by TJ Klune
He walked farther, only pausing to look back over his shoulder once more. The children stood at the entrance to the copse, apparently having decided they could go no farther.
Phee gave him a thumbs-up.
Lucy said, “You’re not dead!” He sounded strangely disappointed.
“Leaders give positive reinforcement,” Talia told him.
“Oh. Good job not dying!”
“That was better,” Talia said.
Chauncey’s stalks lowered until his eyes were sitting on top of his body. “I don’t like this.”
“Come on,” Sal said as Theodore nibbled on his ear. “We all go together.” He took a step into the trees, and the children followed, huddled around him.
It caused Linus’s heart to ache sweetly.
He turned back around, schooling his face. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t supposed to be this way. He wasn’t supposed to—
The path was suddenly blocked by a large tree sprouting in front of him with a roar, dirt spraying up in a large plume.
Linus yelped as he stumbled back.
The children screamed.
A voice rang out, echoing around them as the tree groaned. “Who dares to step inside my woods?”
Linus recognized it as Zoe almost immediately. He sighed. He was going to have so many words with both her and Arthur later.
The children rushed ahead and stood around Linus, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Who is it?” Lucy whispered furiously. “Is it the cannibals?”
“I don’t know,” Linus said. “Could be. And while I might be a complete meal, they could be full after consuming Arthur and are only interested in something a little more … snack-sized.”
Talia gasped. “But … but I’m snack-sized.”
“We all are,” Phee moaned.
“Oh no!” Chauncey said, trying to move between Linus’s legs with varying degrees of success.
Sal was looking at the trees around them, eyes narrowed. Theodore had shoved his head inside Sal’s shirt. “We need to be brave,” Sal said.
“He’s right,” Lucy said, stepping so he stood next to Sal. “The bravest.”
“I’m just going to be brave right here,” Chauncey said from underneath Linus.
“I should have brought my shovel,” Talia muttered. “I could have smashed the stupid cannibals in the head.”
“What should we do?” Phee asked. “Should we charge?”
Lucy shook his head before bellowing, “I demand to know who resides here!”
Zoe’s voice was deep, but Linus could hear the smirk. “Who are you to demand anything of me, child?”
“I am Commander Lucy, the leader of this expedition! Reveal yourself, and I promise to cause you no harm. Though, if you attack and are still hungry, Mr. Baker here has offered to sacrifice himself so that we may live.”
“I offered no such thing—”
“The Commander Lucy?” Zoe asked, words echoing around them. “Oh my, I’ve heard of you.”
Lucy blinked. “You have?”
“Yes, indeed. You’re famous.”
“I am? I mean, I am! That’s me! The famous Commander Lucy!”
“What is it you seek from me, Commander Lucy?”
He looked back at the others.
“Treasure,” Phee decided.
“And Arthur,” Chauncey said.
“What if we can only pick one?” Talia asked. She was holding Linus’s hand again.
“We pick Arthur,” Sal said, sounding more sure of himself than Linus had ever heard him.
“Aw, really?” Lucy said, kicking the dirt. “But … but, treasure.”
“Arthur,” Sal insisted, and Theodore chirped his agreement from underneath Sal’s shirt. When Linus had begun to understand those chirps, he didn’t know.
Lucy sighed. “Fine.” He turned back around. “We seek Arthur Parnassus!”
“Is that it?” Zoe asked, voice booming.
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no to treasure—”
“Lucy!” Chauncey hissed.
Lucy groaned. “Just Arthur!”
“Then so be it!”
The tree shrank back down into the ground in a flash.
The pathway was clear.
“Would you like to lead the way, Commander Lucy?” Linus asked.
Lucy shook his head. “You were doing such a good job of it, and you look like you don’t hear that often enough. I don’t want to take that away from you.”
Linus prayed for strength as he led the way, Talia still holding his hand. The other children gathered behind them, with Sal and Theodore bringing up the rear.
They didn’t have to travel far; soon, the path led to a small clearing. And in this clearing sat a house. It was a single level, made of wood and covered with ivy. It looked ancient, grass growing thickly at its base. The door was open. Linus thought of the stories from his youth, of witches luring children inside. But the witches he knew weren’t cannibals.
Well. Mostly.
It struck him, then, just who this house belonged to, and how much of an honor this would be. For an adult sprite, their dwelling was their most important possession. It was their home where all their secrets were kept. Sprites were notorious for their privacy, and he had no doubt that Phee would one day be the same, though he hoped she would remember the time spent at Marsyas in her youth. She wouldn’t have to be so alone.
The fact that Zoe Chapelwhite was inviting them in was not lost on Linus. He wondered if Arthur had been here before. (Linus thought he had.) And why Zoe had allowed Linus on her island to begin with. And who the orphanage house belonged to. All questions he didn’t have the answers to.
Was it his place to ask? He wasn’t sure. It didn’t have any bearing on the children, did it?
“Whoa,” Lucy breathed. “Look at that.”
Flowers were beginning to bloom along the vines amongst the ivy. It looked as if they were growing from the house itself. Bright colors—pink and gold and red and blue like the sky and ocean—raced along vines. It took only moments for the entire house to be covered in them, even stretching up and over the roof.
