Of the Green--Chapter Five
As Rhea tentatively opened her wardrobe, she was pleased to see hiking boots in her size. She’d had doubts before about whether the closet would provide them, as she’d never actually needed anything except for her green apprentice’s robe and the soft shoe everyone tended to usein the academy.
These are much better, she thought as she tried them on and closed the wardrobe door. The soles of the shoes Rhea normally wore were now rather thin, and she had no intention of walking an unknown distance in worn out shoes.
“Hmm?” Rhea asked as the wardrobe creaked slightly. “In all my life, you have never creaked,” she told it, frowning slightly as she opened it. All she saw were her normal robes, and she was about to shut it when she realized the door wouldn’t move.
“Oh, all right,” she said, deciding to humor it. Rhea took out one of the sets of robes and inspected it curiously. Even to her inexperienced touch, the robes felt odd, as if made out of different material than her normal ones. She seized part of the sleeve and tested the strength. Try as she might, it did not tear, as she’d suspected. When Rhea tried that on her current robes, it was only a little while until it ripped.
After eyeing the wardrobe warily, she said, “Well... thank you.” It shut--by itself--and one of the hinges creaked smugly in reply. She shook her head, then pulled off her robes and slipped on the new ones. It was then that Rhea realized the sleeves were looser; not by much, but the space between her arm and the cloth was about two fingers’ width, when she tested it.
“And why did you do that to my robes?” Rhea asked the wardrobe. No answer. Had I really expected one? she thought as she undid the too-loose strings on her shoes and retied them. When she was done, Rhea looked from the door, where she could leave more easily and with less suspicion, to the window, where she could leave unnoticed after dropping to the ground.
After a moment’s debate, Rhea decided to use the door, as she wasn’t sure the grounds were empty. Just to be safe, she used a small spell to make anyone who saw her not notice her slightly unusual clothing. As she opened the door, she walked down the hall as if nothing was happening, turned a corner, and saw the exit. She went out without a second glance.
Now that Rhea was outside, she ambled aimlessly towards the loose circle of trees that surrounded the academy. If she headed straight for it, someone might notice. Better to pretend she was on an evening walk, and simply observing the plants.
Hopefully, no one would remember that she usually did that on the other side of the school, which had far more interesting plant life.
A few hours after she had slipped away from her academy, Rhea encountered no plants but low trees and an occasional clump of vegetation now and then--which surprised her, for she faintly remembered that the scenery was somewhat lusher than what amounted to a half-barren plain. But then, she hadn’t been outside the academy ever since she had first arrived there at eight years old. The land would have changed in about ten years, Rhea thought wryly.
When she arrived at a small forest, Rhea knelt down to touch a small white poppy on the edge of a small wood, to ask it where the other academy was. Please tell me where the academy is, she thought as the whisper-soft petals so typical of poppies brushed against her fingers.
A bright, happy-to-help feeling returned as the flower somehow gave her the sense of turning back and walking west, in the direction she had just come from.
Not that one, she thought. The other.
Immediately fear raced through her mind, fear that was not hers. Rhea would have sworn the poppy recoiled a little from her. Then just tell me the direction I have to go, she thought, stroking the stem a little to calm the upset flower down. A moment later she was rather surprised at the action--normally she didn't bother showing gentleness.
After hesitation from the poppy, there was a feeling of the setting sun, almost directly warming her right side. The warmth slowly faded, as if it were night, and the flower sent a final feeling of intense fear. Rhea drew her hand away from the poppy.
“So it’s almost directly to...” She stood up, turned toward the sun and spun around slowly until it was more or less shining on her left. “To the north,” she finished. “And if I keep going, I might reach it before true nightfall.”
After a moment’s thought, Rhea remarked, “I would have guessed it was much further, and to the south, but... hmm?” An oak tree was rustling its leaves urgently. On instinct, Rhea went over and rested her hand on the rough bark of the trunk. Not too long, she told the old tree. I have to leave soon--
A loud crack interrupted Rhea and she gasped. “What are you doing?” she exclaimed, both mentally and verbally as a branch slightly shorter than her forearm and a bit thinner than her little finger dropped to the ground several feet away.
You cannot go there by yourself, the oak answered. I have lost branches longer and thicker than that twig and I am still alive and well. Take it.
Why? Rhea asked, eying the fallen branch skeptically, while at the same time approaching it.
The assistance of an oak is nothing to scoff at. Take it, seedling, and here is my parting counsel: There will soon be a shadow coming to block out the sun, and you will see it last.
A prophecy, master oak? Rhea asked as she picked the wand up and brushed the dirt off the dark, craggy bark. She did remember something about oaks speaking more than other trees--if they spoke at all--and that they did indeed prophesy sometimes. However, the prophecies were all often nonsensical, dark, and ironically had something to do with the sun.
Call it what you will. Goodbye, seedling.
Rhea shrugged, said goodbye to the oak, and went on her way after slipping the stick into her sleeve.
Barely four steps later, she turned on a heel and looked back at the tree, then down at her own robes. Her wardrobe was made of oak, she remembered; and she could not have slipped the wand up her sleeve in her old robes.
“Is that why it gave me these robes?” Rhea asked sharply. She didn’t know who she addressed the question to. “Did it know I’d need them?” A rusty crackle in the oak’s branches answered Rhea. It resembled the laughter of an old man, not quite strong but still distinct.
Her mouth twisted into a deadpan smirk as she continued her journey. The smile remained long after the tree’s laughter was swallowed up by the distance.
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