I wished I had better answers for him. “That is all I know. The humans who lived with the forest said they would ‘dig deep’ to get the Anima. That is what I do. It must be what the humans do too. I trust that you will find it. You have to keep trying.”
Arrow sighed and gazed at the carving he had placed on my bark many rings ago. Reaching out, he traced the small arrow, the line of its base, the angle of its tip, and the feathers at its back end.
“Tell me again about the humans who used to live here,” he said. “And don’t leave out any details. There must be something I’m missing.”
Curly patted Arrow’s hand so he would continue stroking her fur. Arrow obeyed.
“I believe I’ve told you every detail, but it was so long ago. It has been twelve ring cycles since you came to the forest; multiply that by five or more, and that’s how long it’s been since the previous humans lived here. Still, it cannot hurt to go through the story again.”
I paused, gathered all the images of the old Forest Dwellers, their faces, their dreams, their actions. “They were good people,” I told the boy. “Caring. Loving. Responsible. Their families had lived in the forest for generations. Since before I had rooted. Long before I became the Guardian Tree. And there were so many of them. The abandoned village to the north was only one of their homesteads. They lived nestled within the trees all over the forest.”
“They slept in a nest like me?”
“No. They slept in huts, in hammocks low to the ground. But I think they would’ve been very jealous of your nest.”
Arrow smiled.
“There were mothers and fathers and children,” I continued. “I got to know many generations of the same family. And each generation would pass down their knowledge. The mothers and fathers would teach their children everything they needed to know to survive in the forest. How to find and grow food, how to protect themselves from hunter animals, how to heal themselves from injuries and sickness.”
“Get to the best part,” Arrow said. He shifted, disturbing Curly, who complained in loud chatters.
“Yes, the best part. Just as the Forest Dwellers had their own human families, they also welcomed us, everything within the forest, to be their family. They taught me what they discovered, and I taught them what we needed. They never took too much, and always gave back more. Together, we kept each other healthy.”
“Like families do.”
“Yes, like families.”
“And the magic thrived,” Arrow said, want written across his face.
“Oh yes. You think the forest is beautiful now. Then, it was many, many, many times as big. Far more animals roamed the soil and branches. Lots more Curlys were running around. And the flowers. Deep in the forest, where we are now, the night would be almost as bright as the day with the glow from their petals. Orchids would shine from hundreds of tree trunks. Fungi would rise out of the soil and burst into light all around the roots. Fireflies and butterflies and spiders and worms would compete to be the brightest and most beautiful. Everything was alive and growing as far as all the roots in the entire forest could spread. And the Forest Dwellers would dance and sing and play in the magical glow.”
Arrow smiled, but he cast his eyes to the orchid next to his nest, the one that had glowed every night for most of his life but was now lit only by the moonlight that filtered through the forest canopy.
“And when they drew on the magic, on the Anima of the forest,” I continued, “they would sit on the soil, close their eyes, and…”
Arrow sat up. “And what?”
“They would dig deep. That’s what they told their younger generations.”
Arrow slumped again. “There must be something more. They would just sit there and dig?”
“They wouldn’t always dig. And they wouldn’t always sit. Sometimes they would stand. Sometimes they would dream. Sometimes they would dance.” I paused, wondering what other details I could tell him. Wondering what would help. “I—”
“I haven’t tried dancing,” Arrow said, hope in his words. “Maybe that will bring the Anima back.”
Curly chittered in annoyance as Arrow moved her off his lap, but the little black monkey scampered onto the branch above. She could tell when something important was about to happen.
Arrow hopped from branch to branch until his soles hit the soil. He glanced back up at me, uncertainty in his eyes.
“How did they dance?”
“There would be music, drumming, and they would sing…”
“Like the birds?” Arrow glanced at my branches as though expecting the birds to wake and perform.
