Akilina: Out of the Woods

by Patricia A Bowmer

  The young girl giggled and pointed back down the gully, to the river.

  Halley glanced back the way she’d come. For the first time, she could see the full course of the river Trance had led her down. It was steely grey, swift-flowing, marked by dangerous partially-submerged rocks.

  She followed its course, remembering the journey, fixing the point where she had flipped the boat. Her eyes moved to the sloping rock where she had climbed out and spent the night. She fingered the rough straps of the backpack. Looking to the base of the river gully, the sight of the spiky green plants made her wince.

  As if drawn by some mysterious force, her eyes traveled back to the river. She took a fix on the sheltered spot again, on the sloping rock. A few hundred meters from where she’d climbed out, there, just beyond the shallow, sheltered area, the river ended abruptly, falling off into a sheer, deadly waterfall. At the bottom of the waterfall, the water frothed and boiled with such fury that its foam was visible, even from Halley’s great height. The waterfall must be smashing into a rocky bottom. It would crush whatever went over it into tiny, bloody pieces.

  The way out…he said he’d show me the way out. He said he’d help me. But he wasn’t going to – Trance meant for me to die…

  Her eye began to twitch.

  But he’d have died too – that doesn’t make any sense.

  Frowning, she pictured Trance’s face as he had looked just before she’d flipped the boat. So dark – he was so dark …it was like he was already dead. The darkness was building around her again, pulling at her, pulling her under.

  “Halley, remember…” Eden said quietly, in a voice older than her years, and using words that most young girls wouldn’t use, “Remember…you fought him before it was too late. You won the battle against his darkness.”

  Halley could think of nothing to say, and she was silent for a long time, staring at the river.

  “Was it you I heard crying?” Halley asked suddenly. But I thought it was a baby…

  Eden giggled. “It wasn’t me…”

  The giggle drew Halley’s eyes away from the river and back to Eden. Looking at her again, Halley shook her head like she’d just awoken. What was this young girl doing here anyway, all alone in the wilderness? And who was she? “Your name is…what?… Eden? Eden? Right? Why were you waiting for me? What are you doing here?” No more of this keeping quiet when I run into strangers in the woods. No more playing nice. “And how did you know my name?”

  “Those are very clear questions. Very clear,” Eden answered. As Halley watched, the look in Eden’s eyes became immensely old. Her giggle disappeared. “I am to accompany you on the next part of your journey. If you want me to… Or I can just disappear, and you can go on alone.”

  With a giggle, Eden jumped – suddenly all youth again – and grabbed for an overhanging tree branch with her hands. She caught it, and swung her light body around in a small arc, landing to perch on the branch high above the ground. She was nearly invisible again, as if she’d become part of the tree. Only her blue eyes shone out.

  Halley looked upwards. “How old are you?” she asked. “You’re so young to be out here alone. But the way you talk seems so… so old…” Halley cocked her head, trying to see her more clearly. “How old are you?” she repeated.

  “I am as old as your last memory of confidence,” Eden said elusively. She paused, adding, in a softer voice, “Can I go with you?”

  The question hung in the air, soft as the touch of a feather.

  The sunlight filtered between the leaves, softening the edges of the young girl. Where it lit upon small specks in the air, dust angels appeared. From high in the tree, Eden’s eyes shone blue, a blue that suddenly reminded Halley of the butterflies, the Ceylon Blue Glassy Tigers.

  Not knowing why, but feeling it to be right deep in her belly, Halley said, “Yes.”

  Eden swung down from the tree, a huge smile on her face. “Hooray! Let’s go then! Let’s go!”

  She skipped forward – the green of the woods seemed ready to swallow her.

  “Wait! I don’t know which way to go,” Halley called after her. I’ve never led anyone else before. I think I know the way, but…

  Eden was just visible on the edge of the trees, waiting.

  Halley looked around hesitantly, thinking hard. Trance had lied about leading her out of the woods. She was more lost than before she’d met him. And now there was no baby to pull her forward. Her eyes widened. The baby – maybe he’d lied about the baby too!

