So sometimes parts of a story you really like just don’t work with the overall narrative. That’s what happened with the lengthy below chapter I’m posting here. It’s about 5k words long, and features three characters, Devin, the titular Soulkeeper, Tesmarie, a time-controlling onyx faery, and Jacaranda, a soulless woman who behaves more akin to a robot than a human. They’ve been sent to a logger camp to investigate the mysterious disappearance of all the workers there, and it takes place after they’ve investigated the area and then delved deeper into the forest, which has changed a lot since the reawakening of magic and magical creatures.
Now bear in mind, this is unedited, no longer fits in the existence Soulkeeper story, and Tesmarie herself has had a pretty drastic change in her personality…BUT…the encounter with the songmother was just so much fun I feel like sharing it here for whoever has some time to kill and wouldn’t mind reading a story about a giant carnivorous mind-controlling flower.
The Now Cut Chapter Songmother Chapter!
What Tesmarie led them through could no longer be called a forest by Devin’s definition. This was like a strange jungle from a land forever lost to time.
“Are any of these poisonous?” he asked as they walked through a flowerbed full of knee-high buttercups, only instead of a normal yellow their petals pulsed between red and purple as if a heart beat within their stems.
“Not those flowers,” the faery said over her shoulder. “Though I’d still suggest not eating a winecup.”
“Winecup?” Devin asked. “I assume named so because of their color?”
“Color? Oh no, no.” She laughed. “Eat one of those and you will get completely sloshed in the bucket. I hear they’re super popular at parties. I bet no one ever mentioned how it gives your tummy the runs the morning after. No winecups for me, no sir, when I eat food I want to keep it!”
“An astute decision.” Devin stepped over a long, thorned vine as thick as his arm. He tried tracing it back to the root but he never saw where they began. Thankfully the forest was still open enough that he needn’t hack through it with his sword. His left hand never moved too far from his holstered pistol. Everything about the woods unnerved him.
“Do you still detect the men from Oakenwall?” Jacaranda asked from the back of the line. She’d asked that exact question every ten minutes. Devin suspected because she could not see any signs of their passage herself. Tracking often meant looking for telltale signs of disturbed nature, like a broken twig or a footprint amongst leaves. How did one track when nature itself was strange and twisted beyond your recognition?
“Keep asking and I’ll keep giving the same answer,” Tesmarie said. “Yes, the humans went this way, and yes, we’re still following. Sheesh. She’s a prickly one.”
More vines snaked through the path. Each thorn was the size of a finger. What animal had they been designed to protect itself against? Stepping over each one felt like crossing fallen razor wire. None of this was helped by the strange ringing in his ears, which he assumed a result of his unloosening in time.
“Tell me,” Devin asked, “Do you know why the forest has changed so much in this way?”
“Do you mean the vines and winecups?” Tesmarie asked. “You see changes like this when a songmother lays down roots somewhere nearby. Winecups need blood-rich soil, so that’s why you see them clustered around those vines. I bet a deer tripped in the center of the flowerbed. The poor thing. Poison is a bad way to go.”
Devin halted in place.
“The thorns are poisoned?”
Tesmarie cocked her head.
“Of course they are. How else would they kill a…ooooh, right. Forgot. Treat you like newborns. Um, so Devin, please watch your step around those thick vines. You won’t like what happens if you slip.”
Berating Tesmarie felt like berating a mischievous puppy. Devin rubbed his temples, wishing the damn ringing would finally stop. One misstep might mean a horrific death, if the faery was to be believed. He wasn’t going to go anywhere until his senses were in order.
“You mentioned a songmother,” he said. “What is that?”
“It’s, well, like the name says, sort of a mother to the forest or jungle. She sings songs to the animals, luring whole herds toward her and repulsing others away. It keeps the forest properly balanced between predator and prey.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“We must…we must go,” Jacaranda interrupted while tapping his shoulder.
“No delays, I know, but this is important,” Devin snapped. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. Goddesses-damn it, this headache was suddenly the most vicious migraine he’d endured in his life. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I don’t feel well.”
“We can rest a bit,” Tesmarie said. She looked terribly upset. “I knew I shouldn’t have changed your time. I knew it, knew it, I did!”
“No,” Devin said. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “The songmother, is she dangerous?”
“Not at all. Her song keeps nature in balance, and humanity is part of that balance. The only reason she’d turn violent would be to defend herself, and really, who’s so reckless and stupid to chop at a songmother’s vines?”
