ROOTS OF THE STORM By Taylen Carver

Contemporary Fantasy Novelette

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM ROOTS OF THE STORM
COPYRIGHT © TAYLEN CARVER 2025
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The storm pursued Katla like a strangler fig, closing in the more she tried to escape. Every time she turned back, intending to head for the car, the hail hit harder. Knife-edged chips of ice drove her back with a precision that defied natural law. She cursed under her breath, pulling her Fjällräven jacket tighter as the wind howled in agreement. Her face stung. She turned and looked for a tree to take shelter beneath. Maybe this storm would blow out as fast as it had arrived.

The closest tree was a massive acer macrophyllum.  There were plenty of moss-draped cedars and spruce about, all of them reaching up hundreds of feet, but the Bigleaf Maple spread instead of climbing, the massive leaves holding sway over sixty feet of dark loam that looked untouched by the hail.

It was the nearest shelter, and it was away from the driving hail.  She ran across the clearing, ducked under the edge of the canopy and carefully straightened up.

She wasn’t alone.  Katla could see someone’s knee, clad in denim, jutting past the maple’s gnarled, twenty-foot-wide trunk.  She moved around the trunk, stepping over roots and staying under the canopy.  It was nearly twilight in here even though it was early afternoon by her watch.  The loam muffled her steps, for the dinnerplate-sized dead leaves were a damp, rusty brown, melding with the earth they would soon join. 

“Hey,” she began, “Sorry to steal your…”   She halted, staring at the man sitting cross-legged between two roots, his eyes closed.  Red wavy hair a touch too long, a close-cropped red beard flecked with grey around the mouth.  Pale skin that freckled in the summer if he forgot his sunscreen, which he frequently did.  Jeans that didn’t have ripped knees for a change, and a dark green and black plaid fleece shirt.

“Jonas, what the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

He opened his eyes.  They widened even more.  “Katla.”  He laughed without mirth.  “Of course it would be you.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle.  “As this is my land, I can’t see why you’re surprised.”

“Because you don’t like to get your boots dirty.  What are those?  Zamberlans?”

“I’m surprised you even know the brand.  And they’re last year’s.”

“There’s a lot I know that you don’t know I know.”  He uncrossed his ankles.  He wore Chucks that were once red but were stained by damp and grass. “I know that this isn’t your land anymore.”

She held her teeth together, hiding her surprise.  She had told only the people who had to know about the impending sale.  “For two days more it is,” she muttered, and was instantly annoyed.  She was justifying herself.  To Jonah.  “You know, if you just say ‘Hi’ like a normal person, it won’t damage your environmentalist credibility.”

“You might crack and break if I do,” he shot back.  “The last time I saw you, you said, and I quote, ‘Don’t bother being polite. It makes you look stupid.’”

Katla realized she was gritting her teeth once more.  “I should go.  Leave you to your worship.”  The hail had eased.  So had the wind.

Jonas smiled.  “You won’t make it three steps beyond the edge of the canopy.”

She glanced toward the downpour just beyond the massive roots. The rain was coming down in sheets now, but it wasn’t being pushed sideways anymore. Lightning flashed.

Lightning didn’t bother her.  There were far more taller things surrounding her right now.  She tightened the drawstring on her collar and ducked under the low branches.

Almost immediately, the wind picked up and blasted her in the face.  The rain turned to hail.  She threw up her arm to shield her face and retreated, scraping her back against the branches.  “I think I tore my jacket, dammit.”

“Because that’s the important thing.”  His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She looked at the clearing visible under the edge of the canopy.   “It’s stopped again….”  The rain was falling vertically, and it was just rain.  “This is unreal.  I’m being held hostage by a tree!”

“This one is a mother tree,” Jonas intoned.  “Not only does it have more emotional intelligence than you, but it also knows more medicine than you can learn in a lifetime, and it feeds every tree around it. “

Katla glanced at the two massive lower limbs of the maple, which jutted horizontally, then curved up as though it was raising its arms in benediction.  She rolled her eyes.  “Are you telling me it made me come here?”

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