The Girl and the Grove

by Eric Smith

  “Wait, other rangers?” Leila asked, remembering what the voices had said.

  “Sure, I’m not the only one who cares about the history of this place.”

  “No, I’m sure.” Leila thought. “It’s just, the voices. The voice. It said something about you and your brothers. Maybe it, she, whatever, thinks that you’re, you know, brothers-in-saving-things, not actually brothers.”

  “Hm.” Landon nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. As much as whatever is happening here can make sense. We are all in our uniforms whenever we come out here.” He sighed. “It’s just too bad. Not matter how much we do, how hard we try to make it look nice, the park commission is planning to tear it down in the next year or so. They’re building some kind of amphitheater out here, with a new road tearing in through the trees from Kelly Drive and everything. So much is going to go. This place. The Trust. Huge sections of the park, just to make room for the road to get here. It kills me.”

  When he mentioned the Trust, Landon looked at Milford with a sadness in his eyes that was unbearable to look at. The little bird would lose his home and his most ardent protector. Leila’s heart wrenched in her chest. The parallels weren’t hard to see, and were certainly easy to feel.

  “That’s a shame,” Leila said, turning away and walking back up to the building to avoid the sore subject. He wasn’t prying, and she didn’t want to either. She ran her hand over the rough granite stonework, bits of debris flaking off as she pressed against the grainy surface. She gazed at the long vines of ivy that dug into the rock, the purple and brown roots holding firm in the solid stone.

  She brushed her hands over one of the ivy’s leaves, and jolted back.

  Leila!

  The voice came screaming into her head, loud and clear, intense, as if it was being channeled through the plants she had just touched.

  You’re almost here.

  Leila fell to the ground next to the broken building, where bits of rocks and broken twigs bit into her knees. She gripped her head as pain blossomed under the head scarf.

  He has led you here. Come to me, my child.

  “St-stop. Rock. Ivy. St-stone.” Leila chanted, the pain pounding against her skull. Landon rushed over and bent down. She could feel him hovering over her and the loud flapping of Milford’s single wing.

  Come to me.

  “What is it?” Landon said, his voice calm and soothing. “Should I call—”

  “No. No, I . . . I don’t know. We’re almost there, I think,” Leila continued, pushing herself up. She felt an arm wrap around hers, and looked up to find Landon helping her to her feet. Her body froze up, like ice was running through her veins, and she forced herself to relax, to push back the anxiety and the fear. Landon held her up, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other steadying her shoulder. He looked at her, his eyes full of concern and worry. The glance seemed to be returned by Milford, his yellow eyes strangely sad.

  “Thank you,” Leila said, trying to relax, but feeling her breath pick up. There was that scent again, the sandalwood and sawdust, the earth and the trees, like someone who had sat around a campfire far too long after spending the day in the woodshop.

  “Can you, um, take me to this grove?” Leila asked, reluctantly pushing herself away from him, taking a deep breath. “That’s, uh, that’s what she seems to want.”

  “Sure, yeah,” Landon said, stepping back, nodding his head a little too much. Leila tried not to smile as he looked up at her awkwardly and cleared his throat. “But look, is it, like, safe? All this? And with your head all bumped up?”

  “I think so.” Leila shrugged. “I can’t say, not really. I’ve been dealing with this all my life, you know. It’s not like I hit my head after seeing you with the owl and suddenly lost my mind and started hearing voices, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Whoa, no,” Landon said, holding his hands up. “Not at all. It’s just, it looks like it’s taking a toll on you, is all.”

  “I’m ready for some answers,” Leila said resolutely. “Let’s go.”

  As they rounded the corner of the dilapidated mansion Leila fought the urge to gasp. The space opened up into a garden that had certainly seen better days, but evidence of its former glory was evident. A cobblestone walkway covered in ivy, moss, and leaves rounded from the back of the old home and through overgrown hedges and trees. Thick columns jutted out here and there amidst the shrubbery, some kind of sculpture or landmark. A small stone wall made its way all around the garden, circling the overgrown plants, low to the ground and gray like the house’s old granite. There were spaces in the concrete between the stones, faded from age and weather, where ivy had found a grip.

  “Ah,” Landon said, nodding his head in the direction of some trees. “I think we’re almost there. You sure this is okay?”

  “You can stop asking that,” Leila said. “I’m not okay, but I’m going anyway.”

  The end of the garden announced itself, not just with a waist-high wrought-iron gate that was rusted and hanging off a hinge, or with the wall of stones that led away from it and connected with the rest of the crumbling bits. But instead, the edge revealed itself with how the brush and trees had simply overtaken everything around them. Landon pushed the gate open with a loud squeak, the bars groaning against the rust and the rock, and looked up at the trees with Leila.

  “You can’t even see the canopy,” he said, taking a step into what felt like untamed wilderness. “But this is where the grove is, see?” He pointed down at the ground, where some of the cobblestones still pushed their way through the soil and earth, popping up in-between brush and fallen branches. “There’s still a path here, leading in there.”

  He pointed into the trees.