“Yes.” I reached out to the night owls, and they began to hoot. Curly banged her palms on my branches and slapped my leaves in time to the music of the owls. “Then the humans would…” How to describe this? “Move. Wriggle. Stomp around in time with the beat.”
Arrow moved. He wriggled. He stomped around my roots, the pounding of his feet matching the slapping of Curly’s palms. And all the time he kept his eyes squeezed closed, trying to dig deep with every stamp of his heels, every slap of his toes, to dig down to the magic.
Finally he paused. He opened one eye. “Am I doing it? Can you feel more Anima?”
I flexed my roots, but the bitterness that had invaded the soil since the magic had begun to die was still there. How I wished I could tell him something different. “I’m sorry, Arrow. That’s not working either.”
His shoulders drooped, and he climbed back up to his nest. Curly patted his arm and grinned, reassuring Arrow that he would mend the Anima one day. But I could feel in the energy that flowed from him into my bark, he was not so sure.
“There were so many more humans when the Forest Dwellers were here,” Arrow said. “You said the older ones knew about the Anima and would tell the children. But you’ve only got me, and I’m just a child. What if we need more humans? Or I have to be older to mend it? If we wait for me to get older, it might be all gone before we get it back.”
Cold sadness leached into the leaves as he lay down and Curly tucked herself into his chest again. He was getting tired now, the day’s activity finally sapping his stamina.
“I don’t think it is your number of rings,” I told him.
“But you don’t know. The human who fell from the sky is older. He’ll know more than I do,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed. “Maybe he left something that can help. Tomorrow I’ll search the Burnt Circle. I’ll try to find something.”
“No,” I said. “You must stay away from there, Arrow. It could be dangerous. We must mend the Anima ourselves. Do you understand?”
But I could not be sure Arrow had heard. Sleep had found him, and he was already breathing heavily, perhaps dreaming of finding magic inside the burnt metal bird.
He was stubborn, so stubborn, but he was also determined. And perhaps he had to learn his own lessons. After all, I had trusted all humans once, and I had learned not to.
I had taken a chance with Arrow. It was a risk, but he was so young. I hoped he could grow to be like the old humans, the Forest Dwellers, if I could teach him their ways. And he had, so far.
But with the magic fading fast and the curtain around the forest shredding quicker than I could control, I didn’t know how much longer we’d survive if we couldn’t find more Anima.
Arrow was my only hope.
True to his word, the boy ignored my repeated warnings and went to the Burnt Circle early the next morning, and the next, and the next. He spent his days exploring every inch of the charred ground. The rest of the forest stayed back, watching him from the trees, sending me images laced with worry. But this boy of twelve rings was stuffed full of curiosity, and he wouldn’t be stopped.
His feet grew black with ash as he searched the ground. Eyes blazing, arms and feet rummaging. The frogs kept an eye on him, showing me Arrow’s image as he touched the great bird itself, the broken bones jutting out at strange angles. He peered inside, and the monkeys watching from the branches s
creeched, but the boy waved their cautions away. He strode around the carcass, the body so much bigger than him. It lay on its side, its long tail twisted and snapped. One wing was crumpled beneath it, the other stubby with a jagged edge. And at the top, a hole was cut into its body, like a door, enticing Arrow to look for answers.
He jumped, trying to see inside, and the monkeys screamed louder. Arrow reached up but couldn’t grab hold. He stepped onto a ledge, but the carcass rocked, and he scampered away. At the back, under the tail, he spied another opening, not large enough for his whole body, but at least his head. With the monkeys crying after him, Arrow peered inside.
The bowels of the carcass were hollow. Sunlight streamed through tiny holes in its skin, lighting a confused nest of colorful threads, metal shards, and what looked like curved hands, lying on their side, where humans could’ve been comfortable. The Kiskadee Man must’ve sat there.
Arrow pulled his head back out, squinting against the brighter sun.
