by Sharon Hinck
If someone would just give me a playbook, I wouldn’t keep saying the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” I said, torn between chagrin and frustration. “I guess I don’t understand. But you have flashlights along, right?”
Bekkah recoiled, and her eyes widened. “Where exactly are you from?”
It seemed smarter not to answer that.
“Don’t your people have Verses?” She gave an uneasy laugh. “What, do you just treat the night like it’s day?”
“Not exactly, but—”
I broke off as Tristan called her. She gave me a last sharp look and walked over to him. Kyle and Linette had their heads together, deep in conversation, and Wade, who had jogged part way up a trail, was bounding back toward Tristan and Davis.
A wave of loneliness washed through me, leaving bitter debris on my mood as it retreated. I didn’t belong here. These were old friends with shared adventures in common. They knew how to navigate this world. But no one understood how lost I felt. No one cared.
“Let’s go!” Tristan called.
I shook off the self-pity and shouldered my pack, determined to keep up. Tristan disappeared around the bend of the forest trail, followed closely by the others. Bekkah waited for me to fall in after them, and she took up the rear.
I took a deep breath, comforted by the piney smell of the air under the trees. Mark and I loved to take hiking trips in the woods a few hours’ drive from our home. We spent happy afternoons clambering over rocks, stumbling over roots, and finding hidden waterfalls and cliffs. Some of these trees looked like the same tall cedar and spruce I admired on my hikes back home, and like the trees at home, they had cushioned the trail with a thick carpet of needles. But other trees were less familiar. Gnarled, honey-colored branches reached out at twisting angles from the trunks. The tang of pine in the air was colored with the scent of cinnamon.
Almost no underbrush grew in this part of the forest. I peered through the dense stands of tree trunks, trying to catch a glimpse of the small animals that I heard scurrying in the needle bedding, but the pace of the hike didn’t allow for lingering.
Sometimes Mark and I had dragged the kids along on hikes. They always moaned about it but seemed to secretly enjoy the experience as much as we did. One thing they didn’t like was my love of identifying every plant and wildflower. I always carried a field guide in my pack. When I would pause to pull it out, all four kids would groan in unison. Even Mark would scratch his head and suggest that we move on when I’d hold the guidebook up to a small blue blossom and ask him if it looked more like a Creeping Bellflower or Lobelia. I longed for a field guide now, and time to investigate all the unfamiliar plants along the trail, from the blue ferns clumped around the base of some trees to the tiny red flowers that flashed out from silver-green ground cover.
Our path grew steeper, but no one slowed down. My breaths came in short gasps now, and I fell farther behind Kyle. After one challenging switchback, he glanced back and noticed how far behind I was. He called something ahead to Tristan, and the group waited for me to catch up. When I reached the top of the switchback, I doubled over, rested my hands on my bent knees, and struggled to breathe. Bekkah laid a hand on my back. “You’re doing great.” Then we were moving once more.
It wasn’t long before Kyle was looking back again. This time he didn’t hide the annoyance on his face. I tried to walk faster, but the pack was cutting into my shoulder, and my legs burned. We had maintained our grueling pace for nearly an hour. My feet were heavy and sore, as if someone had velcroed weights around my ankles and lit matches against the raw skin of my heels. Roots jutted out along the path. I stumbled and caught myself over and over. Once, I tripped and fell to my hands and knees. Though Bekkah was beside me in an instant, helping me up, the path wasn’t wide enough for us to travel side by side as it wound upward between tree trunks. I trudged on alone.
Was this how my kids felt when we took them out on long hikes? I just wanted it to be done. I was tempted to whine, “Are we there yet?”
Up ahead of us, Kyle frowned at the sky. It was definitely growing darker now.
A low, moaning growl sounded from deep among the trees. I stopped short. “Did you hear that?”
Bekkah stood still, listening. “I don’t hear anything. How are you doing?”
I shook my head.
“Stay here.” She leapt up the path, feet barely touching the rocks as she passed Kyle. His back disappeared up the trail.
Great. Just walk away and leave me. I’ve been ripped away from my family. I’m completely alone. I’m in a dangerous place—and there’s no one to help. I’m alone.
Then it occurred to me that perhaps it was wiser to go on alone anyway. I didn’t really know any of these people. How could I trust them? They could be leading me into danger. They didn’t care about me.
God, what should I do? Are you ever going to give me a clue?
No, He didn’t care about me either.
I had a vague sense that I wasn’t thinking clearly, but couldn’t seem to stop myself. I slid the pack off my back and let it fall to the path.
It felt so much better to be alone.
And I needed to go back. I didn’t belong here.
I began moving slowly down the path the way we had come.
Yes, that was better. I had to go home. A mental fog welled up and clouded my thoughts, pulling me along.
The hike had been too hard. Too hard. I didn’t belong. I was so alone.
From far away, Bekkah called. Her words became indistinct as my thoughts became louder.
Away from everyone who loves you. No one to trust. It isn’t fair, breathed a sweet voice into my thoughts. Yes. It wasn’t fair.
