The Vine Whisperer | A Fantasy Short Story

A tale of loss, abandonment, and hope.

Happy Friday! It’s time for another fantasy short.

I hope you enjoy “The Vine Whisperer.”

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The Vine Whisperer

By J. Louis

Karis was running a brush through her hair, working out a particularly stubborn knot, when she heard it: a rattle against her windowpane. She dismissed it at first. But then it came again, and again, and again.

She looked out the window and sure enough, there he was. Standing not ten feet away was Arren, the family’s farmhand, his head of curly locks swaying in the breeze. He was about to throw another rock at the window when he saw her looking at him. He dropped the stones and waved a hand at her, his face as red as the rising sun creeping its way over the distant peaks. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it.

She didn’t have time for him.

Karis shot him a nasty look, then pulled her curtains shut, getting back to work on her hair. What nerve he had, showing up the way he used to, just like he had before he showed her who he really was.

A coward.

When news came of the war, soldiers had been sent to all of the realm’s villages seeking out men of fighting age to bolster the king’s army. Her father was one of them. Later that evening, she found Arren in the barn, hiding in a pile of hay, shaking with fear. She still hadn’t forgiven him.

She would never forgive him.

Vines crept out of the pots she kept just below the windowsill, their fingers snaking their way up the wall as if to pull back the curtains and let the sun’s first light into the room. She still wasn't sure what caused them to react the way they did; sometimes she could control them with her thoughts, and other times they seemed to have a mind of their own.

Especially when she was angry.

Karis took a deep breath and pulled down on her brush, the knot finally giving way. She massaged her scalp, then looked in the mirror, her reflection peering back with a triumphant smile. She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail, threw on a shirt and a pair of work trousers, then got ready to head downstairs.

But the window rattled again.

Vines slithered across the floor, curling around her legs as she stomped toward the window and threw back the curtains. She pulled the window open with such force she was sure the glass had cracked. Oh well, she thought. I’ll just blame it on Arren.

“I thought I made myself clear.” Karis glared at Arren, her vines creeping over the windowsill and draping themselves down the side of the building. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

The boy scratched the back of his head, a nervous smile playing across his face. “I know. But the door is locked. Your Ma usually unlocks it first thing in the morning, and, well…” He looked down at the ground. “I’ve been waiting for a while now.”

Karis folded her arms, and the vines moved with her, coiling around and tickling her wrists. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

Arren looked up. “No one’s answering! So I thought I’d just, ya know, try to get your attention.”

Karis took a deep breath and held it for a moment. She knew it wasn’t his fault. Not really, anyway. But every time she saw the boy, her blood started to pound with anger. Why couldn’t he have gone off to war instead of her father?

“Well you have it.” The vines slid down her arms and crawled back to their pots. “Give me a moment and I’ll let you in. And stop throwing rocks! You’ll break a window.”

Arren smiled. “Thank–”

She shut the window before he could finish.

As Karis descended the stairwell, she couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

Back when they were all together, her mother would prepare a light breakfast while the men worked the fields, tended to the livestock, and managed business on the farm. Her mother, sickly as she was, preferred early mornings, waking long before the first rays of light peeked through the mountains on the horizon. Karis would sometimes help her bake bread or fry bacon before heading out to begin her own chores, usually making a mess in the process; she was better in the fields than in the kitchen, her father used to joke.

But the house was quiet this morning. No laughter. No smoke from the oven. No scent of baked bread or the sizzling of bacon fat.

And no sign of her mother.

“Mother?” Karis called out to no response. She shrugged, then pulled open the lock on the front door. Better to let Arren in before he made even more of a fuss.

And that’s when Karis saw her.

Her mother, a frail woman with thin, wispy hair and a frame that made a skeleton look well-endowed, laid face-down on the floor of the kitchen. She clutched a wooden bowl of flour in her hands, half of which had spilled onto the floor, caking the humble farmhouse with white dust. Her chest rose and fell in weak, shallow breaths interrupted by harsh coughing fits.

