The Beast of Hushing Wood

by Gabrielle Wang

  At the back of the caravan is a seat covered in bright cushions, and on top of the cushions, sitting cross-legged at a low table, is Raffi’s grandfather. He’s wearing a peacock-blue collarless shirt with a geometric pattern around the collar and cuffs. He looks up from his book and his brown eyes are worried but kind.

  Raffi goes over and they speak in soft urgent voices. Then Raffi hands me two towels, one to dry myself and one for Mystic.

  While I am drying Mystic, I subtly check under the table and peer into the darker corners.

  ‘Are you looking for the leopard?’ asks Raffi.

  I jump. Does he read minds too? I lay a protective hand on Mystic.

  Raffi smiles. ‘You need not fear Namir. He is my animal spirit.’

  ‘Your what?’ I say, wondering if I heard the words properly.

  ‘Namir, my animal spirit, lives inside me. When I let him out, only special people like you can see him.’

  Relief floods through me. So that’s why Petal didn’t see the leopard. I am not crazy. ‘Who else has an animal spirit?’ I ask, curious.

  ‘We all do, but some people build a cage around theirs because they are afraid to let them out. Jaddi’s animal spirit is an old bear. Yours is rima, a white antelope.’

  ‘Rima,’ I whisper. My dream, Grandpa calling me Rima . . . now it all makes sense.

  Raffi boils water and makes mint tea in a silver teapot. He brings it over on a small round silver tray. Holding the pot about twelve inches above one of the three glasses, he pours. The tea is like a ribbon of pale gold with silver bubbles on the top that pop silently. He gives the first glass to his grandfather, then fills the other two and sits down opposite me. Even though everything is so strange and new, I belong here.

  The caravan is warm and the smell of mint is everywhere. I’m tired and rain-soaked, but I feel my energy returning. I can almost forget the storm raging outside, and Harry Arnold and Truss, and poor Kalila, hiding alone and scared in the woods.

  ‘Tell your grandfather that your caravan home is beautiful,’ I say.

  Raffi adds a lump of sugar to his tea and smiles.

  ‘I am glad that you find it so,’ his grandfather replies. ‘It is good to drink and to talk while we become friends.’

  I’m surprised that he can speak English. And even more surprising is his accent. It’s very proper and correct.

  ‘Jaddi speaks twelve languages,’ says Raffi.

  ‘Twelve!’ I say. I can hardly believe it. It’s hard enough speaking one.

  ‘Jaddi has travelled to many places,’ Raffi goes on. I notice that his manner is completely different when he’s with his grandfather – younger, less serious. He looks at his grandfather with love and respect.

  ‘I speak three and Jaddi is teaching me more.’ Raffi stands up, spreads a blanket over his grandfather’s lap, and sits down again.

  ‘Drink,’ says Raffi’s grandfather.

  ‘Thank you . . . um . . .’

  ‘Call me Jaddi. It means grandfather.’

  I smile. ‘You remind me of my own Grandpa Truegood,’ I say. I look down at my hands. ‘Except he’s in a nursing home and doesn’t remember me.’

  ‘Your grandfather tries to communicate with you. Sometimes you block him with too many of your own thoughts,’ Jaddi says gently.

  I’m shocked. ‘How do you know?’ I ask.

  ‘Your grandfather and I have lived a long time. We know such things.’

  It’s strange, even though the wind is tearing through the woods outside, inside the caravan it’s peaceful and calm. I take a sip of tea.

  ‘Do you remember the eagle?’ Jaddi says.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, touching the scar on my cheek.

  ‘I am sorry that you were hurt. It was sending a message to my grandson – who can be stubborn sometimes.’

  Raffi’s face reddens.

  ‘What kind of message, Jaddi?’ I ask.

  Jaddi rearranges the rug on his lap. ‘It was showing him that you are the one we are seeking.’

  I’m just about to ask what he means, when Jaddi smiles and holds up his hand.

  ‘Let me explain, then you will understand,’ he says. ‘You are a child of light in the darkness,’ he begins. ‘When a bird dies, its spirit flies up to the heavens and becomes a star. That is why you rarely see a dead bird. The star is a messenger, which in turn becomes a bird and reaches out to us on earth. Birds, stars and people, we are all connected. It is a circle.’ Jaddi lifts his arm and makes a circle in the air. The glow from it hovers in front of us even though he puts his arm down. I watch until it burns away.