  Leila squinted. It didn’t look like any light from the sun got through this brush, and the leaves of every tree looked almost unnaturally thick. How was this still inside the city park? Landon let go of her hand and grabbed Milford, who then perched on his forearm, which Landon in turn kept close to his chest.

  “Sorry, I don’t want him, like, getting knocked over while we’re pushing through here,” Landon said, an apologetic look on his face.

  “It’s okay,” Leila said, grinning at him. “It’s just the second time you’ve chosen your owl over me.”

  “Oh, come on, that’s not fair,” Landon said, a small smirk on his face.

  “It is what it is,” Leila shrugged, as Landon moved forward. She felt for her phone in her pants pocket, thinking of sending Sarika an update, and stopped as Landon walked forward through the thick trees. There was no way she could text and walk through all this at the same time. She’d have to dish later, particularly after they finally reached the place where the voices supposedly were telling her to go.

  They walked slowly through the underbrush and in-between the trees, with Landon’s owl remaining strangely silent through the ordeal. And it wasn’t just his owl. The sounds of the birds in the trees or skittering squirrels in the brush were gone, replaced with the crunch of their feet against the ground.

  “I think I see a clearing,” Leila said, squinting in the darkening woods. “Up there?”

  “That would be the grove,” Landon said, turning to look at her with a grin. “It’s really lovely.” His expression soured and he shook his head, looking back forward. “I can’t believe they want to get rid of all this.”

  Not too far away, a bit of golden light seemed to be breaking through some of the trees, like a wide opening was hollowed out in the middle to allow the sun to pour into one place. As they drew closer, the yellow, bright crack grew wider. Leila squinted as the opening grew near, and the sunbeams were almost blinding after all the dark shade. She stepped out of the woods and into the grove just as Landon placed Milford on his shoulder and once more took her hand.

  The grove spread out over what looked like at least an acre of land. Several tall oak tr
ees grew along the edges of the grove, opposite where she and Landon had walked in. Their trunks were thick and enormous, centuries old, if not more.

  And in the middle of the grove a ring of stone, similar to the ones around the garden, circled three smaller oak trees. But unlike the tall ones that stood around the end of the grove, these three were smaller, thinner.

  “That’s weird,” Leila said, nodding at the trees in the circle.

  “What is?”

  “Well, I mean, you said this place has been abandoned for a long time, right?” Leila asked, taking a step towards the ring of stone and the thinner, younger-looking trees. “Then why do those look like they were maybe planted, what, two decades ago? If that? And those guys, those huge ones on the border, have to be older than the mansion.”

  “I don’t quite see what you’re getting at,” Landon said, shrugging and walking with her. “It’s a grove. Someone back in the day likely planted it to use as a little getaway. A hidden garden.”

  Leila walked forward, looking at the trees and the ring, trying to figure it all out. She spun around.

  “But even if it was planted way back when, and even if you and your—as the voice likes to say—brothers have been trimming things once in a while, this is like, immaculate. Someone has been taking care of all this,” she said, gesturing to the trees and the ring. “Those trees in the center of the grove should be huge, not pruned down like that. If it isn’t you or one of the other rangers, then who is taking the time to keep all this up, especially if no one is visiting this place?”

  Leila.

  Leila groaned and dropped to the ground. The soil here was soft, pliable, unlike anything near the shattered house she’d walked with Landon from. She could feel her knees sinking into it, her hands against it, soft and cushioned. Almost as though she belonged there, planted with the trees. The grass under her hands felt as though it was moving, tickling against her palms and fingers.

  I am glad you are here.

  “Landon,” Leila muttered, looking up at him, lifting a hand to her pounding head. He was frozen in place, his mouth open and eyes wide.

  We are glad you are here.

  “Landon?” Leila asked, moving to stand.

  “Don’t!” Landon shouted, lifting a hand up. “Don’t move a muscle, don’t move anything, just . . . just stay there.” He started taking steps towards her with his hands outstretched, his body hunched low to the ground as he walked.

  “What is it?” Leila asked, moving to turn around.

  “No, stop!” Landon yelled. He reached for his walkie-

  talkie, and his shaking hands fumbled with it. The small black plastic device tumbled out of his hands and crashed against one of the granite stones, and pieces broke off instantly. With that, Milford hopped off his shoulder and onto the ground, flapping his one wing wildly as he made his clumsy decent to the earth. “No, Mil—” Landon started, moving to scoop up the owl, and then he turned back to Leila. He shook his head and walked towards her, still crouching.

  Leila’s heart pounded in her chest.

  Whatever it was, it had been enough for Landon to ignore the owl.

  Leila turned around.

  Welcome home, my daughter.

  She screamed just as Landon ran up behind her and pulled her to her feet.

  “Whatever this is,” he said, his voice terrified and eyes wide, “we have to run.”

  XIII

  Leila stared into the ring of stone, her eyes wide and watering, her breath short, all while Landon tugged on her arm.

  “Leila,” he said quietly. “Leila, please.” His tugging stopped for a moment, and after a quick rustling sound, returned. She turned to look at him. Milford was perched back on his shoulder. The owl’s eyes made contact with what stood in the ring, and he started flapping his one wing wildly again, the feathers around his neck gone ruffled and fierce.

