The Mysterious Woods of Whistle Root

by Christopher Pennell

  “They did,” whispered Lewis. “Or at least one did—this one. He took me when I stopped playing for a moment to tune my strings.”

  Carly looked over at the owl to make sure he was still sleeping.

  “He’s probably the oldest one in the woods,” whispered Lewis. “He’s listened to me play since my first night on a roof.”

  “But how come he’s listening to you play now?” asked Carly. “I thought all the owls had stopped doing that.”

  “He must still appreciate good music,” said Lewis. “Though he is a bit deaf. But I’ve been playing loudly and that’s probably why he hasn’t eaten me yet.”

  “But couldn’t you have gotten away?” asked Carly. “Like now—when he’s asleep? You could have just played him a lullaby and then flown back to the cave on a breeze. What are you still doing here?”

  Lewis hesitated.

  “Well, I did plan to go back,” he whispered. “But he’s not a bad audience really, aside from trying to eat me whenever I stop playing. And out here, I haven’t had to worry about vegetables or the other rules. Though I do hate to think what will happen if Breeza Meezy finds out. Say, did you bring your horn?”

  “No,” whispered Carly. “And you shouldn’t play your fiddle any more, either. Listen, that creature I saw at the smoking whistle root tree—”

  “Not play?”

  “—is called a griddlebeast and may be following me—I don’t know for sure, but we shouldn’t make any more noise—”

  Something large hit the side of Carly’s head and almost knocked her to the ground. The sudden sound of Lewis’s fiddle erupted into the night. He was playing a fast and wild song, and Carly looked up to see the old owl flying back to the dead tree. He had woken up and flown silently at them while they were talking. But as Lewis continued to play, the owl settled back on his perch and soon began hopping from foot to foot as if nothing had happened.

  Carly wasn’t hurt. And oddly, the name from the last note in the red hat had begun circling in her head insistently. It seemed to beat a perfect rhythm with the song Lewis was playing—Lew Kunderskool, Lew Kunderskool, Lew Kunderskool.

  She wanted to tell Lewis to play slow again so that the owl would go back to sleep. She also wanted the name to stop repeating so that she could think and figure out what to do next. But when Lewis began to play even faster, the name circled faster too. And as the sounds all merged together, she finally realized what it meant.

  Lew Kunderskool, LewKunderskool, lewkunder­skool, lookunderschool.

  “Look under school!” she said aloud, and gasped. Green’s cabin!

  Her mind began to race and she looked toward the old owl on the small dead tree and felt like gasping again. The Crank had been there all along and she had never even realized it.

  She had to get back to the cabin as quickly as possible.

  She glanced at Lewis, who was still playing his fiddle and hadn’t been listening to her at all.

  “There’s another owl,” he said over his music, and nodded toward the branches of a nearby whistle root tree.

  Carly didn’t want to look. Her instincts told her it wasn’t an owl Lewis had seen, despite the feathers. And when she finally raised her eyes, she saw what she had feared most.

  The griddlebeast had found them.

  CARLY’S HAND JUMPED TO HER neck, but she hadn’t had time to get new whistle roots. She had to do something—she couldn’t let the griddlebeast whisper Lewis to sleep.

  “Play louder!” she said, hoping the griddlebeast’s whispers wouldn’t work if they couldn’t hear them. She figured that was why the deaf old owl hadn’t eaten Lewis yet—he hadn’t been able to hear the whispers as well as the other owls had.

  “The new fellow’s a bit odd,” said Lewis.

  “It’s not an owl!” said Carly urgently. “It’s the griddlebeast! That’s what I was trying to tell you. He’s behind everything—the owls taking the rats, the creek rising, the whistle root trees being chopped down—”

  “Someone’s chopping down the whistle root trees?”

  “Yes! The whole town is! And he does it all with whispers, so you’ve got to play louder so we can’t hear him!”

