She lifted her head to frown at the four-pointed spear leaning on the wall by the fireplace. It wouldn’t do her much good while she remained stuck inside the Haven. But she couldn’t really go outside alone anyway, so…
“Let me out!” shouted Wisp, pulling on the overhead bars and kicking the door until she worked up a light sweat. “Dad!” Defeated, she sagged forward and burst into tears. Dad had never been this mean to her before. “What did I do? Was I bad? Mother didn’t say anything.”
Sniffling, she raked her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. Her tears stopped at a random thought. That didn’t make any sense either. If Dad had become angry with her, he would have said something. He had never shut her inside the Haven as punishment. Also, Dad never became angry. He knew the Fire Dragons destroyed themselves with anger, so he remained calm. Even the time he hit himself in the hand with an ax, he’d acted no differently than if he’d spilled water.
Worry for him swelled in her gut, pushing hunger aside.
“Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t go away without telling me, or leaving food.”
Wisp looked around at the cabin. The opener sat on a shelf she couldn’t quite reach, even if she’d been out of the Haven on tiptoe. She pulled up the bedding and pressed a hand to the floor. An idea formed in her mind, and she rolled up the sleepy bag into a bundle, exposing most of the Haven’s bars beneath her. She squatted with her feet on the wood between bars, then lifted her back to press against the roof while straining to straighten her legs.
The Haven shifted a little, but she couldn’t lift it. Exhausted, she sank into a squat and gasped for breath while picking a finger at the place the opener went. A metal bar thicker than her thumb slid out of the lock mechanism into a hole to keep the door secure. When Dad turned the opener, the bar pulled back so the door could move.
Against everything she believed, Wisp couldn’t help but worry that the Haven could harm her. If Dad didn’t return to let her out, she would go to the Other Place from not eating. More, if Dad couldn’t return, she was in a lot of trouble―and not the misbehaving kind.
She turned to put her back at the door and braced her feet on the wood between the bars again. Her fingers curled around a horizontal bar a few inches up from the floor. While pushing with her legs, she tried to lift only one side of the Haven instead of the entire thing. She grunted, shoving with everything she had. Her feet shot out from under her, but the effort had shifted the Haven a few inches away from the bookshelf.
Clinging to a glimmer of hope, she grinned. “Mother, am I doing bad?”
She waited a few minutes, but Mother did not reply.
Confident she’d decided on the right thing to do, she turned around to study her situation yet again. Her face pressed to the bars, she looked at the high shelf, Dad’s worktable, the food shelf, the fireplace, the door to Dad’s room. There had to be some way for her to get the opener down, even trapped so low to the floor.
“I need to make my arms longer.”
Wisp fixated on the fishing spear. Leaned against the wall, it almost touched the ceiling. That would reach the opener… She spun around to put her back against the side of the Haven again. With a series of kicks, she rammed her body against the bars, lifting, shoving, and grunting. An inch or three at a time, she dragged the ponderous metal box across the cabin, leaving long squiggly scratches in the wooden floor. After she’d dragged the Haven four feet from where it belonged, she collapsed, out of breath.
She hoped Dad wouldn’t be upset about the scratches, but since Mother hadn’t yelled at her, she trusted he would understand. If she did anything bad, if she became a bad daughter, Mother would tell her so. Dad would not want her to go to the Other Place because she couldn’t get to any food.
Once her strength returned, she resumed bumping the Haven across the cabin. Every minute or so, Wisp peered back over her shoulder past the bars at the approaching wall. Eventually, she dragged the Haven far enough that she could reach out and grab the fishing spear. She let off a cheer of victory and set the spear across the top of the Haven. After a few minutes to catch her breath again, she resumed struggling, scooting past the fireplace to a spot under the high shelf. The task became harder since she devoted one hand to holding the spear tight to the bars overhead. If it got away and rolled to the other side of the room, it would take hours to go get it.
