“She is proud of me.” Wisp looked up at him, confused.
He wiped at his eyes, smiling. “Yes. Of course. I meant she is proud of you.”
Feeling proud of herself, she walked at his side, gazing around at the plants while reciting their names and identifying the ones they could eat.
Heavy crunching in the woods off to the left a few minutes later made her dart back around him. She crouched low and scampered up behind a tree, clinging to the trunk. Dad lowered himself to one knee, bringing the rifle up in that direction. Wisp held her breath to be as quiet as possible. Every wavering bush started to become a Tree Walker in her mind.
A smear of dark moved in the distance. She honed in on it with widening eyes. The trees hadn’t started to come to life to grab her―a black bear wandered along, tracking right to left at an uncomfortable distance: not close enough to be terrifying, but not far enough to be reassuring.
Dad lowered his rifle and inched backward toward her.
“Food?” she whispered.
“No. We’re too far from home. He’s way too big for me to carry. We’d never get him to the cabin. I’m only going to shoot him if he comes after us.”
She nodded.
While the bear meandered off to the left, they headed the other way, which worked out as they’d already been going in that direction. Not quite an hour later, Wisp’s heart ceased pounding in her chest. The bear hadn’t noticed them, and since it hadn’t come bounding out of the weeds by now, it probably wouldn’t.
Dad stopped and raised a hand.
She froze, listening. In seconds, the burble of running water became apparent. “Stream?”
A proud smile spread over his face. “Correct. Where?”
Wisp turned her head side to side in a slow sweep, considering how the sound changed. She pointed to the right and a little forward. “There.”
“Good. Thirsty?”
“Yeah.”
Wisp walked in the lead, Dad a step or two behind her. Thigh-high ferns and bushes slowed her down, but within a few minutes, she emerged onto bare dirt at the edge of a fast-moving stream littered with head-sized rocks. Though the water spanned wider than the length of the cabin, it didn’t look too deep.
“Good for swimming?” asked Dad.
“No. The current is moving too fast. It’s not too deep, but I’m small and the water would sweep me away.”
He patted her on the back. “Very good. You can step in the edge a bit to drink, but don’t go in deeper than your knees.”
She squatted at the edge and scooped handfuls of water to her mouth. Dad did the same, but nudged her with an elbow before pointing at a flash of silver a little downstream.
“Fish.” She grinned, stomach growling. “But your line’s at home.”
“There’s more than one way to snag a fish.” Dad winked, and headed back to the trees.
She followed, curious, watching as he picked among the woods until he located a long shaft about an inch around and a little longer than his height. He pulled out a knife and cut off a bent gnarl before slicing the knife back and forth across the end to make an X-shaped gouge. She sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, keenly interested as he continued to work the knife into the fallen branch. In a few minutes, he’d wedged the blade in deep enough to split the end into four separate tines, each of which he sharpened.
“Fish are tricky to hit underwater.” Dad cut a nugget of wood off the gnarl, and wedged it in between the four pointy bits to spread them apart. “A four-pointed spear makes it much easier to hit them.”
She nodded.
He took some twine from his pack and tied the nugget in place. Wisp trailed behind him on the way back to the stream. “It’s important to be quiet, and patient. Fish have good hearing and they startle easily.”
She sat on the bank, arms around her legs with her chin on her knees, observing Dad as he made his way out to stand on a big rock a few feet from shore. He crouched, the spear poised high. Minutes passed in exciting silence. Worried that the noises in her stomach would scare the fish away, she pressed her hands into her belly.
Eventually, Dad jammed the spear into the river and pulled back a flapping fish a little over a foot in length. Still on his rocky perch, he swiveled and extended the spear toward her. She leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around the struggling fish, yanking it away from the pointy wood. He went back to scanning the river, presumably to catch another fish. Wisp spotted a flattish rock on the shore not too far away, and decided to use it as a table to scale and gut the fish with the knife she’d been carrying on her leg all day long.