My feet kept moving, although I wasn’t aware of a trail anymore. Something compelled me to move forward. Alone. Alone. Alone. The soft crunch of the pine needles underfoot spoke to me with each step, grinding my spirit into the ground.
Then something stopped me. I squinted through the fog around me. Someone blocked my way. I put my head down and kept walking, but hands pushed against my shoulders, stopping me again.
“What’s she doing?” A voice interrupted my thoughts, annoying me.
“I don’t know. She keeps talking to herself.”
“What’s she saying?”
“‘Alone.’ Tristan, do you know what she’s talking about?”
I had to get away. I flung off the arms that were trying to hold me back and began walking again. Cold mist surrounded me. Nothing mattered but my need to get away.
“Linette, come quick!” Panic laced Tristan’s voice. I recognized it from a distance, then pushed the thought aside as unimportant. “She was talking to a Rhusican at the transport stop. I think she’s been poisoned.” Then his voice faded completely.
Chapter
7
The next several hours were among the most miserable of my life. At first, I felt nothing but the compulsion to get away, to run from these people, this trail. Hands grabbed at me and held me back, until I lashed out and fell. Something pinned my limbs. I thrashed against it for a while but eventually stopped caring. All I saw in my mind were clear green eyes and auburn ringlets and the sweet face of the little girl at the transport station. I fell into her words. You don’t belong here. It’s so sad. You are all alone—no one to trust. Her voice was compelling and soothing, and my mouth formed the words to agree with her. I slid downward into a space far from conscious thought.
Then a melody in a minor key broke through the haze.
The eyes of the One
Are always on His people;
His arms surround us,
And we are not alone.
He does not forget us
In the night when scavengers howl;
He does not leave us
In our sorrow.
He makes Himself known
To the People of the Song;
His arms hold us up,
And we are not alone.
The voice was breathy and wavering, but insistent, slowing my inexorable slide into emptiness. The mist had promised peace, but now the music held me back.
Let me go. Let me go deeper into the aloneness. It’s where I belong.
Wrapped in grey fog, I wavered at the edge of a dark abyss. One more step forward and I would be at peace.
But the new voice kept pulling me back. It hurt. My soul was being stretched and torn.
“Let me go!” I screamed in frustration. I was remotely aware of my body struggling—kicking, scratching, writhing.
The mist cleared for a time. Linette’s pale face hovered above me, her lips moving, her eyes fixed on mine with a burning intensity. My screams drowned out her words. I was on the ground beside the rocky trail, and large arms wrapped around me from behind. I couldn’t break free. Worried faces surrounded me. I saw them briefly before the mist began to take me again. A hand clamped over my mouth. As soon as my screams were muffled, I could hear Linette’s song. This time other voices joined her.
The eyes of the One
Are always on His people;
His arms surround us,
And we are not alone.
The horrible, wrenching tug-of-war continued. At one point, I surfaced from the mist long enough to see Tristan’s face. “Susan, don’t go. Stay with us.” He was using the commanding tone of a guardian, but there was pleading in his voice as well.
Night had fallen, and there were no stars overhead. Distant tree branches were barely visible in pale artificial light. I couldn’t see where the light was coming from, but I sensed that we were off to the side of the trail. The hand that had covered my mouth withdrew.
I tried to speak. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt thick and clumsy. I coughed and tried again. “My sword,” I rasped.
Tristan’s face disappeared for a moment. Then he pressed the hilt of my sword into my palm and wrapped my fingers around it.
I stayed aware for longer and longer periods. Linette never stopped singing. One melody wove into the next, sometimes joined by a chorus of voices.
Finally, exhausted, hurting, I was dragged far back from the edge of the void where I had hovered. I smelled the pine air again. I heard a heart beating and realized my head was resting on someone’s chest. I looked up and saw Davis holding me. His relieved smile deepened the creases around his mouth, and he smoothed my damp hair back from my face. I was drenched in sweat.
Kneeling on the ground next to me, Linette held my left hand in both of hers. She had the eager and relieved flush of an athlete who had won a race. “Susan, sing with me.”
I tried to follow her simple chorus, but my mind was too tired to keep up with the words.
She stopped and thought for a moment. “You don’t know our Songs, but your people must have Verses. Sing one of your Verses.”
I tried to explain that I didn’t know any Verses, but it took too much effort. My right hand flexed around the hilt of my sword, and a memory surfaced.
“O Lord, you have searched me and you know me,” I whispered. “You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.” It hurt to speak, and a fit of coughing interrupted, but the words continued to flow. “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea . . .” I must have learned this psalm back in fifth-grade Sunday school. We had a teacher who gave us stickers if we learned our memory work each week. I loved those stickers.
I didn’t know how the words were returning to me now, but Linette stared at me with an expression of awe. “Even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast,” I finished.
I was too weak to move, but my mind was beginning to piece together what had happened. Tristan said I’d been poisoned. When he warned me about the Rhusicans, I had assumed they poisoned food or drink. But poison was an accurate word for the thoughts that had gripped my mind. Relief and gratitude mixed with a horrible dread as I remembered the emptiness that had seemed so inviting. “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me,” I whispered and turned my head. Several flat, glowing light panels scattered around us on the ground. Tristan had set up camp, in spite of the taboos about traveling at night. Even as I realized what he had done, a low growl moaned from somewhere behind us.
