Where the Woods Grow Wild

by Nate Philbrick

  “She’s been griping about you ever since General Tum returned,” said Fern. “But don’t worry, she’s just jealous.”

  They sat Elodie on one of the stone benches and washed her with water from the fountain and soap that smelled like all the clover buds in the world crushed into one small bar. Elodie was surprised how much dirt and grime they scrubbed off of her skin. Being clean felt marvelous.

  Once she was dried off, they tossed her courier uniform aside and slipped a simple white gown over her head. The garment fell past her knees. It was light and comfortable, but it smelled like old wood.

  “White is King Prickle’s favorite color,” said Fawn.

  “I’m surprised it fits her,” said Fern.

  “Don’t be silly,” answered Fay. “Humans are all the same size.”

  The dryads combed through her hair and fussed over the gown. They stepped back to scrutinize their work. Fawn nodded her approval.

  “Look how lovely she is now,” said Fern.

  “Mayor Clarenbald’s maids would die in a fit of envy if they saw me like this, that’s for sure,” said Elodie. “But what’s it all for?”

  “You mean you don’t even know what today is?”

  “Petal, weren’t you supposed to tell her?”

  Petal refused to meet their eyes. “I didn’t feel like it.”

  “My, my,” said Fern with a giggle. “You really are jealous. Lighten up, Petal, and tell her!”

  “General Tum brought you as a gift for King Prickle,” said Petal reluctantly.

  “A gift? I don’t like the sound of that,” said Elodie.

  Fern clapped her hands together. “It’s all so exciting. Keep going, Petal.”

  “You’re going to be his new bride.”

  Elodie sucked in a breath. “Ooh, Martin’s not going to be happy about that.” She pictured his reaction and found it too funny not to laugh. “Sorry. I will be no such thing.”

  “Why are you laughing?” asked Petal. “This isn’t a joke. It’s a very important day for the king.”

  “Is it?” Elodie tried to wipe the smirk from her face. “I don’t know if I can take this seriously. Tum and the others were so secretive about the whole thing, and I was starting to get curious. But...no, I’ll leave now, thank you very much.”

  “You can’t leave,” said Fawn. “King Prickle is already waiting for you.” She pointed to an archway under the colonnade.

  “He’s going to have to wait for someone else, then.” Elodie backed away towards the hall from which they had come. “I’ll take no part in your shenanigans. Point as many spears at me as you want, but I won’t stay here any longer.”

  She spun on her heel and marched away. Perhaps she could find Nub again. He might show her the way out of the palace, if she asked nicely.

  She was halfway across the courtyard when Petal caught her by the wrist. The dryad’s grip was firm. Elodie couldn’t pull free.

  “Let go of me,” she said. “That hurts, and it’s not funny anymore.”

  “You won’t think it was funny to begin with when you stand before the king,” said Petal.

  With the three dryad sisters watching in alarm from the fountain, Petal dragged Elodie back across the courtyard, under the colonnade, through the archway, and down the dim hall.

  * * *

  As they made their way to the king’s court, they passed by a number of corridors that branched off into the palace, as well as open terraces that flooded the hall with sunlight. Dryad soldiers guarded some of these exits, and they all carried spears identical to the ones wielded by Tum and his friends.

  Petal and Elodie stopped before the largest doorway they had yet encountered. A steady murmur rose and fell on the other side, and Elodie’s nerves started to tingle.

  Tum stood waiting in front of the door, along with Nettle, Root, and Nim. Nettle gaped at her, and she didn’t blame him. The last time they had seen her, she looked like something pulled from a catfish hole.

  Elodie glared at Tum. “I guess you’re the one they send when someone’s day needs ruining.”

  The general’s eyes fell. “You’re about to enter King Prickle’s hall. Past these doors, you shouldn’t speak unless you’re asked to do so.”

  Nettle’s eyes were as wide as oranges. For a fraction of a moment, he reminded Elodie of Percy Durbity, and the thought sent pangs of regret through her gut. If she didn’t find a way out, she might not ever see Percy again, or Mayor Clarenbald, or even old Hergelo Stump.

