The Girl and the Grove

by Eric Smith

  The woman raised her hand, her fingers like gnarled, old vines, her arm a branch. She looked back at Leila.

  “We are in danger. I . . . we . . . needed someone who could speak for us.”

  “Us?” Leila asked. She turned to look towards Landon, who had walked up closer to the circle surrounding the grove. Milford’s neck feathers were still ruffled and mad. Landon took a slow, careful step into the circle of stone and squinted, as if anticipating something.

  When his foot touched the ground inside the circle, he looked immediately relieved.

  “What did you think was going to happen?” Leila asked, smirking.

  “I don’t know,” Landon muttered. “I’m new to this magic thing.” He exhaled. “But I’m here with you.”

  Leila looked back up at the woman in the woods, who was waving a branch-like arm in the air. A soft breeze rustled in the trees, and Leila shivered.

  “If something goes wrong, we run,” Landon said. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  Leila looked up at Landon. He stared ahead, focused on the strange woman in the center of the grove.

  She believed him.

  “Us,” the woman continued, turning back to Leila and Landon. As she slowly spun back around, the trees that bordered the large center oak that she had stepped out from began to groan. They twisted, impossibly, shifting back and forth despite their thick, heavy trunks, and each slowly split down the middle, a thin crack making its way right down the center of the trees. There were two of them, and they shook and quivered as thin cracks cut their way from the top of their green branches down to the bottom, where the roots plunged into the earth.

  Leila’s hand suddenly felt like it was being crushed, and when she went to move it, discovered Landon was holding her hand tightly.

  The cracks in the trees opened wider, and hands plunged out: dark, brown, the texture of bark; followed by arms, and then legs, feet pressing against the earth, sending blooms and flowers wherever they stepped.

  There were more of them.

  Two more.

  The two other . . . creatures? Tree people? Monsters? Leila wasn’t sure what to call them, stepped into the center of the grove, joining the woman who’d addressed Leila. These other women bore similar features. The bark skin, rough and textured, matched the oaks they’d stepped from, with small differences. One had golden, almost yellow, eyes that shone with a brightness that rivaled even Milford’s. The other's hair wasn’t the tangle of ivy and leaves like the others, but instead was short, made up of what looked like firm moss, close to her head. Like she’d had a haircut recently. Leila smiled at this one, even as they grew closer.

  Something seemed . . . familiar about them all.

  Safe.

  She moved away from Landon and took a step towards the creatures, who shifted towards the two of them slowly. Landon reached out and grabbed her hand again, and she shook it free. Milford’s feathers seemed to ruffle up even more.

  “It’s okay,” Leila said, and then looked up at Milford. She reached out and scratched under his chin.

  Leila turned, facing the women, who all stared at her curiously.

  “This reminds me of the last time,” the one with yellow eyes said. Her voice was rough, like a bushel of sticks being pressed down into a box, crunching and twisting with each word. “Do you remember, sister?”

  “I do,” the one with the short, moss-like hair said. Her voice was similar, but warmed up as she spoke, slowly becoming soothing and gentle, like a passing breeze. “But this one is different. Not fully one of us.”

  “She’s half,” the golden-eyed woman said, her voice smoothing out, “and she’s family.”

  “He wears the colors,” the moss-haired woman said, taking a step forward. “He’s like the last human. Your human, sister.”

  The creature that had been speaking to Leila all this time, with her long hair of ivy and leaves, turned to the moss-haired woman quickly, and then back to Leila and Landon, her eyes sad and far away.

  “Your questions,” she said, taking a step towards Leila and Landon. “Ask. Few humans come here anymore, save for the caretakers. We have time.”

  Leila looked at Landon, who simply nodded.

  “Who are you? What are you?” Leila asked.

  “We are what your people refer to as dryads, though we’ve had many names. The meliae, the hamadryad, the nymph, the salabhanjika.” As the words grew longer and more complex, they came out more roughly on the creature’s tongue, her mouth twisting to pronounce the words, shaping them slowly and with difficulty.