Tesmarie froze in place, even her wings. She dropped several inches before zipping to a hover directly before Devin’s nose. Her eyes were open wide. A tiny bit of color drained from her skin.
“Devin, you aren’t hearing a ringing sound, are you?”
Her words pierced through the noise. Ringing was all he could hear. He clutched his ears and screamed. From a thousand miles away he heard Jacaranda release a similar cry. This noise was unbearable. It shook his bones. It stabbed his mind like a knife. Devin felt certain blood would drip from his ears and eyes lest it relent. Even his own scream faded away beneath the torrent of noise.
Devin lowered his left hand using every shred of his remaining willpower. If he could reach his pistol he could end the noise, end everything. So much better a quick death than this suffering, this torment, this void…
The ringing stopped, replaced with a song. Nothing could compare to the dulcet rise and fall of its honeyed contralto. He heard no words, just a tone of pure, unadulterated beauty. A low tremor accompanied the singer, like an enormous church organ, only clearer, more natural in its resonance. Each note swam over Devin’s skin like the warm touch of a lover.
“Alma, Lyra, and Anwyn be praised,” Devin whispered. There was no doubt in his mind as to the source of the song. He shifted left and then walked. Each step closer increased the song’s strength and power. After the torment of the ringing, how could he show anything but joy to the bringer of release? Though he heard no words he understood the message within. Tension drained from his chest. His muscles gradually relaxed. There was nothing to fear in this forest. All was well, the dance preserved.
Something buzzed near his face. He casually brushed it aside and continued walking. His fear of piercing himself on a thorn subsided. They were no danger, not to him. Look, the thorns turned away from him as he passed. The forest was kind. Its mother was pure.
More buzzing. Persistent creature. His eyes narrowed, the shape sharpening into focus. A faery. Tesmarie, he remembered. She was shouting at him. Through great effort he forced his attention to her words.
“What are you doing, Devin? Turn around, you dumb-stubborn-pig-brained-half-cocked-grub-licking human! Turnaround. Right now, right-now-right-now-now-now-right-now. Turn! Around!”
Her actions were growing faster, her words more and more indecipherable, so he stopped bothering to pay attention. Much better to focus on the music. When dwelling on anything else, the terrible ringing haunted the edges of his mind. It wasn’t worth the risk. Best to push through the trees. Best to find the source of the song. The bothersome faery continued zipping about and shouting. At one point she flung her body against his chest. Silly faery. Like she had the strength to stop him.
The trunks of the black oaks grew thicker and closer together, much of their bark hidden behind ropes of enormous thorned vines. The beautiful song was immeasurable in power and volume. Shadows passed over him. He heard additional voices accompanying the song. Worshipful baritones. A wall of vines blocked his path, but at his touch they parted, granting access for him and Jacaranda. He stepped inside with tears of joy streaming down his face.
Tall oaks formed a perfect circle in the forest. Vines linked them, creating a curtain. Winecups carpeted the clearing, adding to the place’s wonder. Ten men stood in a semicircle along the outer edges, their hands at their sides and their mouths open. A deep baritone flowed from their throats in perfect synchronization, love and adulation expressed as a singular note. Devin and Jacaranda took their place amongst them and lifted their voices in praise of the songmother.
Its base was a rose pistil greater in size than a house, its lovely red petals opened in full blossom. A seemingly numberless collection of vines sprouted from below, some snaking along the ground, others tunneling deep into the earth to reemerge elsewhere. A second row of petals opened up within the first, these a yellow deeper than the sun. Speckled dots covered them like a blood splatter. Four stamen waved in an unfelt wind, their tips bladed and stained crimson. Center of it all grew the songmother’s heart, a feminine shape with her arms crossed over her chest. She showed no features, just a lush of yellow-green vines, blooming flowers, and pulsing veins. A gaping hole opened where her stomach should be, and from within its depths came the glorious song.
You are blessed, Devin thought. So few alive may witness this miracle.
A stamen gestured toward one of the men from the lumber camp. The weary man stepped closer on shaking legs. Spit and blood lined his dark beard. Devin could see his exhaustion. He’d given everything to sing to the songmother and make himself part of the chorus. His physical body could no longer sustain itself, but his will remained strong. The other men raised their voices, and Devin joined in likewise. They built toward a crescendo. A parting for the earthly form.
“Devin? Jacaranda? Don’t you see what’s going on?” Tesmarie shouted over the din. Devin stared right past her as she buzzed to and fro. No, he must witness this. No distractions.
