Trinity's Book

by Jan Bozarth

  “He’ll brag about it forever,” Targa said.

  I spent the rest of the night sipping cider, listening to funny stories, and dancing. The Curipoo love to sing boisterous songs and howl. They’re extremely energetic, and their dances look like a cross between Irish jigs and American square dancing.

  I showed them how to do the Haka, a Maori war dance that involves a lot of slapping the chest, stamping feet, popping eyes, and sticking out your tongue. It’s supposed to psych a warrior up to fight and scare the enemy. The Curipoo thought it was funny.

  Full of good food and exhausted, I slept soundly until I was jolted awake by another flying-crashing dream. This time, I was riding a Maori kite that spiraled out of control when it lost lift.

  I finished a breakfast of nuts, warm honey bread, and biggle berry tarts just before Jango and Targa arrived. They were, as they put it, happy sad.

  “We want to see your kite!” Jango exclaimed.

  “But we don’t want you to go,” Targa said. “You have been the best guest ever, and we don’t want anything very bad to happen to you.”

  I didn’t want them to worry, so I made light of what might lie ahead. “I’ll be fine. Queen Patchouli gave me everything I need to succeed. She expects me to return to the Willowood, and I wouldn’t dare disappoint her.”

  They both brightened instantly, and there was a distinct bounce in their step when we went back to the shops we had passed yesterday. They would not argue with the great Queen Patchouli’s wisdom.

  In the first shop, I found thin supple branches, dry grasses, flat vines, and flaxlike flowers that would make an excellent Maori kite. But before I left with my supplies, I picked up a length of silky material.

  “What is this?” I asked Targa and Jango.

  “The top layer of tree bark,” Targa said.

  “We peel off what we need,” Jango explained. “Then the tree grows a new layer.”

  “Perfect!” I added the material to my stash.

  I wanted to pay, but I didn’t have anything to offer. After Jango explained the human custom of buy-and-trade, the shopkeeper assured me that my comical dancing the night before was payment enough.

  Jango, Targa, and I found a flat space where the morning sun shone through the leaves. I set down my kite-making materials and went to work. The Curipoo watched intently as I formed a basic American kite cross with two branches. Instead of the usual diamond shape, however, I made the sides longer than the vertical so the kite looked more like it had wings. Wrapping the middle with vine, I tightened it to hold the cross branches in place.

  “Two sticks can’t fly,” Jango said.

  Targa poked him in the ribs.

  I was careful not to look insulted. Jango wasn’t trying to be mean.

  After I notched the ends of the cross sticks, I measured the size and shape of the silky bark that I needed and used Targa’s carving tool to cut it. Next, I cut slits for the notches and fitted the fabric so that it was pulled tight across the frame. Finally, I took the spool of unbreakable string out of my backpack and tied it to the middle cross section.

  “That’s it?” Jango asked. “You’re done?”

  I frowned and rubbed my chin. Something was missing. A Maori kite wasn’t done until it was adorned with dried flowers, ribbons, or shells. But I wasn’t sure how to add them to the silky fabric.

  “It still needs decoration,” I said.

  Targa perked up. “Try placing your flowers where you want them,” she suggested.

  That seemed like a reasonable place to start. With Jango and Targa’s help, I placed the flowers on the fabric in a pretty arrangement. When I placed the last flower, I gasped. The flowers that had been placed first were melting into the fabric.

  Targa and Jango both laughed. “The bark fabric loves to soak up flowers. That’s one of the ways our clothes get such great color,” said Jango.

  “How do you keep it from sucking up all sorts of colors?” I was intrigued.

  Jango scooped up some dirt from the floor and held out his paw. “Just blow this dust on it. For some reason, the dust sets the colors permanently.”

  The flowers had all melted away, and my kite was now a rainbow of bright colors. I took some dust from Jango’s paw and blew it over the kite. The dust shimmered briefly and then disappeared.

  “Okay, I guess we’re done!” I stood up and held the kite high. “Now let’s see if it flies.”

