The Rite of Spring

I was already late in following you by three full days, so I didn’t want to have any more delays; I took the bare essentials and made my way into the forest. Your trail was much easier to follow than I imagined it would be; the refuse of your campfires combined with the odd tracks that your boots left in the soft earth made it a fairly simple task. The location where you ended up was the biggest surprise for me.

It was the day after I’d set out to find you. I’d made camp at the base of a small hill the night before and the auspicious location as well as the recent sign of disturbance in the undergrowth led me to believe that you were close. It was, relatively speaking, an unfounded instinct, but since my instincts were rarely so off target I decided to follow it. As soon as the morning mist thinned out enough for me to see, I made my way up the hill. When I made it to the summit, past all of the trees and bramble, I could see in the valley below that there was a cabin surrounded by groves of trees I’d never seen before. Near the sides of the cabin were what looked like planted rows of crops of some kind, which I thought couldn’t possibly be right since who the hell would have the time to plant, water, and harvest all of them, and still be able fend for themselves? Unbelief turning into curiosity, and curiosity hardening into caution, I ambled my way down the side of the hill, trying not to make too much noise, and approached the cabin.

The land immediately surrounding the cabin was flat and grassy, and save for the groupings of trees, bushes, and shrubs that I still couldn’t recognize even up close, it was fairly open terrain. Hills surrounded this enclave on three sides; the cabin’s front faced towards a natural path that weaved through the mountains. As I snuck around to the back of the cabin and saw the strange plant life and the rows of crops it suddenly dawned on me that this must be some sort of special refuge or hideout, though for who and for what purpose I could only guess. The cabin itself was also remarkably intact. I’d seen enough ruined towns and cities in these hills to know when something’s abandoned, and this cabin was clearly still being occupied and cared for. With this in mind I looked through the back windows before entering to see if anyone was inside. It looked to be a room for storing farming tools: some rakes, some hoes, a few bags with what looked like dirt in them, but no one to be seen.

I entered through the back door into the tool shed, and it looked as though I could enter the main part of the cabin through the door on the other side of the room. I opened the door slowly, trying to be careful, only for it make a very loud creaking sound that reverberated through the entire cabin. Knowing damn well that all subtlety had been lost I simply threw the door open and entered. The hallway that the door opened into had three doors on each wall going down, which probably meant that it had been or still was an inn or a dormitory of some kind, though for whom was still a mystery. I pressed on towards what I believed was the kitchen, all the while wondering whether I would use my sigil on the people who might be there.

The sigil was a series of concentric circles and glyphs that began on my hand and wrapped themselves around my entire right arm and shoulder, stopping at my collar bone. It was a gift for my 18th birthday, after I’d been hounding you to draw one for me for gods knows how long. The process was a hell of a lot less pleasant than I’d thought it’d be; from the first part of the sigil on the palm of my hand, to the last part around my shoulder it took a whole month for you to finish drawing it. It was only after the feeling came back to my arm a week later that you told me what the sigil was for and how to use it.

“Complete deconstruction,” you said.

“What the hell is deconstruction?” I said, rubbing my still sore arm.

“I guess destruction would be a simpler way of putting it.”

You thought for a bit about how to explain it to me. A bush, a tree, a few birds flying overhead; you finally took a deep breath and told me:

“That sigil, simply put, will let you break down matter on a macro and molecular level, essentially allowing you to tear anything apart.”

“Yeah, but…” looking confused at my arm, “…how do I use it? I mean, you always talk about magic and shit, but you never go beyond saying someone just did it.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Simply put…”

“Magic is an innate force of nature,” I began whispering.

The instructions had become a mantra that I said to myself whenever I was overly stressed or overwhelmed with emotion. As I searched the kitchen, cluttered with barrels, cabinets and the like, I knew I had to find some way not to tear the whole place down looking for you. I checked one of the counters first; on it was a bowl, a pestle, and on a white cloth next to them was a red, powdery substance.

“Using magic means drawing from this force…”

I dabbed some of the powder on my finger. Sniff, sniff: a strong and familiar smell, like the bales of hay that I remembered playing in as a child. It had a somewhat bitter taste but it didn’t seem like it was poisonous or caustic. I wiped it off my finger and checked the cupboard stationed above the counter.

“…to perform some action or to effect change in the physical world.”

There were cans of various vegetables lining every shelf; I picked from the lowest one. Sweet corn. It might taste less than great but like you always told me: as long as the seal isn’t broken it’s still good to eat, no exceptions. I take a few of them and put them in my pack.

“To draw from the magical force one must either have a sigil which guides the energy…”

I moved on to what looked to be at one point a sink. It was filled with water, and floating in it were fruits of some kind, bright ones that I’d only seen painted on the faces of cans. I decided not to eat them since I didn’t know whether they needed to be prepared for consumption or not. I turned the handle on the sink but nothing came out; I reasoned that it must’ve been rainwater or something that the owner had brought in. Then again I should’ve known better. Sinks never work. I turned to the table at the center of the room.