Two of the stamen closed around the man’s extended arms, the other two encircling his legs. They moved with such gentleness, such love. The man sang to his heart’s fullest joy as the songmother lifted him up before its heart. The song washed over him from its open cavity. The air swam, alive with color and beauty. Devin felt a pull in his stomach and he cried louder, louder, singing her glory, singing her praise.
The vines tightened. Their bladed sides ripped into the man’s skin. Blood showered across the inner petals. The man’s voice quieted, but in his heart, Devin knew he continued to sing. The vines lowered him to the cavity. The songmother embraced his physical form. It swallowed down his imperfections. From nature’s womb they rose, and to nature’s womb they returned.
Tears trickled down Devin’s cheeks. He tasted salt on his tongue.
So blessed. We shall sing for an eternity within the bosom of unconditional love.
It seemed the faery was at her wit’s end. Her hand closed into a fist, summoning her shimmery little blue sword.
“I’m sorry, Devin,” she said. “I don’t know what else to do.”
He tilted his head toward her. What was this little faery prattling on about? Did he care enough to ask? No, he didn’t. He turned back to the songmother, and that was when she jammed the sword straight into his right ear. His every muscle stiffened. Instinct flung his hand toward his ear to shoo her away. Curses rose and died on his tongue, threatening to muddle the beauty of the song with his own vulgarity. No. Something was wrong. Blood pooled in his ear amidst waves of pain. His stomach vaulted into loops. A ringing echoed in his mind and then abruptly snapped.
Devin’s mind cleared from a deep haze. The song vanished, replaced with a wriggling, high-pitched whine from the mouth of the songmother. Devin looked to the heart of the circular clearing and he did not see a loving caretaker of the forest. This time he saw a giant plant that wanted to fucking eat him. Only years of training kept him steady on his feet instead of fleeing in panic.
“Does it know?” Devin whispered as loudly as he dared. Tesmarie hovered closer to his cheek.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “I still need to free Jacaranda. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Devin swayed side to side, mimicking the noise of the others as best he could. He watched from the corner of his eye as Tesmarie flew to Jacaranda and settled atop her shoulder. The faery glanced around to see if anyone reacted to her, and once satisfied, she clenched her fist and summoned her moonlight blade. This time she didn’t bother to give warning. In went the blade.
Jacaranda froze in place as if struck by a flash of lightning. Tesmarie quickly flew to the undamaged ear and whispered something to her. Jacaranda kept perfectly still. She didn’t even nod. Devin swayed, his mind awash with every instinctual cry of danger his body possessed.
“She’s waiting on you,” Tesmarie whispered once she returned to his shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”
“How?” he whispered back. “It’s sealed.”
Tesmarie spun in a quick circle above her head. He knew what she’d see. Every which way was blocked by a wall of slowly twisting and writhing vines.
“New plan,” she said. “We talk to it.”
“Talk?”
The word came out much louder than he intended. The songmother twisted slightly in his direction. Devin lifted his head and belted out the drone of the others, desperately begging the goddesses to protect him. Tesmarie hid behind his head. He felt her hands clutching strands of his hair, felt the softest butterfly’s touch of her warm breath on his neck. After an interminable wait the songmother settled back down, its base widening and shrinking. Digesting, Devin guessed. Holy shit he needed out of there this second.
“Yes, talk,” Tesmarie whispered from behind him. “Those men must have hurt it. Convince the songmother it was a mistake. You’re good at stuff like that, aren’t you?”
“It’s a plant.”
“It’s either that or kill it, and I’m sorry Devin, but I think it’s a little bigger than you.”
True, but he still had his sword and pistol. This wasn’t like with Arothk where his weaponry was clearly useless. The songmother pulsed with exposed veins, and while the four stamen were strong, they still looked thin enough that a good chop or two of his sword could cleave them in half. The first question was, could he do so before they shredded him to pieces? The second question was, of his single shot, where did he even aim?
“Can you free the others?” he asked, nodding slightly to the nearby singing men. Tesmarie shook her head.
“They’re much too far gone. I was lucky to free you two, and you were under its spell for only a few minutes.”
Devin’s frown deepened. If he were to save the loggers, he’d either need to kill the songmother or have it relinquish control willingly. Fleeing was not an option.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll try talking to it. Tell Jacaranda to attack only if I mess up.”
“How will she know?”
“When it tries to eat me.”
