Into the Wild

by Sarah Beth Durst

  She put him down, feeling better than she had since she’d come into the woods. She had her brother back. “Mom will get us out of here,” Julie said. She felt more sure than ever.

  “She’s here?” Boots peered into the trees. “She did it again?”

  “Again?” Julie asked.

  He trotted toward the shrubbery. “When we first escaped, she was the one who came to us, woke our memories, and gathered us together. She was amazing. Like a general.” Standing up in his boots, he poked his nose between the ferns. “Rapunzel?”

  Like a general? She stared at him.

  “Rapunzel!”

  “She’s not here. An ogre has to take me to a magician who has a ring that can take me to her,” Julie said. “What do you mean, she was the one who gathered you?”

  The cat blinked at her. “Is that the direct route?”

  “After I cross the endless ocean,” she admitted. “I don’t suppose you know how to cross an endless ocean?”

  “Course I know how to cross it,” Boots said. “I’m old buddies with the griffin.” He trotted decisively through the trees.

  She followed after him. “Griffin?” she asked.

  “How else would you get across the ocean?”

  “Boat?” she suggested.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Griffin

  On the Route 290 bridge over Lake Quinsigamond, the griffin sunned himself. He stretched, exposing his lion stomach, across three lanes. Shortly beyond him, the bridge ended in midair. Blueness stretched on and on into the horizon.

  Julie tried to sound casual. “You know, Worcester used to be on the other side of this bridge.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak. “I also don’t recall a griffin last time I was here.”

  “Stay clear of his beak,” Boots said as he trotted onto the bridge.

  She wasn’t tempted to go anywhere near his beak. In fact, she didn’t want to step onto the bridge. She looked down at her feet. Moss blanketed the ground beneath her mud-crusted flip-flops. Here the earth was comfortably solid. In front of her, the exposed asphalt of the bridge was riddled with tiny cracks like an old oil painting. Worse, it was moving. Untethered at one end, steel supports dangling in the water, the former highway swayed in the wind. Gusts swept the bridge back and forth, like a lashing cat tail, in rhythm with the waves.

  Boots was already a third of the way across the bridge. He stopped to wait for her. “Come on, scaredy-cat.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Julie said. She stepped off the moss and started toward him. “You’re the one who was running from a bicycle.”

  He ruffled his fur, indignant. “It hunted with a pack!”

  “Ooh, look out! Here comes a tricycle!”

  Scowling at her, Boots said, “Very funny.”

  Snoring, the griffin clawed the asphalt. The pavement splintered, and Julie dropped to her knees as a crack ran diagonally across the bridge. The crack hit the median strip, but the median held. Julie’s heart thudded. That’s it, she thought, I’m going back. Boots sniffed at the crack. Crawling forward, Julie joined him. She could see a strip of blue through the asphalt.

  “I hate water,” Boots said, jumping across the crack.

  You can do it, Julie told herself. It’s only water. Standing, she stepped over the crack. Eyes down, she watched the pavement for more incipient cracks as she walked quickly toward the end.

  Boots stopped. She raised her head.

  She had seen a lot of illustrations in various fairy-tale books, but none had prepared her for just how big a full-grown griffin was. A griffin on an 8½-by-11-inch page was one thing; a griffin the size of a Greyhound bus was another. His eagle beak was more like a T. rex jaw, and his serpent tail resembled an Amazonian anaconda. Feathers blended into pelt blended into scales, all over a mass of predatory muscle. Julie swallowed. “Close enough, don’t you think?” she whispered to Boots.

  He nodded fervently.

  “Should we wake him up?”

  A less enthusiastic nod.

  Julie wet her lips. How should she do it? What if he woke up cranky? “Um, hello, Mr. Griffin?” Snorting, the griffin flopped his snake tail to the side. Julie and Boots exchanged glances, and Julie tried again: “Good morning. Uh, sorry to bother you.”

  One yellow eye opened. “Oh, no,” the griffin said. “Tourists.”

