Plant Mage

I’ve been alone for 14 years. Alone in the woods. I don’t wish to return; I can’t return. Not after what those monsters did to me…

Sunlight streams in my windows. Dawn has broken. I make my way to my favorite window. Y’know, there’s nothing more cozy than bird watching with a cup of tea.

Outside my window, all I can see is trees. Trees... Trees... Trees…everywhere I look. It’s no surprise, really. Like I said, my house is built in the woods.

Winter was a bit harsh. Even so, all the trees pulled through fine. They’re like me, in a way… Struck with grief, only to rise again.

I sit, I stare, I watch; all around, new life buds. Some trees had flowers and now have leaves. Other trees had leaves and now also have flowers. Spring has, as they say, sprung.

“Oh, Brynne, you are such a funny one!” I say to myself and laugh.

Wait, what’s this? There, in the woods! A figure bursts from the darkness. I watch them flee, weaving between trees. Danger…but how?

These woods are pretty safe. I have walked these woods daily. I was about to go for a walk. Never have I felt afraid of the woods.

“Am I really about to head out there?” I ask myself, to which the answer is yes.

I open the door, my curiosity eating away at me. I shield my eyes, glancing around. It’s late spring, so it’s slightly warm out. I no longer see the figure, nor do I hear anyone…or anything for that matter.

I walk a distance and halt. Usually, the woods are full of sounds. Today, however, not even the spring peepers are screeching their usual songs. It’s as though someone has pressed the pause button.

I imagine the sound of my nervous heartbeat. Never have I experienced such silence this time of day. This sudden silence can only mean one thing. A hidden danger lurks just out of sight.

"Hello! Is anybody there?!" I call out.

My voice echoes over and over again. As if coming to my call, the mist arises. My feet swiftly take me deeper into the woods. Everything is being swallowed by the fog…everything… Not even the tallest trees can escape.

"Hello?!" I cry out again, still running.

I cannot see a thing! I’m blind! I keep running, going faster and faster. My foot catches on…something…not sure what. BOOM! I’m lying face first in the dirt.

I can’t get up… The pain flows through me like a paintbrush in a cup. I lose track of time, groaning in agony. Then, however, I sense someone staring at me.

"Are you dead?” a voice asks.

They don’t give me time to speak. I feel a grip on my ankles. Just like that, I begin to skid across the ground. I’m being abducted!

I let out a scream, not just in pain, but terror. As much as I struggle, I cannot free myself. Who is this person? Why have they come to my woods?!

“Let me go, hairy man!” I scream, just assuming it’s a big, muscular, hairy man.

"Shut up or they'll find us!" my captor shushes me harshly.

"W-who?” I ask, my voice faltering slightly. “Someone who will save me?”

"Not necessarily. Just someone who will kill me,” the person whispers.

"But...why?” I ask.

"Zip it! Enough questions. I’ll explain later, or not. I owe you nothing," the person says, clearly irritated with me.

I fall silent, not daring to struggle again. I have a feeling that escape of futile. If only I could see what’s going on. Hard to tell when your face is literally being dragged through the dirt.

Wherever we are going, it must be far away. My face is bleeding, dirt is getting in my cuts… Why has this happened to me? Couldn’t I just stop being unlucky?

My head feels like it’s spinning. I can feel some sticks catching in my hair. Then, finally, my captor puts me down. I roll over, turning my injured face to the sky.

I’ve never seen this part of the woods before. My eyes drift down to see a door open in a large tree. Clever disguise…I never would have guessed there was a hole inside the tree. I blink and glance around, my eyes stopping on a child.

A child?! My captor is merely a boy! He’s like, maybe 13? 14 years old? I’m in shock…no way is this happening… I mean, have you ever HEARD of a child abducting an adult? No! It’s unheard of!

"You're a child! How did you-“ I cut myself off as he gives me a death glare.

"Ah, shuddup will ya?" he whispers.

The boy waves for me to follow him inside. I get the sudden urge to run away. As I pull myself up off the ground, my eyes dart between the child and freedom. Like a whisper, something inside me tells me to stay.