Devin broke from the semi-circle. The songmother showed no immediate alarm. The four stamen wriggled playfully. Its gaze turned to him and exhaled a warm burst of air. Devin stood before it with his hands held out to either side, in a display he hoped it understood as a symbol of peace. The other singing men turned toward him and watched with a disturbing amount of concentration.
“Hello there,” Devin told the songmother. “Mind if we have ourselves a chat?”
The other men ceased their chanting, a decidedly unwelcome change. Could it communicate to him somehow? How did one hold a conversation with a plant?
Stop thinking it’s just a plant, he inwardly berated himself. Treat it like a queen.
“My name is Devin Eveson, Soulkeeper of the Three Sisters,” he tried again. “I wish to plead for the lives of these men under your care.”
That seemed to go over a bit better. The feminine conglomeration of flowers and stems softly swayed. It bore no eyes to see. Did it sense him through sound? Scent? It knew he was there, of that he was certain. Two stamen pointed directly at him. The nine men bowed low with a drugged flourish of their wrists. Jacaranda quickly mimicked their pose.
The whine coming from the gaping stomach of the figure suddenly shifted and twisted, and sounded like a piece of metal being hammered into an irregular shape. Devin could not make out any words within it, but his ears did not hear what the other entranced men heard. They spoke in perfect unison, their voices pitching higher and weirdly feminine.
Then plead.
Nothing terrifying at all about that. Devin remembered the mixture of opinions Arothk, Lavender, and Tesmarie had shown toward humanity, attempting to appeal to similar lines of thinking.
“We…we humans,” he said, slowly gesturing to himself and the others, “are a foolish and stupid race. Whatever crime these men committed against you, I swear it was out of ignorance, not malice. The world changed in a day, but I fear it will take us years to understand how.”
Yes, spoke the chorus of men. Foolish and fools. The deer know more wisdom. The tick shows greater purpose.
Apparently what little respect Devin’s assumed the songmother had for humanity was still far, far too high.
“And like deer, we wish only to flash the whites of our tails and run,” he said. He kept his eyes on the bladed stamen and not the ‘face’ of the figurine in the center. “I shall fall to my knees if I must. Will you please give us that mercy?”
Something about the phrase must have angered it. The nine men hissed at him like angered possums.
Give. We always give. You take everything. You give nothing.
“A child asks of the mother and gives little in return. Is it not the same in nature? Is that not part of your song?”
He was treading on thin ice discussing the song in such a way, but when under its spell its story had seeped through him, a tremendous reverence toward balance and order so that all may blossom and grow. His line hit home: The four stamen withdrew to the center, the blood-spackled yellow blossoms folding inward like a shell. He could only guess as to whether that was good or bad.
You are not my child.
“I thought all living things are your children. Do we not all hear your song? Are we not part of your forests and hills and rivers?”
Devin was talking out his ass at this point, but he’d do whatever it’d take to save the lives of the loggers. Tesmarie said a songmother shouldn’t be a threat to humans, which meant they once coexisted peacefully. Could you guilt a plant? He was about to try.
“Give us time, and we will learn,” he said before the songmother might answer. “Forgive us our blind clawing in the dirt. Nurture us as you once did. Don’t abandon us. Don’t hate us. Be better than us.”
The red of the pistil flared with a sudden influx of color. The stamen whipped in circles. The stomach-mouth widened into a broad oval.
Better? We suffer, and you ask we be better? You hurt, you burn, you cut and dig and drain, yet we must forgive? We must be strong? You are the wolf asking the deer’s blessing. You are the fleas upset the dog scratches at your bites. You demand the tree forgive the logger. None of you are innocent. Half your race is blind to the other half holding axes.
“Wait, wait,” Devin said, realizing just how badly he messed up. “Please, forgive me, I never meant – ”
The four stamen curled together in pairs, their blades intertwining with frighteningly metallic clicks.
We are better, and for that I deny your place in my song. Drink of the winecups. Coat the world in corpse flowers. Take your rightful place beneath the soil. Grubs and maggots give you purpose. Ancient roots give you meaning. Flowers be your perfect monument. Bloom. Wilt. Forgotten. And then…
Replaced.
Devin dove to the side as twin spears slammed the ground where he’d stood. He rolled to one knee and reached for his pistol. If he could place a lucky shot before it struck again, he might have a chance, but he never freed it from the holster. The entranced loggers rushed him as a mob, grabbing and clawing at anything they might get their hands on. They clutched at his arms and legs. Devin screamed in both pain and frustration. The songmother’s four stamen wiggled in place. Devin couldn’t shake the feeling the damn plant was enjoying the show.
