by Too Far
"We'll figure it out," Robbie said. She felt weak and helpless in his arms.
Then she started to cry.
He ran his fingers over the tail of her eye.
"When Grace gets happy," Fristeen whimpered, "she's just happy for herself. She forgets about everyone else."
"Don't worry about food—"
Fristeen gazed at him. "I want to see Dawn."
Robbie glanced through the window. The rain had stopped. "We can if we want."
She clasped his hand. "Let's go right now." And that's what they did.
***
A few shreds of mist were drifting through the woods, but by the time they reached the Dot Trees, it had all burned off. With Shivers out of mind and a clear blue sky, Robbie made a beeline for Trickle. Fristeen remained silent, prey to dark thoughts. As they rose on the far side of the Needle Patch, she faced him with a nervous look.
"The Dream Man's the most important thing for her now. But she still loves us, and she wants us to be with her. With them, I mean. The Dream Man, too."
Then she lapsed into silence until they were on the slope below the Great Place. A breeze was blowing through a stand of small birch, and an orange scarf seemed carried along with it. It floated over the ground and disappeared among the trees.
They stared at each other.
"A fox," Robbie whispered.
Fristeen's eyes sparkled. "Look," she pointed.
The branches of the birch were glowing with silver bands.
"Dawn put rings on their fingers." Fristeen smiled. "She always does those kind of things."
Robbie leaned close and squeezed her hand.
When the Two-Tree appeared, it was glorious with leaves. And as they approached the twin trunks, Too Far opened before them. Its mossy hills rolled amber and chartreuse, and silver ribbons connected its blood-red lakes. With all that summer had done to the green woodland, Too Far was exactly the same. Black trees don't change.
"If Dawn knew—" Fristeen spoke beneath her breath. "I don't blame her. She's out of touch, with her wedding and all." She glanced at Robbie, and together their gazes went to the far shore of the Pool.
"Let's go down," Fristeen said.
Robbie led the way.
They descended through the viburnum, reached the moss pillows, and followed the rill. The moss was bloated and gushed beneath their feet. When they reached the first of the spindly spruce, Robbie held his fingers to his lips and they crept toward the reeds. He parted the green curtain and the Pool appeared.
They scanned it quickly, and then with more care. The Dream Man and Dawn were nowhere to be seen.
It was cooler this time. No blackbird. No dragonflies. It was strangely quiet.
"Scared?" Robbie murmured.
Fristeen nodded. She stood staring at the far shore. Then she glanced at Robbie and started around the Pool's rim.
What's the idea? Robbie wondered. He followed behind. With small steps at first, and then more assuredly, they circled the Pool. There were lines on the water, all going one way; and other lines, going the opposite way; together they formed a fluid mesh, and you couldn't stop staring at it—once it had you, it wouldn't let go. A gnarled shape appeared on the surface. As they approached, Robbie imagined some creature huddled there. He waited for the thing to rise and confront them. But the shape didn't move. All remained still.
They came around the far side. Fristeen paused at the water's edge, eyeing the red glass. Bugs etched the surface, as before, using ciphers only the gods of Too Far understood.
"Have a taste," she murmured, kneeling. She skimmed her hand and sipped.
Robbie did the same. It was sweet.
"Touch the bottom," she said. She thrust her arm all the way down.
Robbie followed her lead.
The red climbed to your wrist, to your elbow, and higher. It was cold and tingly.
"Feel it?" Fristeen whispered. "Close your eyes."
It was soft as oatmeal. It crept through your fingers like something alive.
"They were there," Fristeen said.
Robbie looked up.
Her dripping hand pointed to a hump of higher ground.
They stood and stepped toward it.
The flank of the low rise was bare soil. An iridescent slime oozed from it, collecting below. They waded through the muck and climbed the rise. At the top, there was a thick mat of emerald moss. To the side, a stand of sedge had been bent back.
Fristeen studied the ground, then turned and scanned the surrounding hills and the sky. She stepped over to a shrub and pulled a pair of broad leaves from a branch.