  The Curipoo led me to a wide space on the edge of the limb. A strong breeze circled us. They gasped when I dropped the kite and cheered when it lifted higher and higher into the air, pulling the string through my fingers. Using tactics I had mastered long ago, I dazzled them with my fairy kite’s dips and loops.

  Jango clearly wanted to try it, but I could tell he wasn’t sure if it was proper to ask. Keeping my hand safely on the spool, I placed his hand on the string.

  “Oh, no!” Jango’s eyes bulged, but he held on tight. “What if I break it?”

  “You won’t,” I said. “You’re a natural. I can tell.”

  Targa nodded her encouragement.

  “Feel the kite through the string,” I said. “When it starts to dip, pull back. When it pulls, let it out.”

  We flew the kite for an hour or so. Then I felt it was time for me to leave.

  Targa threw her arms around my legs and hugged. “We’ll miss you.”

  “And I’ll miss you,” I said. “But I’ll remember you whenever I look at your beautiful flower bead, and you’ll remember me when you and Jango make and fly kites.”

  “It’s okay for us to make kites like yours?” Jango asked, stunned.

  “Of course,” I said. “Someday, when I return, the sky will be full of Jango’s and Targa’s kites!”

  “Yes!” Jango jiggled with joy. “We will give them to everyone!”

  “And I bet you’ll come up with some fantastic designs of your own, too,” I added. I could almost see the wheels start to spin in Targa’s creative head.

  I wanted to stay longer, but my quest was too important to put off. I put the spool of string in my pack and fastened the kite to my harness. Then, with Jango and Targa at my side, we headed back toward the tree trunk. Mayor Mordo, Berto, Jobri, and many other Curipoo were waiting by the Great Hall to see me off.

  Mayor Mordo handed me a silk bark sack. “Some bread and fruit for your journey,” he explained.

  “And four biggle berry tarts!” Berto shouted. “I made them fresh this morning.”

  “Thank you so very much,” I said. “Do the steps go all the way to the top of the tree?”

  “No,” Jango answered. “They stop here.”

  “We don’t go higher unless it’s very necessary,” the mayor added. “Those who dwell in the forest above do not bother us, and we do not bother them.”

  With luck, they would not bother me, either.

  “No one has to cross our branch to travel up or down,” Jango said.

  “The tree is large,” Targa added, “with many branches on the far sides.”

  It was good to know I didn’t have to worry about other beings until I reached the upper branches, which—when I looked up—seemed impossible. The next limb was twenty-five feet higher with nothing but open space in between.

  Jango read my mind. “We have a way, Trinity.”

  “But it’s not very safe,” Targa said. “We only use the fling-vine in emergencies.”

  Fling-vine? I blinked as I pictured myself being catapulted to the next branch.

  My mental image seemed far-fetched but was uncomfortably close to reality.

  The fling-vine was a heavy rope looped over a limb at least fifty feet above. One end was attached to a huge boulder perched on the edge of the Curipoo limb. I could see where this was going.

  “You’re sure about this?” I asked, looking to Targa and Jango.

  “We have stories of it working in the past,” said Jango.

  “The past? How ‘past’ are we talking about here?”

&
nbsp; “Um, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just put your foot in this toe-loop thing and hold on really tight,” said Jango.

  With that not-so-reassuring response, I slipped one foot into the toe-loop and held on with both hands.

  The Curipoo crowd waved good-bye.

  I bid them a Kiwi farewell. “Cheerio!”

  Then three large Curipoo pushed the boulder off the tree.

  I squealed as I was jerked off the branch.

  Bark, leaves, and vines blurred past me in a whoosh. Suddenly, I arrived at the branch that I was trying to reach, but instead of stopping, the kite in the harness on my back shot me higher into the sky.

  I felt like I was truly flying. It was a mixture of terror and joy. But, like my dream, I knew the flight would end in disaster. The third branch was too high, and there was no way I could reach it.

  Still hurtling upward, I scanned the space above and saw that vines streamed off the next limb.

  Out of reach.

