Forests of the Heart

by Charles de Lint

  “It’s okay. I understand. There’s a lot riding on this.”

  Thanks for reminding me, Ellie thought, but she only gave him another quick smile then returned her attention to the task at hand. She knew he hadn’t said that to add to the pressure she was feeling, but it hadn’t helped.

  She watched him go, walking over to where Miki sat. When he put a hand on Miki’s shoulder, she looked up and Ellie felt her heart would break. She’d never seen Miki looking so disconsolate. The worst of it was, no matter what the outcome of what they were trying to do today, Miki had still lost her brother. And she’d still lost her friend.

  Oh, Donal, Ellie thought. How could you do this to us? How could you have become such a stranger? Or had they ever really known him at all?

  It was so depressing. She knew she shouldn’t be dwelling on it because it would only make her task that much harder—how do you create positive art when you feel like shit?—but it was impossible not to.

  Donal’s gloomy moodiness had driven her as crazy as it had everybody else, but she’d always believed that it was more a schtick than something based in reality, as though he’d decided that the way to set himself apart from all the other artists struggling to make a name for themselves was to become the Eeyore of the art world, gloomy, but almost good-humored about it. Half the time he’d actually pulled it off. They’d even been able to joke about it. But now … now she didn’t know anymore. Now it seemed that under the act had been a real darkness, a streak of cruelty and meanness that she still found difficult to reconcile with the Donal she’d always known. But she knew Miki wouldn’t lie about something like that.

  Her gaze drifted from where Hunter was comforting Miki to the creature itself, guarded by Bettina’s brightly colored, fierce little dogs. Was Donal still somewhere inside that Glasduine, or had his spirit already traveled on?

  Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it right now. Concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing.

  It was easier said than done, but she made the effort once more, laying her hands on the clay, feeling its texture, cool and damp, the smoothness pocked with tiny pieces of grit. A tabula rasa waiting for her to pull shape and sense out of its raw state. She searched for the spirit of the clay, listening for it, feeling for it, and considered her options.

  At first she turned to her memories of the sketches of the original mask she’d done the other day, the changes she’d envisioned, the decorative leaf-work she’d planned to enhance the feel of the forest in it. Twinings of ivy, clusters of nuts, a bark-like texture in place. But that no longer worked for her. Anything to do with such forests just reminded her of Kellygnow and Donal, and started the spiral down to depression once more. She needed something entirely new.

  Her gaze lifted to the giant cacti that grew here and there along the sides of the canyon and stood guard on the top edges, like Indian scouts. She would begin with them, she decided.

  She rolled the clay out on the flat stone Hunter had found for her, working it until she had a flat circle perhaps a half-inch thick on the stone. Regarding it for a long moment, she wet it down, then went over to the side of the canyon, climbing up the loose stone and dirt to where the closest of the saguaro was growing. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface in between the spines that grew along the edges of its ribs. The top of this giant which reared some twenty feet above her was different from all the others she’d seen, sporting a gnarled, fan-shaped comblike shape that was almost five feet wide. It looked awkward and strange and startlingly beautiful, all at the same time.

  These cacti already made her smile because of the way their arms appeared to be waving hello to her, wherever she looked. They gave off an inherent sense of calm and well-being, like kings and queens of the desert. The crown of this one only enhanced its regal air. That was what she’d aim for, she decided, half-sliding, half-stepping back down the uneven surface of the slope. She’d make the mask to mimic this stately crown with its spiraling, almost Pre-Raphaelite pattern of rib spines. She couldn’t think of anything that reminded her less of the forests north of Newford, of dark-haired Gentry wolves and Donal.

  With the decision made, she was able to work quickly, concentrating on the overall impression, forgoing unnecessary detail. She wasn’t making a true representation here. She was creating a feeling, an impression, a connection to all the good things that the saguaro seemed to stand for: the warmth, sunshine, growth and growing, their royal heights and whimsical arms. But most of all, their great spirit.

