Beyond the Forest

by Kay L. Ling

  She unlocked the door, took off her shoes and coat in the narrow hallway, and headed to her rather disappointing kitchen. It was functional, but just barely. It had flimsy cabinets, limited counter space, and the refrigerator door opened the wrong way so there was no place to set anything. But she was willing to forgive all that because the dining area had a huge window that overlooked a park-like back yard. Few homes in the village had this much land. It was almost like living in the country.

  Her landlady, Lillian, who lived downstairs, was an unexpected bonus. Lana’s grandparents had passed away years ago, so Lana had claimed Lillian as her surrogate grandmother. The woman was like a brownie-baking Wikipedia. She knew, well, practically everything—timesaving household tips, home remedies, gardening, and the current New York Times bestseller list. Try to stump her. Good luck. Lillian was always baking “too much for one,” and Lana was the happy beneficiary. Although she was a decent cook herself, she happily accepted Lillian’s free treats.

  Once a week they chatted over a cup of coffee in Lillian’s kitchen. Lana hated to admit it, but sometimes she’d rather be with Lillian than her own friends. Erika and Karin could be so annoying. They complained about their boyfriends and asked her opinions, but how often did they take her advice? Her best friend Emily griped about office politics but thrived on tension and conflict. Face it—spending time with Lillian was much more relaxing. As a menopause baby, everyone important in Lana’s life had been a lot older, so being around older folks felt natural. Her parents had been in their sixties when she’d graduated from high school.

  Lana rummaged through the refrigerator, juggling several plastic containers until she found the foil-covered plate with last night’s pork chops. Leftovers were great. She didn’t mind eating her favorite foods three or four days in a row. At home, her mother had cooked most of their meals. Every day was an adventure since Mom liked to try new recipes. Lana called them “experiments.” Some were pretty good, but others were spectacular failures, and sadly, Mom couldn’t always tell the difference.

  After reheating her dinner, she flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. Nothing could make her move until she had eaten. These pork chops would be history in five minutes. She sighed with annoyance when the phone rang. Probably those wretched telemarketers. They always called at dinnertime. She had gotten rid of most of them, explaining in her “little old lady voice” that she was ninety-two and in a nursing home. Usually the recitation of her illnesses, along with the pills she took every day, made them hang up on her. If not, her shrill cries of, “Nurse! Bring the bedpan! Hurry!” sent them over the edge. She stabbed a forkful of salad and let the phone go to voice mail.

  “I’m so sorry, Lana.” Her head snapped up when she recognized Emily’s voice. “I know I promised we’d get together tomorrow. I was looking forward to dinner and shopping, but I can’t make it. I have to go to Nicole’s for the weekend. Her due date is Friday and they haven’t finished the baby’s room. Rain check for next weekend?”

  Not again. Every time they made plans something came up at the last minute. It was so frustrating. Lana’s last boyfriend, Jake Harris, had been nearly as unreliable. Handsome or not, she’d said goodbye to him and his lame excuses after the third offense. Emily’s excuses were always legit, though, so it was hard to be mad at her. Besides, they’d been friends since grade school. Oh, well. Lana speared a piece of pork chop, trying to convince herself that she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let it ruin her weekend. Time alone might be just what she needed. Forty hours at the jewelry store, plus helping her aging parents with chores every Saturday—and all too often on weeknights—took a lot out of her. Ed and Alex were no help. They could barely keep up with their own house and yard work. “We’d be lost without you,” they told her. “Good thing you have free time to help Mom and Dad.” Yeah, she had free time because she had sacrificed most of her social life, but it was hard to be resentful when they were so appreciative.

  She loaded the dishwasher and stretched out on the couch with a stack of decorating magazines. Every wall in the entire place was a boring, uninspired, beige or white. For a person who loved color, it was intolerable. Thankfully, Lillian had given her permission to paint—just not black or anything crazy that was hard to cover. She flipped through the first magazine but nothing inspired her. Paint colors that matched her favorite gems would be fun, she thought as she picked up the next magazine. Too bad paint couldn’t duplicate gems’ abilities as well.