  ‘We called upon the stars to help us find Kalila,’ says Jaddi. ‘And one of them, the shooting star you saw the other night, led us to Dell Hollow.’

  ‘But there were three of you on the grass that day,’ Raffi continues. ‘I did not know who the child of light was until the golden eagle, the messenger bird, marked you. I am sorry about that.’

  ‘A child of light,’ I say under my breath. The words feel warm, as if I’ve grown into a new skin that fits me perfectly. Neither Jaddi nor Raffi talk. They understand that I need space to think about this, to take it in. I look at Raffi’s profile as he sips his tea – his aquiline nose, dark hair curling over his ears. He is a boy about my age but he has another whole way of seeing the world. I look at Jaddi who is wise and who, with the help of the stars and the birds, was guided here. I was the beacon that called them to Dell Hollow. Inside my mind I see a white light shining down from a star, shining down on me. For the first time in my life I know who I am.

  ‘But you set the trap that hurt Kalila,’ Raffi says, breaking into my thoughts. ‘We did not understand. Was the eagle wrong? Then we realised that it was the jinn that gave you this cruel-hearted idea.’

  I nod. ‘That horrible voice inside my head. I will never forget it,’ I say. ‘It convinced me it was the only way to stop my nightmares. What is this jinn?’

  ‘The jinn is a creature who lives in a world alongside ours. You cannot see into their world, but they can see into ours,’ Jaddi says. ‘We are made of earth, they are made of fire. But not all jinns are bad. They can choose, like we can choose, to be good or to be bad. This jinn, the one in the woods, is a being with extreme power. He only became evil and dangerous after his child was stolen by a human. Now he lives for just one thing: revenge. He is the cause of all that is happening to Dell Hollow.’

  ‘But why Dell Hollow?’ I ask.

  ‘We are not completely sure. But it may be the emerald mine. Jinns love jewels, especially emeralds, and they love deep dark places. Once, long ago, there was something special about Dell Hollow – an energy that attracted people to live here.’ Jaddi pats my hand. ‘People like your grandfather.’

  He pauses, and looks serious. ‘But I suspect it also attracted the jinn. He was wandering the world, looking for his child.’

  ‘What happened then?’ I ask.

  ‘When he came here, he must have tried to take a human child to replace his own. Someone fought him.’ Jaddi looks at me. ‘Perhaps your grandfather. And he succeeded. But before the jinn was driven away, he cursed the town, and the woods. People grew afraid of the woods and of everything outside of their own small world.’ Jaddi takes a sip of tea and gently sets the glass down on the table. ‘Later, after he had taken our Kalila, the jinn must have returned to Dell Hollow and hidden Kalila in Hushing Wood, where he thought nobody could save her.’

  ‘What the jinn did not count on was a child of light being born to the town,’ says Raffi. ‘Or that she would have a dog who is part wolf.’ He looks across at Mystic, who is twitching inside a dream.

  ‘Jinns and wolves do not get along, you see. You are a child of light and you have a protector. That has made it hard for the jinn to control you.’

  Raffi points to a potted plant in the corner of the caravan. I hadn’t noticed the strange yellow fruit that looks like small hands. ‘That citron plant wards off jinns as well. So inside here, we are sa
fe.’

  ‘You said the jinn came from another world,’ I say.

  Jaddi nods. ‘There is the world you live in. But there are many other worlds. One is what you call the imagination. We call it the alamal mithal.’

  ‘But the imagination isn’t real,’ I say.

  ‘People only say that because their power of imagination is weak. When it becomes strong, your imagination can take you to incredible places. These are real places, although you cannot touch them with your hands.’ He taps his chest. ‘But you can touch them with your heart.’ He smiles. ‘True imagination is your door to a real world. Sometimes people glimpse this world when they’re not looking straight at it.’

  ‘I do see things out of the corner of my eye,’ I say excitedly. ‘So that is a real world?’

  ‘Artists, writers, musicians all have links to this world. Some great ones have passed from one world to the other and back again. That is how they create masterpieces.’