  The door swung open, and with Tum and Root on one side and Nim and Nettle on the other, she stepped into the throne room.

  The court was a circular chamber which, though not as wide as Elodie expected for a palace hall, towered up to a sagging ceiling haphazardly braced with beams. Balcony tiers rose around the perimeter like a theater, supported by green pillars. Streams of red ivy poured over the balcony rails and tumbled down the pillars.

  Scores of dryads filled the balconies and stared down at Elodie. There were dryads as dark as ebony and others as light as birch. Some had cascades of colorful hair or were covered in tiny flowers like Petal, while others were as colorless as Root. Their voices died down as she entered.

  In the center of the court, surrounded by a moss carpet and hemmed in by two dryad guards, was a throne. A knotted, twisted structure grown straight out of the floor, the throne held in its lap what Elodie could only assume was King Prickle himself. He was dark and almost as gnarled as his seat, and his mane of hair was white as dove feathers. His startlingly red eyes locked onto Elodie.

  A short tree stood beside the throne. Its wilted trunk split towards the ceiling like two arms, and its roots bore through the floor with no earth to support it. The tree was dead.

  Tum and the other dryads led her to the edge of the moss carpet surrounding the throne.

  “Don’t run,” Tum murmured in her ear. “Do everything he tells you to.”

  Then the four of them backed away, leaving her alone in front of the throne. Under any other condition, Elodie would have pinched Tum’s pointy ears for talking to her like that.

  King Prickle rose from the throne. His legs groaned like branches in the wind as he stood. He hopped down from the throne and approached her as one would approach a wild horse, holding one hand out in front of him and taking slow steps.

  “White.” His voice sounded like a sick crow. “It’s white.” He reached out and touched her dress. “I like white.” He circled her, never taking his eyes off her. “Flower, flower. My, how you’ll tower.” He clicked his tongue. “This is nice. Who made this?”

  She wasn’t sure if he expected an answer or not, but she couldn’t muster the nerve to give him one even if he did.

  The king drew his fingers down the length of her hair. “As soft as a good dream.”

  Elodie suppressed a shudder.

  “So he followed through, after all. What’s your name?”

  “Elodie.” She tried to keep her voice firm.

  “Elodie. Hmm. That is a name for a cloud or a bird, a name for places where things fly. But you...you’re my flower, did you know that? You will grow here. Your name will be hazel and larch, primrose and snowdrop. You have need for wings no longer. Flower, flower. My, but you will be beautiful.”

  Before she could stop herself, she burst out, “Will you stop talking about me as if I’m some pretty ornament for your garden? Put me in chains all you like, if you’re the sort of king that gets a laugh out of that, but my name is my name, and I’m going to keep it!”

  A handful of audible gasps came from the balconies, but the king merely blinked his red eyes and smiled.

  “Eggs only fall from the nest if you shake the leaves,” he said merrily. “Do you know what that means?”

  She quickly shook her head, not wanting to open her mouth again.

  “Splendid, splendid.” He brushed her dress with his knuckles again. “Exquisite white. I like white.” He returned to his throne and slouched in it. “Spin for me.�
�

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Spin for me. Can you spin? I’ll show you how it’s done.” He raised an open fist, paused, and looked up at it. “What’s this? Empty? Nub!”

  The tubby dryad skipped out from a knot of dryads under the first balcony. His grin cracked when he saw Elodie. He hurried to the throne. “Here I am!”

  “Where is my most special scepter?” The king demanded, tapping his foot. “It’s not in my hand, which is precisely where it should be.”

  Nub got down on his hands and knees to reach under the throne. “Here it is, your majesty.”

  He knocked his head on the way back up. With a friendly wave at Elodie, Nub squeezed back into his spot among the dryads.

  King Prickle rapped his knuckles on the scepter. It was little more than a petrified branch, but he held it like a mighty sword.

