Out of The Woods (13 page)

They were facing a tremendous and very intimidating plain. The openness remained unbroken until, hazy and far in the distance, the grey boundary of mountains could just be made out. It was as if the world had grown larger. Halley’s eyes felt like they were stretching to reach to the horizon, and she had to squint to bring the mountains into focus. The plain leading to the mountains was enormous.

It was also almost completely empty. The few scrub bushes that were visible were no taller than Eden’s knees. The sky was immense, a huge blue and white canopy over dry yellow earth, its vastness unbroken by a single bird.
It’s like standing on the edge of the world. It looks like one of those old sailing maps where the earth is flat and a ship can simply sail off the edge, if it goes too far.

The view frightened her. But it also left her confused.

Eden voiced her thoughts. “Hey…,” she said, cocking her head to the side, “…this isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”

“In Mr. D’s Earth Science class…we learned all about these things called climate zones. I got an ‘A+’ on my paper about it.” Eden stopped, obviously enjoying the memory of that success, before continuing. “I’m sure the
climate zone
we’ve been in is called a
‘humid sub-tropical climate’.”

She sounded just like Halley remembered herself sounding at Eden’s age, using words too big for her mouth.

Eden continued, “I remember Mr. D said it funny, very fast, like it was one big long word
humidsubtropicalclimate
and I had to look it up in my book to make sure I spelled it right on the test. But this…” she said, pointing to the vast plain, “…this is a tundra. And a
humidsubtropicalclimate
zone can’t be right next to a tundra!” She stopped, out of breath, and nodded her head once, with authority.

“Still, here we are,” Halley said.

“Yes…but…”

Eden looked at the mountains.

“Well, it doesn’t make any sense! Not if Mr. D was right about the zones. And I believe him. He’s very smart.” Eden stared, as if by looking for longer she could force it all to make sense. Then she added, breaking into a giggle, “I feel like I’m dreaming a very silly dream! But I’m glad you’re in it, Halley.” Then she sobered, finishing quietly, as if to herself, “I’ve never left the woods before…”

Halley was thinking about the class Eden described. She remembered about climate zones too. Eden was right – what they were experiencing wasn’t possible. But, still, like she’d said herself, there they were. Just the two of them, facing this wide, empty tundra. No other way to go.

A new thought occurred to her: once they entered the tundra, there would be no place to hide from predators, animal or human. She knew it was right to be prepared for predators.
Trance is still back there somewhere. He’s tracked me twice already – if he tracks me here… I’ve got to find a way to protect us.

Halley looked around. There were still a few trees nearby, and below one of them was a staff of white wood, stripped of bark, two inches in diameter, and a few feet long.
I can use this as a weapon
.

The white stick felt rough against her palms. The texture was more noticeable than it should be. It set her fingertips to tingling. She held it thoughtfully, running her fingers over upraised edges where shoots had broken off, and then the smoother areas between the shoots. As she did so, she was stunned to see an image of the baby appear in front of her. She gasped aloud. It was the first time she had ever truly seen it, instead of just hearing it cry.

It was like a movie projector was showing the image against the trees. Around the edges of the vision, the woods were still visible. In the hazy circle where the vision appeared, the baby lay swaddled tightly in a thick white blanket. It was sleeping in a deep pile of brown leaves, under a tree whose branches bore close resemblance to the stick Halley held. Halley looked around quickly. There must be a thousand trees like this one nearby.
The stick must be the link,
Halley thought, gripping it more tightly, afraid to move lest the vision dissipate.

Halley stared at the baby, and a feeling grew in her. It was like watching springtime – from the first tiny green tip pushing through the winter’s final snow, to the sudden bursting profusion of color. The feeling was a purple and yellow crocus, glowing, growing, bringing life where there was none before. The feeling was hope.

It soared through her like nothing she had ever known before, like nothing she could have described in the commonplace words of love. Her eyes widened and glistened.

The baby was breathing calmly, and Halley watched it for a long, long time, watched its tiny chest lifting and falling. Each inch of it seemed a miracle, and she cataloged the full curves of its arms and legs under the swaddling, the tiny upturn of its nose, the soft down of its hair.

My angel
, she thought.

A leaf swirled gently through the air to alight on the baby’s belly, and the baby stirred in its sleep, moving its small mouth in and out of a pucker as if it were dreaming of sucking at its mother’s breast. Its lips moved just a little and shaped into the smallest of smiles.

Halley found herself smiling back at the vision as she held the white stick tightly with both hands. It was as if an unaccountably warm and benevolent breeze had stirred her soul all the way to the bottom.

Suddenly she was compelled to touch the baby, to bring this vision into her reality. She removed one hand from the stick, holding tight with the other hand, afraid to lose the link to the vision. She reached slowly for the baby’s cheek. The baby’s closed eyes relaxed, as if anticipating Halley’s warm touch. Or maybe it was dreaming a lovely dream. She reached the baby’s cheek, and then Halley saw herself in the vision with the baby. Even as she stood watching, she could also see herself kneeling beside the sleeping infant.

