Where the Woods Grow Wild

by Nate Philbrick

  Elodie frowned. “What do you mean, his episodes?”

  “You know, the way his arm suddenly burns with pain, and he falls to the ground and goes all stiff and can’t move or talk or hear or anything.”

  “What? That’s never happened to him before! He used to complain about his arm itching under the skin, but I always assumed he was making it up for attention.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Illo. “I figured you knew.”

  Elodie stood abruptly, ignoring the twinge in her back. “No. No, this isn’t right. He needs me. I can’t stay here. I have to be there for him!”

  “But Fella—”

  “I don’t care what Fella says,” Elodie snapped. “It’s been five days since that trunder showed up.”

  “Okay, how will you find him? Where will you start?”

  Elodie stopped with her mouth open. “I don’t know.”

  Illo put a hand on her arm. “Aguilax is doing the best he can. You have to trust Fella. She’s protecting you from more than just trunders, you know. There are bog boars and anklesnatchers and sage vipers, just to name a few.”

  Elodie sniffled. “You just made those up.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t.” Illo pulled back her collar. Two small, white dots marred the skin under her collarbone. Elodie didn’t have to live in the forest to recognize them as bite scars.

  “Why do you stay here, if it’s so dangerous?”

  Illo looked up at the trees. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

  Elodie didn’t know what else to say. “I know you’re right. I didn’t mean to blow up like that.”

  Illo stood and wiped grass from her pants. “I understand. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

  “That’s what Fella said.”

  “And Fella always keeps her promises. Come on, let’s head back. We’ve been gone long enough for Podgin’s beard to grow another inch.”

  When they made it back to the cottage, they found the three others had reconvened in their absence.

  Fella looked none too pleased to see Elodie walk through the door. “You were supposed to stay near the house,” she said. “I thought we made that clear.”

  “I was near the house,” Elodie protested. “At least, I think I was. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

  “It’s okay,” said Illo. “I was watching her the whole time. She was perfectly safe.”

  Elodie turned on her. “The whole time?”

  Illo shrugged sheepishly.

  Fella gathered them all in the main chamber. Elodie sat in her usual chair while Illo put water on to boil. Aguilax yawned, stretching his wings. Podgin sneezed. Nobody had much energy.

  “Aguilax just got back from another visit to the dryad palace,” said Fella. “We were waiting for you two.”

  “Well?” said Elodie. “What did you find out?”

  “Tum and his three underlings had news, for certain.” Aguilax jumped onto an empty chair. “Nothing about Martin, I’m afraid. And what they did say, while not necessarily new to us, is reason for concern. Trunders are coming out of their dank holes and crossing the Minnowchuck more and more these days. One of Tum’s soldiers saw two of them less than a mile from the lake.”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Illo. “Animals move around in the forest all the time. Food gets scarce, and habitats change. If another trunder gets too close, I’ll shoot it down. No problem.”

  “Things are happening too quickly for this all to be a coincidence,” said Fella. “Think about it. Two outsiders land in the forest, the dryads are making mischief, people go missing every time we blink, and now trunders are coming out of their dens in broad daylight.”

  “Don’t forget about Nayadu,” said Podgin with a snicker.

  Elodie and Illo shot looks at him.

  “There’s one more piece of the puzzle you’re leaving out,” said Illo. “Bramble.”

  The room went quiet and heads turned down, as if she had broached a subject they had all been trying to forget about.

  “Who’s Bramble?” Elodie asked.

  “A sneaky little miscreant with floppy ears and a floppy brain,” Illo explained. “He’s a coward and a weasel, and he knows it. He’s shown up far too often as of late for us to assume he’s not up to something.”

  “I don’t know if I would take it that far,” said Aguilax. “But one thing’s for sure. When Bramble gets an idea, trouble follows. Martin struck up a bit of a friendship with the poor creature when he first wandered into the woods.”

  Illo’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think they found each other by chance. Bramble’s too devious for that. I think he was waiting for Martin all along.”

  “Based on assumptions,” said Fella.

