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by Scott M. Sandridge
Fantasy, 9 pages.
Originally Published in The Sword Review, 2005
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Kale picked up a twig. He crushed it in his wrapped hand, and it fell apart with barely a sound. He flung the remains aside and said, “More brittle than last year—not even worth burning.”
Wren gave a grunt and said, “Same luck with the others, I bet.”
“Winter’ll be rough this year,” said Kale. “The last wood-gathering before the snow comes, and we barely have enough to keep warm, let alone cook our meat.”
“Or trade for steel,” added Wren. He rubbed his finger along the worn edge of his flint spearhead. “Too bad; was looking forward to having a real weapon for next year’s hunt. This damn head’s almost had its last sharpening.”
Kale tapped his skid with his boot, then crossed his arms and leaned against a massive oak, “You’d think these trees would at least have the decency to drop good wood for once.”
“Aye,” said Wren. He scratched his beard. His downcast brows formed more wrinkles than what were already on his forehead. “Be nice if one of these grand oaks fell like last winter when the ice rain came. We’d have plenty wood for certain then.”
Kale rubbed the blade of his steel axe and said, “We could make one fall; wouldn’t take many strikes to do it.”
“That’s blasphemy talk there lad,” said Wren. “I told you before about that. I won’t warn you again.”
“But I don’t see why—.”
“Hush lad! You don’t want the Forest Guardian hear you talking like that. You’d be dead for certain, you would,” Wren picked up his skid and began dragging it down the slope. “Or worse....”
Kale shook his head, sighed, and followed.
* * *
The Woodtender tribe gathered around the fire, and Kale was last to arrive. As he nudged himself between Wren and Terra, Elder Sun spoke, “Late again. Do you care to explain why, or do you not wish to bother with excuses for once?”
Kale’s cheeks turned red when he heard a chuckle from Terra. Her chuckle came to an abrupt end by one look from Elder Moons. Kale bowed his head and kept silent.
Elder Sun tightened his withered fingers around his worn walking stick as he led the tribe in prayer to the Forest Guardian. When the prayer was finished, he said, “This winter our endurance and faith shall be tested like never before. We must—.”
“Are you sure?” Kale’s interruption created several gasps from the rest of his tribe, followed by looks that could’ve shattered the polished stones Kale once saw when he traded with the Mountain Delvers. His audacity was rewarded with a painful jab in the ribs by Wren, “Mind your manners, lad.”
Elder Moons rested her hands on Elder Sun’s shoulders. She then looked at Kale and asked, “Do you wish to share your vast wisdom with us, young one? Or a challenge, perhaps?”
The warmth in Kale’s cheeks increased, and he felt beads of sweat on his brow, “I would never challenge your wisdom, elders. I just have a question.”
“Then speak your question.”
Kale released a long, slow exhale then said, “Are you sure it’s our endurance that is to be tested? Could it not be our wits? What if—?”
“Lad,” said Wren, “Your not—.”
“Why would the Forest Guardian be against us taking what we need for survival? Is not survival a part of nature?” Kale’s voice grew stronger as the words came to his mind with greater force, “Why would she wish us to freeze to death and starve when there is plenty and to spare in the forest? Just two good whole trees would be more than enough—.”
“Enough!” Elder Sun shouted, “I will hear no more! What you speak of is blasphemy. The trees are sacred, the first of her children. To harm them in any way is to suffer her wrath.”
Kale felt as if something inside him hardened. Amidst the gasps and angry shouts, only one thing snared his attention: Terra’s lovely face. He pictured that face withered from hunger, pictured the bright light in her eyes dimmed. And that was all he needed to know. “Fine! I’ll go seek the Forest Guardian, myself, and ask her what her wishes are.”
The tribe went silent. Wren’s husky voice broke the silence, “Lad, are you crazy? Disturb her, and she’ll kill you for certain.”
“Then she’ll just have to kill me,” said Kale. As he walked away from his tribe, he added, “Better to die doing something than to die doing nothing.”
* * *
Kale held his chopping axe and wondered if he should bring it with him or leave it behind. What would the Forest Guardian think if he brought the axe along? Isn’t that why he was seeking her in the first place? He might run into predators and need something better than a flint spear to fight them off. He just won’t use it on trees... yet.
He heard Terra’s light footsteps before she had entered his hut. The sight of her always took his breath away. Her skin was different from other tribeswomen: more like copper than bronze. Her amber eyes were slanted, and her ear -- [End of Preview.]