She’d about finished with it by the time Dad walked over with his spear, another fish hanging dead on the end. Wisp took it without a word, and proceeded to clean it as well while he put together a fire. Once she had both fish skewered on thinner sticks and hung over the flames, she tossed the guts in the water for other fish to eat.
They reclined on the bank, enjoying a pleasant breeze and the warmth of an early-evening sun. Every so often, a fish leapt out of the water, oblivious to the fate of its brothers over the fire. Wisp spotted a bird and pointed.
“Hawk,” said Dad. “Means good luck.”
“I think Mother can see him, too.”
Dad’s smile faltered for a few seconds. He coughed and picked at his eye. “Yes, I’m sure she can, but you make her happy more than anything.”
For as long as she could remember, Dad often told her about how Mother had wanted to have a daughter with all her heart, but sadly, she’d fallen ill soon after Wisp’s arrival.
“She was so happy to have you.” Dad sat up and wiped his eyes. “Even when she got sick, holding you made her smile.”
Wisp frowned. “I don’t remember her.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t. You were only a baby then. You, umm… weren’t even walking yet when she went to the Other Place.”
Her lip quivered. Sniffling, she scooted over to lean against him. “I hate that she had to go.”
“I do too, sweetie.” He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “More than I hate anything.”
“More than you hate the Tree Walkers?”
He nodded. “I don’t hate them. What I feel for them is fear and worry, because they would take you from me.”
“Why?” She idly scratched at her foot, resting her cheek on her knee.
“Because they do.” He turned the fish over. “Monsters don’t really have a ‘why.’ They just do things because they’re monsters.”
“Oh.” She wiped away the tears shed for Mother, and frowned. “Well, I hate them. For making you scared.”
They sat in silence for a little while before he took the fish off the fire and offered her one. “Hungry?”
“Ooh!” She grabbed it, blowing on the crispy browned skin to cool it enough to bite. She loved fish as she loved deer and boar meat, since a bite could fill her mouth. Not like insects, which she had to eat three or four at once. “Yes!”
As happy as she’d ever been, Wisp reclined in the grass beside Dad, ankles crossed, and feasted upon her fish-on-a-stick.
Shooting
-4-
Upon noticing the daylight weakening, Dad sprang to his feet and kicked dirt over the smoldering remains of the fire. He scarfed down his fish far faster than Wisp could manage, grabbed the spear, and set off at a brisk stride without waiting for her to finish eating. She hurried after him, munching while walking. The sun’s rapid retreat behind the hills in the west made it clear they’d never reach the cabin before night set in. She hovered close behind Dad, gazing at the shadows deepening between the trees with each passing minute. Worry twisted the pleasant fullness in her belly into sick.
Dad didn’t show any outward signs of alarm, so she allowed herself to remain more or less calm. The woods around her gave off a general sense of familiarity, which meant they couldn’t be too far away from home. Not being in the Haven at night―or at least inside the cabin―frightened her more than the grizzly.<
br />
For minutes, she crept along behind Dad, the soft squish of his boots upon the ground seeming loud enough to beg the Tree Walkers to come after them. Wisp startled at the occasional twig cracking under his feet or soft thump of a moving animal, whipping her head back and forth in search of anything moving.
Moonlight painted the landscape in a deep blue shade. The woods more than fifty yards in any direction had become a dense murk of nothingness. Wherever leaves fluttered in the moonlight, she cringed away, from the lurking Tree Walkers she expected. Wisp clung to Dad’s arm with both hands, her pale fingers all but glowing against his deep brown tan.
“It’s all right,” said Dad in a near whisper. “We don’t have far to go.”
She nodded. It hit her that acting like a little kid might cause him to leave her in the Haven next time he went out to hunt. Except for right now, the journey had been amazing and fun. Wisp straightened her posture and let go of his arm, attempting to appear brave. At least in the dark, he couldn’t see her wide eyes and shivering hands.