  She knew it, suddenly, as certainly as she’d known the baby was there at the start of the trail. Her lips lifted in a gentle smile. Her journey was still about the baby – the baby she must find – and she had to choose the path that led towards it. But the baby gave no cry, no indication of where it was. Halley pondered this curious silence. Way back at the crossroads-that-was-not-a-crossroads, at the start of her journey, she had heard the baby cry, but not since. It was one of the many unexplained things about this journey, like realizing she’d been in these woods before, like Eden knowing her name. Like the fact that she wasn’t worried about the baby, she suddenly realized.

  She should be worried about the baby. She knew now that Trance had been lying about having seen it. The baby was still alone, was still alive, and would wait for Halley until she arrived. It was a certainty. As certain as the fact that Halley was still alive, that she was wearing a bamboo backpack of her own making, and that she had just met a young girl named Eden. It was simple really. She knew because in the spot in the center of her forehead where she’d first felt the pain of the baby’s cry, she could feel the baby’s life pulsing. This subtle pulsing assured her that the baby was all right. Halley knew it wasn’t normal to feel a pulse in this spot – it was normal to feel a pulse at the temples, or in the neck, but not there, not right in the center of the forehead. It meant something – it meant the baby was alive.

  She focused her attention again on the immediate issue. I’ve got to take the path towards the baby. But I don’t know the way.

  “Yes, you do!” Eden said, reading her thoughts. “You know the way. Come on! Let’s go!”

  Halley found herself walking forward, stepping around Eden, and moving into the woods. It was only after she’d been going a while that she realized she was leading the way. She knew the way. Halley felt a thrill that was, at once, both foreign and very familiar.

  Once found, the path was easy to follow. It stretched out in front of them, long, even, and level. Even the tree roots cleared the way, staying obediently under their wide-branched trees. It was the smoothest path Halley had taken in some time. There were no strange rustles from the bushes, nothing to startle or frighten. Perhaps this was because Halley was becoming used to the forest, but it felt to her more like a subtle agreement had been made among all the creatures in the woods to make the way easy, to allow time for her to calm.

  The sun through the trees made a patchwork on the forest floor, shading it with shifting, irregular patterns of dark and light. Sometimes a shady place would suddenly become light, as the clouds and sun traded places and opened the way for a sunbeam. Halley was struck by the patterns, and contemplated their meaning. Without the dark, the light would be invisible; it would have nothing with which to contrast. What do I mean, I wonder? It’s like Trance and Eden. They seem so very different, and yet both seem to be of one whole, of a pattern. She toyed with this idea, visualizing the Chinese symbol of two intertwined and opposing fish, each with a tiny piece of the other, seeing in her mind the counterpoint between mountaintop and valley. Halley was so lost in her thoughts that she bumped right into a stray branch that bisected the smooth path. She stopped short, suddenly aware that she’d been daydreaming. Carefully, she pushed the branch aside to step past, remembering to hold it for Eden so it didn’t snap back on her. Eden took a few steps in front of Halley and then stopped to look down in the overgrowth at the side of the trail.

  “Look,” Eden said with a giggle.


  Halley had already begun walking and bumped right into Eden, eliciting another giggle from the young girl. She looked down to see what Eden was pointing at. It was a wildflower, its base buried deep within a bed of leaves, its long stem ending in a spray of purple flowers. She quickly looked away.

  “Look closer,” Eden said.

  Halley looked at the flower reluctantly, and then took her gaze along the edge of the trail. Its border was lined by a multitude of these small, jewel-like flowers. The trail was not simply dusty and leafy; suddenly it was purple and fragrant. The sight triggered the familiar pulse at the center of her forehead, as if the baby’s life force were strengthened by Halley’s noticing beauty.

  “You get so lost in your thoughts, in where you’re going, that you forget to look at where you are,” Eden said. “Or even notice where you’ve been…” Eden put a fist to her mouth, as if to silence herself.