“Mother!”

Karis rushed to her side and cupped her pale face in her hands. She was cold, so cold, as if the life had been drained out of her. Karis placed a hand on her forehead, which glistened with sweat in the morning light.

“Karis,” Arren called out from the other side of the door, hammering at it with his fists. “Is everything okay?”

“The door is unlocked, you imbecile!” Karis wet a cloth and dabbed her mother’s face with it. “Mother, it’s me. Please, wake up.” But her eyes would not open. “No, no, no. Please, wake up, mother. Please! Don’t leave me all alone.”

Arren rushed into the kitchen, out of breath, his pudgy cheeks red. “Is your Ma okay?” He kept his eyes turned toward the ground. “She was coughing somethin’ fierce the other day. She just smiled, though. Said it was pollen and she’d be right as rain in the morning.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Karis wished she had her vines downstairs so she could strangle him. “Get out. Leave us.”

Arren looked at Karis, eyes wide, then backed out the front door the way he came.

“Wait,” she said, just before Arren shut the door behind him. “Fetch the apothecary.” Karis placed an ear to her mother’s chest. There was still time to save her. “What are you waiting for? Go! Quickly!”

An hour later, the village apothecary–a balding, elderly man, covered head to foot with soil and pollen–hobbled into their home, with Arren following close behind. “The lad filled me in on the way over,” he said, fumbling over his words; time had stolen most of his teeth. “Nasty business. Where is she? Let me have a look at her.”

Karis did her best to make her mother comfortable where she had fallen. A fire now burned in the hearth, filling the farmhouse with the familiar, earthy scent of oak. She had wrapped her mother in blankets to keep her warm, which seemed to help. Her face remained gaunt and pale, and her eyes had yet to open, but some of her color had returned.

The apothecary opened her mouth, checked her eyes, and listened to her chest, jotting notes down in a dirt-stained notebook. He mumbled a statement or two to himself as Karis held her mother’s hand, watching him work. Arren stood by her side, occasionally glancing over at her. Whenever she met his gaze, he panicked and turned away. She frowned; what did he want, anyway?

“Arren,” she said, squeezing her mother’s hand. “Thank you.”

The words sounded painful to her ears, even though she did not mean for them to. He raised his eyebrows as if in shock, then smiled.

Don’t get too used to it, Karis thought. It doesn’t change what you did.

“The worst seems to have passed,” the apothecary said. “But I’m afraid her condition will only worsen without treatment. If I had mistroot, I could put together a tonic to soothe the symptoms.”

Arren frowned. “If you had it?”

The old apothecary scratched his head. “The truth is,” he said, “I haven’t had the stuff in months. Doesn’t grow near the surface anymore. Hard to find, and harder to harvest.” He rubbed his bent back. “And, well, I’m not as spry as I used to be, I’m afraid. Might still find it growing near Green Hollow, though.”

“Green Hollow? That old place?” Fear shot across Arren’s face. “You’re mad! There has to be some other way.”

Karis stood up and let go of her mother’s hand.

“I’ll get you that root,” she said. “No matter what it takes.”

Karis trudged onward through lush fields of green as the sun crept higher into the sky.

Sweat poured from her forehead and trickled down her neck. She had a love-hate relationship with spring; she loved the cool morning air, but the winds coming down from the mountains often created wild fluctuations in temperature that were difficult to dress for, particularly in the early afternoon.

Although the weather was the least of her concerns.

“You can turn around and go home, you know,” Karis said, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. “I can gather roots just fine on my own.”

Several paces behind, Arren–out of breath and sweating through his shirt–stopped to take a drink from his waterskin. He had insisted on coming with her for some reason. She had never known him to be the adventurous type.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, catching up to her. “How much farther?”

Karis pointed toward the closest peak. “Green Hollow rests at the foot of that mountain,” she said. “Maybe another hour. We should be there shortly.”