It should have been the strangest sensation imaginable, but Halley didn’t notice: she was too caught up in unbelievable softness of the baby’s cheek. Gently, she moved two fingertips along the cheek, then over the smooth forehead, around to the other cheek. The down of the baby’s head felt like velvet, and she ran her palm over it again and again. It was impossible to get enough of how this baby felt. The baby opened its mouth slightly, utterly relaxed and content. It snuggled into Halley’s hand, as if it too longed to be closer than close. Halley could have stayed in that moment forever.

But the vision changed: the baby’s eyes flew open, as if startled. The Halley in the image stood up fast – her eyes were fixed on a point that the “real” Halley couldn’t see. The image of Halley in the vision stretched taller, broader, more ferocious: she was facing something that was threatening her and the baby, that much was clear, and she would protect the baby. No matter what.

Halley drew her hand back quickly, gripping the stick again with both hands and with a new urgency. The stick could be used as a weapon. But her action had an unanticipated effort – now only the baby appeared in the vision. The image of Halley had disappeared.

The baby began to cry. First, it seemed to be crying at the removal of Halley’s hand, as if Halley were the sun and the baby were the earth, and without her touch all was lost. All things would wilt without her. The baby cried with the voice of all the children who had ever been lost in the world, even though it couldn’t yet use words:
mama mama mama,
its cry said.
Where are you? Why won’t you come back? Mamamamamaaaa
. Halley’s eyes filled with tears.

At first the baby’s cry held the hope of resolution, as if Halley could get back if she tried hard enough, as if the baby and the mother could be reunited. Urgently, believing it might get her back to the baby, Halley removed one hand from the stick and reached out again, but she found she could no longer touch the image; the baby remained alone. Time passed, and the baby’s cry became the desolate sound of the lost, of those who will never be found.

She watched helplessly as the baby’s mouth opened wide, as it scrunched its eyes tightly closed, as it wailed like it couldn’t bear to be left alone for one moment longer. Halley felt as if her heart was being scraped by a knife; her shoulders pulled up by her ears; she broke out in a cold sweat. She couldn’t help the baby and it was maddening, this powerlessness. She couldn’t even see what was threatening it. From her throat arose a strange, high-pitched cry, like the scream of a mother eagle, sharp beak open, fierce talons raised. The sound foretold the terrible protective violence of a mother whose offspring is threatened. More than this: the sound was the scraping-open of a heavily barred door that must remain closed.

U
ntil the time is just right for it to be opened,
Eden thought, watching all this closely. To Eden, the sound Halley made was very scary. Eden didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. Worse was the way that even Halley’s eyes had gone cold.

Eden had to help Halley push back her natural instinct to protect the baby, until later, until it was needed. There was a right time for an eagle to tear out throats with its talons, Eden thought, and that time was coming. But it wasn’t now – right now the baby didn’t need Halley’s protection – the threat was only in her mind.

It was good it was, because it was clear to Eden that the powerful side of Halley – the eagle side – was still too dangerous. It couldn’t be released until Halley fully understood its power, its wildness, until she could control and direct it. Otherwise it would overcome her; it might even turn against Halley herself. When she was ready, Halley could use the wildness how she wanted to. Then
she
would be truly powerful.

Eden touched Halley on the hand. “No,” she said softly but firmly.

She removed the stick from Halley’s hands, and rubbed her small hand across its length, with her eyes closed. She held the white stick out to Halley, who appeared completely unconscious, though her eyes were open.

Halley came back into herself. The stick Eden was holding out to her caught her eye. It was about twelve inches long, polished smooth, and whitened by years in the elements. It looked almost like ivory. Even before Halley touched it, it filled her mind entirely. The force of it made the world shift.

How strange. I…just a moment ago… I felt like I could tear out someone’s throat. What was that all about?

Her hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists, and she opened them slowly, staring at them without comprehension. As she reached for the white stick, the violent thoughts and feelings lifted from her conscious mind. She could not for the life of her recall what had upset her – she could only feel that her entire body was tensed, as if for a fight. About her lips, she held the remnant of wildness. She moved her jaw back and forth, feeling her teeth unclench and her lips relax. Whatever this feeling was, it seemed to come from somewhere outside of herself. She disowned it, pushed it away. Even the piercing scream – that unearthly sound she’d made and the only thing that she could remember clearly – she quickly dismissed. It was too scary to have come from inside her.

Halley felt calm and in control again. She held the white stick, moving her finger to touch its sharpended point.

Childish to be reminded of a unicorn, a silly imaginary beast! Absolutely ridiculous!

Still, Halley held the stick with reverence, thinking of unicorns. It felt good to think of them, to lose herself in their image of whiteness and light.

She looked at the stick carefully, turning it slowly in her hands, as if trying to recall something important that was just out of reach.
Is what I’m trying to remember about the baby?