  Jaddi must have noticed my confused expression. He touches my arm.

  ‘All this you cannot understand with logic,’ he says. ‘You have to understand it in here.’ He puts his hand on his chest. This action reminds me of Grandpa Truegood.

  With his other hand he holds something out to me.

  It is a necklace with two small brightly coloured stones from Green Lake. As I stare at them, I find myself spiralling into them, and at their very centre is a white antelope. I look up at Jaddi.

  ‘Now you know who you are, let the antelope guide your heart and protect you,’ Jaddi says.

  He places the necklace around my neck. I cover the stones with my hands. They are warm against my skin.

  ‘Jaddi,’ I say, ‘I have dreamed many times that I will drown on my twelfth birthday and that the creature who will drown me is Kalila. Is my dream a premonition? I can’t believe she would do that . . .’

  Jaddi sighs and stands up. He rubs his forehead.

  ‘I have lived a long life and have gained much knowledge,’ he finally says. ‘But I cannot see into the future, Ziggy. Kalila and you are entwined, that much we know. But in what way?’ He shrugs.

  ‘One thing I do now know for certain is that your grandfather can help. Reach out to him with your mind. But this time do not block him with your own thoughts. The jinn made your grandfather ill, but he is a strong man. He fought and still fights with all his might to withstand the evil. You must make it easy for him to communicate with you.’

  ‘Does this mean that if we defeat the jinn, Grandpa Truegood can be well again?’ I say. My heart sings at this thought.

  ‘The jinn’s power is great. I do not know how far he has damaged your grandfather’s mind,’ Jaddi says. ‘One step at a time, Ziggy Truegood. That is all you can take. One step at a time . . .’

  Mystic stands up and wags his tail. I hear Momma’s car pull up. I know it by the chugging motor, even over the rain. I wonder how she knew where I was.

  When Raffi opens the door, Momma peers inside the caravan, frowning. ‘Is my daughter here?’ she says abruptly, without any greeting.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Truegood,’ Raffi says, politely. ‘Yes, she is. Would you like to come in?’

  Momma hovers at the doorway, wet and flustered. ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ she says, and leaves.

  I feel so embarrassed. I stand quickly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to Jaddi. ‘My mother is so rude.’

  ‘No matter,’ says Jaddi.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ I say. Then I turn to Raffi. ‘Meet me at the tree house tomorrow morning at six, okay?’ And I run down the steps into the rain.

  Mystic is already in the back seat of the car. I climb in beside Momma. The windscreen wipers make horrible squealing sounds as the rubber shudders and scrapes. The tension inside the car is like a monster growing bigger and bigger until there doesn’t seem to be any space to breathe.

  ‘You need new wiper blades,’ I say, looking out of the window.

  ‘I told you I didn’t want you to see that boy again.’ Momma’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

  ‘That’s hard when he’s in my class at school. You wouldn’t even let me introduce you, and if you had talked to him you might have found out that Raffi’s grandfather is a lot like Grandpa.’

  ‘I blame your grandfather for giving you ideas that are far too big for you,’ she says.

  I don’t want to argue. Not now when I know so much more about myself and what is really important. Instead, I ask her, ‘Why do you let me play in the woods when nobody else does?’

  ‘You’ve always been headstrong. I couldn’t stop you,’ Momma says. She is silent for a moment as though she is rummaging in a drawer in her mind for something. ‘It was your grandfather who showed you the woods for the first time.’

  ‘Grandpa Truegood?’ I say. ‘I can’t remember being with anyone in the woods but Mystic.’

  ‘You were very young. He took you a few times until I stopped him.’

  ‘What about Jake and Pete? Did Grandpa Truegood take them there too?’

  Momma shakes her head. ‘He said you were special. That’s why he had to show you Hushing Wood. He said you had to learn. Learn what? I asked him. But he never answered.’

  I don’t say any more. Neither does Momma. She is no longer angry. I can feel her sadness, but I need to talk to Grandpa Truegood and I need to do it now.

  I close my eyes and reach out to him, like Jaddi told me to do. I see him in his room in Gold Leaf Lodge.

