Beyond the Twilight Veil: a flash fiction anthology

The Gilded Leaf

Prompt – Golden

The forest stretched out all around her. She had gone so far she could no longer see the village behind her. She had been running for too long. People would be wondering where she was.

I should go back, she thought.

No. There was nothing for her there. Prisca shook her head and pressed on. Her family had died years ago, and her only friend had pushed her away soon after, so, no. Nothing worth going back for. They would only be looking for her to put her back to weaving, not out of any concern. The forest began to thin out the further she went, the deepest thickets now at her back. She would have to find a place to rest soon, her legs ached and her bare feet were sore. Roots almost seemed to pull at her ankles as she walked, and she broke into a run, tears now streaming from her eyes. She ran until she thought she would collapse, then burst out of the forest into a wide clearing, with a single tall oak at its centre. At the sight of it she began to feel languid. The clearing was bathed in a soft, sanguine light, and everything seemed to shimmer as if it were not truly there. But when she touched the tree, Prisca felt its bark as rough and hard as any other. The urge to sleep suddenly overwhelmed her, and she lay down by the tree, resting her head on a clump of moss, and drifted off.

She did not dream, and awoke to a dim evening glow, fireflies flitting about the forest beyond the clearing. Prisca noticed she was wearing boots now, and her clothes had changed, now a leafy, green gown where once had been a simple tunic and trousers. A strange glow caught her attention from above. A single, golden leaf in a sea of green. She stared at it for a while, fluttering as the branch it clung to swayed in the wind. Had this leaf been there before? Prisca certainly hadn't seen it. She brushed a hand through the leaves. They were cold, soothing in the summer humidity, though when she touched the golden leaf she felt a sudden surge of heat, and reflexively she pulled her hand away. She reached out again to touch the leaf. This time she held it longer, letting her hand burn at its touch. Then, almost without thinking, she plucked it from the branch. The rest of the leaves wilted, shriveled up and fell from the tree, all of them shedding until the ground around the tree was littered with dead leaves. The tree itself withered, its bark drying out, its roots yanking themselves out of the earth. A great maw opened up in the ground in front of her, and swallowed the tree, leaving behind a rent in the earth ringed by leaves rapidly turning to mulch. Yet in Prisca's hand, the single golden leaf remained bright and alive. She looked at it sitting in her palm, its light dulled, but still gleaming.

'I was wondering when someone would come,' a voice said. Prisca whirled round, and saw a winged figure hovering above the ground behind her. when they locked eyes, the golden leaf caught fire and burned away, leaving a pile of ash in Prisca's hand. The figure in front of her was glowing and ageless, yet her presence felt immeasurably old. She had shimmering wings of pure light, her hair was gold, and she wore a leafy green gown almost exactly like the one Prisca now wore.

'Who are you?' Prisca demanded. Suddenly on guard.

'You should know,' the being said, 'you summoned me.'

'Summoned you? I did nothing.'

'You plucked the leaf, and I came. I am Amaltheia, and you desire power. That is why you have come to me, is it not? I can give you the power you seek, but you must help me in return.'

It was a tempting offer. She never thought she had wanted power, but now the idea of it was unnervingly appealing. The strength to destroy all those that had wronged her. She wanted it more than she had ever realised.

'Yes,' Amaltheia said, 'we want the same thing. I wish to strike back at the ones who trapped me here, but I need a vessel, until I am free. Be that vessel, and you will know power unlike anything you could ever imagine.'

Amaltheia held out her hand, and Prisca took it, sinking to one knee, and bowing her head. Images flashed in her head. A village in flames; the old crones that whipped her while she weaved, their heads on spikes; the boy who betrayed her, fear on his face and tears in his eyes watching his family burn, like hers did. The vision came to and end, and she looked up at Amaltheia again, and the faery smiled, placed a single finger on Prisca's forehead, and she felt a flood of burning energy rush through her body, and a ring of flames erupted around her, scorching the grass up to the tree line. Amaltheia's body was gone, but her voice still spoke.

What is now my prison, shall be the beginning of ourempire.