Enchantment (11 page)

“Most people don't see me, because they don't bother to look.”

She glanced at the scouts, but they hadn't heard Ohlan, either. One of the boys raised his hand.

“How come the spring is in a box?”

The scout leader, a sandy-haired guy with glasses, walked over to the box and put a hand on it, just a foot away from Ohlan. “That's a good question. The Conservation Corps built this container in the 1940's to control the water. They constructed the trail at the same time. Before then it was just an animal track through the woods, and the spring spilled across it, causing erosion problems.”

Holly felt a spark of excitement. She could research that, and maybe find out something that would help Ohlan. There should be information in the library about the construction of the box, if it was a government project.

The scouts moved on after a few more minutes, heading up the trail toward the raspberry patches. Holly joined Ohlan and took out the lunch she'd made.

“Brought you a sandwich.”

“Thank you.” Ohlan smiled as he accepted it and took a bite.

Holly watched him savor it, hoping that the food might help him somehow. She wasn't sure if it would, since his body was just an illusion, but figured anything was worth a try. Ohlan's apparent enjoyment of the food had to mean something.

He'd enjoyed holding her, too—at least she thought he had. Maybe the illusion worked for him, too.

“So, tell me more about you,” she said.

“What do you want to know?”

“What other friends have you had, besides me and Amanda?”

“Human friends? Before Amanda there was a man who came up here a few times. A teacher at the school. He was a poet.”

Maybe he was the one Amanda mentioned in her book, who told her about the spring. Holly looked sidelong at Ohlan, wondering if he'd taken a different form for that visitor. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Ohlan chewed another bite of sandwich, gazing at the treetops. “And before the school, there was a village in the same place. That was quite a while ago.”

Holly nodded, thinking of the pueblo ruins. “Did those people come up here a lot?”

“Not a lot, but yes. I believe they considered the water sacred.”

“Makes sense.”

Holly took a bite of her sandwich and watched Ohlan finish the last of his. She couldn't tell if it had helped make him any stronger. Maybe it was too soon. She dug the cookies out of her pack and handed him one.

“What about before the village?”

Ohlan shook his head. “Not many people came before then. Once in a while a hunter or a family would stop here, but I never saw any of them more than once.”

“Were you lonely?”

Ohlan grinned. “No, because I didn't know what I was missing. I didn't find out how wonderful humans are until the villagers started coming. But I had plenty of animal friends, and other spirits all over the mountains.”

“Water spirits?”

“And other kinds. They are good friends, but nowhere near as intense as humans.” He held up his half-eaten cookie. “Humans are like this—a delicious treat that makes you want more when it's gone.”

Holly smiled, though the thought made her slightly sad, reminding her of how fleeting Ohlan must consider his human friendships. Perhaps that was why he wasn't exactly heartbroken over Amanda, even though he obviously missed her.

He wouldn't be heartbroken over Holly, either, whenever she died. Kind of depressing.

She finished her sandwich, reminding herself of what the lake spirit had said: enjoy them while they're here.

“I wish you could introduce me to your other spirit friends. Do they come here to visit you?”

“Yes.” Ohlan frowned. “I have not seen any of them lately.”

“If I went to their homes, would I be able to see them?”

“Perhaps. You know how to look.”

Holly took out the bag of cookies, offered it to Ohlan and took one herself, then and set the bag on the edge of the coffin between them. “So, where's the nearest one?”

“Ilassa is the nearest. Another water spirit, who lives at the head of a stream on that mountain.” Ohlan pointed to the northwest.

“Um. Do you know what my people call the stream?”

“Palomas Creek.”

“Oh, I've heard of that! I've been there—there's a campground the creek runs through. Don't suppose I could meet Ilassa there?”

Ohlan shrugged. “You could try, but the head of the creek is a more likely place.”

“OK.”

She'd have to get hold of a map and figure out where that was. Between that and wanting to learn about the construction of the coffin, she was starting to be anxious to get to the library. She ate one more cookie, then stood.

“I'm going to hunt down some information. See you tomorrow?”

He smiled with delight. “That would be wonderful.”

Holly couldn't help smiling back. “Are you ever in a bad mood?”

He looked thoughtful, as if giving the question serious consideration. “Sometimes I'm a little lonely.”

“What about angry?”

“Only when someone mistreats my friends.”

She leaned closer and brushed her lips against his cheek. He smelled so good—like sunshine and water and salt, but without the fishiness of the ocean. Swallowing, she stepped back.

“Anything you'd like me to bring?”

Ohlan picked up the cookie bag. “More?”

“You got it. And you can have the rest of those.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to wave at him from the edge of the glen, smiling as he sat there munching cookies, then hummed her way down to her bike. Some good possibilities here. She looked forward to finding out more about the construction and about Ohlan's friend Illassa.

With a start, she realized she'd forgotten to ask if Illassa was male or female. Well, the answer was probably “yes.”

Grinning, she hopped on her bike. She could head for the library, or up to the northwest edge of town where the Palomas Creek Campground was. It was early enough that she figured she had time to do both, so she turned toward the campground first. Might as well give it a try; if she could contact Illassa at the campground it would save her a hike up the mountain.

The ride took her through a pretty part of town, with lots of ponderosa pines along the streets. The streets crossed the foothills of the mountains just before they turned into mesas that stretched eastward toward the plateau. Purple asters were blooming everywhere, and the breeze that played through her hair had just a hint of crispness.

The campground was quiet, but not empty. Three of the ten camping spaces were occupied, though the tents and campers were closed up and nobody was around. Probably their owners were up hiking the mountain. Holly took note of the license plates—two out of state and one rental car—then rode up to the trailhead at the top of the campground.