“…or be born with an inherent connection to it; such a person borne is called a mage.”

On the table were flowers, bulbs, grasses, and various carved effigies of what seemed to be a woman with her hands together. There was also a bag on the table with a large number of chestnuts spilling out. Five chairs had been placed at the table, all of them in good condition. One chair, however, had been knocked over on the side of the table across from me. I moved towards it.

“To perform is to use one’s mind to gather the energy along the desired lines of power…”

Next to it, to my indescribable shock, was the wooden framed backpack that you took on your journey here. I bent down to check its contents; three of your canteens were empty and six pouches of your meat were eaten. To me there were two possibilities: You’d either come to this place to rest and would be back after a short while, or you’d come to this place to rest, got murdered then robbed, and the robbers simply left this to lure anyone dumb enough to come find you. The second possibility was agitating me something awful when, at the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the shadow of the room’s corner. I moved to address it. The final part of my soothing mantra parted my lips.

“…focus it, and then project it into the world, performing the desired action.”

As I moved closer the shadow revealed itself to be a small girl, blonde and 15 years old at most. She sobbed as she recoiled further into her corner, and as I was about to speak to her to try and get some information, a peculiar smell overwhelmed me: a strong and familiar smell, like the bales of hay that I remembered playing in as a child. Last I remembered powders couldn’t get up and walk.

I turned to look behind me only to see a red haired woman about to swing a chair down at me. Right as it was about to connect I swung my hand at the chair, and my magic tore it into a thousand splinters that blew in her face. The flashing arches of energy surprised her and she took a few steps back, and as I stood up to prepare for another assault another figure came at me from my left. She made a much slower approach and had dropped her knife and raised her hands as a sign of surrender. I could see that this brunette had been hiding in an overturned barrel; the redhead had been doing the same with a barrel whose mouth was turned away from the back entrance. In both cases it would’ve been impossible to see either of them if one came in from the back, and a front entry would’ve been greeted with a chair to the face or a knife to the head. They’d been expecting someone.

“Please, please, we…” she got on her knees, “…we meant you no harm. Sable merely confused you for another.”

“SHHHH!” hissed Sable, “Hush, Fara! We don’t know whether he sent her.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” I said, more confused than ever, “Who the hell are you people anyway?”

Fara stood up, composed herself with a deep breath and stated, “We are the caretakers of this wood, those who tend to Mother’s bounty. We’re…”

“The Sisters of the Sacred Grove.”

The voice came from the back entrance where I’d come from. In the doorway was an older man who was at least as old as you were, with a full head of grey hair and a smug look on his scarred face. He clapped upon entering the room, showing a flair for the dramatic. And then he dragged something into the room with him. It was you, bloodied and missing your legs from the knees down. Your breathing was so shallow and so slow. I thought you were already gone.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of this garden all winter” the old man said.

He propped your head towards us.

“You either kill them and go, or I kill your friend here”

Fara’s composed grace fell apart, and the look of panic and impending death took its place. Sable looked like she was thinking of killing me before I killed any of them, and while I couldn’t see blondie in the back I could hear her increased whimpering. I didn’t give a damn about any of it. Not that I had any qualms about killing the Sisters, things killed by magic won’t come back, but I only wanted one thing. I’d known my answer before he’d asked.

“How about you let go of my friend and I don’t blow your head up like a fucking melon?”

It was at this point that I started walking towards him, since I was fairly certain that he wanted to live and that he knew that actually killing you would guarantee his melon-like fate. He was as horrified at this turn of events as I knew he’d be.

“Okay, listen! We can talk this out!”

He started backing away, “Please!”

“Too late for that,” I said, rounding the table to get to him.

I was only two feet in front of him and he was visibly trembling. In one last attempt he took a swipe at me with a blade of blood he pulled from his arm. Uncoordinated as he was, I managed to duck under it and grabbed his face. I gathered, focused, projected, and then his head exploded. Just like a melon.

Honestly the aftermath was less important to me than the fact that you were still alive, but for clarity’s sake I’ll go over it. The Sisters were grateful, and what I did when I realized you in fact were not going to die will never be spoken of ever.

This ridiculous excursion did yield one good thing: the enclave turned out to be the perfect place to bring the whole camp. It took a week to get everyone and everything here but considering how fertile the land is, it was well worth doing. The Sisters got to add some members to their group to make up for those lost, plus some added security, and we hopefully get a permanent location for the group.

I had to carry you here to the front porch of the cabin, seeing as you have no legs, but I’m not complaining. It’s worth it to see the sun set on everything we’ve worked for, everything you’ve worked for. If I could have one lasting impact on the world, this doesn’t seem like such a bad thing for it to be.

It’s happening again. Just when I thought I was strong enough hold the tears in.

“Magic is an innate force of nature.”