Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)

“When I claim land I use blood. I want to claim the tree and all its saplings, and the land they live on. Jane Yellowrock said it may take blood to accomplish that.”

“I see,” he said again. But it was clear he didn’t. Tandy stepped to the vampire tree and put his hand on the bark. He leaned his head in and touched it. Then he laid his entire body against the tree. Minutes passed. “Now,” he said quietly.

I dropped my dirty pink blanket to the ground and sat, the rooster squirming in my lap. I pulled off my shoes and put my bare feet flat on the ground. Instantly vines burst from the ground and twined around my feet and ankles.

“Nellie?” Mud asked, worry in the word.

“No thorns. It stopped at my ankles. I’m good.”

“Okay.” But she didn’t sound as if she was okay. She sounded scared. Good. If she was scared she might not try the things I had. She might stay human. Longer than I had.

“You sure you want to be part of this?” I asked her.

She heaved a breath. “Yup. Move over.” She sat beside me on the faded pink blanket and crossed her legs, pulling her dress down to cover her knees. “I don’t gotta be barefoot, do I?”

“No. I just want you to have the chance to see and feel what this is like. But if it goes wrong, you pull out and get away. Fast.”

“Okay.” She grabbed my hand and we interlaced our fingers, holding tight.

“I’m dropping into the earth now,” I said. I closed my eyes, concentrated on the link in our hands, felt the land through the soles of my feet, and dropped into the earth slowly, easing Mud with me. Into the dark, into the deeps. She gasped in delight, her fingers tightening on mine.

I reached out and found the tree, a green, green, green being with a mind full of curiosity—curiosity about Tandy, who it liked, and me, who it didn’t. About Mud, who it considered only a twig, of little importance. About Brother Ephraim and why he was no more. The tree had noted his absence as it might a lull in the rains.

I had no language to share with the tree, no common . . . ground. Mud laughed at the thought, and I nearly laughed with her.

Instead I remembered what it had felt like to be a lump of root and limb, tethered to the land, part of it, but not. Healing it, growing the trees. And I sent the vampire tree the feeling of rain falling upon me. The warmth of the sun filtering through bare branches to caress my wooden form. I showed it Soulwood and the extension of Soulwood on the banks of the river at the two Tollivers’ homes, on the bank of the Tennessee River, the few acres that now contained mature trees. Land that now really and truly lived.

The tree followed me, absorbing the impressions, the presence of life and death. The tree understood. It turned its full attention to me. Without words, it thought at me, sharing concepts, meaning, all without words or pictures. Seeding, rooting, fruiting, reproducing. Mostly that. Reproducing.

I empathized, as Tandy did, understanding, comprehending, accepting. The tree was the only one of its kind. Like all trees, it needed to make more of its species. It wanted to spread into the land. It was compelled by Nature herself to reproduce. And it had no place that was safe to live in. No sexual opposite that would allow it to reproduce.

Humans wanted it dead.

It was . . . lonely.

I thought back, showing it the rootlets at the gate. Springing up, leafing out, becoming saplings. Uncut. Unmolested. Allowed to grow. The land dedicated to it alone. But not allowed to kill or seek blood. Not allowed to thorn or trap with vines. It considered this, but its loneliness was acute. It was isolated, solitary, abandoned, lost. It wanted what I had. Unlike other trees, it wanted . . . family.

Mud’s mouth opened in awe. “Nellie,” she whispered.

I promised the tree that . . . that I would claim it and keep it as part of my woods.

That it could become part of Soulwood, part of the trees there. But it had to live in harmony with the other trees and animals, wherever it grew. And it must no longer kill. If a human cut it down, it could come back from its roots, but it could not attack or resist. It must live in harmony with other trees in the wood. It must allow humans dominion. It must serve, not fight back. If the tree did these things then I would claim it as family.

The tree went silent. The concept of harmony and servitude was not foreign to it. Trees and the land had lived in servitude for ten thousand years. It understood. It agreed.

It agreed to being claimed as part of Soulwood.

It agreed to harm no human, no mammal, no bird. No vertebrate of any kind.

One last blood feeding, I thought at it. Then no more. One-handed, I placed the rooster on the ground, an offering. The tree pushed rootlets up through the ground. Found the chicken. It wrapped its vines about the rooster’s struggling body, but then it hesitated. Paused.

The vines around my feet tightened. It didn’t want the rooster or its blood. It wanted me. It wanted a willing sacrifice. It was asking permission. Waiting patiently, in the way of trees.

I studied the tree’s consciousness, the tree I had mutated and brought to sentience with my blood. If you take only a drop of my blood, I thought at it, fine. But if you take too much, I’ll . . . I’ll be most unhappy.

The tree extended a single barb. It pierced my toe. Pain and shock jetted up my leg. Drops of my blood welled and trailed down, to drip onto the ground. The tree sucked up my blood. Ate it. The thorn withdrew, leaving a sharp pain in my flesh. I felt the leaf that spooled out of my wound and closed it.

I felt the vampire tree’s rootlets uncoil from my feet. Uncoil from the rooster.

I felt the interest of the tree turn to Soulwood. Knew when it shifted its attention away from me and to the land.

I opened my eyes to meet Mud’s eyes.

“Whoa, Bessie,” she said. “That was . . . That was . . .” She shook her head, not having words.

“You growing leaves?” I asked her.

Mud released my hand and felt her hair, studied her fingers. “Nope.”

“Good.” I pulled away from the land. Standing, I gathered my blanket into a ball at my waist.

Tandy walked from the tree to stand in front of me. “That was . . .” He shook his head. “Oh my God. That was amazing,” he murmured. “Beyond wonderful. Not anything I could ever have imagined.” His eyes were shining bright red. His Lichtenberg lines feathered down his face and neck, scarlet against his too-white skin. “Thank you for letting me be part of that.”

“I don’t reckon you’un grew leaves?” I asked in church-speak.

“Nary a one,” he answered back in church-speak.

“Thank you for coming. I know it’s made you late to work.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“Me neither,” Mud said. “Let’s go home.”

“Mama and Daddy haven’t said you can move in with me.”

“If’n they don’t let me move in, I’ll jist grow me some leaves,” she said, mischief in her eyes. “I think I know how to do that now.”