  For thousands of years people had believed that gems could influence moods and attitudes, and provide luck, protection and healing, but somewhere along the way people had stopped believing. To be perfectly honest, she had been dubious at first, but folklore books described gem powers from intuition to invisibility, and the way she saw it, even if only a tenth of the claims were true, gem powers were worth pursuing. Reading had led to experimentation—holding gems, trying to feel their power. In the beginning she hadn’t felt much, but perseverance—okay, sheer stubbornness—had paid off. The sensations and emotions had grown stronger. Now she had mastered several powers—nothing on the order of invisibility, but useful skills.

  The clerks at the store said gem lore was bunk. When they touched gemstones they didn’t feel a thing. Lana knew they got minimal benefits anyway, but nothing on the order of what she got from tapping into and controlling the deeper levels of energy.

  How far could she take her powers? How much of the folklore was true? Could people really master skills like invisibility?

  She skimmed through several magazines before finding her ideal bedroom: pale green walls the color of aventurine with darker green woodwork like malachite. Simple white draperies, capped by white valances with tiny green flowers and a matching bedspread, contrasted well with the green.

  Perfect. Aventurine walls and malachite trim. She wore malachite a lot. The alternating dark and light green bands appealed to her, and its folklore was fascinating. For one, malachite brought success in business. That seemed to be true. How many times had she picked a piece of jewelry out of an entire showcase, a piece the customers hadn’t even noticed, and it was just what they wanted? Malachite was also the guardian stone of travelers, providing protection and power, and able to detect impending danger. One legend claimed that malachite broke into pieces when danger was near. Okay, that sounded pretty crazy, but it might be true.

  She glanced at her watch. Time for bed. She rolled off the couch and yawned as she headed for the bedroom. She’d promised her parents she’d help them with chores first thing in the morning, but that should only take a couple hours. Hopefully, she’d sleep better tonight. She set the alarm for seven. Lately, something unpleasant nagged just beneath her consciousness, and she often lay awake trying to figure out what it was. Was it Arlene’s increasing coldness and faultfinding? Something to do with her parents? Apprehension about taking over the store? Nothing she could think of felt right.

  A clammy film of perspiration coated her skin when she finally drifted off to sleep. She woke and found the sheets wound around her like clinging fingers trying to hold her back from her dreams. She tried to fall back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. She couldn’t get comfortable in any position and it was impossible to banish idle thoughts from her mind. With a frustrated sigh she rolled over and flipped on her bedside lamp. She had used gems to cure headaches and minor injuries. Gems could probably cure insomnia.

  She walked across the room and went through the gem trays on her desk. Folklore claimed opalite jasper could induce sleep, and she had a nice sized specimen, around three carats. She picked up the translucent, white gem with rainbow hues, and then she spotted another candidate. Lapis lazuli was supposed to improve sleep and cure insomnia but it also stimulated extrasensory perception. Actually, that was an ideal mix of abilities for what she needed. Once she fell asleep the lapis might work on her subconscious. When she woke, maybe she’d know what had been troubling her. It was worth a try. She picked up the dark blue stone fle
cked with gold, and carried both gems back to bed.

  Holding the gems loosely, she lay still, feeling them grow warm as she drew their power. After a few minutes she tried to relax and empty her mind. Before long, she fell back to sleep.

  * * *

  A dog’s insistent barking woke Lana at six o’clock. Her heart raced as she sat up, fighting off a haze of sleep. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, dizziness washed over her. She sat motionless, waiting for it to pass. What was the matter with her? The barking dog disturbed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

  A few deep breaths cleared her head enough for her to stand. Still a bit unsteady, she stumbled across the room and braced her palms against the window frame. Cars swished by on rain-soaked pavement. The sky was a colorless shade best described as dismal. There was no activity at the houses across the street. No sign of a dog, either. An aggravated yelp, fainter this time, came from farther down the street. Dogs—she didn’t like them. Especially big dogs, though she couldn’t say why.