  The cat sauntered up to the griffin and leaned a paw against the bulk of his snake tail. “Got a favor to ask, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. How would you feel about a little jaunt across the water, ol’ buddy, ol’ friend?” He punched the griffin on his haunch.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how utterly uninterested I am,” the griffin said. He twitched his leg, and Boots sprang backward.

  “But . . .” the cat sputtered.

  “It is considered rude to eat acquaintances, but in your case, I could make an exception.” Pointedly, the griffin opened his beak and snapped it shut. Julie jumped. “Take your turn-a-beggar-into-a-queen scheme elsewhere. Do not make me part of your story.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  Boots darted behind Julie. “Old buddies?” she whispered at him, eyeing the griffin’s beak. Slowly, they backed away from the griffin. “I expected his grandfather,” the cat whispered to her. “This griffin was born after we escaped the Wild. But don’t worry. We’ll find another way to cross the ocean.”

  “There’s another way?” she asked.

  “Not really, no.”

  She stopped retreating. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “C’mon, I saw him eat a cow once. Wasn’t pretty.”

  Julie looked across the water toward the horizon. The waves broke into white crests near the bridge and darkened into deep blue beyond. If Mom were here, what would she do? She would do the sensible thing, Julie answered herself: get off the bridge and away from the griffin.

  Wouldn’t she? Julie thought about what Grandma had said about Mom leaving “reminders” in blood and what Boots had said about her being the one to gather everyone, and suddenly, Julie wasn’t so sure. Would Mom be scared of a griffin?

  Julie tried to remember when she’d last seen her mom scared. Oddly, she couldn’t think of a single time. Was that possible? “Was Mom scared last time she was in the Wild?” Julie asked Boots.

  “Rapunzel?” he asked, surprised.

  The griffin opened one eye.

  “Sure,” Boots said. “Maybe . . .” He considered it. “I don’t know. She was pretty mad.” He shot a look at the griffin. “Uh-uh, you aren’t planning to . . .” Straightening her shoulders, she walked toward the griffin. “Mr. Griffin . . .” she began.

  “You’re her daughter?” the griffin said.

  Julie hesitated. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She’d thought she had it rough as the daughter of fairy-tale characters, but at least she was human. If a talking cat had had problems in the outside world, it couldn’t have been fun for a griffin. He might not want her to find her mother. He might want to stay in the Wild where he could sun on bridges instead of hiding from human sight. “Yes?” she said in a small voice. If he wanted to stop her, he could. The griffin ate cows; she’d be a nice appetizer.

  The mass of lion-eagle-serpent uncoiled, and Julie shrank back. Standing, he towered, dinosaur-sized, over them. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I am a great admirer. I have studied her deeds in the Great Battle. We have never had a hero like her.”

  “Mom’s not a hero,” Julie said automatically. “She’s Rapunzel.”

  “She rode into battle on the back of my grandfather,” the griffin said proudly. “Ah, it must have been glorious.”

  “Messy, actually,” Boots said. “Stories ending left and right. Friends forgetting and turning into enemies right before our eyes. Still have nightmares about it.”

  Julie realized her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. Her mother was in a battle? She pictured Mom with scissors in one hand and a curl
brush in the other riding a griffin. “You’re joking.”

  “It was genius strategy,” the griffin said, “a plan that no one but the brilliant Rapunzel could have concocted. And it would have succeeded . . .”

  “. . . if it weren’t for the whole doomed-to-failure part,” Boots said.

  The griffin glared at him. “It would have succeeded had not the odds been so overwhelming. How does one fight a force of nature? You’d do as well to reject gravity.”

  Julie felt excitement rising. Could this be true? Could this Great Battle be Mom’s secret past? “What happened?”

  “We lost,” Boots said shortly. “It won.”

  “Through deceit, the Wild recaptured the valiant rebels,” the griffin said.

  “Tricked into story endings; forced to reenact beginnings; memories gone,” Boots said. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “But someone did stop the Wild,” Julie said. “It was defeated.”

  “Yes, but it was many, many years later,” the griffin said. “Many, many years of repeating the same actions, saying the same words . . .”

  “How was it stopped?” she pressed.

