A Trellis Grown From Ashes

20251112

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "Power Up Prompt #16".

Long ago, before the magic returned and the world fell apart, this place would’ve been filled with people. Liam knew that. But he couldn’t imagine it. Even with all the stories his grandfather had told him, and the hours he’d spent looking at faded photographs, he just…
Who would build homes tall and frail, clear targets against the sky? Why would you make yourself so vulnerable? That was before you considered madness like making big parts of the walls out of glass. Like painting them with targets.
The fallen tower before him had clearly been flattened by an earth spell. Foundation shaken loose so the precarious structure collapsed and shattered. Its guts torn up and devoured by looters decades ago. All that remained was a wordless declaration that once, people hadn’t lived in fear.
“You see something, captain?” Roger asked, his hand hovering ready above his wand.
“No.” Liam tore his gaze away from the… what had granddad called them? Apartment. “I was just… thinking about why we’re here.”
“Mm.” Roger’s uncertainty was morphing into disquiet. “I thought you said we were looking for a domed building?”
“Yes. That one.” Liam pointed to the ruin, still some minutes’ walk away. “You’re right, we should be going. Sorry.”
Roger winced and floundered. “Oh, it’s not my place - didn’t mean - s-sorry, captain.”
“Call me uncle. While we’re here.”
“I’m not a child!” Roger protested sharply.
“No, no, but… we’re not, either of us, doing this as soldiers.” Liam turned his face to the old library and resumed walking.
Roger followed along. Dragging heavy silence.
Though dilapidated, the building seemed sound. Liam paused at the doorway, whose wooden panels were nowhere to be seen, and took a deep breath.
Years of experience screamed at him to stay silent. To scout the area. To cast probing spells.
But instead - vulnerable, shaking - he called “Hello?”
Silence echoed back, straining his nerves.
“Are you sure about this?” Roger whispered, his voice trembling with the same sharp tension.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
Was he, though? After a lifetime of fighting the Separatists, could he ever be sure that this wasn’t simply another trap?
“We must have got here first.” Liam told himself. “Let’s… make ourselves comfortable.”
Step by step he forced himself to stride into the building.
Nothing. No traps, no spells. No people.
Maybe they really had gotten here first. Maybe the Separatists were sincere.
“We should build a fire. Get cosy. And they’ll see the smoke.”
Roger grimaced. That went against all training either of them had endured. But he started gathering scraps of wood without protest.
They’d picked the big room mostly clean of broken furniture when a call echoed from the entrance. Low, wary, strained. “Hoi?”
“Hoi!” Liam called back, hastily dumping his armful onto the pile. “We were, ah, starting to worry.”
Footsteps. Liam cast a stern glance at Roger, who grimaced and folded his arms. Keeping his hands unable to cast or grab his tools.
The Separatists slunk in, their hands likewise held away from their belts. Their eyes sharp and suspicious. It was strangely comforting to see they, too, were anxious.
“Greetings.” Liam forced a smile. “We were putting a fire together. I brought a bag of coffee.”
That caused the shocked, delighted stir he’d hoped for.
“Such luxury!” The Separatist leader bowed. “I fear we brought nothing comparable.”
“You suggested this.” Liam said reasonably. “I’d say you brought the idea. And peace… that is an ideal worth all the world’s coffee.”
The group gave slow nods. Quiet hums of agreement. The leader smiled - an expression that, while still tight, was genuine and grateful.
“Let us help you with the fire. And… let us talk.”
While the Separatists may not have brought luxury, their group had proper camping gear which transformed the barren room into relative comfort. Before long everyone was seated around the fire, sipping reverently at tiny cups of coffee. A pot of stew bubbled and Roger was helping form dough into twists.
It was almost one group. The lines were invisible. Barely tangible. Yet there.
Liam took a deep breath and turned to the Separatist leader - Peter, he’d introduced himself as. “So. Since magic returned the world has been fighting. You want that to end?”
“I think most do.” Peter’s dark eyes were almost black in the firelight. “We are the children of war. We fight only because we have never been given another option. Our grudges are about wrongs committed for the sake of older grudges. The lines between us that existed when the magic rose… the lines our ancestors formed ranks around… those are all meaningless now.”
Liam nodded. “I’d say most in our Fortress agree. Some still hold hate, but… for most, it’s fear that drives their violence.”
“Fear is what we hope to overcome here.” Peter laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “I know not how to smother it. Trust is hard to build. I appreciate you extending it to us.”
“I wouldn’t say I came because of trust.” Liam said slowly. Hesitantly. “It was hope.”
“Ahh.” Peter’s face smoothed into a smile. “Yes. Hope. Perhaps with that we can build a trellis for trust to grow along, so peace might blossom.”
Liam closed his eyes. Letting this image settle in his mind. Then he reached into his bag. “Let me show you my hope.”
Murmurs of excitement and appreciation swept the group as he opened the battered leather tome and they saw the photographs. And as one they reached into their belongings and brought out albums, envelopes, scrapbooks…
Laid out like this, in a reverent collage, you couldn’t tell which belonged to the Separatists and which were the Diggers’. These were glimpses into a world they had all lost. Taken before they were born.
Liam raised his cup. “To hope!”
“TO HOPE!” Everyone chorused, and Roger cried “Let us build a trellis!”
And so the Trellis Alliance was born. So trust may grow, and peace might bloom.

Prompt was “A war-torn world. A soldier. Seeking a truce”.