  By the time she had something that satisfied her, she was surprised to find that hours had gone by. She sat up straight, stretching out her back, and looked around. Bettina had returned, obviously successful in her hunt, for Tommy appeared to be sleeping peacefully, his head still resting on his aunt’s lap. Bettina sat close by them, her hands resting on Tommy’s chest as though in benediction. Her wolf sat a few yards away, eyes closed, resting.

  Looking the other way, she found Hunter still comforting Miki. He had his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him, looking smaller and more frail than Ellie had ever seen her. Past them, the Glasduine appeared to be docile, until she realized that all seven of the little, brightly colored dogs were keeping it in place. The arm that one of them had torn off lay abandoned. Ellie shivered when she saw that it was still twitching.

  “I’m done,” she said, turning back to Bettina, since Bettina seemed to have taken on the responsibility of leadership. Even Aunt Nancy deferred to her.

  Bettina looked up, her eyes hollow, her features drawn with weariness. But she managed a smile.

  “Está bueno,” she said. “Los cadejos are beginning to have trouble keeping the Glasduine restrained.”

  She stood up, stretching as Ellie had. Aunt Nancy caught her arm before she could walk over to where the sculptor sat with the finished mask.

  “You are a true healer,” the older woman said. “You know this, don’t you? You don’t need the plants and herbs to do your work for you. The medicine lies inside you, in your hands, in your heart.”

  Bettina gave a slow nod. She had felt it herself when she’d worked on Tommy, realized for the first time that the brujería was rising up from inside her, rather than coming from the plants she’d been able to gather. She glanced at her wolf. She wondered if this was part of what he’d meant about her needing to heal herself—a greater understanding of who she was.

  “I’m in your debt,” Aunt Nancy said, “for what you have done here for my nephew.”

  Bettina nodded, too tired to argue that helping someone as she had just done with Tommy, had nothing to do with debts or payments. It was what a healer did. She gave Aunt Nancy a distracted smile, then joined Ellie, her wolf trailing along behind her. They looked down on the mask. Ellie felt too close to the piece to be able to judge it herself. She hoped she’d managed to capture the essence of the giant cactus in the clay. With the Glasduine growing steadily more powerful, they were only going to get the one chance, so it had to be right.

  “Oh, you’ve done a marvelous job,” Bettina said. “I can feel the blessing of the aunts and uncles in your work here today.”

  Her wolf nodded. “The geasan is potent. It makes me smile simply to look upon it.”

  “Sí,” Bettina said. “But there is mystery there as well. An old brujería that makes the heart quicken.”

  “You mean the magic?” Ellie said. “Because I’ll tell you the truth, I didn’t know if that was happening or not. It didn’t feel any different from any other sculpture I’ve worked on—except I did this one a lot more quickly.”

  “Then all your work holds magic,” Bettina told her.

  Ellie thought of all those commissions of businessmen she’d done, culminating in the half-finished bust of Henry Patterson she’d destroyed and would probably still be sued over.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. Before they could discuss it further, she added, “So now what do we do? Who wears the mask?”

  “We
put it on the Glasduine,” Bettina said. “And hope the mask is able to reach back into the grace and draw forth what is needed to counteract the creature’s evil.”

  “We’re really grasping straws here, aren’t we?” Ellie said.

  Bettina shook her head. “My heart tells me this is what we must do. It tells me there will be a price to be paid as well, but not what that price will be.”

  Her wolf sighed. “There is never an end to it… once you begin bargaining with the spirits.”

  “Yet there will be an end to the Glasduine,” Bettina said. “And that is all that must concern us now.”

  “But if it doesn’t work …” Ellie began.

  “Then los cadejos will have to kill it.”

  Ellie still had her doubts, as they probably all did. The biggest danger so far as she could see was that the mask would work, it would draw more magic into the Glasduine, except it wouldn’t change it. It would only make it stronger, so strong that not even these fierce little dogs of Bettina’s would be able to deal with it. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak that fear aloud.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said. “Well, I guess there’s no point in waiting to do it.”