A brilliant flash of blue light swirled across Devin’s vision.
“Let-him-go-you-stupid-drones!”
Tesmarie’s movements were a blur, her speed otherworldly. Her moonlight sword carved a spiral along one man’s arm, two dozen revolutions done in the blink of an eye. The man screamed, his arm flailing away from Devin in a shower of blood. Devin freed his pistol, turned, and shot the man clutching his arm between the eyes.
He expected more to accost him when the dead gave way, but none did, for Jacaranda ripped through the crowd like a tornado. Her daggers fed the winecups blood. Each slash aimed at an artery in the neck and thigh or a deep vein in the abdomen. Devin was in awe of her efficiency. The strikes wouldn’t kill immediately, not like a stab to the heart or brain, but the men would rapidly lose strength and die. None could lay a hand on her. The moment an entranced logger turned, she was already past him, her dagger plunging into flesh.
“Devin!”
Tesmarie’s cry stole his attention away. His mind screamed at him for his foolishness. He’d watched only for seconds, but those were seconds he could not afford. It appeared the songmother was no longer amused with the show. The four stamen untwisted. Three spread wide and then sprung like snakes. Panic rose in Devin’s chest. Two loggers held his legs. There’d be no dodging. His death was inevitable.
Blue flash crossed their path. He heard Tesmarie scream something strange. Ripples shook the air. The bladed stamen punctured through those ripples, and immediately their movements slowed. No, not slowed, Devin realized. Time itself was ground to a halt. The blades pressed onward with inevitable progress, but the faery had bought him a few precious seconds.
Devin stopped struggling and instead dropped to his knees. He flipped his sword in his hand and thrust it backwards, straight through the eye of one entranced man. His lips cried out a strange, wordless groan and then he lay still. Devin pulled it free, transferred the blade to his other hand, and thrust backwards to stab the other man through the throat, ending the assailant’s life.
The stamen were near, so near. Devin ducked his head beneath the closest as it skimmed across his hair, taking several strands with it. He gripped his sword in both hands, needing all his power. His hips shifted. He slid between the second and the third stamen as their speed increased, Tesmarie’s power fading. Devin swung his sword as if he were chopping wood with an axe. It cleaved through the first stamen, dropping the its bladed tip to the ground.
The songmother retreated the other three and kept them closer to it. Thick red petals pulled upward like a shield. Devin glanced to Jacaranda. She was covered in blood and sweat but otherwise appeared fine, and the remaining loggers lay dead at her feet. The sight of their bodies filled his stomach with bile. Damn it all, this couldn’t have gone any worse if he’d tried.
“Stay back,” Devin said, the command as much for Jacaranda as it was for the songmother. “We don’t need to fight anymore.”
The songmother appeared to believe otherwise. The long, thorned vines interlacing the clearing tightened against the trees. Bark creaked and snapped. The vines crawled like snakes, shrinking in toward the songmother. Their long thorns glistened at the tips from poison leaking through the hollowed tops. The battlefield steadily shrank.
“There’s no getting out,” Tesmarie said. She hovered closer to Devin. The moonlight sword shimmered in her grasp. “We have to kill her before she crushes us.”
“Can you slow her down again?” he asked.
“I can try. I’ve done so much today.”
Devin dropped to one knee and retrieved his pistol. It seemed the songmother was content to remain on the defensive while its many vines closed in. He opened his pouch, grabbed a flamestone between his fingers, and slid it into the chamber. Once he fully cocked the hammerlock, he withdrew a lead shot, slipped it into the front of the barrel, and then pumped it in place with the ramrod. He performed all this with his left hand, his right never releasing the hilt of his sword, his eyes never leaving the songmother.
“We must attack it,” Jacaranda said. Her whole body crouched tightly, a coiled spring ready to unleash at a moment’s notice. “Waiting is a poor decision.”
“Not yet. We attack at once, all three of us.”
The ground rumbled along the outer ring. Cracks split the soil. More vines were making their way to the surface, which meant their time to act was rapidly dwindling.
“Go on three,” he said. “One, two…”
The songmother swept a stamen sideways through the air, straight for Jacaranda’s waist. It should have smashed her, but her reaction speed bordered on superhuman. She flung her arms backward and curved her spine like a circus performer. The stamen passed harmlessly above her by inches. A second stamen shot in from the opposite direction, its path lower and aimed for her knees. Jacaranda bounced back up to a stand, tensed her legs, and then leapt. Her body rotated like a top as she twisted into a horizontal line. The stamen swooshed beneath her, and this time it did not go unpunished. Both daggers lashed across its side, spilling a milky green liquid across the winecups.