  So much for sleeping in, she thought, thoroughly annoyed. The alarm wasn’t due to ring for another hour, and she’d been sleeping soundly. In fact, she’d been in the midst of a vivid dream, but now it had evaporated. She pushed the alarm to the off position, snatched a fleecy, navy blue top from her dresser and jammed her legs into a pair of jeans.

  In the kitchen she turned on the radio, managing to dance and cook at the same time. Another benefit of living alone—no one laughed when she looked like an idiot. And on a day like today, when she was in a black mood until she’d had her morning coffee, she wasn’t snapping at anyone. Her hearty breakfast of ham and eggs, washed down by strong coffee with lots of cream, did wonders for her mood.

  Thanks to a genetic twist of fate she, instead of her brothers, had inherited Dad’s appetite. At 5’7” and 130 pounds, no one would call her overweight, but she was hardly petite. She could do serious damage to a buffet line, and her friends hated the fact that she never gained weight. Ten years from now, she might gain weight just by walking past the refrigerator, but for now, she planned to enjoy her good fortune. Mopping floors and vacuuming for her parents would burn through some of these calories.

  Sipping her second mug of coffee, she stared out the window at the back yard. Autumn had finally arrived—her favorite time of year. Bright yellow and orange leaves showed among those that were still green, and some had already fallen.

  Lana caught her breath.

  Her dream! She remembered it now.

  She was hiking in County Forest Park. Dappled light shone through the treetops, casting shadows across the winding paths that led through maples, aspens and birch. The park was nearly deserted, and it was easy to avoid other hikers. In a mood to explore, she wandered off the familiar, marked trails. Deep in the woods she found something curious—troubling was a better word—and she debated whether to keep it. Lana frowned. What had it been? She couldn’t remember. She took a gulp of coffee and sighed in frustration. Well, it didn’t matter, she supposed. It was only a dream, and not a particularly useful dream at that. It didn’t explain her sleepless nights. At least she’d slept soundly for a change, so holding the gems had accomplished something. She thought for a moment. Could the troubling object in her dream represent the problem, whatever it was, that was keeping her awake? She had never been one to assign meanings to dreams, but it was an interesting theory. Maybe a hike at County Forest Park was just what she needed. It would give her time to relax and think. She might discover what had been troubling her, but if not, she’d get some fresh air and exercise.

  She stood and looked out the window. Yes, why not?

  The worst that could happen was nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Lana came home from her parents’ house and changed to go hiking. After pulling on comfortable faded jeans, she found her green T-shirt with the silk-screened photo of the Grand Canyon. Her parents had bought it during their trip to see Aunt Lucy and Uncle George, whose new house, an hour from the Grand Canyon, had an awesome stone fireplace and a huge deck that overlooked rocky hills and a rushing stream. It must be heaven to live in a place like that. Imagine waking to that view every day! Someday she’d visit them. Her friend Emily’s aboveground pool just didn’t cut it for a cool vacation.

  Lana always carried a pouch of gems, but she didn’t usually wear jewelry hiking. For some reason she felt like wearing malachite today, so she pawed through two jewelry boxes, pulled out a malachite ring and pendant, and a cuff bracelet with a massive oval malachite that spanned the width of her wrist. No outfit was complete without jewelry, she told herself with a grin as she threaded the pendant onto a sterling chain. The malachite looked even greener with the Grand Canyon T-Shirt. She leaned closer to her dresser mirror. The green shirt made her eyes look intensely green. She frowned at the freckles scattered across her nose and debated covering them with make-up, but decided not to. Her friends said she had an appealing “outdoorsy” look. Why fight it? Besides, make-up was a time-wasting pain in the butt. She ran a brush through her thick waves. If she had any vanity, it was her hair. She hadn’t cut it in years. It was the one touch of femininity, other than her beloved jewelry, that offset her tomboyish style. Grabbing her purse and brown coat, she galloped down the stairs.

  * * *

  County Forest Park was no Grand Canyon but it was a beautiful place to hike, and even though it was a public park, the nice thing was, you could still feel alone with nature here. Sure, she liked people, but there were times, especially after a busy week at the store, when she craved solitude. She got out of the car, anxious to walk the narrow, winding trails. She loved the hushed embrace of the trees.