Phee sighed dreamily. “So pretty.”
Linus couldn’t help agreeing. He’d never seen anything like it. He thought how muted his sunflowers must seem in comparison. He didn’t know how he’d ever thought they were bright.
Going home was going to be quite the shock.
A figure appeared in the doorway.
The children moved closer to Linus.
Zoe stepped into the sunlight. She wore a white dress that contrasted beautifully with her dark skin. The flowers in her hair matched the ones that grew along her house. Her wings were spread wide. She smiled at them. “Explorers! I’m pleased to see you’ve found your way.”
“I knew it!” Lucy crowed, throwing his hands up. “There were no cannibals. It was Zoe the whole time!” He shook his head. “I wasn’t scared, but everyone else was. Big babies.”
The other children, it would seem, disagreed with this vehemently, if their indignant cries were any indication.
“Is Arthur alive?” Chauncey asked. “Nobody ate him or anything?”
“Nobody ate him,” Zoe said. She stepped out of the doorway. “He’s inside, waiting for all of you. Perhaps there is lunch. Maybe even a pie. But you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
Any lingering fear they might have had apparently disappeared immediately with the promise of food, as they all charged through the doorway, even Sal. Theodore squawked, but managed to hold on to the bigger boy.
Linus stayed right where he was, unsure of what he should do next. Zoe had offered an invitation, but it’d been to the children. He didn’t know if that extended to him.
Zoe pushed away from the house. With every step she took, the grass grew under her feet. She stopped in front of him, eyeing him curiously.
“Zoe,” he said with a nod.
She was amused. “Linus. I heard you had qu
ite the adventure.”
“Indeed. A bit out of my comfort zone.”
“I expect that’s how most explorers feel when they step out of the only world they know for the first time.”
“You often say one thing while meaning another, don’t you?”
She grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He didn’t believe her at all. “Arthur all right?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Arthur is fine.”
Linus nodded slowly. “Because he’s been here before, I take it.”
“Is there a question you’d like to ask, Linus?”
There were so many. “No. Just … making conversation.”
“You’re not very good at it.”
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, if I’m being honest.”
Her expression softened. “No, I don’t believe it is. Yes. He’s been here before.”
“But not the children?”
She shook her head. “No. This is the first time.”
“Why now?”
She stared at him, eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place. “This island is theirs just as much as it’s mine. It was time.”
He frowned. “Not for my benefit, I hope.”
“No, Linus. Not for your benefit. It would have happened whether you were here or not. Would you like to come inside?”
He tried to cover his surprise, but failed miserably. “This island isn’t mine.”
She hesitated. “No. But I wouldn’t leave you out here by yourself. There might be cannibals, after all.”
“Could be,” he agreed. Then, “Thank you.”
“For?”
He wasn’t quite sure. “Most things, I suspect.”
“That’s all-encompassing.”
“I find it’s best to be that way, lest I forget one thing in particular.”
She laughed. The flowers along her hair and house grew brighter with the sound. “You’re very dear, Linus Baker. There’s a surface to you that’s hard but cracked. Dig a little deeper, and there is all this life teeming wildly. It’s a conundrum.”
He flushed. “I don’t know about all that.”
“I heard you philosophized in the woods. I think Arthur rather enjoyed himself.”
Linus began to sputter. “It’s not—I suppose we—it wasn’t anything much.”
“I think it was quite a lot, actually.” And with that, she turned and headed inside the house, leaving Linus to stare after her.
* * *
The interior of the house appeared to be an extension of what could be found outside. Instead of a floor, there was exposed earth, the grass forming a thick carpet. Pots filled with flowers hung from the ceiling. Tiny blue crabs and snails with shells of green and gold clung to the walls. The windows were open, and Linus could hear the ocean in the distance. It was a sound he had grown accustomed to. He would miss it when it was time for him to leave.
Food had been spread out for them on a wooden counter. The children held what appeared to be large shells, stacking food high on them. There were sandwiches and potato salad and strawberries so red Linus thought they had to be fake until Theodore bit into one, eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy.
Arthur Parnassus sat in an old chair, hands folded in his lap as he watched with amusement as the children began to gorge themselves, even as Zoe warned them to slow down. Expeditions were hungry work; Linus’s stomach was growling too.
“I’m glad to see you survived,” Linus said, shifting awkwardly as he stood next to the chair.
Arthur tilted his head back to look up at him. “Quite brave of me, I know.”
Linus snorted. “Indeed. They’ll write epic poems about you.”
“I should like that, I think.”
“Of course you would.”
The corners of Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “Before they descended upon their bounty, I was told you were a good caretaker in my absence.”
Linus shook his head. “Lucy was probably having one over on you—”
“It came from Sal.”
Linus blinked. “Come again?”
“Sal said you held Talia’s hand without her needing to ask. And that you listened to all of them, letting them make their own decisions.”
Linus was flustered. “It wasn’t—I was just going along.”
“Well, thank you, regardless. As I’m sure you know, that’s quite high praise coming from him.”