Wisp rammed herself against the bars over and over, pushing at the floor with her feet. When she got the Haven close enough to the high shelf to think of trying, she didn’t even wait to give her body a chance to rest. She pivoted around to kneel, stuck her arms out past the bars, and raised the spear up toward the can that concealed the opener.
If I knock it over, the opener’s going to stay there. It’s under the can. Gotta slide it. Careful… Careful…
Gingerly, she touched the end of the spear to the side of the can and pushed it left. Bit by bit, the can slid as she tapped. Barely breathing, she nudged the can closer and closer to the left edge for an agonizing few minutes until the opener slipped out from beneath it and fell. The small bit of metal struck the floor with a high-pitched metallic ping. The can followed, clattering off the top of the Haven and rolling all the way across the cabin to the front door.
Wisp lowered the spear to the floor sideways and stretched her arm out toward the opener.
When she realized several inches separated her fingertips from the key, she screamed, “No!”
Before anger and terror could bite into her brain, she flipped over on all fours and stuck a leg out as far as she could. The gap between the bars pinched her thigh, making the task quite uncomfortable, but she tolerated it long enough to get her big toe on the opener and nudge it closer. She gasped and grunted while fighting to get her leg back inside; the bars didn’t want to let go of her. After slipping loose, she spent a moment rubbing the sore spot before trying again to reach out with her arm. That time, she seized the opener and pulled it inside.
Wisp clutched the tiny bit of metal to her chest, shivering with guilt. She’d never been allowed to touch it before. Once, she’d asked why Dad had to keep it on such a high shelf so far away from her; couldn’t she keep it hidden under the pillow so she could let herself out of the Haven?
That would put you in danger, sweetie, said Dad in her mind. The Tree Walkers can make you do things. They will look into your eyes, and you’ll be unable to resist. They’ll make you give them the key and then, they will take you!
Having the opener in her possession frightened her almost as much as asking the Tree Walkers to come get her. She remained frozen for a few minutes, but no Tree Walkers burst in the front door. Soon, the need to let out the bad water and her ravenous hunger overpowered even her fear of the forest monsters.
Wisp scooted up to the door on her knees and stuck her hand out. She fumbled the opener around at the front of the mechanism, hunting for a small hole she couldn’t see. When it finally slid in with a click, she let off a squeal of delight and turned it. The Haven door swung open, creaking, and clanged against the bars. She scrambled out on all fours, leapt to her feet, and loped to the front door. Hours stuck sitting or curled up kept her stiff and wobbly all the way to the outhouse.
It didn’t hit her until she sat down on the plastic ring that she’d been outside without Dad anywhere close by. After she finished letting the bad water out, she stared at the outhouse door, too frightened to open it. Somehow, she’d made it without the Tree Walkers grabbing her. Would she be so lucky going back to the cabin? Weakening daylight heightened her fear. She fidgeted, swinging her legs, thumping her heels against the front of the seat. If she didn’t want to spend all night in a space even smaller than her Haven, she’d need to risk it soon. Once it got dark, she’d be too scared to try.
Wisp eased her weight onto her feet, crept forward a few inches, and stood on tiptoe to peer out the small hole in the door. The woods remained quiet. Wavering leaves made the fading sunlight dance upon the forest floor
. Nothing bigger than birds moved anywhere in sight. The rear-facing wall of Dad’s bedroom had a pair of white tanks mounted beneath the window on a metal shelf. Wisp didn’t want to go near them, since she remembered him saying they were for pro pain―not just normal pain. At least they had become empty long before he ever found this place, but still, she did not want to be anywhere close to a machine designed to hold suffering.
She shoved the door open and sprinted around the cabin, the soft thump-thump-thump of her feet on the forest floor so loud she expected Tree Walkers to rise up from the ground at any second. Once inside, she slammed and locked the front door, then leaned back against it out of breath.
A trail of lighter brown squiggles traced the Haven’s path from the corner it had always been in to the wall left of the fireplace, and a beyond that to the right where it presently sat beneath the high shelf.