He had not found anything that looked like it would mend the Anima, but the boy would not be deterred. He examined other areas of the Burnt Circle, where the Kiskadee Man had lain, where he had eaten the fruit Arrow had brought him and been hoisted into the flying bullfrog, then swept away.
Arrow kicked the leftover mango skins, which were already starting to rot and feed the charred earth. He outlined the indents in the ash, made by the man’s body. He placed his small foot in the large print left by the man’s shoe.
And he frowned at a glint coming from under the burnt dirt.
Arrow wiped away the earth and pulled out a small golden circle. He rubbed his thumb over the protruding image, the same picture as the stinkbird that had been on the man’s shirt. The circle had a hole at the top, and Arrow held the piece high to watch the sun poke through it. With the disc clasped in his hand, Arrow ran to the line of trees, pulled a palm strand, separated a fiber thread, then hung the circle on it. After pulling the end knot tight with his teeth, he slung the thread over his neck so the disc shined next to his heart.
Fingering the gold circle with his right hand, Arrow gazed at the sky, in the direction the bullfrog had flown. He was no doubt playing the images of the Kiskadee Man in his head, wondering where he was, where he had come from.
And if he would return.
But while Arrow searched the scorched ground to the south, more of the curtain shredded in the north.
We would not be alone for long.
4
THE SMALLEST COFFEE TREE IN THE NORTH WAS BURSTING WITH SEEDS, UNTIL IT FELT SOMETHING STRANGE, SOMETHING WRONG, SOMETHING UNWELCOME IN ITS ROOTS. AND ALL THE SEEDS ON THAT SIDE SUDDENLY LET GO OF THEIR BRANCHES AND FELL TO THE GROUND.
Four moons trailed a path over the forest, and the birds and other animals began to join Arrow in the Burnt Circle, cautious, sniffing, curious. With each moon that passed, their bravery grew. Arrow had hidden the disc within the folds of his nest and searched for other trinkets he could collect, anything he believed would give him the secret to these humans, to how they lived, and if they could fix the Anima.
My fear of the humans didn’t lessen, despite Arrow’s hope. I pulled enough magic to patch the wound in the curtain where the Kiskadee Man had fallen through, but I couldn’t close it completely. I knew it would crack open again.
Meanwhile, in the north, rips like large open sores appeared in the curtain faster than I could mend them. It wasn’t long before I felt footsteps draw closer, closer, closer. I hoped their owner would retreat, wouldn’t see, but the tears were too big to be missed by searching eyes.
The footsteps came with another pair, light, cautious, hopeful. A fly showed the humans to me, sending their image and sound. It was a girl around Arrow’s age, and a boy who was older. As they crept nearer, apprehension swarmed around them, but it didn’t keep the children away.
“Look at this,” the girl said, reaching out tentative hands. “There’s a hole in the rock. I don’t remember seeing it here before.”
“Me neither,” the boy replied. “Don’t get too close.”
“There are trees on the other side. Real trees! Maybe there’s something we can use.” The girl stepped toward the opening. “Come on.”
The boy didn’t move. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Who knows what’s in there.”
I wished, wished, wished they would stay away. We needed more time for Arrow to mend the forest’s Anima. Then I could repair the curtain and we’d be hidden once again.
“What do you think is in there? A treasure trove guarded by a bloodthirsty dragon?” The girl thrust an elbow in the boy’s direction.
He scowled at her, and the girl laughed. He didn’t join in, though. His attention was squarely on the passage before them. “Something’s not right. We’ve scavenged here plenty of times. Why haven’t we seen this before?”
“I don’t know.” The girl shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve been looking at the rocks much. We just missed it.”
“Maybe,” the boy said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
Their words hung in the air, and I sent a silent plea for them to leave. But the girl broke the quiet. “Come on, Val. Trees!”
But the boy, Val, narrowed his eyes.
“Fine, stay. But I’m going in,” the girl said.
“No. We’ll tell the others, then send a scout party.”
“We can be the scout party,” the girl said. “Come on.”
