Chapter 9 Elle #3
“The oak’s name is Gerald,” I continued, because apparently I could know that now. “He’s been here for three hundred years, and he’s very protective of his forest. Want to know what he’s thinking about doing to you?”
A branch cracked ominously overhead. Not because I’d done anything—Gerald was just dramatic.
“SEE?” Peeble shouted at the soldiers. “GERALD DOESN’T LIKE YOU! NONE OF THE TREES LIKE YOU! YOU SHOULD LEAVE!”
“Retreat,” the captain ordered suddenly. “Fall back to the secondary position.”
“Sir?” one of the soldiers questioned.
“I said retreat!”
They pulled back, dragging their spore-affected and vine-tangled comrades. Within minutes, they’d vanished into the forest, leaving us standing in a clearing covered in flowers, vines, and Kaelren’s decay circles.
“WE WON!” Peeble did a victory dance on my shoulder. “We actually won! No one died! Well, probably no one died. Some of them looked pretty bad. But mostly no one died!”
“Did you really talk to a tree?” Bryx asked, Kevin buzzing excitedly around his head.
“I… maybe? I definitely felt something that thought of itself as Gerald.”
“You definitely talked to Gerald,” Peeble confirmed. “He’s been talking to you for days, you’re only just now listening properly.”
“Trees having names isn’t the problem,” Kaelren said, his voice tight with something that might have been concern. “The problem is you shouldn’t be able to communicate with them this clearly yet. Most Root-touched take years to develop that level of connection.”
“Well, Gerald wasn’t exactly subtle about introducing himself. He also wasn’t subtle about his opinions on you—something about being ‘an angry little death-walker who needs more sunlight.’”
Peeble buzzed with laughter. “Gerald’s not wrong! You are very angry! And very death-oriented! More sunlight would probably help!”
Sarnyx barked out a laugh. “I like this tree.”
“Everyone likes Gerald,” Peeble said. “Except people who piss on his roots. He has strong opinions about that.”
“We need to move,” Kaelren said, trying to ignore the beetle. “They’ll regroup and come back with reinforcements.”
“Gerald says there’s a grove about two miles north where the Crown never goes. Something about the mushrooms there giving them ‘uncomfortable visions of their life choices.’”
“Those mushrooms are great,” Peeble added. “Very therapeutic. Made me reconsider my life choices for three days straight.”
Everyone stared at me. And Peeble.
“What? I’m just repeating what the tree said. Says? Is saying? Tree communication doesn’t really follow normal temporal rules.”
“You’re talking to trees now,” Eltrien said slowly. “That’s… new.”
“Everything about me is new. Yesterday I made a flower sing. Today I’m having philosophical discussions with oaks. Tomorrow I’ll probably photosynthesize.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Peeble said seriously. “Photosynthesis is actually really likely at this point.”
“That’s not funny,” Kaelren said.
“It’s a little funny.”
“No, really, it’s not,” Peeble insisted. “I’ve seen it happen. It’s weird. You turn slightly green in direct sunlight. Very disconcerting.”
“Your transformation is accelerating beyond what we anticipated,” Kaelren said, voice tense.
“Again, little bit funny if you think about—”
He grabbed my arm, and I felt his corruption pulse against my marks. It should have hurt, but instead it felt like… balance. Like two halves of something wrong trying to make something right.
“Ooh, that’s new,” Peeble observed. “The marks are doing a thing. A balancey thing. Is that supposed to happen?”
“This isn’t a joke,” Kaelren said, silver eyes boring into mine. “You’re losing yourself faster than we expected. Days ago you could barely control a single flower. Now you’re communicating with ancient trees across miles. That’s not normal progression.”
“Or finding myself,” I countered, pulling free. “Did you see what I just did? I ended a fight without killing anyone. Well, Gerald might have killed someone if they hadn’t run, but that’s on Gerald.”
“Gerald would have been justified,” Peeble said loyally. “They pissed on his roots.”
“You’re anthropomorphizing plants.”
“I’m communicating with them. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one at this point,” Peeble muttered.
“Is there?” Kaelren challenged.
Before I could answer, Nimor materialized fully. “We have a bigger problem. The Crown patrol we just faced? They were herding us.”
“Herding us where?” Vashael asked.
“Toward a larger force. There are three full patrols converging on this position.”
“How many?” Kaelren demanded.
“Over a hundred. Maybe more.”
Silence fell over the group.
“Well, shit,” Peeble said quietly.
“Gerald says there’s another option,” I said quietly. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“If Gerald suggests it, it’s probably insane,” Peeble said. “Gerald has terrible judgment. Remember when he suggested you eat that glowing mushroom?”
“That wasn’t Gerald, that was you.”
“Was it? Memory’s fuzzy. Point stands.”
“The tree has military advice now?” Kaelren’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Not Gerald. The forest itself.” I could feel it, vast and patient and… amused? “There’s a place. Old. Protected. The Crown literally can’t enter it.”