  Eden hadn’t meant to say what she thought aloud, Halley thought. She looked back at the purple wildflower. A small ladybug crawled along its stem. Its polka-dotted back reminded Halley of herself as a ten-year old girl, playing with her brother in their garden. He was gone too, that big brother, or as good as gone, she reminded herself, living in New Zealand for many years. They rarely talked anymore. Halley missed him but found it hard to talk to him by telephone. She found it hard to talk to everyone. In her memory, at least, they were as they had been:

  They were wild things, young savages covered in mud. Their adventure that day had been bold: they’d run the garden hose softly for over an hour – ‘Without Permission’ – and they’d built a thin river down the edge of the garden. Now they were floating tiny twigs and leaves down the river – ships, they called them, headed for China. On one of the twigs, a red polka-dotted ladybug landed. They both cried out in delight – the ship had its first passenger!

  The purple wildflowers had formed a border for their river. They’d called it a riverbank.

  Halley started: these purple wildflowers weren’t wildflowers at all – they were once part of the family garden. Or at least, the family garden had contained flowers like these. Halley reached down with one finger; the ladybug crawled gently up. Its legs tickled, stirring the tiny hairs on the back of her forefinger. It traveled down the finger, then into the sensitive arc of skin between her thumb and forefinger, and from there into the center of her palm, forcing her to turn her palm up to the sky. Her hand was a position of supplication, as if she were asking for and receiving something from above.

  “It’s so trusting. Why does it trust this way?”

  “Animals and insects are smart. They know who to trust,” Eden answered.

  And so do you Halley, when you stop long enough to really look, Eden thought. Eden was frustrated; she wanted to stomp her feet. You want confidence; it comes from opening your eyes and looking deeply, and then acting on what you see. Open your eyes, Halley.

  The ladybug sat in the palm of Halley’s hand, as if waiting.

  Eden’s thoughts continued. I have to remind you of how you used to believe in yourself, of your old sense of certainty. Because, she thought, suddenly giggling aloud at how silly it all seemed, you are not how we meant to turn out!

  She skipped on ahead.

  Eden’s giggle awakened Halley; she took a last look at the ladybug before blowing gently on the palm of her hand. The ladybug lifted its wings from its sides, and flew off. Halley mouthed the words from her childhood, words her big brother had taught her:

  Ladybug, ladybug

  Fly away home

  Your house is on fire

  And your children are alone

  What a scary nursery rhyme to teach children! Still, she liked the words – she always had. They reminded her of a time when she would climb to the highest limb on the maple tree in their garden, unafraid. Sit with a large, heavy book that was far too advanced for her years, reading words she didn’t really understand, until the light faded and she had to climb down with great care.

  Remembering didn’t hurt as much as Halley had thought it would. So many things I’ve forgotten, and forgotten on purpose. As if by forgetting, I could deaden the pain of what came later. But I think I’ve also deadened my wisdom, she thought solemnly. I seem to have forgotten much more than I intended.

  Eventually, Eden and Halley walked side by side, slowly, looking around them with care.

  It was easy to track them. Distracted by scenery, by memories, they took no steps to camouflage their trail.

  Distractions: for him, there were no distractions. There was only his one specific intent. He walked purposely. There was something awful in the way he moved, in the way his arms swung back and forth in a wide arc, the way he planted each foot down on the earth with assertion, with dominance, as if he enjoyed trampling the things in his path. He wore the green jacket she had discarded in the river. The white braid hung freely down his back, and his ice-blue eyes shone.

  He allowed himself a smile when he stopped for a leisurely drink. There was no hurry. He had all the time in the world.

  She did not.

  Tell me about you,” Eden said, much later that day. It was a big, wide-open question.