I stirred, working to lift my sword, but it was too heavy. I couldn’t even raise my head.
Linette lifted a worried gaze to the darkness between the surrounding trees, but then she quickly focused on me again. Her hands framed my face. “No. You can’t help them. Tristan and Wade have fought bears before. Keep singing.”
I wouldn’t have called it singing. My voice croaked out hesitant phrases, and every time I stopped, the sounds in the woods became more frightening—a strangled yell, several shouts, a great deal of thrashing and deep roaring growls. I stared up into the night sky, wishing for the sight of moonlight or even a few stars. My limbs shook.
Davis bent his head forward. “If I make my bed in the depths, you are there,” he repeated after me. His deep voice rumbled in his chest; I drew strength from it and began the psalm again. Soon Linette and Davis were both chanting the words with me, and Linette began to form a melody. Abruptly, she broke off, worry etching her face as Tristan strode into view.
“We killed it,” he said quickly.
She released my hand and sank back with a sigh of relief. Now that she was no longer singing, exhaustion hollowed her eyes in the faint light from the strange panels.
“How is she?” Tristan rubbed his sword with a wad of cloth and slid it into a leather scabbard with practiced ease.
“I’m fine,” I croaked.
He looked down at me, startled. Then he turned to Linette.
“I think she’ll be all right,” she said with a smile. Then her face sobered. “Is anyone hurt?”
Tristan nodded. “I know you’re tired, but Bekkah could use your help. Wade got clawed pretty bad.”
Linette stood up slowly, rubbing her back. “Will you stay with her?”
“All right. Kyle is on watch. And if you get a chance, convince Bekkah to let you take a look at her. She took some hits—but you know Bekkah.” He shook his head.
I could hear Linette and Bekkah’s murmuring voices nearby and worried about Wade. I wanted to help, but weak from battling the poison, I could only lay there trembling.
Tristan disappeared for a time and came back with a blanket that he tucked around me. My head lolled to one side.
“Would you like me to take her?” he asked Davis in a low voice.
“No, I’m fine. Let’s not move her right now. But you can get me a pack to lean against. These bones are getting too old for sleeping on the ground.”
Davis’s voice vibrated under my cheek as I rested against his chest. My eyelids were sinking closed, but I felt a moment of panic at the fatigue claiming me. If I closed my eyes, would I slip back toward the dark chasm? Then Davis rested his hand on my forehead. He and Tristan continued to talk, and in the reassurance of their murmured conversation, I sighed into sleep.
Chapter
8
In the pallid light of morning, Tristan roused everyone for breakfast, then settled cross-legged near me. We were a haggard group. Tristan’s clothes were even more torn and dirty than before. Next to him, Wade leaned back on one elbow, cradling his other arm, which was wrapped with knotted strips of cloth. Blood seeped through the layers of fabric, but he continued to crack jokes. Bekkah, who avoided looking at me, had a bruise deepening on her jawline, and the stiff way she moved hinted at injuries that weren’t vis
ible. Linette’s eyes were red-rimmed in her pale face. Her thin body slumped with fatigue, but she gave me a soft smile. When she shivered in the cool morning air, Kyle wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and glared at me from across the circle.
I looked away. Now that the sheer relief of having survived the night had passed, I faced another emotion: shame. Shame at how easily the lies had pulled me in. Guilt at the trouble I had caused. Instead of reaching the safety of Braide Wood, Linette looked ready to drop, Bekkah’s silent misery was obvious, and Wade could have been killed. The bloodstained bandage on his arm shouted accusations at me. What if his arm didn’t heal?
I wanted to apologize, but saying “I’m sorry,” seemed absurdly trivial.
Davis, who sat to my left, patted my shoulder, seeming to read my dreary thoughts. “We’ll all feel better with a little food in our bellies.”
In the center of the circle, several flat trivets glowed with light and warmth. Tristan’s wooden water bowl sat on top of them; wisps of steam rose from some kind of stew within it. Bekkah passed pieces of dry bread around the group, and everyone began dipping their bread into the stew.
The thick broth had the earthy flavor of mushrooms and root vegetables and made me long for my usual breakfast of coffee and toast instead. I couldn’t muster much appetite, but I forced myself to eat, determined to build up my strength.
When everyone got up to break camp, I wanted to pitch in, to prove I could be something other than a hindrance, but I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I just found my pack, tightened its ties, and hoisted it onto my back. The effort made me dizzy, and I put my hand against a tree for support.
Linette approached me. “It’s not too much farther,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “Don’t forget your Songs. You’ll need their strength.” She watched me for a moment, like a doctor diagnosing a patient. “There might be echoes. Let me know if the voices come back, all right?”
Kyle walked over and heard her last question. He put an arm around Linette’s shoulder, leading her away. “You’ve done enough already,” he told her gently. There was no gentleness in the look he gave me over his shoulder. I wanted to shrivel and melt into the ground.
