Silverleaf

“Taiga, do you see it?” The elder smiled, her eyes squinted into half-moons. She awaited an answer, and he looked down to her muddied fingers loosely around a small sprouted plant.

The plant stalk stood only as tall as the fruit it would one day bare. A green swirl of magic drew up its stem from the earth, extending through its leaves and dispersing into the air.

“I see it.” He nodded, and the elder returned the nod.

“Our purpose is to find these pockets of balanced land, and grant life back to them. If the land is left dead for too long, it becomes easy for evil to take root instead. Do you understand?”

He nodded again. His eyes trailed around them, finding the adults whispering to the land, the hunters hauling the day’s catch into camp, the children playing amongst the tree roots and mosses of the forest. A tug at his heart startled him.

Why was he here?

He’d been here before as a child, though he couldn’t quite remember when. A wind rose the hushes of the dried grasses into chorus. The leaves danced, broken free from their branch, and twirled around them upon their descent. A hat of straw blew off an adult’s head. Laughter, and he ran after it.

“Taiga, are you paying attention?” The elder’s patience kept her smile in place, and he nodded to her again.

“When did it last rain here?” He asked, looking out towards the pale field and wilted blooms.

“It hasn’t. We’re here to restore the balance, remember? Once it has, the rains will return. Taiga, with balance, even the most stubborn of trees and weakest of flowers can thrive. And with that, they will heed your call.” The elder swirled her aged, thin hand around the sapling.

It responded to her, its leaves stretching up towards her fingers, and when its height halted this progress, its stem grew. Small, fragile vines reached for her, and wrapped around the elder’s fingertips. All the while, a gentle green magic urged it forth, giving it the strength beyond what the young plant could accomplish alone.

“This is why, Taiga, it is vital to recognize different magics. Too much of a single magic will wear the earth down.”

He knew this already. This is why the Guardian Spirits—

“Do you think I can do this one day too?” He asked, watching the elder’s nails thicken, darkening into the hardened bark of a tree. The vines held tight over this bark, and the elder’s magic flowed through her and into these little vines, feeding them.

The bark spread over her fingers, to her knuckles. But the elder paid it no heed, her eyes watching the plant grow under her own power. Taiga too, put his small hand out towards the plant, and mustered any magic he could. It trickled towards a leaf, though it dispersed before reaching its destination.

“Elder Maymary, we have visitors requesting an audience.”

He and the elder turned around. A young man squatted behind them, dressed in the yellows of leadership. Taiga recognized him as the elder’s apprentice. Beyond them, an older man clad in armor peered around the camp before turning towards their direction. The apprentice made eye contact with Taiga, and he smiled a bit before placing a hand on Taiga’s head and ruffling his hair.

“Hey young one, don’t worry, I’ll only borrow her for a bit.” But his tone gave away his lies and concern. The visitor wasn’t welcome. The elder let out an annoyed sigh, before standing.

“I’ve already told them no. How persistent.” She muttered, the lines around her mouth curled in displeasure.

No, this wasn’t good.

His hand gripped the elder’s robe, but when he opened his mouth, no words came to him. She paused, turning back towards Taiga. A smile spread over her again as she laid a hand over his head. “Oh my child, it’s quite alright. The lesson will continue. Patience.”

She turned, hardened her posture, and followed her apprentice to the man. Every step she took, quickened Taiga’s heart. It pounded within him, fighting for something he didn’t understand.

The voice of another adult behind him made his attention shift. He turned, and the man who’d lost his hat came stumbling back through the grasses. “There’s a huge group of mercenaries across the field. They’re camped out in the woods.”

“What? You sure?”

“I caught a reflection off armor. Looked a bit closer and saw a bunch of people over there. The grass said there were a lot of them. And the grasses never lie.”

Taiga’s heart stilled. Across the fields, trees shadowed any intruders. He listened to the wisps of the grasses, and touched his hand to a few tall stalks. But their whispers were foreign to him.

That’s right, he couldn’t communicate well with the earth yet.

Yet?

“Maybe they’re handling a job nearby?” One of the adults added, though more likely to calm their nerves than to serve as a real possibility. Someone left to go ask if any of the hunters knew more.

They wouldn’t.