  “But you’re not saying I’m wrong.”

  “I’m saying we have enough trouble on our hands without dragging Bramble into the mix just because he tends to trip over his own feet. Let’s keep our job simple. Wait for word from the dryads and keep sending Aguilax out to comb the woods. Perhaps the trunder trouble will pass. Until we know for sure, no one goes into the woods alone.”

  That ended the discussion, and they all dispersed.

  Elodie didn’t think the conversation had gotten them any closer to conclusions. Her head ached. She resolved not to gripe about Hergelo Stump or running dull errands for Mayor Clarenbald ever again.

  * * *

  Martin stayed in the grotto after his discovery of Bramble and King Prickle. Copper and Wolf came and went on their own. They no longer tried to coax Martin off the slate bed, but they hadn’t abandoned him either. The two of them passed the time splashing in the pool and stretching out in the sun at the water’s edge. They left the grotto at least once a day to hunt. Sometimes they brought back bird or rodent carcasses for Martin to chew on, a practice he reluctantly adopted.

  More often than not, however, Copper and Wolf came back empty handed. On those occasions they joined Martin in the shade and commiserated through whimpers and yawns.

  A new source of apprehension crept into Martin’s mind like a bug. As the days and nights inched by, he noticed a change in himself. At first it was just in the little things, like figuring out the best way to fold his wings at night or improved vision in the dark. But then it got worse. Copper and Wolf smelled less and less like old meat, and Martin didn’t gag on the carcasses they brought back anymore. The change to his body had happened in one agonizing moment, but the change to his mind was only beginning, and Martin feared losing his grip on himself altogether.

  A voice in his head urged him to seek help. At first, he ignored it. No one could help him anymore, and he lacked the courage to try. But on the morning of his third day in the grotto, Martin surrendered to the voice. He rose from his slate bed, his claws clicking on the stone. There was only one place to go, and if he didn’t start now, he was bound to lose his resolve.

  Copper and Wolf lifted their heads as Martin strode by them. At the end of the trench, he looked back. They were following him. Martin lowered his head and snarled.

  Copper’s tongue hung out of her mouth as she panted contentedly. Wolf craned his neck to lick at his torn wing. Neither of them left. Martin took a few bounds outside the trench, but when he checked, they were both right behind him. He flattened his ears. It was pointless. They didn’t budge.

  Frustrated, Martin slunk back into the grotto. Once again, Copper and Wolf invited him to join their games in the water, and once again he refused. He faced the wall and felt sorry for himself.

  Martin didn’t try again until the woods got dark. Copper and Wolf often hunted at night, and he anxiously waited for them to leave. They didn’t. When the sun set and the grotto cooled, they hunkered down in their respective spots on the other side of the pool. Martin waited still. At last he saw Copper’s side slowly rise and fall, and Wolf’s breath whistled in and out of his nostrils.

  He took his chance. The waterfall drowned out any sound he might have made, and he made it to the mouth
of the trench without waking them. His heart accelerated against his ribs as he loped away.

  Martin decided not to fly. He was comfortable in the air by now, but the thought of exposing himself to the world above the treetops was more than he wanted to deal with tonight.

  Even with his enhanced nocturnal vision, Martin took a while to find the Minnowchuck, and when he finally heard the rush of water and came through the trees to the bank, he found himself on a stretch of the river that he didn’t recognize. Staying on the north bank, he explored upriver, searching for a familiar bend or even a scent to follow.

  He found something entirely different. An orange light flickered in the trees on the opposite bank up the river. Martin slowed, testing the air. He smelled wood and smoke, along with a new scent he couldn’t identify. Keeping his belly close to the ground, Martin slipped into the river. Human Martin would have drowned five feet from the bank, but animal Martin swam with ease. Dripping wet from his toes to his jaw, he scaled the south bank and crept closer to the fire.

  Martin thought back to his first hunt with Copper and Wolf. He jumped into an oak and approached the glowing light from branch to branch until he stopped over a small clearing among the trees.