"Sometimes you're afraid, when you're alone or it's dark." Fristeen spoke without looking at him. "Or when you're trying to find her. But when Dawn comes, you aren't."
"What—"
"You're going to meet her," Fristeen said softly. "I hope." She smiled and gestured with the leaves in her hand. "I'm going to lay here. You'll be there." She pointed at the bed of moss.
She approached his spot.
Robbie followed. "It's kind of wet."
She nodded. "That's okay. Right here."
What were they doing? Robbie knelt in the moss. Would Dawn really come?
"Stretch out on your back," she said.
Robbie did as she directed. The spongy surface gave beneath him, soaking the back of his shirt and pants.
"I'll put these on your eyes."
The leaves settled, dimming the glare.
"I'm going to call her," Fristeen said. "It's a secret way she taught me. Promise you won't peek."
"I promise."
"Ready?" she whispered.
Robbie nodded, then he heard the moss crush by his ear, and her steps drew away.
A little time passed. He felt the sun on his front. The cool water tickled his back.
"I'm here," Fristeen's voice reached him from a short distance. "I'm going to start."
Then more time passed. Robbie sighed. Whatever Fristeen was doing, it wasn't working.
Through his leaf spectacles, the sun was an amorphous glow. All he could see was a broad field of gold. As he watched, it seemed to quiver. Was it the light, or his lid twitching? There was a sound, too. Plaintive, like a rabbit's whimper, from way up there. As he listened, it descended—a simple strand, pure and transparent, falling from the sky.
Closer it came, closer, closer— It struck Robbie where he lay, dashing into a million jewels! Dawn's voice opened like a powerful bouquet, a basket of sweet fruits, peeled and glittering, filling the air with all those moments she remembered, all the happiness that never goes away.
Dawn was singing. And she was breathing, too. Breathing joy in, and breathing it out again, pulsing the air with fanning wings. Where had she come from? Robbie could see her through the leaf lenses, wings wide, dripping with gold. Her great feathers whistled and hummed and stuttered as she hovered, rubbing against each other, loosing joys and herding them together. A squeaky shoe skipping, chirps like a sparrow's, a kitten's mew. Gasps, warbles, purrs and tremolos— All those voices danced around him. And then—he could hear his own!
Sounds of happiness filled his chest to bursting! He was curled in a ball. He was leaping with his arms and legs rayed like a star! He was a spear, hurtling through space, his nose sharp as a blade— The air was hot froth, and the ground beneath him, too. Dawn's long pinions beat deeply, drawing him up. The world let go and Robbie rose with her, held by nothing but a surge of love. An endless cascade, just like Fristeen said, flowing and flowing. All Dawn wanted was to pour her love out.
They were perfectly together in a moment entirely apart.
Then the flow outpaced him. The jeweled voices broke away. Please, don't leave— But gravity was returning. Dawn had let go of him, and the joys were fading. He could hear her great wings sighing through the trees.
Robbie felt himself rocking in a cradle of moss, dizzy and sweaty, with his tongue hanging out. Dawn's joy still reached him—one voice, faintly.
It's Fristeen, he realized. She wasn't just humming. She was singing, very softly and with all her heart.
Her voice trailed off.
"Are you there?"
"She's gone," Fristeen said.
Robbie took a breath and lay still.
A bird's trill reached him. Then a lurp from the pool.
"Is it okay to—" He sat up, and the leaves fell from his face.
Fristeen was standing a dozen feet away, naked, with her dress in her hands. She froze, returning his stare while a play of deep feelings—modesty, daring, whimsy and fear—flashed in her eyes. Then the strangest thing happened. The dress fell to her feet.
Robbie saw her smile at him, and she turned a full turn, one arm trailing, one raised.
It was Fristeen's dance of freedom. But this wasn't the same.
While she dressed, Robbie scanned the mossy hump and the sky above.
"Has anyone ever heard you . . . sing like that?"
Fristeen buttoned her front as she approached, shaking her head.
They had just started down from the rise, when he grabbed her arm.
"There's a path," he said, pointing.