“Oh no,” Peeble said. “Oh no, no, no. I know what you’re sensing.”
“The Bloom,” the Sage said, appearing because of course they did. “You’re sensing the Bloom.”
“I KNEW IT!” Peeble’s antennae drooped. “This is a terrible idea!”
“It’s forbidden,” Eltrien said immediately. “No one goes there and comes back unchanged.”
“Look at me,” I said, gesturing to my gold-veined marks. “That ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”
“The Bloom would complete your transformation instantly,” the Sage warned. “You’d become fully Root-bound.”
“See? SEE?” Peeble waved his antennae frantically. “The Sage agrees with me! When I agree with the Sage, you know it’s bad!”
“Or,” I said, feeling the forest’s ancient amusement, “it might teach me how to be both. Human and Root. A bridge instead of a replacement.”
“That’s never been done,” Kaelren said.
“Lot of that going around lately.”
“Because you keep doing impossible things!” Peeble practically wailed. “Stop doing impossible things! Do possible things! Safe, boring, possible things!”
He studied me for a long moment, and I could practically see him calculating odds, risks, probabilities.
“The Bloom it is,” he decided.
“WHAT?” Peeble and Eltrien said simultaneously.
“Kaelren, that’s—” Eltrien started.
“Our best option. Unless you’d prefer to fight a hundred Crown soldiers?”
“I’d prefer not to watch Elle dissolve into plant matter!”
“SAME!” Peeble added. “I’m very attached to Elle! In the literal sense—I live on her shoulder! If she becomes a tree, where do I live? On her branches? That’s weird!”
“Hey,” I protested. “If I dissolve into anything, it’ll be very aesthetically pleasing plant matter. Maybe some nice flowers. Definitely better than whatever that decay thing Kaelren does.”
“This isn’t funny,” Eltrien insisted.
“It’s a little funny,” Peeble said, though his voice had lost its usual cheer. “In a cosmic horror sort of way. Which is the worst kind of funny.”
“We move now,” Kaelren commanded. “Before the Crown forces converge.”
As we prepared to leave, I touched the nearest tree—a young birch that practically vibrated with gossip.
“Tell Gerald thank you,” I said.
The birch rustled, and I got the distinct impression of an old oak somewhere grumbling about ‘youngsters’ and ‘their drama’ but also something that might have been approval.
“Gerald says you’re welcome and also he still thinks Kaelren needs therapy,” Peeble translated. “And possibly a nap. Gerald’s very concerned about everyone’s stress levels.”
“You’re smiling,” Vashael observed.
“Trees have personalities. Who knew?”
“Everyone who’s been paying attention,” she replied. “You’re just finally speaking their language.”
“I’ve been saying that for weeks!” Peeble complained. “No one listens to the beetle!”
We mounted the bees and took off, flying toward whatever the Bloom would make of me. Behind us, I could feel the Crown forces discovering our empty clearing, their frustration rippling through the forest network like angry static.
Peeble settled into their usual spot on my shoulder, quieter than usual. “You know this is probably going to change you even more, right? The Bloom. It’s not gentle about transformations.”
“I know,” I said softly.
“And you’re doing it anyway?”
“We don’t really have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. Just sometimes all the choices are terrible.” They were silent for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll still be you. Maybe different, but still you. You’re stubborn that way.”
“Thanks, Peeble.”
“Don’t mention it. Someone has to be optimistic, and it’s clearly not going to be Mr. Death-walker up there.” He gestured at Kaelren’s back with one leg.
“The trees really don’t like the Crown,” I told Kaelren.
“The trees don’t like anyone,” he replied.
“They tolerate you. Although Gerald thinks you need therapy.”
“Gerald can mind his own roots.”
“Gerald’s roots extend for about an acre, so technically everything in that acre is his business.”
“Gerald sounds nosy,” Peeble added. “But in a caring way. Like a nosy grandmother who’s worried about you.”
“Stop talking to trees and focus on not falling off.”
But I could feel something in him through the space where our bond existed—not amusement exactly, but… interest. Like my tree-talking was another piece of a puzzle he was trying to solve.
The Root pulled at me as we flew, ancient and patient and deeply, cosmically amused by everything happening.
Come, it seemed to say. Let’s see what you really are.
“Probably something weird,” I muttered.
“Definitely something weird,” Peeble corrected. “The question is what kind of weird.”
“What?” Kaelren asked.
“Nothing. Just agreeing with the potentially sentient forest about my life choices.”
“And discussing the various types of weird,” Peeble added helpfully.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Has anything about me ever been reassuring?”
“Or me?” Peeble chimed in. “I feel like I’m consistently unreassuring.”
“No,” Kaelren said, and for the first time, I thought I heard something that might have been the ghost of amusement in his voice. “Neither of you have ever been reassuring.”
“Progress,” Peeble whispered to me. “Weird, tree-talking, about-to-transform-completely progress, but progress nonetheless.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.