The Orchard

Read Daniel’s short fantasy story, The Orchard, as presented over on his Youtube channel. The Orchard is a story of pride and dignity in a world where magic grows on trees.

Karsten’s back creaked almost as much as the old wooden cart he pulled through the dirt, his ageing bones protesting against the physical task. A lesser man might have groaned or complained at the dull pain in his joints, but he did not. Karsten took pride in his own strength and fortitude. He suspected it was a part of what made him perfect for his job. He wouldn’t be tempted.

He had known a young man many years ago who had not been able to resist the temptation of trying a spellseed just once. The incident had cost another Orchardist his arm and had damn well near set the orchard itself ablaze. Even then, decades ago, Karsten had never really entertained the idea of trying some ill-advised spellslinging of his own. The incident had simply solidified his disinterest in toying with the arcane. 

As he walked down the rows of trees, each plant glittering with the small faintly glowing spellseeds as though the stars had descended to visit, he once again found himself wondering why the young fool had chosen to conduct his experiment not only with a blaze seed, but a genesis blaze seed. Toying with forces of heat and flame without training was bad enough, but choosing to do so with the kind of seed that created those things? Karsten couldn’t help but chuckle darkly under his breath at the follies of the young. He was alive and largely un-maimed. He was in damn good shape for a man who was approaching his seventies. He’d been called a stick in the mud, unadventurous. But he took pride in that too. He had already outlived most of the naive young men and women who went to war with a bag of spellseeds at their sides. He would outlive many more. He was okay with being boring and unambitious. That was why he got the privilege of living long enough to have an aching back and reminiscing about the mistakes of younger men.

He came to a halt before a bushy Astra tree. Hanging from its branches were a scattering of Tide spellseeds, each producing a dull blue glow. Unlike the spherical spellseed the young Orchardist of Karsten’s memories had made the mistake of toying with, these were cuboid in shape - alassus seeds, not genesis. These wouldn’t create anything, only manipulate what was already there.

What they did was of little consequence to Karsten. His job was to grow and harvest. It was up to others to put the fruits of his labour to use. Karsten began carefully picking the Tide seeds, sometimes imagining he could feel the dull thrum of the magic within the vessel even though he knew the leather of his gloves prevented such a thing. 

It was starting to get late as Karsten finished harvesting the last of the spellseeds from the Astra, depositing them among a multitude of others in the rickety cart, each bag’s contents emitting a different coloured glow. Dark as it was, he could scarcely see. Most nights, that wouldn’t matter too much. Karsten had worked in that orchard for so long that he could navigate it near perfectly by memory alone. But that night was not most nights because he was not alone in his journey between the Astras. 

Barely loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the wagon or his own footsteps over the earth, Karsten heard the snapping of a branch under a boot.

As far as he knew, Karsten should have been the only Orchardist still around. He was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Just another small thing to take pride in. Thus the situation did beg the question, who was creeping around in the dark?

“Who’s that?” he barked out, trying to peer through the gloom, using the light of his cargo as a poor substitute for torchlight.

No reply.

Karsten sighed. He was positive he’d heard the sound. “I’m not one for playing games. Who’s there?”

Again, there was no response. Grunting, Karsten pulled on the cart and set back to making his way through the orchard. Perhaps he had simply been imagining things after all, lost in his own thoughts as he had been. Still, he could not help the feeling that he hadn’t been alone.

Which was why, paradoxically, when he rounded a copse to find himself facing down a group of people in dark leathers in the glow of an oil lamp it was relief that he felt first. Although, when he registered the muskets carried by those assembled, the more logical sense of alarm was quick to take over. 

“Evening.” Karsten kept his breath measured. Best not to alarm them. Besides, he’d be damned if they’d get to see him squirm.

“We’ll make this quick and easy for you,” the apparent leader of the group said. Her voice was low and raspy, but definitely that of a woman. “Just back away from the cart. We’ll fill up our bags and be on our way. This doesn’t need to be messy.”

Were these thieves from his own town or otherwise nearby who had simply stumbled upon the location of the orchard and sought to get powerful or wealthy quickly? Or was this an even worse situation. Had the enemy located the orchard with the intent of taking the spellseeds and turning them back on their growers? 

“Not sure what you even need these for if I’m honest,” Karsten said. “You’ve got your weapons. Why bother with spellseeds? A lump of lead can kill a man just as easily.”

“But not as efficiently. We’re not interested in killing one man. But we’re not interested in killing you specifically either. Just back away.” The hooded woman illustrated her point with a gesture of her weapon. 

In the dark, Karsten was slipping off one of his gloves before he had even realised he was doing it. “You know, I’ve never wanted to try my luck with the seeds. I just do my job; grow them and pick them.”

“And you will get to keep doing so,” the leader of the thieves said, her dwindling patience evident in her tone. 

Karsten wasn’t so sure. Would anyone ever really trust him in such an important position again if he let these people take the seeds now? It didn’t matter if they were a local problem or a unit from across the border, they weren’t people who should be allowed to access magic.

No. Much as Karsten’s pride had always kept him from experimenting with the spellseeds, now it demanded something different. He plunged his bare hand into one of the bags on his cart and felt a violent surge of energy run up his arm.