Dismissing the thoughts as unproductive, she hoisted her backpack a bit higher on her shoulders, and looked at Eden. “Are you ready to go?” she said. Eden nodded quickly, and Halley led the way onto the plains.

Halley held the white stick in her left hand as they walked. She relaxed with her innermost knowledge that the baby was safe, was waiting for her. Like before, she could feel its pulse in her forehead
. So beautiful…my angel
. Absently, she rubbed her fingertips together and was perplexed when the word
soft
fell into her mind.

The pull of her mission to save the baby pulsed through her body and pushed her forward onto the yellow tundra.

As they moved into the tundra, what remained of the path disappeared. It didn’t matter – they had no need to follow a particular trail anymore. They simply followed their feet towards the tall grey mountains.

The yellow grass tickled their ankles, swaying with the movement of their bodies, but not breaking.

Eden stopped once and looked back.

“Look,” she said, pointing.

Halley followed the direction of Eden’s gaze. The sea of yellow grass carried no trace of their onward journey. It was as if it had never been parted. That meant they couldn’t be followed. But it also meant Halley couldn’t follow her own path back to the woods. She felt like crying.

After a few hours walking, Halley stopped and stretched. “The mountains are a long way away,” she said. “I think we’d better rest for the night.” The blisters on her right foot had burst and were stinging with each step, and her legs throbbed with the burning sensation of overworked muscles. “There, that’s a nice spot.” She pointed towards a flattened area, where the yellow grass was matted down.

“Or…” Eden turned in a slow circle. “Or…how about under that bush with the pink flowers?” she said, gesturing to a more sheltered spot. “That would be more fun, like a real clubhouse!” She sobered. “And no one could see us there.”

Halley agreed. The threat of Trance finding them was also on her mind, even if they were hard to track.

Eden popped her head inside the bush shelter. She was out again in a flash, scooping up several handfuls of fallen pink flower blossoms, and tossing them onto the ground inside the shelter. She popped her head back in and surveyed her work. “There – that’s prettier! Look.”

Halley looked in. “It’s beautiful.”

With the onset of evening, it was getting cooler. Halley re-zipped on her trouser legs, and donned the long-sleeved orange t-shirt. “Here, you have this,” she said, handing Eden the orange windbreaker from her bamboo backpack. “It’s going to be cold tonight.”

Eden held it up. “How’d it get so dirty?”

“I slept outside. That was my first night. I left it too late to find shelter – stupid, huh? It bucketed down rain.” Halley felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. “Sorry it’s so dirty…but it’ll keep you warm anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t care. I think it makes me look like a cheetah! And I think you were very brave to sleep outside in the dark, all alone.”

Halley laughed. “Come on, Cheetah, let’s get inside.”

They curled up in the nest-like hollow inside the bush. Eden’s pink blossoms formed a soft bed. Halley took the side closest to the shelter’s entrance, to protect Eden from any unexpected night visitors.

As the sun set, they became surrounded by the riotous night cry of cicadas. The sharp, high-pitched chatter took Halley back to the hot summer nights of her childhood. She fingered a flower blossom, turned grey in the dark, and remembered the old army cot with the thin fabric bed (“Don’t step on the middle, you’ll go right through,” her father had warned her a million times). She’d bring that old green cot out onto the porch when it was too hot to sleep inside. It felt like camping out, but she was safe at home. Her bedroom window led to the porch and she left it open so she could climb back in quickly if she got scared. Listening to Eden settle in, hearing her breathing deepen with the onset of sleep, she realized something. She’d never had to climb back inside; she’d never got scared.

She’d been like Eden then. In the nights of her childhood, when she’d slept amongst cicadas, everything was possible and nothing was frightening. She’d been thoughtlessly brave, and she had never, ever pondered the future. She was simply alive, acutely aware of everything, and that was enough. The mulberry tree, with its lush berries that existed for the sole purpose of being
skwooshed
under bare feet, staining the soles of her feet a vibrant wine color; the taste of nectar from the yellow honeysuckle growing on the fence – she would pinch the end off the tiny flowers with her fingernails, and pull the pin-shaped stem through the thin flower to relish its sweetness; the simple pleasure of walking tip-toe along the four-inch width of the neighbor’s fence, until the neighbor shouted at her and she had to wait until next time the neighbor was out to try it again; the majesty of leaping from the garage roof, a superhero, rolling into a tumblesault when she hit the grass.

Sleeping on that old army cot on the porch, she used to ponder the song of the cicadas. Were the insects singing with joy at the moment they emerged from the prehistoric shells they left attached to trees? Or were they screaming with despair when their short lives ended? The young Halley didn’t know the answer, but she decided to believe the cicada’s call was a sound of joy. It didn’t really matter if it were true or not.

It was all so simple then.
She listened to the cicada
s. It is now, too. It’s still simple
. As she drifted towards sleep, a small smile softened her face, and her hands gently embraced her belly.