  Leila turned back to the ring, the soft blasts of wind from the owl’s angry wing rustling her hair and tickling her neck.

  “Is it you?” Leila asked, taking a step forward.

  “What are you doing?” Landon shouted. Leila turned back to him, and lifted a hand up.

  “Getting answers. You can leave if you want.”

  “I’m not leaving you here with that, that thing.” He shook his head and backed down, taking a step away.

  “Is. It. You?” Leila pressed again, turning away from Landon and taking a step towards the ring of stone.

  There, in the middle of it, stood a woman.

  But she was unlike any woman Leila had ever seen.

  She stood there, naked and exposed, but where one would normally have skin, she was coated in a thick, brown bark, covering her from her feet up to her face. Instead of hair, she had brilliant curls of dark- and light-green leaves blended together with streams of purple vines, almost like highlights, which danced around her face. Her eyes glimmered, bright, fiercely green irises swirling in the unusually human whites of her eyes, casting a contrast against the rest of her.

  She took a step forward, and Leila gasped as flowers and moss bloomed where the tree woman’s foot pressed down, wildflowers of multiple colors and hues and shapes. She extended a hand, and as she moved, bits of bark crumbled off her arm, her body creaking like an old tree in a light breeze.

  “Come into the circle,” she said, her voice honeyed and soft, not at all like the whispering that had echoed in the recesses of Leila’s mind all these many years. It was still familiar in a strange way, as though she’d been speaking through a muffled receiver on a bad cell phone connection and now the tone was finally clear. Her voice carried on the wind, like a breeze, rustling the leaves in the trees around them.

  Leila took a step, and Landon put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it away quickly and turned to glare at him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “We should go.”

  “I can’t do that. You know I can’t,” she said, taking a step back towards him. She surprised herself by grabbing his hand, finding it rough and calloused. She squeezed it, the hard skin pressing against her soft hands. “Wait here.”

  Leila turned back and walked into the circle, where the woman of ivy, branches, and leaves stood with flowers and greenery blooming around her bare, brown feet. The woman walked slowly towards her, and when she was just an arm’s length away, lifted a hand up and placed her palm on Leila’s cheek. Leila stiffened at the touch, which was hard and rough. The bark-like skin scratched her face, but gently, like a cat’s tongue.

  It was hard not to stare.

  Up close, Leila took notice of the woman’s features. The pointed nose, the bright-green eyes that looked far more human than the rest of her. A handful of butterflies and a hefty bumblebee flitted about in her hair of ivy and leaves, and small flowers were tucked away in the green.

  “At last, you’ve come home to me,” the woman said, and as she exhaled, soft plumes of what looked like pollen gently floated from between her lips. She pressed her hand against Leila’s cheek a little more firmly, rubbing a hard thumb over her cheekbones. Leila could feel it scratching the surface of her skin, and winced. The woman let go and looked down, reaching out to grasp Leila’s hands, which had been firmly at her sides.

  Then the woman’s hands held hers, the skin dark and brown like a tree, rough as bark.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up at Leila. “It has been a long time since I touched a human.” She looked off to the side, wistfully, and Leila followed her gaze, seeing nothing. “Not since I last saw your father.”

  Leila breathed in sharply.

  Her father?

  The tree woman turned sharply back to Leila, and Leila could feel her heart racing, the rush of blood thundering in her head, pounding in her ears.

  “I’m your mother, Leila,” the woman said, smiling without openi
ng her mouth. Her lips were a softer shade of brown than the rest of her body. “Though I suspect you know that now.”

  “How . . . ?” Leila stammered, looking down at the still-blooming flowers under her feet. “How is any of this possible? How . . . how are you possible?” She closed her eyes and shook her head, which still ached. “This can’t be real.” She looked up at the woman, who continued to gaze at her. Her eyes were human, but hard. “You can’t be real.”

  Leila looked behind her to Landon, who stood outside the ring of stone, Milford perched on his shoulder. The owl shifted about, looking uncomfortable and panicked. She could try to say how unreal all of this was as much as she wanted, but there he was. A witness.

  “You see all of this, yes?” Leila asked.

  Landon nodded, his mouth closed tight and his eyes watering.

  “Please explain,” Leila said, turning back to the woman. “Please. I’ve heard your voice all my life. From the group homes to the foster homes, outside as a child and inside the walls of my new home. And now, louder than ever. Why? How?”

  The woman closed her eyes, small flecks of brown bark and silt fluttering off her eyelids, and let out what seemed to be a sigh. It was more of a soft breeze that rippled through the leaves and vines in her hair, and it washed over Leila. It felt like the winds that came whenever the voices did, the breezes that tickled her neck. The tree woman opened her eyes again and this time her look was forlorn and sad. She turned away, taking a few steps back into the middle of the grove.

  “What are you doing?” Leila asked, moving forward, heat rushing through her body. “I have questions. Why did you call me here? Why do you keep calling me?”