Linus did know. “He’s getting used to me, I guess.”
Arthur shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s … He sees things. Perhaps more than the rest of us. The good in people. The bad. He’s come across all kinds in his short life. He can see what others cannot.”
“I’m just me,” Linus said, unsure of where this was going. “I don’t know how to be anyone but who I already am. This is how I’ve always been. It’s not much, but I do the best I can with what I have.”
Arthur looked at him sadly. He reached out and squeezed Linus’s hand briefly before letting go. “I suppose the best is all one could ask for.” He stood, smiling, though his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. “How is the bounty, explorers?”
“Good!” Chauncey said, swallowing an entire sandwich in one bite. It sank down inside of him and began to break apart.
“It would be better if there were actual treasure,” Lucy muttered.
“And what if the treasure was the friendships we solidified along the way?” Arthur asked.
Lucy pulled a face. “That’s the worst treasure in the world. They already were my friends. I want rubies.”
Theodore perked up and chirped a question.
“No,” Talia said through a mouthful of potato salad. Bits of egg and mustard dotted her beard. “No rubies.”
His wings drooped.
“But there is pie,” Zoe said. “Baked especially for you.”
Lucy sighed. “If I must.”
“You must,” Arthur said. “And I do believe you will enjoy it as much as any rubies.” He glanced back at Linus. “Are you hungry, dear explorer?”
Linus nodded and joined the others.
* * *
It was in the din of food (Chauncey facedown in his pie) and laughter (Chauncey spraying bits of pie when Lucy told a rather ribald joke that was highly inappropriate for someone his age) when Linus noticed Zoe and Phee slipping out the door. Arthur and the other children were distracted (“Chauncey!” Lucy cried happily. “You got pie in my nose!”) and Linus felt the strange and sudden urge to see what the sprites were up to.
He found them just inside the tree line beyond the house. Zoe had her hand on Phee’s shoulder, their wings glistening in the shafts of light that pierced the canopy.
“And what did you feel?” Zoe was asking. They didn’t glance in his direction, though he thought they knew he was there. The days where Linus could move quietly were far behind him.
“The earth,” Phee said promptly, her hair like fire. “The trees. Their root system beneath the sand and dirt. It was like … it was like it was waiting for me. Listening.”
Zoe looked pleased. “Precisely. There is a world hidden underneath what we can see. Most won’t understand it for what it is. We’re lucky, I think. We can feel what others cannot.”
Phee looked off into the forest, her wings fluttering. “I like the trees. Better than I like most people.”
Linus snorted, unable to stop himself. He tried to cover it up, but it was too late. They turned their heads to look at him slowly. “Sorry,” he said hastily. “So sorry. I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
“Something you’d like to say?” Zoe asked, and though there was no heat to her words, it still felt pointed.
He started to shake his head, but stopped himself. “It’s just that … I have sunflowers. At my home in the city.” He felt a sharp pang in his chest, but he rubbed it away. “Gangly things that don’t always do what I want them to, but I planted them myself, and cared f
or them as they grew. I tend to like them more than I like most people.”
Phee narrowed her eyes. “Sunflowers.”
Linus wiped his brow. “Yes. They’re not … Well. They’re nothing so grand as what’s in Talia’s garden, nor as the trees here, but it’s a bit of color in all the gray of steel and rain.”
Phee considered him. “And you like the color?”
“I do,” Linus said. “It’s something small, but I think the smaller things can be just as important.”
“Everything has to start somewhere,” Zoe said, patting the top of Phee’s head. “And as long as we nurture them, they can grow beyond anything we thought possible. Isn’t that right, Linus?”
“Of course,” Linus said, knowing both of them would be listening to his every word. The least he could do was be truthful about it. “I admit I miss them more than I expected to. It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“No,” Phee said. “I would miss this place if I ever had to leave.”
Oh dear. That wasn’t what he was going for. He’d stepped in it now. “Yes, I can see that.” He looked up into the trees. “Certainly has its charms, I’ll give you that.”
“Populus tremuloides,” Phee said.
Linus squinted at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Zoe covered up a laugh with the back of her hand.
“Populus tremuloides,” Phee said again. “I read about them in a book. Quaking aspens. If you ever see them, you’ll find them in large groves. Their trunks are mostly white, but their leaves are a brilliant shade of yellow, almost gold. Like the sun.” She looked off into the forest again. “Almost like sunflowers.”
“They sound lovely,” Linus said, unsure of what else to say.
“They are,” Phee said. “But it’s what’s underneath that’s most important. The groves can be made up of thousands of trees, sometimes even in the tens of thousands. Each of them is different, but the secret is that they’re all the same.”
Linus blinked. “How so?”
Phee crouched down to the ground, her fingers leaving trails in the loose soil. “They’re clones of each other, a single organism managed by an extensive root system underneath the earth. All the trees are genetically the same, though they each have their own personality, as trees often do. But before they grow, their roots can lay dormant for decades, waiting until the conditions are right. It simply takes time. There’s one clone that’s said to be almost eighty thousand years old, and is possibly the oldest living organism in existence.”