  “That one is my favorite,” the creature with the moss-hair said, a soft smile on her rough, bark-like face.

  “As for the who,” the woman with the leafy hair continued. She sighed, and again, the breeze picked up. “I am called Karayea. This is Tifolia.” The creature with the golden eyes nodded. “And this is Shorea.” The moss-haired creature followed suit.

  “I . . . am your mother,” the dryad said, a shy smile lighting up on her face. “And Shorea and Tifolia are, I suppose by human custom, your aunts? Yes?”

  She looked to the other dryads, who shrugged in response. At least, that’s what it looked like. Their leaves and branches rattled. Leila heard steps behind her as Landon moved to her side.

  “You okay?” Landon asked.

  “No,” Leila said. “You?”

  “Nope,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I’m here though.”

  “He is just like the other one,” Tifolia said, looking at Shorea. “A guardian. Brave.”

  “He’s different,” Shorea said, shaking her head and branches. “The two of them are much different.”

  “Still, I see—” started Tifolia.

  “Sisters, please,” Karayea said, her sighs becoming heavier. Leila looked at her, arching an eyebrow, as the dryad’s breathing—if you could call it that—seemed to become heavier, weathered. The dryad staggered back a little, and Tifolia and Shorea walked towards her, their pace slightly quicker, but still slow and measured. The two dryads supported her, and Karayea looked up at Leila, her eyes once again sad, the bright green fading away.

  “It becomes . . . difficult, when any of us stray too long from the trees. Over the years, I’ve been using the plants around your city to watch you, and recently, to speak with you. To beckon you here. It has taken much from me,” she said, turning with her sisters and walking back towards the center of the grove. Leila’s heart raced as she watched in realization. The moving flowers. The stretching tree in her yard. The brambles on the path. These things had happened, they had to be happening, because of the dryads here. She looked up at Landon, who stared straight ahead, his eyes wide and breath short. The small owl shook his head, feathers around his neck still agitated.

  All three of the dryads reached their respective trees in the grove, and took steps back inside the split trunks. The trees shook as the splits started to seal back up, and the dryads closed their eyes and tilted their heads up towards the canopy as the bark regrew along the splintered wood.

  “Hey! Wait!” Leila exclaimed, darting forward. “Wait, I have questions! What’s all this ‘half’ stuff? Why are you talking about Landon like he’s,” she turned and looked at him, baffled, “like he’s part of all of this? I just met him!”

  The two trunks holding Tifolia and Shorea sealed up, the leaves and branches of their respective trees rustling as though a gust of wind blasted through them. The center tree, with Karayea in it, remained open with the dryad inside. The tree was sealed up to her waist. She reached a hand out and motioned for the two of them to walk forward.

  “There used to be many of us in these woods,” Karayea said. “But our numbers have dwindled. The world around us has grown quiet. The last time we spoke to a human, we discovered we were the last, and the vast wilderness where our kind lived was long torn asund
er. He was a lot like you, you know.” Her eyes focused warmly on Landon.

  “Me?” Landon asked, stepping forward towards the trees. Milford, as though sensing his discomfort, ruffled his feathers.

  “Who?” Leila asked, looking from the baffled Landon to the dryad in the tree.

  “Your father,” Karayea said, matter-of-factly. “He protected these woods, wearing the same colors as you.” She sighed, and the wind rustled through the trees around them. “I loved him.”

  Leila sat down on the ground. Twigs and leaves pressed against her jeans. She took deep breaths, resisting the urge to just curl up and disappear. Landon knelt down next to her, and she felt a tentative hand on her back. She closed her eyes, unflinching.

  “Are you alright, my daughter?” Karayea asked.

  Leila looked up at her and immediately shut her eyes, trying to hide the surprising, brewing anger that swirled inside her with a wealth of other emotions, confusion being at the top of the list. Who was this . . . woman? Creature? Weren’t dryads mythological? How was any of this even possible? If it wasn’t for Landon being here with her, if she’d been all alone, this could have been enough to drive her mad. She wouldn’t have believed any of this was even happening.