Arren groaned, then laughed. “Race you there?”

“Look,” Karis said. “I can’t stop you from following me. But we don’t have to be friendly, either.”

Arren swallowed hard, nodded, and didn’t say another word for the rest of the journey.

After hours of agonizing silence, save Arren’s ragged breaths, the two came upon Green Hollow. It had once been a massive, impregnable fortress carved out of the mountainside, but any tales of its glories had since been lost to time. Great stone walls lay crumbling into dust, overtaken by decades of growth. Karis thought she could hear the ivy whispering to her, calling out to her, just like the vines back home.

“Karis.” Arren’s voice snapped her out of her spell. His voice trembled slightly. “Mistroot grows underground, right? So that means…”

“We go underground,” she said, pointing to an opening in the cavern face. “If we’re lucky, we won’t have to go far.”

And they didn’t; soon after, they encountered an alcove full of greenery. The alcove, like the rest of the fortress, was man-made, carved out of the mountainside and inlaid with mortar and stone. In spots, the stone had been completely worn down and stripped away by time, leaving only the damp soil upon which it was built. At the center of the dome-shaped cavern was a skylight, carved out of the ceiling overhead. Moss clung to the walls and vines ran along the insides of the structure like great veins, spiderwebbing their way toward the light.

“Over there,” Arren said, pointing near the center of the cavern. Multiple silver-colored roots poked out of the ground, slightly translucent and milky to the eye.

The mistroot.

Karis took one step in and felt the ground shake beneath her.

“Be careful,” Arren said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. “The ground is crumbling. It’s unstable. I’m sure we can find another way–”

“There is no other way, Arren!” Karis’ voice broke, and she pulled away from him. “Don’t you see? I have to get that root. If I don’t, Mother will… She’ll leave me. Just like Father did. And you,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “How dare you touch me.”

The ground trembled again.

“Karis, please, just… Calm down. Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Karis said, her fury rising. Ivy slithered along the ground like a nest of vipers. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Just leave me alone. You coward.”

Before Arren could respond, the earth split, and the tangle of ivy, stone, and soil erupted around her. She fell, and darkness consumed her.

Karis came to, her vision blurry as if peering through fogged-over glass.

She found herself in a coffin of loose stone and soil, piled atop her like a burial mound. What happened? Her fingers traveled to the base of her skull and she winced with pain. A sticky film of dried blood coated the back of her head, and a wicked gash ran down her thigh toward her knee. Her stomach lurched and she thought she might be ill. She choked back a dry heave and tried to pull herself free, but collapsed. Frustrated, she laid her head down and closed her eyes.

That’s right, she thought. The cavern floor collapsed, and I fell with it.

“Karis!” Arren’s voice bounced around the walls of the chamber, coming from somewhere up above. “Are you there? Say something!”

So this is where she would die. Trapped in a cave with the idiot boy she hated more than anything. Seething, she tried to worm herself free once again, but to no avail.

“Karis, please,” Arren called again, his voice quivering. “I can hear you down there.”

Karis sighed and opened her eyes, forcing down her anger. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just stuck in some rocks.”

“Oh, thank the gods! I was worried you might be…” His voice broke, and he choked on his words. “I’m glad.”

Karis tried again to move, but her foot was wedged between two large boulders. Somehow, they didn’t land on her, but until they were moved, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

The mistroot!

She shuffled through the loose bits of dirt and stone, tossing it to the side. It had to be there somewhere, probably buried. Just like her. But where?

“Never mind me.” Karis twisted her body around so she could sit up. “Did you get the mistroot?”

Arren paused. She heard the sound of rocks shuffling overhead. “I’ve got some,” he said. “Phew, that smells sweet. Karis, are you hurt? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll come to you.”

Karis peered down at her leg, blood oozing from the wound. It didn’t look good. “I’ll be fine. Look, leave me down here. Take the mistroot back to my mother. Then go get help. I’ll… I’ll be okay.”