  In the same instant, I felt my speed begin to stall. Desperate and determined, I stretched, willing myself to stay aloft just long enough to capture a hopefully strong vine. My heart leaped into my throat when my hand closed around a woody tendril. It didn’t break. Without pausing to think, I climbed hand over hand to the limb and collapsed in a tangle of vines.

  Stunned by the unexpected good luck, I huddled in my impromptu nest, struggling to catch my breath and savoring the feeling of just being alive.

  Mostly I thought about the few fabulous seconds I had spent flying. The sensation had been an illusion, but it had still been the most amazing experience I’d ever had.

  My fairy kite had made all the difference. A heavier Maori kite would not have carried me so far, and like the legendary Tawhaki, who fell when his kite was attacked by a bird, I would have crashed.

  At least, that’s how a twentieth-century version of the Tawhaki legend went. I preferred the older, Arawa myth.

  I thought about Tawhaki’s story and how his journey was a bit like mine so far.

  After Tawhaki insulted his infant daughter, his wife took the baby and vanished into the sky. Intent on getting them back, Tawhaki and his younger brother tried to climb to them on vines. The brother fell to his death when the wind whipped the hanging vine he chose to climb. Tawhaki used the sturdy parent vine and reached the tenth heaven, where he learned many spells and was reunited with his wife and child.

  A sturdy vine had saved me from a fatal fall, and I was climbing into the sky to save a baby. Not to mention that the tree was so big and the Cantigo Uplands seemed so far, I’d feel like I had climbed ten heavens when I got there.

  I paused long enough to sip water from my pod and eat one of Berto’s biggle berry tarts. Then, taking care not to snag my kite, I pushed through the tangled vines, looking for an open space.

  The Curipoo’s branch had been pruned and cultivated to make space and let in sunlight. This branch was wild and untended. Dozens of different plants were bound together by curlicue tendrils of vine, forming thick ropes, mats, and misshapen ladders that connected this limb with a large branch above. Nothing else was visible within the thick greenery.

  The distance between the third and fourth branches wasn’t nearly as great as that between the first two limbs, and I reached the next branch in less than ten minutes. From there, I set a pace and climbed mechanically. The steady climbing was soothing, but sometimes I would zone out and forget to watch for danger.

  A few branches up, I almost lost my footing when a slippery lavender tongue shot out of the leaves and curled around my wrist.

  I gagged, but I kept Berto’s tart in my stomach where it belonged.

  I’m not usually squeamish about creepy-crawly things. Then again, I never imagined having a two-foot-long silver lizard with glistening black spots, four eyes, and ten legs dangling from my left arm. I tried to shake it off, but the stubborn creature wouldn’t let go. I finally hooked my right arm around a thick vine, grabbed the lizard’s body with my right hand, and unwound its tongue from around my wrist.

  I set him down safely as far from me as possible. Then I scrambled like crazy to get away from it.

  An hour later, I was swarmed by red tree frogs.

  At first, I thought leaves were tickling my neck, but the tickling didn’t stop when I tried to brush them away. I figured out what was happening when five tiny frogs landed on the back of my hand and began flicking their tongues to catch even tinier flies.

  I shook my hand, but the tree frogs had suction-cup feet that stuck fast to my skin. Grimacing, I tried to pull one off. It stuck like ultra-glue, and I had to stop pulling before I hurt it or myself.

  Something about me or my clothing was attracting the miniature flies, and the little frogs continued to swarm. Five became ten; ten became twenty; twenty became forty. At a loss, and with no way to fight, I did the only other thing I could think of.

  I charged up a vine and climbed as fast as I could.

  Slowly, the little frogs began to fall off. The farther away from their home I got, the fewer I had stuck to my skin and clothing. Eventually, I was frog-free.

  I continued climbing, picking up speed as the foliage began to thin. Something about the frogs made me want to continue putting space between them and me.

  Thankfully, the tree trunk protected me from the wind, and I did not meet any more Aventurine pests. But, when I paused to rest, the hairs rose on the back of my neck.

  Is someone watching me?