You could see it winding through the reeds. It led away from the shore, into the black trees. They gave each other a long look, then they headed back around the Pool's rim, retracing their steps.
***
Robbie woke the next morning with a fullness in his chest. He dove between the curtains and threw the sash up. The sky was clear and the sun was blazing.
Breakfast was a breeze, and when he stepped outside, swallows streaked past, crying excitedly. The Hill was sighing and swaying, already faint with joy. Someone had swept a part of the deck, and in the clean spot was a word: "D-A-W-N," spelled with aspen twigs. Robbie sounded it out and smiled.
Fristeen was hiding in the shrubs. As he passed, she jumped up and hugged him.
"Can you feel her?" Fristeen beamed.
Robbie nodded and she whirled before him.
Something like a poncho rose from her shoulders, along with her skirt. Robbie laughed. She'd put two skirts on—one around her waist and one over her head.
They climbed the Hill, got the "all clear" from He Knows, bounced across the log bridge while the stream flashed beneath, and followed Where You Can See into the sky. Nothing hurried them. It had never been so hot, and they were glowing inside. Dawn's welcome poured like oil over everything they touched.
The Perfect Place was a sauna. They hugged and rolled in the grass, and as they lay there panting, a flock of chickadees lit in a fringe of birch. The birds buzzed and flitted right beside them, feeling their cheer and eager to join it.
Robbie lifted himself up and bent over Fristeen, shading her eyes and gazing into them. "You're so brave," he said.
The meeting with Dawn seemed like a miracle.
"I know why she came, Robbie."
"Really? Why?"
"She's tired of visiting when I'm all alone. She came because of you."
At that, the chickadees left their branches to roister over them, weaving an aureole of wings and song. They too were lovers of Dawn.
As they crossed Trickle, a frog hopped from the sedge. And there were rabbits, two of them, watching in the alders behind Used-to-Be. Nobody wanted to be left out.
When the Two-Tree came in sight, its twin crowns were flapping like flags. And then there it was—the land of secrets—spread out before them.
They hurried through the viburnum, Fristeen in the lead, and as they neared the first trees, her eagerness boiled over. She squealed and clutched her top, squirming inside it. Then she lifted her arms and pulled the skirt over her head, waving it around.
"Here," Fristeen said.
They halted beside the first black tree. Fristeen cast her skirt beneath it, then glanced over her shoulder at him, blushing. "Your shoes, you keep on. Everything else," she drew her breath, "you take off."
Robbie watched her slide the lower skirt down.
"Don't stare, silly."
"Why?" Robbie asked, removing his shirt.
"It's what you do in Too Far."
Robbie put his hands in the pockets of his pants.
"That's how Dawn and the Dream Man are," Fristeen added. She still had her back to him.
"Want some Cheerios?" Robbie brought his fists forward.
Fristeen gave an embarrassed laugh and turned, and he dropped them into her cupped hands.
They hopped through the pillows and followed the rill. Robbie felt strange at first. A branch scratched him, and some flies sniffed his rear. But it was great to feel the sun and the breeze—not just on your face, but all over. And running naked in the wild was a new kind of thrill that made Too Far even more secret. Their self-consciousness faded, and by the time they reached the Pool, it was gone.
"Look," Robbie cried, pushing through the reeds.
The dragonflies were back—dozens of them, zipping every which way, crossing the water or following the shore.
Fristeen drew beside him.
"They're the thoughts of the Dream Man," Robbie explained. "They come from his head."
"They're crazy." Her eyes darted.
The feverish flight paths knit a mercurial web.
They didn't speed up or slow down. All were going at full steam. One stopped, hovering with purpose. What did it want? Then suddenly it was somewhere else—just like a thought.
Robbie shuffled closer, water to his ankles, shoes sinking in muck.
"They move faster than your eyes," Fristeen said, right beside him.
In that respect too, they were just like thoughts. Even if you picked one and gave it all your attention, you couldn't hold on. You struggled behind, trying to keep it in sight.
"There," Fristeen whispered.
One had landed on a seedhead right in front of them.