She'd never hiked up here. Camped, with friends, but never gone up the trail. A poster-sized map hung on a board under a small shelter, with a ledger you were supposed to sign if you went hiking and paper trail guides, some of which had been recycled often enough they were getting tattered.

Holly gazed at the map. The trail to the headwaters of the creek was seven and a half miles, with a vertical rise of 1420 feet. Not exactly easy.

She picked up one of the trail guides and glanced over it. It included a smaller map that might come in handy. She stuffed it in her pack and coasted back down through the campground, stopping in an empty camping space where she parked her bike while she walked over to the creek.

The water was pretty low this time of year. No gurgle, just a whisper of a trickle as the creek threaded through its rocky bed. Holly crouched at the edge, watching water skeeters dance across the surface.

“Illassa?” she called softly.

She waited a while and called again. No answer. She gazed into the creek, looking for a hint of a face, any movement besides the water's, trying to see
into
the water
. Nothing.

“I'm a friend of Ohlan's,” she said, hoping that might help. “He's got a problem.”

A splash made her look upstream. A cream-colored dog was bounding toward her, sending up scatters of flying diamond drops. Holly stood up just in time to avoid being bowled over. The dog ran a circle around her, tongue lolling from its grin.

A spirit? In dog form?

“Chauncey, heel!”

A woman with a brown ponytail hurried up, and the dog bounced over to her. She was dressed for hiking in shorts, a tank top, and boots, with a water bottle strapped to one hip.

“I'm sorry,” she said as a similarly dressed man joined her. “He's not dangerous.”

“It's OK,” Holly said. “Hi, Chauncey.”

The dog wagged his way over to her, looking delighted. His paws were chocolate with mud. Holly kept him from jumping on her by rubbing his head and scratching behind his ears, then the couple called him over to their camp, a couple of spaces away.

Holly glanced back at the creek. Still no sign of Illassa. Looked like the easy way wasn't going to work. She got back on her bike and headed for the library.

At a catalog terminal, she ran a search on Enchantment Spring and came up with the same entries she'd seen on her first visit: the hiking guide and Amanda's memoir. The rest of the list was a bunch of reference entries that she'd ignored before, but now she skimmed through them and found one that looked promising: a Forest Service conservation report.

She wrote down the number, then went to the reference section and found the report. It was thick, an annual report covering all activities in the district during the previous year, put out in January. She couldn't check it out, so she took it to a table and scanned the index, looking for mention of the spring.

Several other springs showed up on the list. Holly hadn't been to any of them. She wondered if they all had guardians like Ohlan. Maybe he could take her to visit the others—if they could figure out what was making him weak.

She flipped to the chapter titled “Resources Management Summary” and found the section for Enchantment Spring. A short paragraph of history proved the scout leader right: the concrete coffin or “housing” as the article called it had been built in 1953, to keep the spring from washing over the trail and causing erosion problems. The scout leader must have read this report, she thought, grinning.

Reading on, she found that the Forest Service wasn't any more impressed with the coffin than she was. The article described it as “poor,” “uninviting,” and “disharmonious with the natural environs.” The last paragraph of the article froze her to her chair:

As part of the 2010 Rehabilitation Project for Enchantment Spring Trail (see section 7g), this work will be demolished.

Holly stared at the report in dismay. Demolish the spring?

What would happen to Ohlan?

He said he had come into being with the spring. If the spring was destroyed …

They couldn't do that! She had to stop them.

Heart racing, she read on, slogging through a dry, boring description of the Forest Service's rehabilitation project for the spring. It was a pretty massive undertaking from the sound of it. Enchantment Springs Trail was going to be completely redone, with new signs and safety improvements all along its seven-mile length. The trail would be closed from early September through next March.

Holly's stomach sank. How would she get up there to see Ohlan?

She closed her eyes when she got to the part about demolishing the concrete housing. Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about getting up there.

“No!” she whispered.

Going back to the index, she found a couple of other references to the spring, but she just couldn't make her brain focus on the technical language. She kept thinking about Ohlan. No way was she going to lose him! She'd have to find a way to keep the Forest Service from destroying his home.

Checking her watch, she was alarmed to see that it was almost five. Her mom would be wondering where she was.

She carried the report to the copy machine and spent all her pocket change making copies of any articles that referred to Enchantment Spring and the rehabilitation project for the trail. Stuffing the copies in her pack, she returned the Forest Service report to the reference section and left the library.

Outside it was sunny. Beautiful. She looked at the shadows of the cottonwood trees on the sidewalk and felt only gloom.

It would really, really suck if Ohlan … died.

She winced. Unable to bear thinking about it, she hopped on her bike and headed for home.

“There you are!” Mom said, smiling as Holly came in from the garage. “Just in time to help with the salad.”

Holly put away her pack and came back to the kitchen, where she chopped veggies and got out salad dressing. Mom chattered away happily, and Holly made encouraging noises now and then, but her thoughts were up at the spring.

Should she tell Ohlan what she had learned? Her stomach clenched at the thought. She didn't want to tell him, but how could she let him remain unaware of what was coming? She had to at least warn him about the plans for reconstructing the trail. Maybe he'd figure out the rest on his own.

She swallowed, feeling miserable. This was worse than the lake spirit's guess that the spring was failing. This was destruction, coming on short order.

It seemed like she'd only just discovered Ohlan, only just welcomed his magic into her life, and now she was going to lose him.

“You feeling OK, honey?”

Startled, Holly realized she'd quit chopping celery halfway through the stalk. She started up again.

“I'm fine. Just tired. I biked around a lot.”

“Yeah, you were gone most of the day. Did you get sunburned?”

Holly pulled away from Mom's hand reaching for her forehead. “I'm fine, really.”