  Carefully, she worked the mask free from the stone and carried it over to the Glasduine on the palms of her hands. She almost dropped it when the Glasduine lunged at her. The creature was only just contained by the little dogs. Her heart drummed wildly and for a moment she didn’t think she’d be able to go through with it. What if it all went wrong? It would be on her head, then. All the damage and deaths the Glasduine caused if they weren’t able to stop it here.

  Los cadejos leapt at the Glasduine, bearing it to the ground. They pinned its thrashing limbs, its torso. One of them sank its teeth into the creature’s hair, holding the head down.

  “Do you want me to finish?” Bettina asked. Her voice was gentle, with no recrimination in it.

  Yes, Ellie thought, but she shook her head.

  Walking forward, she circled around to where the one little dog held the Glasduine’s head still. The monster bucked, its body twisting this way and that, but the dogs were still able to hold it in place. For now.

  Swallowing thickly, Ellie hurried forward to get this done. She searched the Glasduine’s features as she approached, looking for some trace of Donal in them, in the eyes, anywhere. There was nothing.

  “Here goes,” she said.

  She dropped to her knees. Leaning forward she pressed the wet clay mask into place.

  The Glasduine howled.

  It burst free from the grip of los cadejos, scattering them. Whipping its head back and forth, it tried to dislodge the mask but only succeeded in striking Ellie a bruising blow that tumbled her to the ground. Los cadejos recovered quickly and nipped at the Glasduine as it stood, but it paid them no mind. Now it was the immovable force and nothing they could do would budge it. With its one hand, the Glasduine tore at the clay, but it was fused to its skin as surely as the wooden mask had fused to Donal’s face in Kellygnow.

  Arching its neck, the creature turned its face skyward and howled again, a sound so fierce and loud it had a physical presence. Los cadejos were scattered by it. The humans were sent to their knees, hands clasped over their ears.

  Tears of pain streamed from Ellie’s eyes. Through their blur, she saw the Glasduine whipping its head from left to right, its howl of pain growing louder and stronger. She pressed her hands as tightly as she could over her ears. And then her gaze caught movement. She looked at the ribbon of green-gold light that connected the Glasduine to its place of origin. The light appeared to be bubbling, roiling and twisting, throwing off sparks.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, the words drowned out by the Glasduine’s bellowing cries.

  It was definitely time for Plan B, but los cadejos couldn’t get near the Glasduine now. Whenever they charged the creature, no matter from what direction they made their approach, they were batted aside as though they were no more than toy dogs.

  They had screwed up big-time, she realized, and now they were going to pay.

  17

  Why didn’t they simply kill it? Donal had wondered when the strange little dogs first rendered the Glasduine helpless. That’s what he would have done, put the bloody bugger down, quick and fast, no regrets. Then its only victims would have been the Gentry and his own grand bloody self, and they’d brought it on themselves, so there’d be no great loss.

  Truth was, Donal was ready to go on. Better or worse, at least there was a chance to start over again with a clean slate in whatever place came next. Given a choice, he’d choose the unknown over the shite he already knew.

  But when he realized what Bettina and the others were hoping to do, he found himself agreeing it was worth the effort. If they really could turn the creature around, then perhaps something good could still come from all of this. Maybe someone with a bigger and better heart than his own could awaken the Glasduine’s true potential, turn the monster into an avatar of joy and spiritual growth. Christ knew, the world could use something like that about now.

  With the Glasduine immobilized by the dogs, he felt free to drift from its body. Guilt reared strongly in him when he hovered near Tommy, but it was far worse when he looked to Ellie and Miki. Caught up in making a new mask, Ellie, at least, was able to focus on the task at hand instead of dwelling on his betrayal of them. But Miki… oh, Miki. She always wore her heart on her sleeve, and right now he could see it broken and bleeding. If he was given only one wish, one chance, it would be to make it up to her. How could he have done this to his own bloody sister? It was worse than anything their da’ had done—he at least could claim the doubtful immunity of having been blind bloody drunk every time he’d taken after them.