  He twirled his hand, and a vine sprang from his throne and snaked around her waist. Elodie squeaked in surprise as it lifted her off the ground. The vine spun her around in a full circle, then set her down. The dryad crowd oohed like spectators at a show.

  King Prickle drummed his fingers on his leg. “I’ve made my decision. You’ll do just fine. As fine as a bright idea, in fact. Let’s begin!”

  Tum was at her side in an instant. He guided her to the side of the throne opposite the dead tree. “Stand here.”

  “What’s he going to do?” she whispered.

  For a moment she thought she saw regret in the general’s face.

  “We’re sorry for pointing spears at you,” was all he said. “And for being general nuisances.”

  “He’s not right in the head.”

  “Try to stay still.”

  “Why won’t you stop this? You’re a general.”

  “I can’t go against my king.”

  “You can if he’s a lunatic!”

  King Prickle clapped his hands, utterly unaware of her exchange with Tum. “This is my favorite part. Grand music for my new bride, if you please!”

  A line of dryads in the back raised horns to their lips and blew three short notes. They were much better at it than Tum had been on the bridge.

  Elodie stomped her foot. “Enough!”

  “Bless you,” said the king.

  “No,” she said. “I’m done. If you think I’m going to stand around and pretend to be some dryad’s bride, you’re—well, you’re preposterous!”

  The dryads gasped. “She just called the king preposterous,” they whispered.

  King Prickle clutched his face between his hands. “You just called your king preposterous! The outrage! The unthinkability! That’s it. I was probably going to do this anyway, but you’ve made me do it a lot sooner!”

  The king pointed his scepter at her. What happened next made Elodie’s stomach lurch.

  The ground under her feet trembled. Green shoots sprang from cracks in the stone and locked her feet in place. The shoots stiffened into bark, solidifying around her ankles like drying plaster. She couldn’t feel her feet or toes.

  Elodie clenched her fists. “What are you doing?”

  King Prickle hopped off his throne and drew near to the dead tree on the other side. He spoke to it and put his arm around its trunk. “Hush, hush, my sweet. Another flower is taking your place. Soon you’ll have no more worries. The crown must always be in bloom, and your petals have all fluttered away, but it’s not your fault, really.”

  Elodie stared down at her legs, transfixed, as inch by inch they turned to wood.

  “Stop!” A lone voice shouted from the crowd.

  The king leaped onto his throne like a raven to a carcass. “What’s this? Who said that?”

  “I did.” A dryad stepped forward. It was Nettle, and he was shaking from head to toe. He looked at his comrades and went a little greener in the face. “Th-this isn’t very fair or reasonable, and I won’t let it happen,” he said. “I suppose I’ll be tossed out a window, but that’s alright, I guess.”

  The dryads in the balconies stirred uneasily.

  “You’re ruining my wedding, little sprout,” said the king. “Are you jealous of me because I have so many flowers?” He rushed back to the dead tree. “I won’t let him take you, either, even though you’re a bit dry.”

  Elodie stared in disbelief. “He’s raving mad.” Even as she said that, her knees stiffened into wood.

  Nettle ran to the throne and snatched the scepter from the king’s grasp.

  “Hey! Give it back!” King Prickle swung his hands around.

  Nettle jumped out of reach and beat the scepter against the ground. “I don’t know how to use this,” he cried.

  “Take him away, guards! Chop off his feet and light them on fire! Or throw quails at him!”

  A trio of soldiers ran at Nettle with weapons readied. The young dryad looked ready to faint.

  Tum stepped in front of Nettle, cutting the soldiers off. “Get back,” he ordered.

  The king danced with rage. “I haven’t had a wedding in ten years! This isn’t fair.” He turned his crazed eyes on Elodie. “You. My flower. You will submit to me, because I am your king now, and you will turn into a lovely, lovely tree and bear flowers and leaves that can’t be shaken off, and you will grow by my throne for years and years! Do it now!”

  Elodie yanked a spear from the nearest guard and whacked him on his royal head.

  The king threw his arms up and bellowed.