  Carly wanted to tell Lewis to fly away to safety, but there weren’t any breezes. The night was very still. A full moon was shining through the leaves of the whistle root trees. In its light, Carly watched as the griddlebeast jumped from the branch he’d been sitting on. He landed on the ground without making a sound and combed his fingers through his feathers, which had been ruffled by the fall.

  He then began to walk toward them. And he was whispering.

  Carly was about to grab Lewis and run when the wind began to blow fiercely. Or rather, the wind began to blow fiercely around Carly. She was engulfed in a whirlwind while everything just a few feet away remained perfectly still. Her hair and clothes whipped around wildly, making it look as if a sudden new power was surging through her. But she knew the griddlebeast had done it and feared she would be trapped forever by the invisible whirling walls, or carried away and dropped somewhere to die, like the middle of a desert or ocean.

  She also noticed, however, that the griddlebeast had stopped walking and was staring at her with a surprised look on his face. And then her hands began to jump up and down as if she were a marionette and someone was pulling the strings. Only they weren’t being pulled from above, they were being bumped from below—by the wind—over and over again. And when the next bump hit her right hand, she pushed down with her fingers and found the tisks and was immediately lifted upward. She let go and dropped back to the ground and the wind continued to bump her hands, ever more insistently.

  The griddlebeast hadn’t caused the whirlwind after all.

  “I think it’s from the Woop!” Carly shouted to Lewis.

  With no time to explain, and hoping she was right, Carly reached through the wall of wind with her left hand and grabbed Lewis. She then found the tisks again with her right hand and flew up into the night.

  “We have to get to the school!” she yelled to Lewis, who didn’t look at all pleased about being grabbed. But he had seen the griddlebeast running toward them and didn’t protest as much as he normally might.

  “We won’t be able to control the wind!” he said. He reached out with his toes anyway and found several tisks, and Carly opened her hand to release him.

  They were flying straight up toward the stars.

  “Press down!” yelled Carly, which she and Lewis did, and the wind curved back down toward the trees. “Look out!” The old owl was flying at them and they swerved, barely avoiding a collision.

  Easily outdistancing the old owl, Carly took charge of the gust of wind and turned it abruptly in the direction in which she wanted to go. The gust obeyed her immediately.

  “How are you doing that so easily?” asked Lewis, clearly impressed with her mastery of the wind.

  “I’ll tell you later!” said Carly. The woods passed under them in a moonlit blur. It was wondrous, flying so fast through the night sky, but there wasn’t time to enjoy it. Carly scanned the tops of the trees, looking for . . .

  She suddenly dive-bombed into a small clearing. When she got close to the ground, she let go of the tisks, grabbed Lewis, and dropped several feet into the garden hidden below them. She rolled noisily through the untidy rows of plants and finally came to a stop with a pumpkin squashed beneath her.

  The wind was gone. And there wasn’t any sign of the griddlebeast—at least for the moment.

  She ran to the door that hid the tunnel to the cabin. She fumbled for the key but couldn’t find it, and began jumping up and down on the door. She felt the old rotten wood beginning to give way. It collapsed suddenly, and she fell down into the tunnel.

  Moonlight streamed down with her. And once she had wiped the dirt and debris from her eyes, she saw that she had almost landed on top of Green.

  “Who’s that?” asked Lewis, as he flew down shakily on a weak breeze he’d found.

/>   “A friend,” said Carly. She had to get to the cabin as quickly as possible and knew she couldn’t pull or carry Green. “Please stay with him, Lewis. And if you see the griddlebeast, play as loudly as you can!”

  Before Lewis could say anything, she took off running down the tunnel. She didn’t have any light. She held her hands out in front of her and raced through the darkness. She tripped and fell several times, but always got up and kept running. She tried not to scream when unseen roots brushed against her face, arms, and legs. She tried to remember that most of them were from whistle root trees, which made it only slightly less terrifying.

  Without warning, she crashed into the door of the cabin, knocking it open. It was completely dark inside, and she felt her way toward the corner where Elzick’s perch was. When she found it, she felt quickly for the top, fearing all the while that Elzick would be sitting there. But he wasn’t. So she took a deep breath and began to turn the Crank.