Wisp decided to clean up the house first, and spent about ten minutes struggling to drag the Haven back into place. Moving it while not stuck inside it was much easier, since she could pick up one end, drag it a little, then repeat the process from the other side. It only took her a few minutes to haul it back into the corner by her bookshelf. Her gaze fell on the bad water can, and she whimpered.
I gotta go outside again.
Biting her lip, she decided it best to get the chore done before the sun went down. It would smell bad if she let it sit too long. Whining out her nose from worry, she fast-walked around the house with the bad water can held at arms’ length, and dumped it down the hole in the outhouse seat. With the danger of spilling gone, she ran back inside and locked the front door.
That done, she rearranged the blanket over the Haven as it belonged before attacking the food shelf. She tossed some chanterelle mushrooms in a pan with yellowgreens from a jar. They’d withered a little, but not so much she didn’t trust them. The last tuber in the bin, she cut into slices and threw in as well before scraping boar grease out of the can and adding it for flavor. Since Dad wouldn’t be eating, she didn’t touch any of the taste powders. Best to save the good stuff for when he could share it.
Every few minutes, she cast a furtive glance at the door to the Mother Shrine, but no voice―creaky or otherwise―issued forth to scold her for being bad. She’d broken one of Dad’s bigger rules, being out of the Haven when he wasn’t awake and nearby. Her worry focus shifted to the front door while nudging leaves, mushrooms, and tuber bits around the bowl-shaped pan. Grease spat and sizzled. Bacon-scented wood smoke filled the air and trailed off up the fireplace chimney. Though she loved that smell, it didn’t make her feel better.
Hopefully, the Tree Walkers would give her enough time to eat before they came to take her.
FN-FAL
-8-
Wisp transferred her meal from pan to plate, and scurried with it into the Haven, though she did not close the door. Hunger got her picking at her too-hot dinner before it had cooled, but she kept eating nonetheless. The overwhelming quiet of the cabin unsettled her. She tried not to scrape her fork over the plate because she feared it would be loud enough to attract Tree Walkers.
She ate too fast to taste much, most of the time staring at the front door. Dad had never done anything like this before. Whenever he went away, he’d always tell her about it and spend a while holding her and making sure she understood how much he loved her.
The more she thought, the more she came to the conclusion that something bad had happened to him. She didn’t want to believe the giant bitey-bug had gotten him, but for all he had done to protect her these past twelve years, she owed it to him to help.
Decision made, she scarfed down the last few pieces of her dinner and crawled out of the Haven. She’d made more than she would’ve eaten normally, but not quite as much as she would have to feed two people. Despite the larger portion, she didn’t feel stuffed, and contemplated eating more since she had gone all day without food.
No. I have to be smart. Make it last.
Her worry for Dad got her to set the dirty plate down without washing it and creep over to the door. She grasped the handle, but doubled back to pick up the fishing spear. Wisp took a few steps toward the door while carrying a stick almost twice her height in length, but stopped. She set it back down and darted to her bookshelf where she’d put the knife. After clipping the knife onto her right leg, she again headed to the door, and again, stopped as soon as she grasped the handle.
Wisp looked back over her left shoulder at Dad’s worktable. His small gun still hung in its nylon holster from a peg. Last night, he’d run out the door so fast he didn’t even take it with him, only the rifle.
She padded over to stare at it. “I should…”
After transferring the knife to her left leg, she adjusted the holster’s belt down from Dad-sized to snug around her waist. The pistol sat heavy on her right hip, but its weight came with a sense of security. Except for a Tree Walker, if a bad person or bear got too close, she could handle it. The spear would be too awkward to use for defense, and probably wouldn’t hurt a person much at all. That, she’d save for fishing. Besides, Dad showed her how to use a knife. A wooden block outside bore scars from many hours of practice. Of course, unlike a hunk of wood, a monster would probably scream if stabbed―and hit her back.
Always try to run first.