“No! That’s not our job.”
“You never want me to do anything,” the girl mumbled.
“Of course not! You’re my sister. I’m trying to keep you safe. Let’s go.” Val turned and strode away.
Go. Go. Go, I silently told the girl. Listen to your brother. But her toes stayed firmly pointed in the direction of the hole.
Finally a foot lifted out of the dry sand and came down closer to the curtain, then another, then another.
The boy shouted, “Petari! No.”
“Just a peek,” his sister said. She was as stubborn as Arrow. And as brave.
I wished she weren’t.
Then Petari stepped through the hole in our curtain.
Her energy felt weaker than Arrow’s, filtered through the hard bottoms of her shoes, but I could still feel her heartbeat lift, hear her breath falter. Inside the curtain must’ve seemed like a dream to her. Green, lush, alive. So unlike the world she knew.
“This is amazing,” she said.
“Come back,” Val called. But he followed the words with, “What’s it like?”
“See for yourself.” She grinned. “Come on. Stop being a baby.”
His feet tapped, tapped, tapped the ground; then he scurried through the passage too. “I’m not a baby. We’re supposed to be scavenging. This could be dangerous.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to just scavenge the same spots again and again. I want to scout.” Petari soaked in the greens of the leaves, the browns of the sky-tall trunks, the pinks of the flowers of the trumpet tree. The sunlight was dimmer here, trickling through the forest canopy, but sharp rays bounced light from bloom to bloom.
“It smells so good,” she said. “What is that?”
“It smells like the hydro farm Luco and I raided, but this is much better.” The boy’s energy perked up with every glance around.
“What’s it from?” Petari asked.
“It’s humidity. Water in the air.”
“Water in the air!” Petari’s eyes grew wide, and that pushed a smile onto the boy’s face.
“Yeah, it’s brill, isn’t it?” he said.
Petari spun around, breathing in deeply, filling her lungs with the water in the air. “How can it be so different just on the other side of the rock?”
Her brother gazed up at the wall of rock they’d walked through, and I wondered if the tears in the curtain looked suspicious. If they did, the boy didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The rock goes up pretty high, but I don’t see why that would
make a difference. It’s weird. It’s like this is a completely different place, but it’s only separated by a few feet of rock.”
“However it works, I’m not complaining,” Petari said. “Let’s see what else is in here.” She took off running, leaving behind Val’s calls to “Slow down! Don’t run! We need to go back.” His words flitted into the trees, as Petari skipped over roots, and I braced for the worst.
I wished she would heed the boy’s warning. I wished they would both run back through the hole in the rock and never come looking for it again.
But they were entranced by this world of green. Val was soon walking too, feet trailing the girl, eyes looking all around.
Each was quiet, breaths held so as not to wake from what must have seemed like a dream. But with every timid step in, their noses swelled with the smells of the forest. Damp leaves on the ground. Fungi on the trees. Animals breathing and sweating and pooping. Life all around them, crisp and clean.
The opposite of their dry and dusty realm outside.
Their smiles grew bigger as they trod on, rubbing fingers on bark and tracing veins on leaves.
The girl led them inward, her bravery building, hope buoying her feet. Over high roots, under low branches, around thick trunks. Stopping only when she heard the chatter.
“There!” She pointed to near the treetops. “Come on.”
“Wait,” Val said, “are those monkeys?”
“They look just like the pictures in the books.” The thrill rode over Petari’s breath.
“Don’t get close,” Val said. “You don’t know what they’re like.”
“They’re small.”
“But still. In the books, they can be vicious.”
Petari pushed ahead. “Only the big ones.”
Their feet followed the monkeys, who were swinging from branch to branch, leading the boy and girl farther into the forest until, breathing heavily, the children stopped.
“Val, look!” the girl said, jumping as she pointed. “Is that real fruit? It looks like the picture on the fruit cocktail cans.”
Arrow Page 2