  Dryad guards charged forth to protect the king’s dignity. The balcony whispers had turned into loud opinions, and Nettle yelled something at the king. His voice went unheard in the pandemonium.

  King Prickle abandoned his throne. He ran in circles like a beheaded chicken, swinging his arms to strike at whomever happened to be in his path.

  Many of the dryads fled the hall, clearly afraid the king might target them next. The soldiers, however, jumped at the chance to finally use their spears. They hemmed in around Elodie, Tum, and Nettle, jabbing at the air with their weapons.

  Two new dryads appeared behind the soldiers and knocked them to the ground. Root and Nim wordlessly formed a barrier in front of Elodie, holding their own weapons up and glowering at anyone who drew near.

  King Prickle hollered in the background.

  Nettle gave up on the scepter. He handed it to Tum. “We’re very sorry,” he said to Elodie. “This was wrong from the beginning.”

  “Of course it was,” said Elodie. “I’ve been trying to tell you that since yesterday. But maybe we could save making amends for later, after I’ve not turned into a tree.” She pointed at the slender trunk that used to be her legs.

  “Without the scepter, the king can’t do a thing to you,” said Tum. “Nettle, it really wasn’t necessary for you to beat the poor stick.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I think it’s receding, but I still can’t move,” said Elodie.

  “We can fix that,” said Root. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her straight out of the floor.

  She yelled, expecting it to hurt, but a few stray roots snapped harmlessly. She was free.

  “We’ll have to carry her for now,” said Tum. “Root, Nim, get us to the door.”

  The two dryads cleared a path, shoving aside the soldiers that tried to stop them. Tum and Nettle scooped Elodie up and hurried her away from the throne, where the king was too lost in his own wallowing to notice.

  Elodie felt the blood in her legs pump back to life. It was a horribly uncomfortable feeling, as if she had slept a whole night with her legs pinned under a rock.

  Root bashed the hall doors open. A few corridors later, the last of the bark crumbled like dust and fell from her feet. The dryads set her down, and once she tested her legs, they continued on. They ran into a few stray commoners coming to see what all the commotion was about, but one look at Root and Nim was enough for them to divert and let them pass.

  Before long, they reached a narrow passageway with a pool of sunlight at its end. The dryads stopped.

  “Follow thi
s path as quick as you can,” said Tum. “It’ll lead you straight to the lake. You can swim, right?”

  Elodie nodded. “What about you, though? The king’s furious.”

  “Worry about yourself for now. We’ll stay back and make sure King Prickle doesn’t find the scepter for a long time.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “All of you. Especially you, Nettle. It was brave of you to stand up for me.”

  Tum urged her on. “Go, quickly.”

  “And watch out for snapping turtles,” said Nim.

  Elodie hurried down the hall and into the daylight. Sure enough, the lake spread out before her. She climbed down the rocks and ran over a stretch of sandy bank. As she lunged into the water and swam out, she fervently hoped nothing worse than snapping turtles lurked under her feet.

  7. The Dryad Palace

  Martin knew next to nothing about tracking or forest navigation, but one thing was clear. They were lost. When at least an hour passed with no sign of badger trails or even a stream, much less a whole lake, Podgin admitted he wasn’t entirely sure which way they were going.

  “I thought you’d been to the lake before,” said Martin.

  Podgin lifted a finger. “It’s one thing to find a lake by accident, zigzagging about with your nose bent to the ground and a sack of truffles distracting you. Finding a lake on purpose, in a straight line, when everyone’s in a rush, and when I didn’t want to come in the first place is another.”

  “We’re misplaced more than lost,” said Aguilax. “We made good progress in the right direction all morning. It’s simply a matter of perspective. I’ll see if I can spot the dryad palace from the air.”

  “Of course,” said Martin. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner.”

  “I do,” said Illo.

  “I was just waiting for the need to arise,” said Aguilax, stretching his wings. “I can fly, but I’m still a cat. These wings are for hunts and sport, not long explorations. I suggest the rest of you wait here. You’re bound to choose the wrong direction if you wander off.”