Wisp nodded to herself. Best to do as Dad instructed and avoid monsters whenever possible. In the made-up worlds inside her books, people could go to places called hospitals if they got hurt. In reality, Dad told her that sometimes even a deep scratch could send someone to the Other Place. She stared down at her feet, trying to scrape up the courage to go outside.
“Am I being bad?”
She waited a few seconds before looking at the door to the Mother Shrine.
No answer broke the silence.
Somewhat reassured by that, she edged up to the door and opened it. The early evening sun would probably give off light for another hour. Wisp hovered with one foot outside the cabin, listening to the birds and the rustle of leaves. Nothing bigger than a sparrow appeared to be anywhere close. She swallowed, took a breath, and made herself walk a few paces out into the clearing.
“Dad?” asked Wisp.
A bird fluttered off a branch nearby. She pivoted toward the sound, her eyes tracking the small, black creature gliding off into the woods. Step by step, she proceeded to walk in a circle around the cabin, searching for any sign of Dad. Around and around she went in an expanding spiral, getting farther and farther away from home with every full circle. Mostly, she studied the ground, both to make sure she didn’t stick her feet in anything painful, but also for signs of blood, footprints, or anything out of the ordinary.
The whole time she walked, her gut wound in knots. Dad always got agitated if she wandered more than ‘lunge and grab’ range away from him. Now she’d gone quite far from the cabin alone. Fear of the Tree Walkers and the worry Dad would be disappointed in her worked together to make her sick. Twice, she almost threw up from being nervous, but held her jaw shut. She couldn’t waste food.
When the setting sun oranged the sky, a glint of reflection off to the side flashed among the weeds about a hundred yards up a hill behind the cabin. Going to investigate it would pull her a scary distance away from safety, but it might be important. Also, if she walked away, she’d never find that glinting spot again. She clenched her hands in fists and decided to go after the glowing thing on the ground. A mostly straight path away from the cabin brought her up a long stretch of shallow hill. She took note of yellowgreens, bolete mushrooms, and a dead log possibly containing grubs on the way. Never had she foraged alone, without Dad standing watch. Collecting food couldn’t wait for him to return, especially if she had to help Dad. If she became weak from not eating, she wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.
Wisp marched up to the spot where the glow had been, but didn’t see anything lit up. She slowed to a creep and panned her gaze back and forth, searching the forest floor. Another glint, not
too far ahead, flickered beneath the underbrush. She hurried over to find Dad’s rifle abandoned on the ground. Not far from where it lay, two long strips of bare dirt cut a path in the greenery, leading way off into the forest.
She crouched by the rifle, tracing her fingers down the side, remembering what he’d named it. “Fabric national three-oh-eight.”
Dad made sure she knew about guns. He’d also let her shoot the rifle, teaching her about the scope and iron sights. The weapon had a small long-distance scope on a hinge that could flip up top to use for far-away monsters, or fold off to the side when she didn’t need it, for close monsters. She’d been almost ten when he decided she’d gotten big enough to give it a try. The first time she pulled the trigger, she wound up flat on her back with her legs in the air, crying because her shoulder hurt.
Thinking about how he’d laughed got her crying over missing him. A tear splattered on the side of the rifle, creating a tiny puddle of reflected sky. Finding the weapon lying there scared her as much as if she’d seen a Tree Walker. Dad would never just drop it. If he had to put it somewhere to be sneaky, he’d have hidden it―not tossed it on the ground.
The scope remained folded down, so she knew he hadn’t seen any monsters far away. But if he’d been expecting a huge bitey-bug, he wouldn’t have needed to use the crosshairs. She picked the rifle up with a soft grunt and rested it across her lap before removing the magazine to count bullets. All twenty remained, a few shiny, but most dull. One had even turned green.
Wisp tugged back on the lever, exposing the tail end of a live round inside the rifle, ready to fire. Saddened, she let it snap closed, then put the magazine back in before standing and slinging the rifle across her back on its strap. “He didn’t shoot at anything.”
The Forest Beyond the Earth Page 7