  A fire kindled in a ring of stones away from the trees, and around the fire sat five dryad soldiers with their spears strewn about the ground. The firelight glinted off their stern eyes. They watched the woods warily, turning towards the river every now and then. A horn-shaped basket of food sat in the grass between two of them. A conversation flowed around the fire, but before Martin could sneak closer to listen, one of the dryads elbowed his companions and pointed to the trees.

  Martin froze in the shadows. Once again, his scent was giving him away. He was so used to it, he had almost forgotten how potent it could get.

  The dryad soldiers leaped to their feet and grabbed their spears. They formed a half circle with their backs to the fire, facing the forest in all the wrong directions.

  Martin dropped to a lower branch, itching to know what the dryads were saying. The shortest dryad in the line twisted around to reach for the food basket and stopped. He pulled his companions around.

  “Look, in that tree. See the eyes? There it is!”

  The soldiers shouted war cries. A spear sank into the branch under Martin’s paws, driving him back into the shelter of the oak.

  “We must alert General Tum,” yelled a dryad.

  While the soldiers scrambled to recover their weapons, Martin made his getaway. This time he flew across the river. He landed on the north bank and hid in the trees. The dryads didn’t give chase, but someone put the fire out, and he lost sight of them.

  Martin returned to the grotto, where Copper and Wolf hadn’t budged. He let his chin drop between his paws. Going at night had been a bad idea. During the day he was a gnarly beast, but in the dark he was worse—a putrid shadow, a pair of hungry eyes in the trees. Then again, everyone and everything found him repulsive either way. He simply couldn’t win.

  In the morning, Copper and Wolf were gone. Hunger pinched Martin’s stomach. For a while he waited, hoping they would bring back food, but the urge to find help hit him again, and this time he didn’t resist it. Now was as good a time as any.

  He left the trench and headed west, just in case Copper and Wolf showed up unexpectedly. Then, satisfied he was alone, he veered south. He came to the Minnowchuck close to where he had crossed on the first morning after his transformation.

  Martin submerged himself in the swift river and let the current beat against him as long as he could hold his breath. The water would curb his scent, at least for a little bit. On the south bank, a startling sense of instinct plotted a map in his mind. He headed south. He kept his nose and ears alert for dryads or humans. For now, however, the woods were calm.

  The closer Martin got to the cottage, the slower he moved. He was driven by a longing for help, not any specific plan. He had no idea what he would find at the cottage. Perhaps Illo, ready with more arrows. Perhaps nobody at all. Perhaps Elodie. Out of all the possibilities, he feared the latter most.

  Chimney smoke floated out of the trees up ahead, just as it had the first time he came as an animal. The familiarity set his heart pounding. For the first time since leaving the grotto, he was tempted to turn back while he still could. Unless the river water worked better than he anticipated, anyone in the cottage would be able to smell him soon.

  Martin took to the trees. It was fairly pointless, he knew, but at least they wouldn’t see him so easily. Limb to limb, oak to oak, he ventured closer. He stopped above the cottage. No one sat outside this time. The door was closed, the lamps unlit. Maybe, just maybe, no one was home.

  Something moved behind him. He spun around, teeth bared, a drum in his chest. Illo would be right behind him, her bow raised, and he would have to fight or flee—Martin froze on the branch.

  Copper and Wolf sat in his tree, watching him with bright eyes. Martin dug his claws into the wood and put his fangs on full display. This was bad. They had to get out of there, before...

  The cottage door opened.

  Dread turned Martin’s stomach to hot lead. Copper and Wolf were hunting, and he, none the wiser, had led them straight to fresh prey.

  Martin craned his neck over his trembling shoulder. A girl backed out of the cottage with a heavy bucket swinging from her hands. Forest-colored clothes, straight, yellow hair.

  Copper inched forward. Wolf’s muscles tensed.

  The door swung shut, and the girl turned. Martin’s heart shattered like glass.

  Elodie.

