Green Jack
Page 31
Chapter 31
Saffron
“What the hell does that mean?” Saffron snapped.
“It means the Forest decides if you stay,” Roarke said. “If you’re a real Jill.”
“Why would I fake that? How would I even fake that?”
A woman named Annie with twisted braids and an enviable tomahawk joined them. A lot more enviable if Saffron had one of her own – or any weapon for that matter. “Leaf masks are still mostly a mystery. We can’t be too careful. The Mother Tree protects the masks, that much we know. She’s the heart of the Spirit Forest.”
“Great. More numen mysteries.”
“Science too,” Annie pointed out. “Every forest has a Mother Tree with roots that connect to all of the other roots, sharing nutrients. Some trees miles away couldn’t survive without that one single tree. This one just happens to be special.”
“Keep up,” Roarke interrupted as they walked. “Kitchen hall’s that way. Latrines in the other direction, gardens behind the fences over there,” he added but Saffron was only half-listening. There was too much she didn’t know about the Greencoats, about the mask. About the Spirit Forest. “There are cabins for Jacks and bunkhouses or tents for everyone else.”
The cabins lined the pond which glinted in the last of the daylight, fish dimpling the surface. People smiled, busy with work and red-cheeked with the sun. Birds sang all around. It was idyllic.
Saffron had never trusted idyllic and she wasn’t about to start now.
She made non-committal noises. Jane smiled and was polite enough for the both of them. Even to Roarke who’d knocked her off her feet. There was a training ring on one of the beaches. Greencoats sparred with staff and dagger and sword. It made her feel instantly homesick. It made her feel better too—idyllic wouldn’t protect you from the Directorate.
“I know that look.” Annie smiled. She was lean and muscular, scars on her knuckles. There was something motherly about her-- the kind of mother who might hit you over the head with a frying pan. It put Saffron to mind of Oona. She missed her with such a sudden physical intensity that she had to catch her breath. “You want to fight.”
“Always.”
“Good.”
“But you’re not fighting us, Sunshine,” Roarke interrupted. “Not until we know what kind of Jill you are.” He glanced at Jane. “This next part’s not for you.”
Jane just nodded. Saffron sighed. “It’s probably okay to punch him.”
Roarke lifted his eyebrows. “It’s really not.”
“Let’s test your theory.”
Annie grinned. “Easy, Jill. The Mother Tree is off limits to everyone but Jacks.”
“I don’t mind,” Jane said, excusing herself.
“How does she still have manners even covered in blood and bruises and dirt?” Saffron muttered.
“That same way you wouldn’t have manners even covered in silk,” Roarke pointed out.
She smiled at him for the first time. “True.”
Still, it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done – walking into the forest with strangers, unarmed and expected to blindly trust. It battled with the serenity that was both foreign to her and untrustworthy. The leaf mask was pleased, the foliage like a cat’s whiskers tasting the clean green air without her permission. She clamped her back teeth together.
Annie slid her glance. “Most Jacks get off on that feeling, the closer you get to the Mother Tree.”
“Not me.”
“Clearly.”
Wooden palisade fencing surrounded several gardens dug out in clearings of sunlight. The earth was dark and moist, bristling with corn, tomatoes, peas, radishes, lettuces, beets and leaves she didn’t recognize. Her mouth hung open despite herself. She’d never seen this many fresh vegetables in her entire life. The scent of the nearby pine grew strong, filling her nostrils until she wondered what colour she would paint it: hunter green with a touch of gold. The moss was so bright, it would never look real on canvas; she couldn’t capture the surreal glow. She’d add the three of them to the painting: Roarke the tan of sand, Annie, brown as a wet tree trunk, and Saffron, the rust of red pine.
She recoiled instinctively when a branch brushed her leaf mask.
“It’s just a branch,” Roarke said.
“You’ve never been to Elysium city, have you?” Saffron asked. He shook his head, something shuttered over the mocking amused gleam in his eyes. “If the Protectorate doesn’t get you for touching the trees, the dryads will.”
He blinked. “What, like pretty tree nymphs from the old stories?”
“Not exactly.” She felt better not being the only one who didn’t know anything. The fact that his nose was swollen from her head-butt didn’t hurt either. Her Oona was right – she had more demon in her then Green Jill.
The trail stopped at a huge ring of stones, crouched like turtles. Roarke and Annie stopped respectfully, refusing to cross. “This part’s not for us,” Annie said.
Saffron hesitated. She didn’t know what to expect; bears, cannibals, wolves. She found herself wishing Jane was with her, with her, acceptance of Numen and omens. “What exactly am I going to find in there?” She side-eyed Roarke. “I was assured you guys don’t actually eat people.”
“Don’t be scared, Sunshine,” Roarke replied. “It’s just a tree.”
There was a tree in the centre of the ring, the trunk so wide it would take half a dozen people holding hands to circle it completely. Moss traced the roots and acorns crunched under her boots even though she wasn’t convinced it was exactly an oak tree. It was more like a tree made of many trees. A well glinted between roots that curled around it like a cup.
The leaf mask was light as feathers, even the burrs seem to float on the air. The ivy reached out to touch the heavy branches, twining gently. She didn’t know what to do next. There was no one waiting with convenient instructions, just a boy she didn’t know waiting on the other side of the stones, smirking. Still, she’d survived the Underworld. Surely that that counted for something. She imagined a sleek red fox at her side, ears perked, eyes bright. It helped a little.
Leaves brushed her face gently, like Oona with a cold cloth when she had a fever. Tears stung her eyes even as adrenaline shivered through her bones. She was exposed, emotions crashing, drowning her, even ones she was fairly certain she’d never actually felt. It was comfort, pain, love, lust, hunger, uncertainty, competence, longing…
Fear.
Definitely fear.
She tried to jerk away, to turn and run, but the ivy had her lashed to the tree. Her back pressed against the trunk until she felt the imprint of the grooves on her neck and arms. Twigs grabbed at her braids. The branches knotted together until all she could see were leaves, leaves, more leaves.
She knew in a way that made no sense, that the tree was reading her. Just like Annie had said, its roots extended far and wide, touching other roots, exchanging information, nutrients, and tree – thoughts. This tree had known the first Green Jack to walk out of myth, in a time where no one believed in numen. Or in much of anything at all. She dangled there too long, being turned inside out, dissected as much as a Directorate scientist would dissect her.
When it finally released her, she fell to her knees. Bloody scrapes stung when she pushed to her feet but the leaf mask felt lighter on her head, more natural. Happy. The last of the scab, over her healed tag fell away, revealing new skin; and the mark of the Directorate, bisected and broken.