“I won’t leave you. I swear.” Arren said. “I think I see a passage that leads down. At least, I hope it is…” The confidence in his voice faltered. “Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

Karis groaned and laid her head down on the cavern floor. Why couldn’t he just listen? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and do what he was told for once? The vines responded to her anger, and they writhed along the cavern floor, gathering themselves around her. There was something comforting about their presence, despite the circumstances.

Moments later, Arren was there by her side, his eyes wide in shock.

“Karis, you are not fine,” he said. “We have to get you out of here. And fast.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” It was all she could do to hold back the tears. “Idiot boy. I could be stuck here with anyone, and it had to be you.”

“Just shut up and let me help you!”

Karis looked at him, her eyes wide. She had never seen him so worked up before. He approached, his face flush with anger, and he got to work on digging her out.

“I know you hate me,” Arren said, pulling rocks off of her. Dust coated his plump face, his tears turning it to rivers of mud as they trailed down his cheeks. “I hate me too. Not a day goes by where I don’t wish I went with the others.” He gripped a large boulder, the one pinning her foot to the cavern floor, and pulled. “The truth is, I’m a coward. I don’t like fighting. And I wouldn’t do them any good on the battlefield. Your Pa knew it too.”

Karis perked her head up.

“He said, ‘Son, you ain’t built for combat, and that’s okay. I can’t rightly take a boy like you to the frontlines and live with myself.’ So he told me to stay put in that barn and wait ‘til the soldiers left town, and that he wanted me to help your Ma while he was away. And you.” Arren threw all his bulk against the boulder, but still it wouldn’t budge. “I’m no fighter, and I ain’t your Pa. But I can tend to the chores ‘round the farm. You know, keep your Ma off her feet. Let her rest.”

The boulder finally rocked somewhat, but not enough for Karis to free her foot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Karis asked.

“You’re strong, Karis,” Arren said, sweat pouring down his face as he worked the boulder. “Stronger than me. You don’t need me to take care of you. But your Pa wanted me to anyway, so I did. Tried to, anyway. Bleedin’ rock! Move already!” He heaved once more, then leaned against the boulder, out of breath. “If I told you the truth, you’d tell me to shove it and get lost.”

Karis laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“Your family’s been good to me. I love your Ma, and your Pa. And, well…” His face flushed. “I couldn’t forgive myself if war came to the village, and there was no one here to protect you.”

Karis reached out and touched his arm. He stopped struggling against the boulder and looked at her. She felt the warm sting of tears in her eyes. How embarrassing, she thought, to cry over some idiot boy. She hadn’t cried since the day her father left.

“I’m going to try something,” Karis said. “But I don’t know if it will work. Just keep pushing.”

Arren smiled and nodded. Karis focused and listened to the whispers of the ivy, coaxing it, directing it. The vines wrapped themselves around the boulders and pulled. More and more vines wrapped themselves around the boulder until it looked like a leafy green yarn ball.

And with a great heave from Arren, the boulder rolled to the side, freeing her foot.

Karis whispered once again to the ivy, willing it to wrap itself around her leg. She cried out as the vines pierced her skin, one after another, suturing the wound shut with their taught fiber. It was messy work, but it would do for now. Arren helped her to her feet and, arms wrapped around each other, they clambered out of the cavern.

With the mistroot in one hand and Arren’s fingers held tight in the other, the two of them journeyed home.

And for once, she didn’t think about strangling him with her vines.

From the Prompt Vault

Next, it’s your turn!

Write a story inspired by the prompt: vines.

If you use this prompt, restack this post and tag me in it so I can read your work. I love seeing what the fantasy community comes up with week to week.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Until next time…

Cheers,

Josh

🚨 P.S. Did you catch last week’s story? If not, you can read it below. 🚨

Aschnard One-Hand | A Fantasy Short Story