Who is this child? What secrets is he hiding? I obey his demand and enter. After I get inside, he shuts the door, sealing my way out.

Compared to the bright morning sun outside, it’s very dark within. My eyes still sting from my trip through the dirt. I groan a bit, blinking, adjusting my vision to the dim lighting of the hideout. There he is, my little captor.

His long, peach pink hair falls in his face. Trying to look serious, he brushes it back with a hand. His attempts to smoothen his hair are as futile as any attempt I may make to escape. I’m still amazed; literal child, well, teenage child, with all the guts of a grown man.

“Soooo, you’re HOW old?” I ask.

"Old enough," he replies.

"Okay, so, where are your parents?" I ask.

"Dead," the boy says.

Oh shoot, I suppose that was a bad question! Still, though, he doesn’t seem sad about it. He’s more annoyed. Yet I still must find out more…

"Huh? Sorry… Well, how did that happen?" I ask.

"They're dead," the boy says, turning away from me.

"No, I mean...HOW did they die?" I prompt.

"You’ve got an entire bag of question! How many more do I have to listen to?!" the boy asks.

"I'm only curious. Why-“ I begin, but I get cut off.

"I ain’t answering none of that garbage. I am the captor here. Doesn’t matter WHO I am, HOW old I am, or WHY I am doing this," the boy states, clearly fed up with me.

"Fine...” I say.

I close my eyes. If I continue looking at the child, I’ll only imagine up more questions. There’s a bit of silence. I can still feel him staring at me.

"Did ya eat anything?” the boy asks after some time.

"No? Why?” I ask.

"Askin’ questions again, are ya?" the boy asks, and I can only imagine he is crossing his arms in disappointment again.

"No, sir," I reply, half teasing, half trying to get him not to hurt me.

"Well, you stay right there. Don'tcha dare move!" the boy warns.

"If I do…?” I ask.

"That's a question! But still... If ya move, I’ll be forced to deal with ya...and trust me...I don’t wanna deal with ya,” the boy says and I hear him snarl a bit like some sort of beast.

I hear him retreat. His feet padding across the floor. Curious, I open my eyes. He begins to set something up.

Suddenly, he’s holding wood blocks. I didn’t see where he got them from. Okay, the wood is set up, now what? He goes back to wherever he came from.

SCREEEEEEEEEEE SCREEEEEEE! I cover my ears. Sloooooooowly, he pushes a ginormous pot out of the shadows. I think the pot has got to be at least 8 feet tall, maybe 10. No…most definitely 10 feet tall…

“I would think pushing that pot would be easier with help,” I whisper, trying not to ask a question.

"So what?! I can do this myself!" he cries out.

About fifteen minutes pass. THUD! My captor gets his pot set up. I’m reminded of pictures of witches and their cauldrons. He’s like a little witch…

If the boy is a witch, that would explain his strength. I shudder a bit, the hair on my arms standing on end. I watch him work, grabbing jars of fluids. He climbs up the side of the pot and drops the liquids in.

What kind of potion is he brewing? Am I about to be killed? Transformed? Badly poisoned?! He struggles a bit to manage such a large cauldron. He teeters a bit, like a pencil on the edge of a desk.

"Don't fall in,” I whisper.

The boy turns to look at me. He raises an eyebrow, but not about my whispering. I feel my heart rate increase, nervous… What evil thoughts are going through this boy’s head?

"Hmm...just the broth isn't doing it for me..." he mumbles to himself.

Uh oh… Am I the secret ingredient? I know witches sacrifice victims all the time… I’m no virgin, but how would he know that? I wanna run so badly…

The boy studies me. Slowly, the corners of his mouth curl. Like a Jack-O-Lantern, he grins menacingly. Oh no… Doom has come.

"You!" he cries out.

“AHHHHHHH!” I scream in terror.

He jumps down from the cauldron. Lucky for him, he missed the flames. He approaches me. I thought he couldn’t look any more evil, but his grin continues to twist, pure malice glinting in his sharp teeth.