Jacaranda landed on one knee. Her gaze remained locked on the songmother. The injured stamen hung limp in the air, bent at the spot where her daggers had slashed through.
“You forgot it understands speech,” Jacaranda said, a wholly unnecessary reminder. Devin’s idiocy in thinking of the songmother as a mindless plant was going to get them both killed.
“Then fuck any plans,” Devin said. He raised his pistol. “Just kill the damn thing.”
He fired directly into the forehead of the figure growing from the heart of the songmother. The bullet hit and passed on through. If it caused any real damage, the plant showed no sign. Jacaranda rushed toward the songmother, carefully dancing about the thorned vines pushing through to the surface. Devin holstered his pistol and joined her. They had to overwhelm the thing before it buried them in a tomb of vines.
The bladed stamen shifted and swirled, like huge vipers eager to bite. Devin watched them carefully. The first to swing immediately pulled back as a swirling blue light carved across it. Tesmarie retreated immediately after. More vines ripped from the earth, forming protective bars about the songmother. Another stamen lashed downward like a whip. Jacaranda sidestepped it, leapt forward, and hammered her daggers one after another into the heavy crimson petals that formed the songmother’s outer layer.
By the time the stamen thrust again Jacaranda was already retreating. Devin immediately seized the opportunity and slashed twice across the red petals. They looked at least two inches thick, and despite the sharpness of his blade it only carved thin grooves through the wood-like texture. These weren’t petals. They were shields. Devin swore as he ducked underneath a high sweep of a stamen, leapt over a sudden upheaval of earth, and dropped to a crouch at the edge of the clearing. His mind raced in a panic. Shooting it did nothing. So long as those huge petals protected the lower half of the plant, neither would their swords and daggers. He needed some other way to kill it, but how?
“Tes!” he screamed from his crouch.
“Yes?” she asked, zooming to a hover a mere inch away from his face. He held up a flamestone.
“Can you outfly these?”
Tesmarie stared at the red orb, then nodded nervously.
“I think so.”
“Then it’s up to you.”
Devin burst into a run. He held neither sword nor pistol. All the ground squirmed with vines, and he navigated through them like the obstacle courses his teachers forced him through during his early Soulkeeper training. His moves mimicked those of a dancer, not a brawler. Had to get closer. Had to near its center. The remaining two stamen kept close to center, refusing to risk another attack until it must. That was fine with Devin. He didn’t plan on getting within reach.
Flamestones were carved from the northern Roros caves already in perfect spheres. To break one open, exposing the interior to the air, immediately ignited its chemical reaction. Thankfully its surface was hard, requiring much more than a jostle or tap to crack. It needed the sharp spike of a hammerlock pistol. It needed the cut of a moonlight blade.
Devin pulled four flamestones from his pouch and lofted them over the thick pistil, past the blood-speckled yellow petals, and into the open mouth of the songmother.
“Tes!”
His eyes could barely perceive the streak of blue. It crawled like a lightning strike between the four red orbs. The moment that streak ceased the four flamestones detonated in a burst of fire and smoke. Amidst the explosion he saw Tesmarie rolling through the air, her body limp and her wings still. Devin hopped over two vines and then lunged, barely catching her before she landed atop another of the vines. He cradled her in his palm, his breath held in his chest. The faery let out a soft groan. Her diamond eyes fluttered open.
“Did-we-kill-it?”
Devin looked to the songmother. Fire consumed it, the plant’s yellow petals curled inward like burning paper. Vines shook with spasms, but already he saw their color fading. He spared a glance to Jacaranda. The woman stood near the edge of the clearing. Her daggers twirled in her hands, her eyes never leaving the songmother’s inferno.
“I think we did,” he said, smiling down at her. “All thanks to you, Tes.”
“Silly humans, always needing me to save you.” She coughed. “Next time you’re in trouble I might not be so nice.”
“Here’s hoping there isn’t a next time.”
Tesmarie curled against his palm and placed her head upon his thumb. Her eyes closed.
“There’s always a next time with you humans,” she said softly. “Such silly creatures. Might you carry me? I need to rest.”
“Of course,” he said. He braced his palm against his stomach and turned to see Jacaranda hacking a way out through the curtain of vines.
“The loggers are dead,” the soulless woman stated matter-of-factly. “There is no reason to remain.”
“Then by all means,” Devin said, lacking any strength to argue. “Lead the way.”
