4 - Dryad in Aisle Three
1079 Words
"Are you sure this is the place?" Harold asked. "This is a hardware store."
"Kek." Old Marishka clucked. "Pull around to gardening supplies."
Harold did so, parking as close as he could in deference to his passenger's knees. "They're closed." he said.
"Not to us, young one. Not to us."
And, to his surprise, the padlock on the doors opened, with visible blue sparks and an audible click as they approached. It seemed things were...
"Gyaa!" Harold said, finding a wall of decaying foliage just inside the door.
It blurbled at him. He made another incoherent noise, nearly trampling Old Marishka as he reflexively stepped back.
Old Marishka shoved him aside. "My my, Kompost. How you've grown since the last time I've been here. Be a dear, help an old lady over the threshold."
The wall of foliage grew arm-like appendages and supported her as she waddled forward.
"So that's what?" asked Harold. "A compost elemental?"
"Of course not." Old Marishka said. "Kompost with a K. It's his name. Now stop antagonizing the child, and come along."
Harold attempted to enter, and found his way blocked by Kompost.
"Hey, Kompost." he said. "Could I get by, please?"
Instead of moving, Kompost blurbled at him.
"Oh for the love of..." Old Marishka pulled some candies from her pocket and threw them, wrapper and all into Kompost. "Now be a dear, young one. Let the poor young man pass."
Kompost moved aside.
She raised a warning finger toward Harold. "In the future, you will bring your own candy." she said, "And chocolate for the dryad."
"Dryads love chocolate?" Harold asked.
"Most women love chocolate." she snapped back, "Why do you think dryads would be different? Now come along, and don't stare."
Harold stared. He saw tiny green stick figure people watching him from behind the stems of plants, a group of large mice arguing politics and surfing the web on a desktop computer. He saw bundles of what looked like roots eating from a torn bag of fertilizer.
"I've never seen so many supernatural beings in one spot." he said.
"A nexus, managed by the dryad. She is administrator, provider, judge, and executioner here. Remember. Manners."
And, as they neared the potted trees, he saw the dryad.
She looked like a small, slender, green woman, skin beveled, like wood. He was surprised to see that dryads so closely matched their mythological description, in a way so many supernatural creatures did not.
"Remember." Marishka told him. "We are close to the old world here, mind your manners. That means speak only when spoken to. Ah, dryad! It is I, Old Marishka, come to visit again."
The dryad sprayed its legs with a squirt bottle, and then turned, subtle smile on her face. Her teeth, Harold noted, were sharp and conical. "Marishka. It is always such a surprise when you visit. Welcome."
Her voice was uncannily normal, which only made her seem more ... other.
She made some clacking noises, and Kompost flowed around, swept up two lawn chairs, and laid them out near the potted trees. "Please." the dryad said, "Have a seat, young friend."
She turned her head slightly, to look at Harold. "This one I do not know." she said.
"Eh, oh indeed. His first time here."
She waved a willowy arm toward the second chair. "Please sit, but know you are not an honored guest at the current time."
"Thank you." Harold said, noting how Old Marishka tensed at her words. "My name is Harold, what is yours?"
"The young one means no disrespect." Old Marishka said.
"The young ones never do. Are there more dryads here? Any other that you know of?"
"I'm sorry." Harold said, "I don't know."
She smiled. "Then just Dryad will suffice. Names, as Old Marishka will tell you, can be a liability. So far, this one has not required a name."
Harold sat down, careful of his paralyzed arm.
"So." Dryad said to Marishka, "What is the cause of this visit? Is it baseball season again?"
"Alas, I no longer watch baseball as once I did." Old Marishka said. "I come seeking a favor."
The dryad squinted. "I seem to recall that you still owe me a favor from last time."
"Oh, it is the young man seeking the favor, not I."
"Oh!" Dryad said. "I like doing favors for Marishka. What is it that you need done?"
Harold took his right arm near the elbow, held it out toward her. "My arm is damaged. Old Marishka says that you might be able to heal it?"
"Hm." she said, and approached. Or possibly a better word was glided, if you could do that while your feet remained on the ground. She took the proffered arm. "It seems to be formed well enough. What is wrong with it?"
Old Marishka answered that. "A Bloodling sucked the blood out of it."
"Ah. Bloodling. Do you know of what lineage?" Dryad asked.
"I don't." Harold said. "It looked like a spider, about the size of my hand, and it took out all the blood in a single gulp, if that helps."
"Ahhh..." Dryad said. "And although you have blood enough in your body, and the pathways are not collapsed, the blood is not returning to the arm?"
"I... guess so?" Harold said.
"The good news is that time will heal this injury all by itself." Dryad said. "You do not actually need my help."
"Well, I... I have work tomorrow."
Dryad frowned. "What has that to do with me?"
"I'd like to use my arm at work tomorrow." Harold said, hoping that clarified things.
Dryad blinked. "This is worth a favor to you? For your arm to return to normal before the next sunrise?"
Harold saw Old Marishka nod. "Yes." he said. "Please."
"This will sting a bit." Dryad said, reaching out to touch her fingertip to his.
Initially, it was a pinpoint, like a thorn. When that feeling began growing into a prickling, piercing sensation crawling up his arm, Harold clenched his teeth. Although he tried to remain stoic, he found himself on his knees and crying freely by the time the sensation reached his shoulder.
His entire arm throbbed, then his heart. Arm. Heart. Arm. Heart. And then, in a wash of warmth, the pinpricks began vanishing from his arm. When it reached his finger, a single drop of blood began to ooze forth.
"And now." Dryad said. "You will repay that favor tonight."
- Writer