The elder never returned to their lesson. As the oranges of the sky retreated beyond the horizon to the west, a calm returned to the people. The visitor departed, and although a few of the hunters stayed on alert at the elder’s request, night came as it always did. A consistent end no matter what chaos the day brought.

Taiga loved the night. Crickets and cicadas sang between the trees of the forest and the grasses of the field, and the wind carried their song to the stars. In return, the stars danced across the sky, and the adults told their stories of old to the young.

What awoke Taiga was not the heat of flames nor the warnings of the trees. It was the screams of his people that tore him from slumber and peace. He and the other children sat upon their furs and blankets, confused, afraid.

Orange light flickered across their tent’s cloth, and the shadows of violence and strangers stilled them.

What was it that caused them to move… a hunter coming to hurry them out? No, the silver of a sword glistening in the light of fire as it tore into the children’s hut… that’s right.

The girl to his right screamed, and it startled Taiga into action. He jumped to his feet as two men in armor climbed into their hut, their swords drawn and already bloodied. A young boy, half Taiga’s age, froze beneath the sword, and red dripped from the sword’s tip to the child’s stomach.

“There’s more than I expected.” One growled, taking a step towards them as the children huddled to the back of the hut. Taiga pushed his back against a wooden beam. He didn’t shake, but the hollow of his chest made him weak.

“What? Only eight kids? I thought there’d be more.” The other man let out a laugh that would haunt Taiga for years to come.

A girl older than Taiga pulled a younger child into her arms beside him. A tear streamed down her cheek, though her face betrayed no fear. She had chosen the path of a hunter not long ago, her quick wit and reflexes earning herself a spot amongst the tribe quickly.

“Taiga, can you pull that beam down?” She whispered. He pulled his arms behind him, pushing on the beam. The adults were supposed to fix it weeks ago, but its wiggle sparked the smallest of hopes within him. He looked at her, not daring to nod. She understood.

“At half distance,” she hid her face in the shadows as the men took a step closer. Her grip on the child in her arms tightened. Taiga eased his arms around the beam, clasping his hands around it.

One of the youngest gripped onto his leg, screaming. The wet of her tears and snot soaked his skin, and he hushed her gently. The other children pushed into he and the girl, and with every step the men made towards them, fear bloomed viciously within them.

When the men were half across the tent, Taiga yanked the beam behind them. He pulled up on it, ignoring the splinters digging into his flesh. Once it jerked up, he ripped it to the left, and pulled half the tent’s cloth roof out of place.

It fluttered over them, and the men, realizing what he did, ran at them. The children screamed, and Taiga threw the beam overhead, aiming directly between the men and them. The cloth fluttered off them and the men stumbled over the obstacles.

Free from the tent, it took no less than a glance to realize the chaos ensuing around them. Screams echoed through the flames. Burning trees and grasses surrounded them. The darkness of night shadowed the danger looming behind clouds of smoke and turmoil.

Bodies of his people littered the ground; a babe crushed under its mother’s weight, a hunter pinned to a tree with a blade from a felled enemy, scattered embers of the cookfire lit the clothes of dead harvesters. An arrow flew into the neck of a mercenary, and a hunter ran to the Taiga and children.

“Run into the forest! The trees will give you sanctuary!” He snapped at them, turning and kicking the head of one of the cloth covered mercenaries.

The girl nodded, grabbing the hands of two children, and running towards the burning trees. Taiga picked the youngest up, saddling her in his arms, and helping another young child wrap their arms around his neck. He heaved them up, and ushered the rest to follow after the girl.

They took off running, not daring to look back as the hunter let out a cry, and a thud behind them rattled Taiga’s nerves. The children cried out, running between burning trees they’d played upon only hours ago.

The agony of snapping branches, burning leaves, and crumbling ash screamed to him, begging for his help. But what could he do? How could he help? How could he even save himself?

Ahead of him, the girl ground to a halt. Nearly running into her, Taiga stumbled under the weight of the children.

“Alika! We have to keep running!” He yelled, his breath burning from ash and smoke.

He’d forgotten her name… Right, it was Alika.

Her shoulders drooped, and as she wobbled to turn towards him, blood blossomed from her chest, an arrow sticking through her heart.