What would you know of sadness, child?
Have you suffocated,
In the shadow of a good man’s kindness,
And mourned those unspoken obligations,
His consideration carries?
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Hundreds of roots constricted the chestnut as the prarieplight heaved.
This was not the accidental action of some dumb beast as Callam had hoped, but an intentional one resulting in the tree jerking forward the precise moment the creature rammed the wriggling mass that was its core into the trunk.
“Crow’s foot!” he swore as he was nearly thrown from his roost. A branch cracked overhead; twigs and nuts scattered around him. Another crack brought the thing tumbling down. He heard it first, then a sharp pain shot through his head and ringing filled his ears. His jaw hung open as he yawned to relieve the pressure, too disoriented to climb away.
“Fir… liv… ju… naa… cim!” Lenora shouted. In the chaos, only the stressed syllables were loud enough to carry. The prairieplight’s shriek, though?
That reverberated up the tree.
It was a harrowing noise made by tendrils beating the trunk so quickly it sounded of skin flayed by lash. Bark shot off in all directions, and Callam reflectively covered his eyes. Then half a dozen of the beast’s roots began to char. Where before they’d burned so hot they’d blackened and broke, now the fire spread up the fibers, torching everything they touched.
Six more roots ignited, and the beast screamed again.
The smell of smoke set Callam panicking. He was there again. At the chapelward, watching the timber burn. Crossbeams falling everywhere. Orian’s brave shouts in his ears: “Help! Alice is stuck! Momma and Dadda, help her!” Why hadn’t he seen the truth and saved the boy first? Abandoned children didn’t beg for their parents. Those were pleas of a last resort.
I was too slow.
And why had those blasted beasts attacked unprovoked?
Just like the structure had groaned before it had crashed, so too did the chestnut’s branches begin to creak. “Jump!” Lenora screamed. Her voice came through more clearly this time. It helped to center him/ To shake the vision free.
Twelve more roots caught flame as he watched, the conflagration further enraging the beast. With a lurch it turned to the source, green roots hissing from the heat, and snuffed out its wounded feelers in the dirt. When it broke the earth in a fresh charge, Callam took his chance—he threw his bookbag down and dropped after it, grimoire in hand.
Grasses softened the fall, though a jolt of fresh pain shot down the back of his neck. Ten or more of the longer roots whipped to face him; they dragged behind the creature’s core, coiling and lunging with serpentine frenzy.
“Infer Intus, Ater,” he began, and the foliage around him went grey. “Infer Int—” the spell died on his lips as a corded root yanked the book from his fingers. He tried again, and felt no spark of magic—just the drain of mana and its accompanying backlash.
Things were going bad fast.
I’ll have to distract it.
Leaves tore underfoot as he raced forward, sandals slipping on the muddy undergrowth. Twenty paces separated him from the beast. Thirty, as it pulled ahead. Callam picked up speed, his lungs burning as he pumped his arms.
He’d still be too late. Too late to save Lenora. Just as he’d been with Orian.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Think.
What did he know about prairieplights? Weeks ago, he’d rationalized there had to be a secret to them, else the critters in the Tower would not survive their predation. Yet he hadn’t figured out what it was then, and the throbbing in his skull wasn’t helping him do so now. The pain worsened with each step he took. Only by the Poet’s grace was he not bleeding—a hand run through his hair had come back dry.
Siela was right to call me thick headed.
A bush scraped his leg as he stumbled over some rocks then shot down a shallow gully. Its thorns stung.
Think.
One solution was to lure the creature into the patches of sunlight peeking through the cloud cover. But how could he draw its attention without magic? And would doing so buy the time he needed to lead it to a clearing? Those gaps were not standing still—they shifted with the late-afternoon winds.
“I’m…. I’m down to scraps!” The desperation in Lenora’s voice drew from him a fresh burst of speed. “Two casts. Maybe… three.”