  The park boasted some of the biggest trees in the state. From what she had read, in the 1700s, a Revolutionary War officer had received a land grant of 10,000 acres for services rendered, and in the 1870s, one of his descendants had deeded part of it to the county—the part that was too hilly and full of rocks to be farmed or logged. So this land had retained its unspoiled, natural beauty. Trails wound through hills covered in aspens, pines, locust, beech and maples. She loved it all: the hills and ravines, the swampy low spots, the narrow, trickling brooks. And especially the acres of old pine forest with its carpet of rust-colored needles.

  Lately, she’d been too busy to hike. That was just wrong, she told herself firmly, because she needed to come here. Something about the wind sighing through the trees and the sun filtering through the leaves rejuvenated her. She breathed in air scented with damp soil and pine needles, and exhaled her anger, frustration and disappointments. It was cheap therapy. And at this time of year, she could usually hike without seeing anyone, so it was almost like having the park to herself.

  Walking toward the trails, she passed weatherworn picnic tables, a small open pavilion with more tables, and several slightly rusty grills that had seen more than their share of charcoaled hot dogs and hamburgers.

  Behind the picnic area, three trails led into the woods. She knew where each one led and chose the one on the right. Even in the early days, when she had first started coming here, she had never gotten lost. Her internal compass always led her back to her car. She glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. The park closed a half hour before dark. Plenty of time for a long hike.

  Since the whole object of coming here was to be alone, she always hiked the least-traveled trails. In several areas a trail split, with the upper section following a ridge, and the lower following a stream or a swampy bird habitat. It was easy to switch trails and avoid other hikers.

  Bursts of laughter and snatches of conversation rose on the wind. She spotted three girls and two boys jogging along a lower trail, but none of them looked up. They probably didn’t know she was here.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had walked—maybe ten or fifteen minutes—when she noticed a path on her left that she’d never seen before. The groundcover, some kind of ivy, was matted, and here and there dirt showed through. She knew every marked trail and
this wasn’t one. What could be more intriguing than an undiscovered path? Especially after the strange dream she’d had. The trees looked far enough apart for her to easily walk through, so she might as well see where the path went.

  A few yards in, the path narrowed and became harder to distinguish but she kept going. After several minutes of dodging branches and ducking under tree limbs, she stopped to catch her breath. The silent forest was so dense, the leafy canopy nearly blocked out the afternoon sun. The dusky gloom felt restful and soothing, as if the gently swaying boughs overhead were absorbing light and noise. She thought with a sigh of contentment that this was one of the most peaceful places she had ever found.

  Unmarked trails often led to piles of branches waiting to be mulched, but there weren’t any piles so far. The path hadn’t intersected any of the marked trails and, as far as she could tell, this path really didn’t go anywhere or serve any purpose. She swept back her hair and started out again. She’d walk a little further before turning back.

  Just after the next bend she came to a small clearing and stopped short. A campfire. Well, the remains of one, anyway. Ash and charred wood showed through the dirt. What moron would start a fire here? Each trailhead had a sign marked: NO CARS, SMOKING, HORSES. If smoking wasn’t permitted, campfires certainly weren’t. She shook her head, annoyed. Probably teenagers. So many of them ditched their parents at the picnic shelters, and then ran off with their friends. Years ago, she’d done the same thing, but she’d known better than to start a fire in the woods.

  Circling the campfire, she examined the exposed, charred wood. Something half-buried glistened in the sunlight and she dropped to one knee to get a better look. No, it wasn’t wood or a piece of charcoal—something shiny and black. Like a rock. Brushing away the dirt, she picked up the stone and turned it over in her hands. Strange, it was unnaturally heavy for its size. And touching it produced an odd sensation. Her hands were starting to feel numb. She looked at the stone with narrowed eyes. She had never seen anything quite like it. It was a translucent black stone. As she rotated it, iridescent flecks of silver twinkled like light from distant stars.