A rippling cascade of snapping echoed out of the forest, like a bear crushing an entire bundle of twigs at once.
Or a Tree Walker rising up from the ground.
She held back a startled yelp that echoed in her brain and snagged the pistol from the holster on Dad’s belt, clutching it in both hands. Within a second of her pointing it at the woods where the sound came from, Dad grasped her by the wrists and pushed the weapon down.
Wisp shifted her eyes to him, asking ‘why’ with a stare.
“You cannot kill the Tree Walkers with a bullet,” whispered Dad. “A gun will only make them angry… and the loudness will tell them where you are.”
“I understand.” She fidgeted her grip on the pistol. “It might not be one of them. What makes that noise?”
Dad let go of her and grabbed the front of his rifle, training it generally in that direction. “Sounded like a big person stepping on branches. Down.”
Wisp sank into a squat, staring at the forest. Her mind played evil games by making her think every shadow held a creature of living vines coming to take her away from Dad. Mother, please protect us.
Another crunch came from ahead and a little farther to the left. She shifted her facing toward it, but didn’t raise the pistol. Dad took a knee beside her, a little in front to shield her from arrows.
A chill wafted by on the early evening breeze. Leaves rustled overhead. Cricket song surrounded them and the rapid skittering of a squirrel zipped by overhead.
Her toes dug deep into the rain-damp soil. The pistol wobbled in her hands. She swallowed hard, trying to be brave, trying to show courage so Dad would take her on a hunt again. He would do anything to protect her, and he didn’t like seeing her frightened. If he thought going out scared her too much, he’d keep her safe in the Haven. She thought back to how nice it had been relaxing beside the stream, watching birds and eating fish with Dad. If every day could be like that, she’d be the happiest girl in the world.
Her trembling stopped. She narrowed her eyes and lifted the gun, ready to shoot a monster.
Dad panned his rifle back and forth, scanning the woods. Minutes passed in silence before the soft crunching of a person’s footsteps became apparent. She shifted left, facing toward the noise. Motion caught her eye.
A tall man strode across the woods not far away. The shadowy figure entered a patch of moonlight, revealing dusty, brown leather armor on top of black fabric, as well as a white mask over his face with eyeholes. Faint rattling emanated from a quiver of arrows at his belt, and the handle of a large blade jutted up from behind his back. He clutched a bow in his left hand, arm relaxed at his side, no arrow nocked.
He hasn’t seen us.
Dad released his left hand from the front of the rifle to cover Wisp’s mouth for a second, a sign to stay perfectly quiet.
She didn’t even nod, holding as still as Mother.
The man marched on, passing within twenty feet of where they crouched. At one point, he appeared to look right at them, but didn’t react. Likely, in the dark, he hadn’t been able to see them among the foliage―despite her pink shirt. Wisp narrowed her eyes. The next time they went out on a hunt, she’d leave the shirt home. Though, the fabric did mute the blue moonlight glow of her exceptionally pale skin. Perhaps she’d keep the shirt after all―or smear dark mud all over herself. Maybe she’d ask Dad to make her an armor top like he had. The skirt’s rich dark brown worked well for hiding.
Wisp lifted the pistol, aiming at the figure crossing by. She didn’t move her finger to the trigger, holding it firm along the side of the weapon. Once the man passed the point where he’d begun to walk away from them rather than closer, she relaxed.
Dad waited two minutes before nodding to the right and standing.
She got up.
He held out his hand, and she placed the pistol in it without hesitating. A smile flickered across his lips, piercing the serious glower he still aimed into the woods. After stuffing the gun back in his hip holster, he took her hand and resumed walking.
Wisp’s head filled with memories.
Nine-year-old Wisp smeared her hands down the front of her faded dress, no longer able to tell if it had been pink, orange, or somewhere in between. She smiled up at Dad before holding her hands out.