Thirty paces became twenty, then ten. Yet the prarieplight remained relentless in its advance.
“Climb!” he shouted as foot met stone and he leapt for the root coiled around his book. The words had come out more a plea than an order.
Fiber slipped through his hands, then another tendril wrapped around his leg and slammed him into the ground. Air was pushed out of his lungs. Soil coated his lips as he was dragged along the wet dirt before finally being released. Spitting, he groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. There was an irony to his shout that turned his stomach. What had he been thinking, trying to scale the Lighthouse so early into the semester?
Light…
Inspiration sparked. It wasn't perfect, but… if they couldn’t part the skies, they could at least create a beacon in the woods until the cloud cover shifted. Turning to face the corpse, he screamed. “Ignite the weep!”
He could only pray Lenora understood.
Flares erupted from the grass-touched twigs around her tree, catching on green leaves and spider webbing up into the canopy. Paperfowl flew away in fear.
Callam watched as the willow became a cage of red.
Unwilling to brave the light, the prairieplight shuddered to a stop—a healthy tree burned slow, but it burned bright. Dozens of thick roots circled the inferno, testing then retreating as the beast howled its rage.
“Lenora!” After forcing himself to his feet, Callam sprinted through the lowlands. They’d bought a minute, maybe two, before she’d have to escape her perch or risk severe injury, but that was all they needed.
Rays flickered on the horizon.
Several things happened at once. First, sunlight stretched across the plains, dowsing the prairieplight’s roots in gold. Those roots withered and splintered, forcing the giant beast to coil into a tight ball. Then, like a knot of snakes slipping into their burrow, the creature sank into the ground, its tendrils threading through the undergrowth until it looked more bramble than beast. It was a surprisingly silent process—the only proof remaining of the predator’s existence was his tome, now laying flat on the tangle.
He scooped it up as he ran to the burning willow.
"Lenora!" he shouted again, hands reaching for the smoldering twigs. Skin burned as smoke billowed around him. He coughed, yanked his fingers back, then glanced to his left and right. There had to be something he could use to part the weep. A stick, or a…
There. A spry branch that had broken loose during the fight.
Eyes watering from the smoke, he lunged for it—only for the sound of spellcasting to bring him up short. Six red motes lit the tree’s upper branches as he watched. Together, they burned down a section of the canopy and created a doorway for him to rush through.
Lenora hid at the other end. She seemed so fragile there, with her back to the willow’s trunk, her knees pulled to her chest, and her head down. For a moment he worried she was hurt, but then she looked up.
Soot darkened her cheeks. Relief flashed across her sweaty face. “I’m okay. Just…” Raising an elbow, she covered a cough. “A… a little warm.”
Callam didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Adrenaline still flooded his limbs, and he was having trouble clearing his mind of images of the burning chapelward.
This time, I wasn’t too late.
“Let’s get you some water, then,” he said.
By good fortune, the nearest pond was dappled in afternoon sunlight, so getting a drink proved easier than expected. Callam had worried the water might not be clean, but Lenora had assured him it was. She’d overheard an upperclassman claiming, “the Tower taketh and provideth”—an old-fashioned saying, but a true one. So, after a slight hesitation, he’d knelt and dipped his hands into the pool.
Rarely had he tasted anything so crisp. The liquid cooled his parched throat as he swallowed it down, and his muscles began to loosen from the backlash he was experiencing now that Rote’s potion had finally worn off.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked between mouthfuls.
Sitting by the pond’s edge, Lenora was all exhausted smile and steadfast eyes, though he knew better than most how easy it was to put up a strong front.
“I’ll live.” She exhaled, then rested her hands on her knees and dipped her toes into the temperate water. “But Rote’s not wrong. Any lackwit can see we won’t reach the staircase before night.”
“About that.” Callam stood back up and stretched, the movements a drag on his body. He was careful to stay in the bright areas not shadowed by the nearby trees. “I think I’ve found a way to circumvent the beasts.”