Джейн Рэйб - Red Magic

As Galvin cut through the trees, he saw Wynter standing motionless beneath a large citrus tree. Wrapped around the centaur’s legs and the base of the tree was a thick length of light green vine. Dark green buds and ivylike leaves covered much of the plant, and bright yellow flowers splashed with purple dotted the vines. The heavy scent of musk filled the air.

The druid drew his blade and dashed forward, slashing at the nearest vine. The weapon sunk halfway into the pulpy tendril, releasing a dark red sap, and he tugged to pull the blade loose. Before he could remove it, however, Brenna pushed him and fell to the ground on top of him. Over their heads, the druid saw one of the yellow flowers spray a purple mist of pollen at the spot where he had been standing. The fragrance was overpowering, an inviting musk that seemed to encourage him to come closer to the blooms.

The sorceress rolled off Galvin and tugged on his arm, breaking the enchantment. “Move away, Galvin!” she cried. She pulled again, and the druid crawled away from the plant, backing up so he could keep his eyes on the blossoms.

Wynter had remained still, a silly smile spread across his face and his eyes half-closed. Galvin and Brenna noticed that the vines had released the centaur’s legs and had inched forward, away from the trunk of the tree, pointing all its blossoms toward the druid and the sorceress.

“What is that thing?” Brenna gasped, rising to her feet. The druid stood beside her, scanning the grove for more of the plants.

“I—I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” The druid kept his eyes on the blossoms. “Wynter! Wynter, come here.”

“He’s not moving. It’s like he’s in a daze,” Brenna said nervously. “Galvin, look! There’s a skeleton near the tree.”

The druid took a step closer and peered over the thickest vine. He saw a human jawbone and a broken rib cage. “We’ve got to get Wynter out of there!” Galvin closed his eyes and spread his arms out to the sides, palms toward the plant. He began humming softly, then he swayed gently back and forth. After several moments, he opened his eyes and stretched his right hand out toward the plant while continuing to sway. A tendril slowly snaked toward him.

Brenna cringed and considered pulling him back. Then she noticed the vine begin to sway back and forth in time to the druid’s movement. She edged forward and motioned to Wynter, hoping fervently he would move while the druid had the plant distracted.

“Arrh!” Galvin bellowed, dropping to his knees and throwing his hands to his temples. He would have fallen forward to the ground, but the enchantress grabbed him about the waist and hauled him backward, out of the way of another blast of pollen. Brenna dragged him several feet back, until she was certain the plant couldn’t reach them.

The druid gasped, shook his head back and forth as if to clear it, then looked up at her. “It … it was human.” Galvin was almost breathless. “I spoke with it. I told it to release Wynter.”

“And … ?” Brenna coaxed, glancing back toward the still entranced centaur. The vines were slowly winding themselves around his legs; one was wrapping itself about Wynter’s waist, edging its way under his armor.

“The plant was a yellow musk zombie, like some of those creatures we have with us,” Galvin went on. “Somehow when the zombie died, it turned into this. Brenna, we’ve got to get Wynter out before the plant turns him into a zombie!”

“I’ll get help,” Brenna called as she rushed down an aisle between the citrus trees.

Weaponless, the druid advanced once more on the plant, this time intent on wrestling with it. A large vine slithered forward, and he pounced on it like a cat. Thrusting his booted heel against the vine, he pulled, breaking off a piece of the thing, only to find his chest coated with the reddish sap that spurted from the severed vine.

He glanced up just in time to see another vine—this one covered with the yellow flowers—arc toward him. The druid rolled to the side, avoiding multiple blasts of the pollen, and neared the vine where his sword was lodged. With one strong pull, his blade came free, and he leaped backward just in time to avoid a whiplike tentacle.

The air in the grove smelled strongly of musk, sweet and heavy. Galvin was finding it hard to concentrate and the blossoms were increasingly inviting. In a daze, he stepped forward.

When Brenna returned with a dozen skeletons in tow, she saw Galvin standing motionless a few feet from the trunk of the plant, one of the tendrils inching up his leg. Another vine was creeping up the centaur’s chest, over his armor. Still another had wrapped itself around Wynter’s head and was poking a tendril into the centaur’s helmet, where the visor stood open.

“Kill it!” the enchantress ordered, pointing at the plant. The skeletons plodded forward, unmindful of the pollen bursts that quickly spurted out toward them.

The bony fingers of the undead skeletons tore into the vines, tugging at the pulpy tissue and pulling the tendrils free from the centaur and the druid. Brenna watched as the plant fought the skeletons, extricating its own roots and using them as whips against the undead creatures.

The plant’s attacks were futile. While it could knock one or two of the skeletons down with a flailing vine, the undead creatures quickly rose again and began to beat upon the plant once more.

Galvin blinked his eyes, roused from the plant’s power by the sound of clinking bones. For a second, he stared at the scene, then dashed forward with his blade.

It took nearly half an hour for the skeletons and Galvin to kill the plant. Even after it was dead, the undead creatures persisted in pulling it apart and pummeling it until Brenna called them off. Wynter had remained like a statue throughout the battle, oblivious to the plant and his rescuers.

Galvin picked his way through the pulpy mass to the centaur’s side. The druid reached up and pushed the centaur’s helmet from his head, revealing a bloody circular patch on Wynter’s temple. Green ooze was mixed with the blood, indicating that the plant had made the wound.

“Wynter. Wynter!” Galvin urged. The druid ran his hand along his friend’s long back, then nudged the centaur’s arm.

The centaur slowly blinked and cast his face down sluggishly at the druid. “Who—who are you?” his deep voice queried.

“Wynter, don’t you recognize us?” Brenna hurried to the centaur’s side. “I’m Brenna, remember? This is your friend, Galvin. Are you all right?”

The centaur reached his hand up to his wounded head, his fingers feeling the blood. “Galvin? Brenna?” he repeated in a childish tone.

“Yes,” the druid coaxed. “Don’t you remember us?”

“Are we going to play? I’d like to play now.”

“Wynter!” Galvin barked. “Snap out of this!”

“Don’t yell. I’m sorry,” the centaur apologized sheepishly. “Can we play later?”

“Yes, later,” Brenna cut in. “But you have to come with us first. We have work to do. We’ll play later.”

The centaur seemed satisfied and reached his hand down to take Brenna’s. The enchantress led him from the orchard, with Galvin and the skeletons falling in behind.

When they had rejoined the undead army, Brenna mounted her horse and looked back uncertainly at Galvin. The centaur stood behind the druid, a silly grin spreading across his face as he scrutinized one of his gauntlets.

“Let’s get moving,” the druid said in a businesslike manner, his concerned expression contrasting with his tone. “We’ll have to watch Wynter closely; he’s like a child. Gods, what made him wander off into that orchard?”

“The plant,” the sorceress said simply. “He must have caught a whiff of that pollen.”