  The griffin looked uncomfortable. “My grandfather says that none but Rapunzel and her prince know. But all know the glory of her battle!” (“Once they remembered it,” Boots interjected.) “Minstrels sing of it! Poets write of it!” The griffin fanned his wings and crowed. Julie clapped her hands over her ears. She lowered them when the griffin settled down again. “She went to battle to break the endless cycles of stories by preventing the endings. She and her army chopped beanstalks before Jacks could climb them, stole glass shoes before princes could find them . . . For a while, there was glorious chaos!”

  “And then it ended,” Boots interrupted.

  The griffin bowed his head. “And then it ended,” he intoned.

  “Can we get on with this, please?” Boots said. “Are you going to give us a ride or not?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the griffin said. He ruffled his feathers. “You know the rules? Of course, you do. You are Rapunzel’s daughter.” He lowered his head to the bridge. “Climb on my back and we’ll be off.”

  Julie couldn’t picture it: her mother in a battle. Their Rapunzel and her mother felt like two separate people. Their Rapunzel was a stranger. She had to know more. “But my mom—”

  Boots interrupted: “The sooner we cross the ocean, the sooner we find Zel. She can tell you all about it then.”

  He was right. She could ask Mom all her questions. Suddenly, Julie felt even more impatient to find her. Holding on to feathers, Julie climbed onto the griffin.

  The griffin raised his head, and Julie and the cat slid down the neck feathers until Julie’s thighs hit the griffin’s shoulders. “Wish he came with seat belts,” Julie said. She held on to two five-foot feathers as the griffin pumped his wings. Half hopping, half running, the griffin headed for the end of the bridge. His wings pumped harder. His paws pushed off beneath him. He leapt off the edge of the bridge.

  They fell toward the roiling waters, and Julie’s stomach lurched; then his wings caught wind, and they were lifted up.

  She felt as if she could fly forever. Beautiful blue water sparkled below her. Cool wind streamed in her face. She laughed out loud. “This is amazing!” she shouted into the wind. “Boots, isn’t this amazing?”

  Shivering, Boots huddled in front of her.

  Julie stretched her arms out to either side. She was soaring. Voice rumbling underneath her, the griffin said, “We are almost halfway across. Soon, I must rest.”

  Julie peeked over the griffin’s neck. Water swelled and crested in windborne waves. Rest? “But there’s no land!”

  “If you have a walnut, you must drop it now and it will grow into a tree on which I can rest. Otherwise, I must throw you into the sea or I will not make it to the other side.”

  “What!” Julie shrieked. “But I don’t have a walnut! I don’t have any magic things. I lost them all!”

  Boots yelped. “I hate water!”

  “You can’t drop us!” Julie said. “Please! We’ll drown!”

  “It’s not my choice,” the griffin said irritably. “It’s the rules. I asked you if you knew them. If you cross the ocean on the griffin’s back, this is how this story bit goes. I am sorry, especially considering your mother, but any second now, I will shake you off my back. If it’s any consolation, it’s the Wild that will do it, not me.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “Some consolation . . .” Julie began.

  The griffin dove toward the water. Julie shrieked and clutched his feathers as he tilted sideways. His feathers grazed the waves, and then he flipped upside down. Julie and the cat dangled.

  Upside down, the griffin shook his back. Feathers slipped through Julie’s fingers. Boots yowled as he lost his grip. “Boots! No!” Julie yelled. He splashed into the sea. Sputtering, he bobbed between the waves. Boots!

  Without stopping to think, Julie released the griffin’s feathers. Screaming, she flailed at the air. She splashed into the water.

  Salt water filled her mouth as she slipped beneath the waves. Pinwheeling, she burst to the surface and spat. Cold seeped directly into her skin. Oh, God, I’m going to drown! Please, please, don’t let me drown. She heard a meow. “Boots!” She splashed over to the cat. “Hang on to me!” she said.

  Boots latched onto her sweater. She sank into the waves and kicked herself back up. “Watch the claws!” she said. “Which way is shore?”

  “I don’t know! I can’t see land!” the cat howled.