Robbie drew an involuntary breath. The dragonfly's head ticked as the giant eyes fixed on something. Two bristling forelegs parted the seedy sheaf. Then the monster's face opened and plates slid apart, and from the sides of its mouth, two claws reached out, like some creature from outer space.
It gulped its prey and sped away.
They looked at each other.
"Strange thoughts the Dream Man's thinking," Fristeen muttered.
They scanned the far shore of the Pool.
"He's scary alright," Robbie said.
"Do you think he's here?" She raised her brows. "In the black trees?"
The challenge sparked between them. They shivered, clasped hands, and started around the Pool's rim.
When they reached the low mound, they searched the sedge till they found the path. And then they headed down it. Robbie led the way.
It was muddy and puddled, and it tacked without warning. You couldn't see past the next clump of willows. Robbie paused, turning, listening. When they reached the black trees, he stopped.
At their feet, a brave parnassia raised elegant white blooms. A lone spruce leaned over it, inviting them forward with leprous arms. They stood together, scanning the dark trail to where it disappeared, imagining who had passed there. And with what wild feelings, and what wild thoughts. Robbie glanced at Fristeen. Her arms prickled with goose bumps.
"Dare you," she whispered. "You first—"
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The path switched this way and that, skirted a seep, crossed a dip lined with coltsfoot, and then rose. The black trees leaned together, huddling close on either side. They were tall and thin, and lichen hung from their limbs.
"Robbie—"
Fristeen had stopped beside a tall spruce. It was covered with scales, but there was a place, rustred, where a few had peeled off. She touched the raw spot and closed her eyes.
"It's thinking about her," she whispered.
Robbie nodded. "They came this way."
For a long moment, they stared at each other, testing their resolve.
"Dawn's our friend," Fristeen said. "But he's scary."
&nb
sp; "He'll listen to me," Robbie said.
That seemed to settle it.
Robbie faced forward and they continued down the path.
A hundred yards farther, a wall of tree bones barred the way. You could see through it, but you couldn't pass. Then they realized that the tangle wrapped them on either side. Without knowing it, they had wandered into the Cage. Backtracking, they found a way around. A narrow gully reconnected with the trail.
From there, the way descended into a Hollow in the hills. A veil of cloud drew across the sun. The slopes grew steeper and the shade grew deeper, and the water that pooled here was black, not red. Something had happened to the black trees here—they were charred and armless. And the soil was barren—it too was charred, except where some affliction spread scarlet stains. Strange odors wafted from the puddles, sweet but sickish, and the things that grew here weren't flowers or grass. Mushrooms blotched purple; bloated boletes; fungus thumbs, slimy and white, without caps. The water looked tainted—oily rainbows swirled on the gleaming black.
"Fristeen," Robbie hissed.
He darted from the path, taking cover behind a spruce.
She scuttled after him.
"What?"
Robbie pointed.
In the depths of the Hollow, a dark blot appeared through the trees.
"See the wall?" Robbie whispered. "And the roof?"
The wall and roof were perfectly black.
"It's where they live," Fristeen said.
"Yep." Robbie scanned the woods on either side.
They listened. Silence. Stillness.
"C'mon," Robbie whispered.
He crept through the spruce beside the path. As they drew closer, a small cabin came into full view. Flames had charred it. But however severe the blaze might have been, the Cabin hadn't been destroyed. Dead spruce boughs lay curled on its roof, and a black lagoon was aproned around its front.
Robbie stopped. He bent and grabbed a rock.
Fristeen crouched beside him.
For a moment, he imagined the lagoon swimming in mist, while the roof of the black Cabin broke its surface, rising as if from a dream. He hurled the rock. It struck the Cabin wall with a thunk.
They waited, watching, listening.
Robbie drew himself up, and the two approached slowly. The trees around the Cabin were burnt the worst—most were shorter than a grownup. And behind the Cabin, in the bowl of the Hollow where the blaze had been hottest, the earth was ember-red. Fire moss flowed down the slopes to meet the lagoon, and as the breeze twitched its seedheads, the embers glittered.