"You..." he says again. “MWAH HAH HAH HAH!”

He keeps on laughing, bending backwards. He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. I scream again, louder, unable to control my fear. He begins to panic, no longer looking so menacing.

"Shhhh! Shhh! Not so loud! They might hear you!” the boy shushes me.

"DON’T YOU DARE EAT ME!” I wail.

"I'm not gonna! I was just capping!" he says.

"How can I trust you?! You just wanna put me in your cauldron!" I exclaim.

"Cauldron? Is that whatcha call giant cooking pots?" the boy asks.

"It's a witch's cauldron, so YOU must be a witch!" I argue.

"What...? You think I’m a witch? I'm not one of them," the boy says with a huff.

"...Whatcha doing, then? You got your potions, cauldron, and threats,” I point out.

"Trying desperately to ignore that ya keep asking questions even after I told ya I won’t answer," the boy says, plugging his ears.

"I'm sorry, okay?” I reply.

"Humph... That’s cap. I bet you'll just go back to asking stupid questions again,” the boy says, walking away.

He doesn’t go very far. I don’t know where he got it from, but he’s now holding a chicken. A dead chicken. A whole dead chicken that’s been plucked and is still dripping.

I stare in disgust. I feel…sick… Back up the side of the cauldron he goes, clutching his dead bird. Plop! Down goes the bird into the cauldron.

He smiles. Perhaps the chicken has pleased him. Carefully, he climbs back down the pot. Swift as a hawk, he strikes a match.

A great billowing fire erupts. I scoot back just a bit. The fire resumes a normal size for the amount of wood present. Almost immediately, I hear bubbling from within the pot. For someone who claims to not be a witch, he sure is using a lot of magic.

I watch the boy as he rubs his hands together. He’s radiating an aura of joy…a nice change of pace from his usual grouchy demeanor. Wait, the billowing smoke is going to give us away! The smoke is flowing out of a hole in the ceiling that I didn’t really notice until now.

Grabbing a big spoon, the child begins stirring. I can’t see the contents of the pot, but I can hear it flowing. It’s like a churning river after a rain storm. I open my mouth to ask him about the hole in the ceiling…but I stop myself just in time.

The boy is still perched at the top of the cauldron, clutching is large spoon. He lets out a relaxed sounding sigh. How does he manage to stay balanced? Is he using magic again?

Either direction he falls could be deadly. Forwards, he’d fall into his boiling concoction. Backwards, he’d probably shatter his head. I worry about the kid. I know he abducted me and all, but he’s just a child…

I continue watching him, nervous. He relaxes, sitting at an odd angle on the pot rim. He leans forwards slightly, sniffing up the scent of the soup. He turns his head, as though staring at me. No…he’s staring past me. His eyes lose their sparkle, clouding over a bit.

I take a moment, identifying him. He’s a sickly pale color from lack of sunlight. As for his eyes, they appear to be brown, but almost artificially brown. His head is adorned with tangled, matted peach pink hair, but with a greenish tinge to it as though he attempted to dye his hair.

A distinct scar mars his tender young face. He’s a young child; I’m still think he’s about 12 or 13. No way is he any older than 15. I imagine he got that scar from tripping over something.

He’s dressed in an old raggedy t-shirt and shorts. No shoes adorn his feet and, as a result, his toes seem rather scuffed. He shakes his head suddenly. Perhaps shaking off whatever daydreams he was having.

He hops down from the pot, landing carefully. I don’t know if he burned his feet or not. They do look kinda red now. I don’t dare ask him. He might beat me up if I ask. Why am I afraid of this child?

"Should be done soon, for real, for real," he whispers, nodding his head confidently.

I’m tired of standing. My feet hurt. I take a seat on the floor. The boy glances at me, not approving of my actions.

I remain seated. Because of my refusal to stand, he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. No, I can’t remain seated…he won’t allow it… I rise to my feet, standing at the spot I was told to stay. He nods his head and turns back to the soup pot.