  ‘Rima, my lovely white antelope,’ he says, smiling and lifting his head from his book.

  Inside, I feel muscle and velvety fur, strong legs and long antlers. ‘Yes, I am Rima, the white antelope,’ I say.

  ‘Then it is time,’ he says. ‘When you were small I gave you a tiny jade bottle.’

  ‘Yes, Grandpa,’ I say. ‘It’s one of my favourite things.’

  ‘This bottle holds the key that will unlock a secret.’

  ‘A secret to what, Grandpa?’

  ‘Climb the mountain, Rima. Stop at the top.’

  I’m jolted back as the car swerves. A large branch misses the hood of our car by inches.

  ‘That was close,’ Momma says.

  Too close, I think, looking around for the jinn.

  I reach my hand to the backseat to stroke Mystic, my dog, my wolf and my protector.

  As soon as I’m inside the house, I go to my room. I take a magnifying glass out of my drawer and the tiny jade bottle off the shelf and sit on the bed.

  The girl in the painting is looking up at the mountain peak, where there’s a small pagoda. Grandpa Truegood said to climb the mountain. So I do, with my eyes.

  He also talked about a key. Do I need a key to unlock the door? I can’t see anything that might be a key. And is it a real key I’m looking for?

  I turn the bottle around, but the back is just plain white jade. I travel down the path, looking at every detail until I come to the girl again. Her hair hangs in a black ponytail down her back. She’s wearing a long green dress tied in the middle with a wide pink sash.

  I look carefully through the magnifying glass. There’s something about her clothing I had never noticed before. I’d always thought the material was a pattern of flowers and birds. But now, up close, they look like tiny symbols.

  I grab a pencil and paper and carefully copy down the symbols exactly as they appear on the dress. Once that’s done I lie back on my bed and try to make sense of them. I’m not good at puzzles. I wish Big Bobby Little were here. They look like lots of Ls turned back to front and upside-down. I rub my eyes from the strain as the symbols blur.

  ‘Climb the mountain . . . stop at the top. Climb the mountain, stop at the top,’ I say over and over. ‘Stop at the top . . .’

  I sit up and look at the bottle again. It’s not quite the shape of a mountain, but it could be. It’s wide at the bottom and narrows at the top, where it finishes with a cork stopper. It’s strange that such a beautiful bottle has such a cheap top, I thi
nk, staring at it.

  Then it hits me. Stop at the top!

  Could the cork stopper be what Grandpa Truegood means?

  I try to pry it open, but it’s stuck fast to the lip of the bottle. I use a penknife to carefully work my way around the lip, but still no luck.

  Exasperated, I sit back and drop the bottle into my lap. How could there be a key inside this tiny bottle? What would it unlock anyway?

  Mystic jumps on the bed and licks my face. I bury my head into his hair. ‘Do you think it’s time for bed?’ I say. He burrows into my side, making me smile. ‘I think you’re right. We have to be up at six tomorrow to meet Raffi.’

  As I get up off the bed, I hear a small thud. I’d forgotten about the bottle. I pick it up from the rug and inspect it carefully to make sure it’s not broken. Thankfully it’s fine . . . except . . .

  I take my magnifying glass and look at the base. There is a small engraving on the bottom that must be the artist’s mark. But in the middle of this mark is a tiny hole. I look around for something to poke inside. It’s so small not even a needle would fit. But a strand of hair would.

  I pluck one from my head and poke it into the hole. It is too soft, and bends.

  ‘Come here, Mystic boy,’ I say, and run my hand along his neck. Dark grey hairs come away. I pick the thickest strand. It only goes in a little way before the lid of the bottle pops up.

  My hands tremble as I lift off the cork stopper.

  A tiny piece of paper comes out with the cork stopper. It is intricately folded, like a miniature origami. With great care I open it. My fingers feel so big and clumsy.

  There’s a drawing on the paper. When I look at it through my magnifying glass, I see that it’s a plan of a house. Is this the key Grandpa Truegood was talking about? But where is this house? And what am I supposed to do now?

  ‘I need your help again, Grandpa Truegood,’ I say, sending my mind to Gold Leaf Lodge. I concentrate hard like I did in the car. But no matter how hard I try, there seems to be something blocking me.