  And the mention of her father.

  Not only had she supposedly found her birth mother, but she had some hints about her biological father.

  It was information overload, mashed together with a swirl of additional questions that absolutely terrified her. Primarily, if this was her mother, a creature of myth, and her father was a human, what did that make her?

  “Why?” Leila said, her eyes shut. She opened them and stared at the dryad in the tree. “After all this time, why did you bring me here? Why keep talking to me? Why not just, I don’t know, speak clearly to me, like you did when I got close? What is it that you want, and why shouldn’t I turn around and never come back?”

  “Leila,” Landon said, sounding surprised.

  “What?” Leila snapped, immediately feeling sorry for the outburst. “Where was she all this time?” She turned back to Karayea. “Hm? And if you know who my father is, where was he? Why have I been bounced around through foster homes and dealt with terrible people my whole life, if you were right here? Right here!”

  “We, myself and your aunts,” Karayea said, the word strange in her mouth, “we are bound to this patch of land. To this grove here. All dryads have their trees, their land that they are attached to. Speaking to you through the wind can only be done with more trees around. The farther away you are, the fewer trees connecting the wind, the harder it is to speak. It gets easier the closer you are, and the more trees nearby.”

  The dryad closed her green eyes and let out a sigh, rustling the leaves in her hair and on the trees nearby, a soft breeze.

  “I called for you many times, when I felt you might hear me, when I felt you closest to the trees. I wondered what became of my daughter, who once ran through the moss and sang with the birds. I called with what humans often call magic, but for us it is just a part of who we are.” Karayea breathed in deeply, and again, the leaves shook. “And now you are here, and we have been in trouble for quite some time, as I’m sure your friend can attest.”

  Leila looked up at Landon, who shrugged.

  “I’m not sure what you mean?” Landon asked.

  “The mansion, the home near us,” Karayea said, nodding her head slowly in the direction behind Leila and Landon. “Soon men with monsters of steel and smoke will rip it down, and take our grove and neighboring trees with it. My sisters and I have heard them of late, quite often, as they walk through our woods speaking of their plans.”

  The dryad grew quiet, and then looked right at Leila.

  “It is to happen soon. And we will all perish.”

  “The developers,” Landon said, nodding to Leila. “Like I told you about. They want to put a concert venue in here or something, but have had a hard time because of the historic building, the gardens, and some endangered native wildlife. A mouse, if you can believe that.”

  Leila nodded. There were a lot of things she suddenly believed in.

  “I’ve tried speaking up, at meetings over at City Hall and with the Fairmount Park Preservation Association, but no one comes back here. Sometimes it’s hard to fight for something no one really cares about.” His eyes widened and he looked back at Karayea. “No offense, er, ma’am.”

  “There’s a reason the trees flourish around the humans here, dear children,” the dryad said, her tone serious. “As the land grew more toxic from your waste and carelessness, the soil grew harsh and barren. Without us, the trees surrounding this land will perish, and with us, so go all creatures. Including you.”

  “I’m sorry, you control all the trees around Philadelphia?” Leila asked.

  “Yes. That is the name of this place, according to what your father once told me,” Karayea said, nodding. “What remains of the wilderness, what remains grounded around the humans surrounded by smoke and death, it survives because of us, here in this grove. I need you to stop what the humans are planning, and rescue them from themselves. Your home will suffocate under your own breath.”

  Leila looked up at Landon, who scratched the back of his head, and Milford reached around and nibbled the back of Landon’s head with his beak. He stopped when Landon did.

  “I see you, too, are one with nature,” Karayea said, nodding softly at the owl on Landon’s shoulder. Milford perked up, squinting as he gazed at the dryad.

  “Oh, him?” Landon asked, laughing nervously. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure if he actually had two wings, he’d just fly away. He’s here because he needs me.”