  Think. Don’t panic. Just don’t panic. Trying to imagine the sea as Northcourt Pool, she started breaststroking. Waves broke against her. Her side cramped almost instantly. Her arms began to ache. She’d never make it. It was too far. It was endless. It was impossible.

  Now she remembered she’d once seen her mom scared. Julie was younger, in elementary school, and she and Gillian were trying to ice-skate on the pond behind Gillian’s house. Except the water wasn’t fully frozen. Her mom came outside just as the ice first cracked.

  A swell shoved into her, and Julie went under. She came up sputtering. “I don’t want to drown!” Boots cried. “I’m too young to drown! I’ve never had kittens! I’ve never even had a girlfriend!”

  Swells crashed into them, dunking them. Boots dug his claws into her back and yowled at the waves.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Swan Soldiers

  She felt a yank on her hair, and her face was jerked above the waves. Julie gasped for air. It burned. Oh, it burned! Something clamped onto her elbows and then onto her legs. Horizontal, she was raised out of the ocean.

  Suspended an inch over the water, she started moving forward with a whoosh sound. Her stomach skimmed the surface of the sea. Waves slapped her face. She rose higher. Whoosh, whoosh, she heard. What was happening?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of white. Held by the hair, she couldn’t move her head. “Boots! Boots, where are you?” she called.

  She heard the cat’s voice: “Don’t eat me! Please, don’t eat me! I swear I’ll never chase another sparrow. Not even a chickadee!”

  She heard a louder whoosh. Feathers filled her view—she was in a flock of giant swans. Each bird was at least six feet long from beak to tail feathers. The closest swan turned its boa neck toward her. “Don’t worry, miss. Everything’s under control. We said we’d look out for you, and here we are,” the swan said. “Lieutenant, loosen up on that hair there.”

  Lieutenant . . . She knew them! She’d seen them turned into swans: they were the National Guardsmen she’d met back on Main Street.

  The lieutenant holding her hair loosened his grip, and she turned her head to see a man-sized swan holding her elbow in his beak. “Where are you taking us?” she called.

  The lead swan flapped ahead without answering. “Keep up that V formation, boys! Let me see those wings flap! What are you, a bunch of sissies? Up, down. Up, down!”
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  Ocean passed underneath her as the swans flew on.

  “Gently, gently. On three: one, two . . .” The swans lowered her toward a patch of moss. Two inches from the ground, the swans released her and she belly-flopped onto the ground.

  She lifted her face. “Ow,” she said.

  In a flutter of wings, the swans landed around her. She pushed herself to her knees. Beside her, Boots lay shuddering on the ground. She crawled to him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Birds,” he said. “Giant birds.”

  “But are you okay?”

  He raised his head and looked at her. Fur wet, his face looked like a mop. “I’m wet,” he said. “I’m cold. I’m hungry.”

  She hugged him. “Yeah, me too,” she said. He didn’t squirm out of her arms. Instead, he curled against her as she looked around them. They were on a shore, a narrow beach of rocks lined by the encroaching forest. The swans were waddling in between the trees toward a picturesque cottage. “Excuse me, uh, sir?” she called. “Where are we?”

  “Safe,” said the closest swan, the captain. “You’ll stay here for the night.” On the word night, the sky suddenly tinted orange. Julie and Boots looked up. Across the water, the afternoon sun had dipped instantly into sunset.

  Okay, that was disturbing. Her urge to leave the Wild suddenly doubled. “Sir? We were heading for an ogre’s castle. It’s supposed to be on the other side of the ocean.”

  “Step lively, men,” the captain barked. The swans waddled toward the cottage. As they approached it, they seemed to stretch and darken. Their wings shrank and thinned. Their legs extended. One by one, their feathers faded into army green fatigues, and their beaks flattened into human faces.

  “They’re human only in the evenings until the spell is broken,” Boots whispered. Julie nodded, remembering the story: someone had to sew eleven shirts of flowers to turn them human again. She and Boots watched the soldiers march into the cottage. “Hope you like sewing,” Boots said.

  “You don’t think . . .” She couldn’t be caught in another story so quickly! She looked at the captain. “Um, sir, I don’t have time to break your spell. I have to get to—”