  She began to turn the Crank.

  It wouldn’t move at first and Carly panicked, thinking she’d been wrong. But then it began to creak and groan. And once she got it moving, it turned easily, spinning round and round. She had no intention of stopping. But then someone lit a candle, and Carly looked up and saw that Green’s grandmother had gotten out of bed.

  “That should be enough, dear,” Granny Pitcher said, smiling and pulling on her well-worn cloak and boots.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A BAG OF SEEDS

  CARLY AND GRANNY PITCHER found Green at the top of the ladder, awake and staring into the woods.

  “It was just like the story described it,” he said excitedly, hugging his grandmother and listening to Lewis ask him if he knew how to play the drum.

  The leaves had stopped moving, but the echo of a million bells was still in the air. The four of them stood in the clearing, aglow with moonlight, and listened as the ringing faded away. Granny Pitcher had an arm around both Carly and Green. She even invited Lewis to sit on her shoulder.

  When it was silent, Carly told them everything that had happened while they’d been asleep. She had to go back further for Granny Pitcher’s sake, but concluded with the chopping of the whistle root trees, the Woop, and how she had known where the Crank was.

  “I remembered what Green had said about bumping into Elzick’s perch. I realized that must have been on the night when the whistle root tree at the cave rang.”

  Granny Pitcher asked lots of questions about the griddlebeast. While Carly and Green answered, she searched the woods with her eyes as if trying to find it. She seemed particularly interested when they mentioned its feathers. “I wonder . . .” she began, but didn’t say anything more.

  “Did you know Elzick’s perch was the Crank?” Green asked her.

  “Of course,” she said. “That’s why I built the cabin around it—so no one else would find it. But Carly luckily figured out the one clue I left—a name—and I’m very grateful for her cleverness.” She smiled at Carly and then pulled the hood from her cloak up over her head. “I know you two have lots of questions, but there’s something I must do. I promise to explain everything when I get back.” She then disappeared so quickly into the darkness of the woods that there was no hope of following her.

  TWO DAYS LATER, MOST PEOPLE in Whistle Root were denying they had heard bells ringing or that they had seen the leaves of the whistle root trees swinging back and forth. It was harder to explain why they had suddenly decided to chop down the whistle root trees. You couldn’t deny that—stumps were everywhere.

  Back in school, teachers and students looked away when they saw Carly, as if embarrassed by what she had caught them doing in the woods. Carly wanted to tell them it wasn’t their fault, but how could she explain about the griddlebeast? Several people even looked angrily at her.

  When the bell rang for the study period, Carly was the first one out the classroom door. In the library, she made sure no one was watching and went quickly to the dark aisle where the chimney to the cabin was. She slid the books to the side and climbed down the ladder. At the bottom, she knocked on the wood wall; Green was waiting for her.

  Climbing out of the fireplace, Carly saw that Elzick was again standing on top of the Crank. “Is your grandmother back?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” said Green.

  They were both getting worried.

  They hadn’t seen Granny Pitcher since the night the whistle root trees rang. Green hadn’t gone to school because he wanted to be at the cabin when she came back.

  But he had just finished making them both some hot tea when the front door swung open.

  “Hello, hello,” called Granny Pitcher, marching in from the tunnel. “Did you make enough tea for three?” She shook off her ragged cloak and sat down at the table with them.

  “Where have you been?” asked Green, getting up to pour a third mug of tea. His tone was brusque, but Carly could tell how relieved he was to see her.

  “On a bit of a hunt,” said Granny Pitcher. She patted his hand when he handed her the mug and smiled at him. “I’m sorry I worried you. I didn’t plan to be gone so long.”

  “On a hunt for what?”

  “Oh, the griddlebeast . . .” Granny Pitcher closed her eyes and drank her tea; her strong hands seemed to savor the warmth from the chipped old mug.

  “Is it still out there?” asked Carly. Had the whistle root trees failed? Were they all still in danger? Green dropped into the chair beside her with a worried look on his face.