  “Or because you need him,” Karayea said, smiling. “Or you need each other. You humans call it sym . . . bi . . . os . . . is.” She spoke as though she was pushing the complicated word out, each syllable coming out rough. “I’m sorry. Some of the words your father taught me, they are still difficult to say. It’s what we are, here in the woods, to the trees and you humans, even if none of you know it. Your people once did, but no longer. He taught me much about what was outside of this place, before he was taken from me.”

  At this, Leila felt a rush of warmth.

  “Taken?” she asked.

  “Indeed,” the dryad said, sadly. “Shortly after you were born. No one believed him about us, about the grove. He’d told a few close to him, and was shunned. Soon, he no longer wore your colors.” She nodded at Landon, who looked back at her quizzically. “Those he served had, as he said, let him go.”

  Landon gasped, his eyes wide.

  “Wait, so he was a park ranger?” he said. “That’s what you’re saying. That’s what you mean about my colors or whatever.” He took off his jacket. “He wore something like this?”

  “Much the same,” Karayea responded sadly.

  “When did he . . .” Landon looked down at Leila, suddenly looking just as crestfallen as the dryad. “When did he leave? Disappear?”

  “When Leila was but a sapling,” Karayea said with a soft smile on her face. “You took to the woods well, my child. But you needed school, he said. A life away from this small grove. Your father knew that. But at least I had two full cycles with you, here, in the woods and in my arms.”

  “You were two when you entered into the system?” Landon asked.

  “I think so,” Leila shrugged. “It’s not like I have any memories of back then. Who remembers anything from when they were babies or toddlers?”

  Landon put his jacket back on and stared down at the ground, his eyes hard. Milford shifted about on his shoulder, appearing as uncomfortable as the silence.

  “Landon?” Leila ventured. “What is it?”

  “It might just be a coincidence,” Landon muttered, shaking his head. He looked down at Leila. “But I think I know who your father is.”

  The wind rustled mad
ly, and Leila shielded her face from the breeze. Milford flapped his single wing intensely against it.

  “I tire, sweet children,” Karayea said. “Go, come back after the sun and moon have danced a few times. I must rest. All of this,” she sighed, rustling the leaves, “has taken much from me.” She looked up at Leila, her bright eyes green and focused.

  “I’m counting on you. I believe in you. It isn’t about saving us. It’s about saving them.”

  And with that, the bark around her sealed up, and the tall oak tree she dwelled in shook and grew still, as though nothing had even happened.

  LEILA: Hey!

  LEILA: So . . . I’m out with Landon, actually.

  LEILA: There are . . . things to discuss.

  SARIKA: Damn it must be going good.

  SARIKA: ;-)

  SARIKA: Hello?

  SARIKA: Girl you okay, where are you?

  LEILA: Hey!

  LEILA: Everything’s fine, he’s fine, I’m fine.

  LEILA: Phone is dying though.

  LEILA: I’ll text you when I get home.

  SARIKA: Yeah he is.

  SARIKA: Fine, that is.

  SARIKA: I can’t text with italics, but “yeah” should be in italics to emphasize his hotness.

  LEILA: Oh my God.

  LEILA: Nothing is happening with him like that.

  LEILA: Adam’s tomorrow. Please.

  SARIKA: I want all the details. All of them.

  LEILA: You aren’t even ready.

  SARIKA: That’s what he said. ;-)

  LEILA: You need to stop this.

  XIV

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? Hot chocolate?”

  Landon fussed over Leila as she sat in his break room, a small but cozy little space tucked away in the back of the ranger station in Fairmount Park, just a forty-minute hike away from where the grove and mansion were. They’d walked in relative silence as the events replayed in Leila’s head again and again. She sighed and tried to sink further into the squishy chair she’d decided to live the rest of her life in, nestling into the extra ranger jacket Landon had given her. It smelled like him, of the sawdust and crunchy leaves, sandalwood and vanilla soap.