  Or stalking me for dinner?

  Both prospects gave me the willies, and I tried to look casual. I used the excuse of drinking from my water pod to glance around. Surprise was my only advantage, and I didn’t want the watcher to know I suspected him or her. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t put me at ease.

  I had nowhere to hide.

  Fighting the impulse to hurry, I calmly started upward again. I thought I heard a branch snap below, but no one was there when I looked down.

  Then I heard whispers.

  Or is it the wind?

  The sound stopped when I stopped.

  Much as I hated to admit it, the Curipoo’s warnings about other, less friendly beings on the tree had made me a little nervous. Still, refusing to be bullied by my own fears, I kept climbing.

  Leaves rustled.

  A twig cracked.

  And a monster grabbed me from above.

  “Wha—” I gasped as thick aloe-like leaves whipped around my arms, legs, neck, and waist. My hands gripped the leaves clamped around my neck and pulled to loosen the hold just as I was yanked onto the next major limb.

  My knees buckled when my shoes touched solid bark, but the leaves kept me upright. I had to keep pulling on the one around my neck to avoid being choked.

  My captor stood out against the blood-black leaves that covered the limb. It was a mass of writhing leaf tentacles, kind of like the many-headed Hydra in ancient Greek mythology.

  “Let me go!” I demanded.

  The plant’s iron grip tightened further when I struggled.

  Furious and terrified, I imagined a future traveler finding my imprisoned skeleton and quickly rejected the very idea. I wasn’t sure I’d survive my mission, but a stupid plant was not going to strangle me.

  “Okay, let’s try this.” I exhaled and went limp, hoping the plant would think I died and retract its leaves.

  Big mistake.

  Apparently, the Hydra would not let anything go—dead or alive. When it sensed space between its tentacle leaves and my body, it squeezed. The tightening happened so fast I suddenly couldn’t draw air.

  Right when I thought I might pass out, an old man emerged from the tree trunk. Like a ghost walking through a wall, I thought.

  His long white hair and beard were matted with forest debris and infested with bugs and small wiggly worms. Ribbons of blood-black slime shimmered in his tattered brown robe, and black snakes slithered around his feet. He carried a crooked wooden staff, and when he snapped his bony fingers,
the plant released me.

  I sank into a heap, gasping for air.

  The old man glared at me with watery black eyes. He made no move to help.

  “Who are you?” I asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Hoon, Keeper of the Cloud Pine Forest,” he growled.

  “I’m Trinity—”

  “I know who you are. You’re a meddling fairy-godmother-in-training.” Hoon spit out the words as though the sound left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “Is that a problem?” I asked, buying time to gather my wits and regain my strength.

  “A problem for you,” Hoon said. “I do not like intruders, and I especially do not like little girls who come to Aventurine to fix things.” He leaned close and snorted in my face. “I hate change.”

  I gagged on the stench of his foul breath and squirmed under his hateful stare. I didn’t know what he wanted, but one thing was certain: I could not reveal that a new queen and great change were imminent in the fairy world. The Keeper would not welcome the news, and he certainly wouldn’t help the girl Queen Patchouli had sent to make sure it happened.

  “What are you doing here?” Hoon asked.

  “Climbing a tree,” I said.

  “I know that!” the old man snarled. “Why?”

  “Because it’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen,” I said.

  “That’s a ridiculous reason,” Hoon said.

  More whispers rippled through the leaves, and from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of two other wrinkled men. Short and round with mottled gray skin, brown shirts, and white tufts of hair on speckled bald heads, they looked like toads. Their black eyes glittered with evil glee when they chuckled.

  “But it doesn’t matter why you’re here,” Hoon continued. “This is my branch, and you’re not staying.”

  “That’s right, I’m not.” I stumbled to my feet and brushed dried leaves off my clothes. I couldn’t wait to put the creepy old guy and his roly-poly gigglers behind me. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

  I reached for a vine. Hoon waved his hand, and it snapped off in my hand.

  “You’re leaving the tree,” the Keeper said, “as quickly as possible.”