  Halley’s eyes played on the unfurled fronds of a tree fern. They were curled up in tight circles, bright green, and lightly fuzzed with short, spiky fur. Like Halley, they had yet to open. She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about myself,” she said. Taking her eyes from the tree fern, she turned to look at Eden’s small, unthreatening figure. “I mean…I don’t…I mean…”

  Eden’s eyes were gentle, their warm blue reassuring. “It’s okay. You can tell me – I won’t laugh. Please. Tell me.” Eden knew talking would help. It always helped her, even when it was just her stuffed bear she talked to; Fluffy always listened and he never ever talked back. She looked away from Halley to the tree fern.

  “I’m lost.” Halley bit her lip, and shook her head slowly, looking down at the ground. She hated saying it aloud; she didn’t mean she was lost in the woods. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands.

  “Lost?”

  Halley swallowed. “For the longest time, I haven’t known why I’m here on this planet, or where I’m meant to go, or what I’m meant to do. I’ve tried to live some sort of valiant life. That sounds so stupid – a “valiant life”. She watched the sunlight play along the ground, and felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. “But that’s what I’ve tried to do anyway. To be a hero, in some small way. But I haven’t…” She paused, deciding to tell the whole truth. “There’s a baby…lost here somewhere that needs me.” The whole truth, she reminded herself. “I still miss Fernando, still love him…and Trance reminded me of how I once tried to kill myself…and…”

  The words ran out. She stared at one particular red leaf on a small bush filled with green ones, and waited as if expecting a blow, waited for Eden’s harsh judgment of her weakness.

  Eden reached out and placed her small, cool hand lightly on Halley’s upper arm. She rubbed up and down, very softly. “You sound just like I did when I found out they’d sold Suntan to that awful man. Remember?”

  Halley nodded.

  “He had that terrible white truck with all the horses jammed in,” Eden continued. “He didn’t even take Suntan’s saddle…”

  The red leaf was so vibrant, like blood. Like a fresh cut, bleeding. Things could bleed for so long.

  “They never told me what they did with him, where they’d taken him. I wanted to send him carrots at Christmas, but they wouldn’t tell me where to send them,” Eden said. “I felt just like you do, then. Like I’d never want to ride a horse again. Like nothing would ever be right.”

  They were quiet for some time.

  “You can tell me more, if you want. I’m a good listener.”

  Halley hesitated before speaking. “I don’t trust myself anymore. I can’t hear myself, and when I can, I doubt that my instincts are right.” There was an edge to her voice, as if she was walking on a thin ledge an
d could slip off at any moment.

  “I know what you mean.” Eden picked the red leaf from the bush that Halley had been studying and handed it to her. “Here,” she said, “this is a lucky one.”

  Halley started.

  “Its color reminds me of blood…”

  “Well, I suppose, but…Dad used to say it was good when leaves turned red, because the color red symbolizes happiness. That makes it a lucky color.” Eden waited a moment until Halley took the leaf. “I think you get to trust yourself by doing things. It’s like…like the first time I jumped a cross rail on Suntan…” Eden smiled, remembering. “I didn’t think I could do it. I was really, really scared. But then I did it, and I knew I could do it. Like that.” She looked at Halley until she nodded. “I don’t think you’re lost. You just didn’t know it would be so hard to get where you’ve got to go. Come on. Let’s walk.”

  Their feet scuffled along in the leaves. Eden kicked some up in the air, and let them fall gently around them. Halley smiled a small smile, and gave the leaves a kick herself. They both stopped short at what she had uncovered. On the ground was a silver bracelet.

  Halley tucked the red leaf into her trouser pocket – if red was a lucky color, she would keep it. She could use some luck.

  Bending down, she picked up the silver bracelet, which was tarnished almost black around the edges. It must have lain there a long while. The metal was cool to touch, but warmed quickly where she held it. She turned it around. It was heavy, a quarter inch thick, and about two inches wide. There was a small gap in its circumference to allow it to be slipped onto the wearer’s wrist. The bracelet was carved with a pattern that rose and fell over its entire length. It resembled a long series of ocean waves. She slipped the bracelet on her right wrist, squeezing it gently to make sure it would stay in place. It made her arm appear stronger.