Write to Rank 2023

Round 5 - The Seed

Prompt: Fantasy and Action Mashup
Word Count: 1150 - 1200

***

It starts with a seed.

She saw it amongst the ashes, small and bright like a jewel. It was a glimmer of beauty in the smoldering corpse of the village.

It captured her attention, so she crouched and cradled it in her hands. Mama would like it, she decided, and ran back the way she had come. Her bare feet, already black from the soot, left marks across a pale shawl that had been discarded on the ground.

"Mama," she called. "Mama, look what I found!"

Her mama lay in the same place, curled up against the stone wall of their house. The fire had burnt Mama's left side, and it looked scary, so she covered it up with the wet rug that she'd hid under when the fires came.

She knelt, showing her mama the pretty little seed. It glistened, pale against her skin.

"Mama, look."

Mama didn't answer. But that was okay. If her mama could still talk, she'd like the seed. But surely Mama could see, so she angled her hands in just the right way, presenting the seed mere inches from Mama's wide, staring eyes.

"See, Mama?"

Mama didn't answer.

But something else did.

A single arrow sang out. It struck true.

She sank onto the ground next to her Mama, the little seed falling through slack fingers.

She doesn't have the strength to hold the seed.

Footsteps, heavy and unyielding, approached. It was a man with empty eyes. He stood over the two bodies, mother and child, and simply gazed at them for a long moment. The longbow in his hands felt strangely heavy.

It was a pity, he thought. If only these people had stayed in the forest where they belonged.

It caught his eye, then: a glitter of gold in the dirt. It lay close to the child's hand. He toed the limp hand out of the way with his boot, then bent to pick up the seed. It was shiny and small, but it looked valuable.

So, he kept it, and calmly walked through the ruins of the village. It was as silent as a grave. Smoke drifted into the sky, the last breath this place would ever have.

The man with empty eyes followed the road out of town. He held his longbow in one hand, while the other was inside his pocket, fingering the little golden seed.

That evening found him in a tavern, deep into drink and showing off his new treasure. Locals gathered around to admire it.

"What a strange wee thing," one slurred. "Where'd ya find it?"

At the table beside them, a hooded figure raised its head, turning the hood slightly towards them.

The man with empty eyes grinned. "I was just cleaning up in the north, you know? Found it in a heap of trash."

One of the locals leaned in, peering at the little seed resting on the table. He raked grubby fingers through his scraggly beard. "You know, that looks more like something the tree folk would make. It's got the shifty colors and all, yeah?"

The grin vanished, and the man with empty eyes slapped his hand over the seed. "It's got nothin' to do with them. It's mine."

The bearded man scoffed. "I'm just sayin'-"

"Excuse me."

The soft, masculine voice somehow cut through the noise like a knife. All eyes shifted, finding a hooded figure standing beside the table. The stranger wasn't tall, barely reaching five feet, and nothing about him seemed like a threat. If anything, he appeared like a young teen. A child.

The man with empty eyes twisted in his seat, a scowl cutting across his face. At the same time, he protectively held the little seed in a fist.

"What do you want, stranger? Can you see we're busy?"

"May I see what you found?" The hooded figure asked politely. "I've seen a few of the... tree folk's things, and I can tell you what it's worth."

That was all that needed to be said. Spurred by greed, the man with the empty eyes opened his hand and revealed the glorious little seed. It shimmered golden to his eyes, like the purest of precious metals.

The locals fell silent around the table. They too, wanted to hear the stranger's evaluation.

But all they got was a long, heavy silence. The hooded figure, with his face hidden within shadow, seemed to stare at the seed for an eternity.

And then he breathed out, his next words infused with a strange, trembling quality.

"You took this from the village," he said. "You took away their hope."

The man with the empty eyes barked out a laugh, which was echoed by those nearby. "How much did ya drink, stranger? You're talking nonsense! Just tell me, how much is this thing worth?"

No one saw the hooded figure move.

Next thing they knew, there was a slender knife carved out of wood pinning the man's hand to the table. It pierced right through the flesh of his palm, slid neatly between bones. A bead of blood pooled around the smooth blade.

The man with empty eyes stared at his hand. His fingers flexed instinctively, curling in but stopped by the hilt of the knife. In a single instant, the seed had been replaced by something far more sinister.

He failed to plant the seed, and so it was taken from him.

He screamed, a roar of rage and pain. He grabbed the hilt of the knife and tried to pull it free. But it wouldn't budge. Instead, it began to sprout. Slender leaves unfurled from the top, while roots grew right into the table. The blade of the knife widened and strengthened to support what was now a young sapling.

More blood soaked into the table. The man shrieked as his own flesh and blood nurtured the tree. When he tried to tear away, he found he couldn't, for roots plunged into his arm, scraping alongside bone as they eagerly fed.

Locals scampered away from the horrific scene, rushing to the door so they could flee. But a hooded figure stood in their path. He held the seed, glittering with a thousand colors, in his palm. Before they reached him, he let the seed fall to the floor of the tavern.

Color flashed inside the tavern, as bright as the blinding sun. Wooden floors snapped, splintering as tree roots split them apart. Screams burst forth, a cacophony of horror and fear. Every person inside the tavern lay witness to a terrible sight:

A new tree, much like the one born out of the knife, now shattered through floor and roof, tearing its way out into the open sky. Its roots speared through flesh and bone, each one finding pulsing, short-lived life to fuel its rapid growth.

There was nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

The only safe place was where the hooded figure stood. Branches flanked him, roots curled around his feet, and he alone stood whole.

He understood the power of the seed.

And so he'd held it, planted it, and nurtured it in the blood of those who had stolen the hope of his people.