He eased the pistol into her grip. She did the best she could trying to hold it the same way he showed her, but he still adjusted the position of her fingers and arms. Today was special. He would let her fire some real bullets at a couple of metal cans he’d hung from twine near the cabin.
“What’s the first rule?” asked Dad.
Wisp closed her left eye and peered over the handgun at the biggest can. “Don’t shoot if I can run away.”
“Correct. Second rule?”
“Don’t touch the trigger until I want to shoot.”
“Third?”
“Don’t point a gun at anything I don’t wanna destroy.”
He crouched behind her, his hand under the gun, nudging her arms upward as he talked about how to position the gunsights on her target. “When you’re ready to shoot, move your finger onto the trigger. Squeeze it gently, almost like you want the gun to surprise you when it goes off.” He held up his hand and clutched it into a fist a few times, hard. “If you clench too much, you’ll miss.”
She focused on the can. “I see it. Can I shoot it?”
He checked her over, looked around the woods, and smiled. “Is there anyone behind your target you don’t want to hurt?”
“No. Just trees.”
“Okay. One shot.”
Wisp moved her finger onto the trigger, trying to keep the can lined up with the little red dots on the gunsights. She increased pressure little by little until a loud bang startled a scream out of her. The gun kicked back harder than she expected, almost jumping out of her hands. Dad had been ready for it though, and his arm hovering over hers prevented the gun from bonking her in the face.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“I did the same thing my first time.” He pointed. “You hit it though.”
Wisp grinned. Mother would be so proud of her!
She smiled at the way Dad had been proud of her that day. He’d let her fire four more shots, and she’d hit three for five. After the first shot, she knew how the gun would feel, and controlled the kick well enough not to lose the weapon. It had been almost three years since she’d used a gun, but she still remembered the feel of it. If she had to destroy a monster, she could do it.
A few minutes of silent walking later, they emerged from the trees into the clearing around the cabin. She veered for the outhouse. Dad waited outside while she got rid of the bad water, not that two people could’ve fit in the little cinder block shack anyway. When she’d been really small, almost too long ago to remember, he’d gone in with her so she didn’t fall down into the hole. She could probably still squeeze through it, but not without a lot of effort and certainly not by accident. And who wo
uld ever want to fall into a giant pit full of ngh?
She finished and eased the door open. Dad took her hand and walked her around the cabin to the front door. He needed his light-maker to find the right opener, and as soon as he unlocked the door, she rushed inside.
Dad entered behind her, closed the door, and locked it again.
“Why did we run from that man?”
He slung his backpack off and set it on the worktable. “He didn’t see us and we were not in danger.”
Wisp padded up behind him. “Why didn’t we talk?”
“Those people are dangerous. He’s a marauder. Only they wear armor like that. If he saw us, we would’ve had to shoot him because he would have attacked us.”
“Marauders,” said Wisp, slow and deliberate as if trying out how the word felt on her tongue.
“They are bad people. They take, they hurt, and they won’t be nice to you because you’re not grown up yet.”
She stared down. “Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t forget how loud guns are.” He set the rifle on the worktable before turning toward her and resting his hands on her shoulders. “Marauders are never alone. We saw one, which means there had to be at least three, maybe even more. You might destroy one monster, but if it has friends, they’ll all know where to find you. Always run if you can. Only shoot if you have no other choice.”
She stared down at her toes. “Why are people mean to each other?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.”
“Are marauders as bad as the Tree Walkers?”
“No. Nothing is.” He slid his hands off her shoulders to her back, pulling her into a tight embrace. He sniffled, sounding on the verge of sobs. “I don’t want to lose you or have anything hurt you.”
Wisp wrapped her arms around him, unsettled by Dad crying. He usually only did that when talking about Mother. That he’d gotten so worked up over her being in danger filled her with a warm, radiant love. She squeezed him with all her strength, grateful to have him to care so much. Face mushed into his chest, she stared at the front door, dreading what might be out there waiting to hurt her.
The Forest Beyond the Earth Page 4
