by. Flashes of her mother’s smile and her father’s strong hands. The house where they used to live. The garden filled with ripe tomatoes and peppers. A yellow kitten with a pink bow. Then, dark memories of the area war. The panic on her parents’ faces. Cowering behind the hedge where her father told her to hide, watching the soldiers lead them away. She saw Mrs. Grumly’s wrinkled cheeks dotted with tears. Then, the soldier with the kind eyes and the long journey to the Emerald Mountains.
The recollections faded. A second set of pictures scrolled past. A dark house with little happiness. A man with a stern face who watched and scowled. The blast of gunfire. The bitter taste of fear. Elsbeth felt the quiver of Sim’s hand in hers and realized: those memories belonged to him.
The images dimmed and a soft pink light seeped in. Elsbeth sensed herself lift, suspended on the night winds. Every part of her laughed, danced, and sang. Sim’s hand still firmly held hers.
After a time, the colors softened and the music faded to a low hum. Elsbeth’s feet settled onto the earthen floor. None of the animals chattered. The cricket calls silenced. The only sound she heard was the whisper of the night wind through the barren trees.
“Open your eyes,” Taproot said in a low voice.
“Wow.” Sim studied his hands and body, then moved his fingers to touch his face. “Freaky.” He looked toward Elsbeth. His eyes grew wide. “Lizard! Your ears are all pointy!”
She reached up and patted the sides of her head. “Oh, what is—?” She laughed and pointed toward Sim. “So are yours!”
Taproot shrugged. “Threw that in for a little special elfin touch. Hope you like it.”
Elsbeth had been so busy looking at herself and Sim, she hadn’t noticed everything else. She and Sim once towered two feet over the old mountain man. Now she had to look way up to see his face. The animals were huge!
“Don’t worry,” said a fox squirrel that sat on a nearby rock. “We’re here to watch over you.” The others agreed, talking all at once.
Sim motioned to the animals. “Hey, I understand what they’re saying.”
“The magic brings everything into harmony,” Taproot said. “There’ll be much to learn later. First, we feast.”
Taproot tossed fresh greens, berries and nuts. He put on a show of pitching clumps into the air like a circus juggler, catching them back in the bowl and cackling like a fool. Then he poured cups of sassafras tea and spread the picnic on a ground cloth.
“And to top it off, a special surprise for tonight,” the mountain man said. “My famous sourwood honey cakes.” He opened his arms wide. “Eat! Eat!”
Elsbeth and Sim stared at the platter of round browned cakes. Before, they might have wolfed down two or three with handfuls of berries. Now one honey cake looked large enough to feed both of them with plenty left over.
Afterwards, Elsbeth and Sim curled up between two cottontail rabbits and listened to Taproot’s tall tales. Hours later, Taproot carefully scooped up the sleeping children, nestled them into a down-lined basket, and bid the others goodnight.
Elsbeth roused as they left the clearing, long enough to think about how safe she felt. A warm sense of belonging washed over her, the same feeling from long ago when she had a family. She closed her eyes.
&nbs
p; Chapter Twelve
When Elsbeth woke the next morning, nothing looked familiar. Nothing felt familiar, either. She stared at her hands and arms and found much smaller versions. Fuzzy bits of memory remained from the previous night: laughter, good food, a brilliant light, and animals talking.
Animals talking? She shook her head. Impossible.
“Where are we?” a voice asked.
Elsbeth peered through the dim light. “Sim, is that you?”
The form moved closer and she let out the breath she had been holding.
“Course it’s me, Lizard. Who else?” Sim looked her over. “You’re different.”
“So are you.” She squinted around the room, taking in the earthen walls, the light filtering from a series of overhead holes, and the lines of bookshelves. The tips of gnarled roots covered the ceiling like skinny fingers. “Where are we?”
“Some kind of cave.” He rubbed his temples. “My head feels strange, like it’s full of cotton or something.”
Footsteps echoed from the dirt walls. Sim grabbed Elsbeth’s hand and they huddled together.
A large dark shape loomed at the rounded threshold. Elsbeth sucked in a startled breath. Sim squared his shoulders. His acting didn’t make it far; Elsbeth felt shivers noodle his body.
Two bounding steps brought the giant figure into focus. “Good! You’re awake. We have a lot of work to do.” Taproot smiled down at them.
“You’re huge!” Sim said.
“Ah, but I’m the same size. You’ve changed. It’s all about perspective.”
“Per . . . spec . . .?” Elsbeth tried the strange word.
Taproot leaned down and rested a finger on her shoulder. “Perspective. Things change according to the way you view them.”
Taproot ushered them into a second room filled with racks of drying herbs and flowers, this one warmed from the fire in a rock hearth. The magician motioned to a small table and two sitting stones. A bowl of mixed nuts and fruit sat in the middle, along with two walnut shells filled with steaming tea.