  Donal had no such excuse.

  That’s what had to hurt the worst, he realized, as he drew near to his sister. That he, the one who’d always protected her, could have become this monster.

  When had he changed? she’d be thinking. How much of their life together had been a lie?

  He reached towards her, trying to brush away a tear that crept down her cheek, but his incorporeal fingers sank into her flesh. He pulled back with a start and fled. For the rest of the time that Ellie worked on the mask, he floated up near the top of the canyon, so busy hating himself that he almost missed the moment when the mask was done and Ellie was fitting it onto the struggling monster’s face.

  Quick as a thought, he darted back down, reentering the Glasduine just as the wet clay of the mask settled onto its features.

  The agony he shared with the Glasduine made his own experience of first calling the creature up back in Kellygnow seem no worse than if he’d stubbed his toe.

  It’s grown so strong, he realized. While he was off playing the bloody martyr, so busy feeling sorry for himself, hating himself, the Glasduine had been quietly building up strength. And now that gathered strength was feeding back against the mask, intensifying the pain as the Glasduine struggled against the magics Ellie had managed to call up.

  The raw, acid burn of it was nothing a human could bear.

  His own wailing shriek merged with the Glasduine’s howl as the creature broke free from the little dogs and tore one-handedly at the mask. He shared its agony for one long moment, then thrust himself out of the Glasduine’s body with such force that he went tumbling and spinning down the canyon. Stunned, he could only watch as the Glasduine fought off the little dogs, scrabbling and ripping at the mask. He saw the ribbon of light, how it began to change, the colors bubbling and boiling. The change began where the light connected to the Glasduine, then went coursing away, following the ribbon back to its source.

  Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, Donal thought. The Glasduine was so foul, its evil grown so powerful, that it was overcoming both the purity of the light as well as the enchantment snared in Ellie’s mask.

  He stared as the ribbon of light began to discolor, feeling sick and disoriented.

  Why hadn’t her mas
k worked? When he’d used the other one it had easily pulled everything that was ugly out of him to give the Glasduine purpose and shape.

  And then he knew.

  There was nothing pure or good in the Glasduine. It had only Donal’s ugliness, his meanness and spite and hatred, blown up into enormous proportions. There was nothing good left for Ellie’s mask to call up. Everything else, every potential for goodness, had been shed when the creature had been born.

  Sweet Mother of God, he prayed as he sent himself back into the creature. Let there be enough decency left in me for her mask to work. I don’t ask it for me, but for Miki and Ellie and every other good soul that this monster will hurt if it’s not stopped here and now.

  It was like plunging himself into a fire.

  The raw agony of his pain made him reach out, wanting to connect with the parts of himself that he’d used to bring the Glasduine to life. To strike back at the cause of the pain. Because it hurt too much to try to do good. What he felt was all the pain and shite of his life gathered into one, unending moment that threatened to burn him forever.

  But he forced himself beyond it. He made himself look at Miki and that helped. Not to ease the pain, but to divorce himself from all the dark and ugly emotions he’d used to create the Glasduine. He made himself think of good things, good times. Of those moments when he’d made a positive difference in the world, instead of shitting on it. Like every time he’d protected Miki from their da’. Those were the parts of himself he offered up to the enchantment of Ellie’s mask.

  But it felt like a losing battle.

  Deep in his mind he became aware of a pinpoint of pure light, that he was falling toward it. Into it.

  The real irony, he thought, was that even if he had managed to turn the day, no one would have known. They’d still carry the memories of what a little, mean-spirited pissant he’d been.

  The light was suddenly huge, enveloping him.

  I would’ve liked one wee drink before I went, he thought. I’d like to have heard Miki squeeze one more tune out of that old box of hers …