  11. Predator and Prey

  Breakfast teetered on the brink of disaster. Podgin got distracted tasting chanterelles from his basket and let the frying potato slices burn over the fire in the kitchen. Fella ran through the rooms, opening all the windows, and Illo dumped the charred contents of the pan into the ash bucket, singeing her hand in the process. Aguilax chided Podgin for his carelessness, and Podgin rubbed his beard, bemoaning his potato losses. That left Elodie to take the smoldering ash bucket outside before the whole cottage became a smokehouse.

  The moment the door shut, Elodie knew something was wrong. Instead of the fresh air her lungs needed, she inhaled a noxious gulp of dead animal smell. She turned in a slow circle, peering through the leaves. Nothing moved, and she heard no wings, yet each breath she took curdled her insides. A tingle between her shoulder blades told her the trunder was close. Her fingers tightened around the bucket handle.

  She whirled around at a thud to her right. Her breath caught in her chest. There it stood in the shade under the trees. The beast was black as soot, with a torn wing and an open maw. A second trunder, smaller and red, dropped from the boughs, followed by a third with wet fur the color of mud.

  Elodie inched toward the door, not daring to turn her back. She didn’t call for the others. She doubted they would even hear her over all the commotion in the kitchen.

  The red trunder shot across the clearing. For the span of a breath, shock rooted Elodie in place. Then she reacted. She hurled the contents of her bucket at the charging trunder. A cloud of ash and burnt potato wedges burst in the animal’s eyes. Blinded, the trunder yowled—that was sure to get the others’ attention—and slid into the brook.

  The black brute didn’t hesitate. It closed the distance with thundering bounds. Elodie dropped her bucket and sprinted to the door. She plowed through, spilling onto the floor inside. Even as she heard alarmed shouts and pounding footsteps from the kitchen, Elodie scrambled to her knees. She caught a glimpse of black jaws and yellow teeth before she shut the door and slammed the bolt in place.

  The door shuddered under the weight of a heavy collision, then everything went quiet.

  Elodie stayed on her knees, panting for breath. Her shoulder felt bruised and the scabs on her back stung with cold sweat. A moment later, Fella and Illo clattered into the big room. Aguilax and Podgin weren’t far behind.

  “Close the windows, quick,” El
odie gasped. “Trunders, they’re here, in the clearing, three of them. They almost—I lost the bucket.”

  Fella ran to shut the windows she had just opened.

  Podgin’s face turned a sickly white behind his beard. “Good gravy gullets, why didn’t we smell them coming?”

  “Because we’re swimming in charcoal fumes, that’s why,” said Illo. She grabbed her bow, which leaned on the wall by the door. “I can pick them off from the windows.” She cracked a shutter open and lowered her voice to a hiss. “I don’t see anything.”

  Claws scraped outside the door. Elodie yelped and jumped away. They all paused, listening, but nothing else happened. Fella put a finger to her lips and motioned for them to draw away from the door. Illo held her arrow on the string, and Fella grabbed a poker from the hearth. Aguilax stood as taut as a harp string at Elodie’s knee. Even Podgin grabbed the potato pan from the kitchen, clutching it in his shaking, sooty fists like a club.

  A thud on the thatch roof. Dust fell from the timbers. Claws scratched. Then came a ferocious growl as another trunder landed on the thatching. All eyes turned up as what sounded like a fight broke out between the two animals.

  “Kind of makes you feel like a choice fish in a pond, doesn’t it?” Aguilax muttered.

  “We’re trapped,” said Elodie. “It won’t take them long to break through the roof once they figure out who gets to go first.”

  “Everybody get back,” said Fella. “Up against the wall. They’ll have to come at us one at a time in here. If they come in through the roof, leave the door closed and go out the window. Run to Podgin’s hole. It’ll be easier to defend ourselves there if they chase us.”

  “Which they will,” said Illo under her breath.

  The scuffle on the roof ended. One of the trunders leaped—or fell—off the thatching, but the remaining animal tore at the dry straw with renewed vigor.

  Elodie bit her lip as more dust floated to the ground. The timbers rattled and broke. Shafts of light poked through the cracks. Soon the trunder tore a hole all the way through, wide enough to stick its ugly face in. It was the black one.