  Granny Pitcher swallowed her tea and opened her eyes. “It is still out there . . . but the whistle root trees have done their magic well, children. We don’t need to worry about its whispers anymore.”

  “Did they change the griddlebeast into a tree?” asked Green. “Like they did to the kings in the Endroot?”

  Granny Pitcher smiled. “The whistle root trees don’t always . . . well, you can’t predict what they’re going to do when you turn the Crank. Now, let me tell you what I did find. It took much searching, but I eventually came across a little bird of a kind I’d never seen before. It was only slightly bigger than a sparrow, but had something of the look of an owl, mainly about the feathers. It seemed enormously proud of those feathers, and spent most of its time admiring their reflection in the creek. Every now and then it would try to chase a rabbit, although it was too small to do much more than startle them or tug an ear. I followed it for quite some time. It never sang or made a sound. I don’t think it has a voice. I have decided to call it a griddlebird. The name seems an obvious choice, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Now, let me tell you what I did find.”

  Carly and Green both sat still, then nodded and grinned, marveling at the griddlebeast’s fate and the power of the whistle root trees.

  “Yes, but . . .” Carly began, and then stopped, thinking about exactly what she wanted to ask. “Granny Pitcher, why was there a griddlebeast at all?”

  The old woman sipped her tea and studied them both solemnly. “Revenge, my dear,” she said finally. “A griddlebeast is always an instrument of revenge. Though whoever uses a griddlebeast for that purpose must be patient, because you never know when it’s going to hatch from its egg of stone. It could be days, or years, or . . . centuries, as was the case with ours.”

  “The split rock!” said Carly. “That’s what it hatched from, isn’t it? I found it in the woods. And one of the messages from the Woop said to beware of broken rocks. He was trying to warn us!”

  “Yes,” said Granny Pitcher, narrowing her eyes and reminding Carly of the fierce woman she’d seen in the newspaper picture. “Though he could have been a little more direct with his warning, couldn’t he? And it wasn’t very kind to leave you in the griddlebeast’s burrow. But I suppose we must thank him for sending you the wind. He did do that . . . at least.”

  “But where did the rock come from?” asked Green.

  “From the Endroot,” said Granny Pitcher. “From the Moon King’s oldest brother. For you see, aft
er he chopped down the whistle root trees, and after the Moon King left with the rats, he foolishly allowed all the other trees to be chopped down as well. And once they were gone, the Endroot quickly returned to the wasteland of ashes it had been before.

  “The constant winds and swirling ash drove the oldest brother mad. And as the years passed and his madness deepened, he began to believe that the Moon King had cursed his kingdom as punishment for what had been done to him—even though the destruction of the Endroot had been entirely the oldest brother’s own fault.

  “So he sent a gallowhawk—the same kind of bird that dropped Crassifolia into the Endroot—to find the Moon King. And after several months of flying over mountains, oceans, and deserts, the gallowhawk did find him, here, and dropped the rock from which the griddlebeast would one day hatch—although I’m sure the oldest brother hoped it would hatch much sooner than it did. He intended to punish the Moon King, you see, and everything connected to him—the rats, the whistle root trees, and, as it turned out, his family, for the Moon King had married a young woman who bravely entered the woods that everyone else thought were haunted. A few of their descendants are still living, but most have moved away.”

  Granny Pitcher paused, sipped her tea, and smiled. “And none of them know their history. Although two of them have learned it . . . today. I should probably have told them sooner, but I feared they would think me nothing more than a crazy old woman with a head full of foolish stories.”

  There was silence in the cabin. Carly and Green looked at her in shock.

  “You mean us?” said Green. “Carly and me?”

  “Yes . . . you are descended from the Moon King through your mother, Green, and Carly through her father. He certainly got the family genes, didn’t he? Traveling and playing music—that goes right back to the earliest days in the Endroot. And you, Carly, inherited the Moon King’s most distinguishing trait of all, though I know it has made life hard for you. I had assumed your aunt was taking good care of you . . .”