The Forest Beyond the Earth Read online

  Soon after the sun went down, a pronounced crack of wood came from the forest nearby.

  She froze, staring at the dark window near the fireplace, her muscles tensing. Tree Walkers are coming!

  “Time to sleep,” said Dad in a stern, worried tone.

  With a brief nod, Wisp leapt off his lap and rushed across the room. She pulled the blanket up to expose the bars of her Haven before crawling inside onto the soft red padding he called sleep bags. Terrified the Tree Walkers would burst into the room at any second, she pivoted around and pulled the door closed with a clank, then scooted back to the innermost corner, curling into a ball.

  They can’t get me in here. They can’t get me in here.

  Dad took the Haven’s opener from under a can on a high shelf to the right of the fireplace. He walked over, crouched to one knee, and made the door so the Tree Walkers couldn’t get to her. At the click of the lock, she stopped trembling and managed a weak smile. Dad reached in past the bars and patted her on the cheek.

  “It’s all right, Wisp. You’re safe. I love you, baby. And so does your mother.”

  She cradled his hand against her cheek with both of hers, smiling. “I love you too, Dad.”

  “Sleep now.”

  Wisp nodded and curled up on her side atop the plush softness beneath her. Dad smiled lovingly for a moment before tugging the blanket back down over the bars so nothing bad could see her.

  Confident that nothing could hurt her, she closed her eyes.

  Off With Their Heads

  -2-

  Wisp awoke in a pink-purple haze, the dim light of early morning seeping through the blanket. It took a moment for her head to clear and a strong sense of discomfort to register. She grunted and squirmed. The bad water wanted out.

  “Dad?”

  A moment of silence passed. Wisp pushed herself up to sit and grasped the bars of her Haven’s door. The coarse metal rods, as thick as Dad’s thumbs, had a crisscross pattern of raised lines and were, for the most part, straight. She pushed and pulled at the door, rattling it. Nothing short of the opener could break the protection keeping the Tree Walkers from taking her.

  “Dad?” called Wisp, louder. “I gotta let out bad water.”

  After a short while of listening to silence, she groaned from the building pressure in her bladder and grabbed herself to stop it from coming out on its own. With her other hand, she tugged the blanket up and tucked it overhead so she could see out into the cabin. The door to Dad’s room remained closed, but he always kept it closed, so that didn’t mean much. She peered left and up at the high shelf where the opener hid beneath a dented coffee can all the way on the other side of the cabin past the fireplace.

  Wisp stuck her arm out between the bars, reaching for the can, trying to do that magic she read about in one book where the character could make objects fly into his hand. Despite her strongest concentration, the can didn’t move.

  “Ugh.” She grumbled and shook the Haven’s door harder. “Dad!”

  Again, she glared at the can way up high. Would he be upset with her if she left the Haven when he wasn’t around? That had always been his number-one rule for her safety. Only the Haven could protect her from the Tree Walkers if he wasn’t there for her. Of course, she had no way to get to the opener, and no way to get herself out of the Haven, so thinking about breaking that rule only wasted time.

  She peered up at the bars overhead, faintly remembering a time when she could stand up inside. Now, even sitting, she didn’t have a lot of room between her and the overhead bars. The Haven had been getting progressively smaller. It had more room from side to side on the long end, but she still wound up with her feet sticking out past the bars if she tried to lay flat. Of course, she never did. The Tree Walkers could attack anything outside the Haven, and she did not want to wake up without feet. Whenever Dad slept (or went off hunting), the Walkers could come right into the cabin without fear.

  Her need to release the bad water crashed headfirst into the fear of getting in trouble/being taken. She cringed, biting her lip and whining out her nose. I’m gonna mess the floor. If she did that, the bad water would soak into the soft padding between her and the bottom bars, and then her Haven would stink forever. She whined, determined to hold it.

  “Ngh!” shouted Dad, sounding somewhat distant―no doubt in the outhouse. He let out a few more loud grunts and groans.

  Wisp grinned to herself, amused by how Dad almost always said ‘ngh’ when he made ngh. Her amusement faded fast, and she unconsciously pulled and pushed at the door, protesting the lock. For a brief moment, she hated being confined to the Haven, but as soon as she thought that, she recoiled in guilt. Dad had built the Haven from his need to protect her and stop the Tree Walkers from taking her away in the night―his love made into a physical object. The magic he put in it kept her safe.

  Eyes closed, she held back the bad water with every ounce of willpower and both hands, rocking gently from side to side to distract herself.

  The clatter of the outhouse door opening got her bouncing with anticipation. Soft crunching footsteps went around the outside of the cabin, past Dad’s room, to the front. She peered at the entrance, still bouncing, and let out a squeak of happiness when he pulled it open and walked in.

  “Dad! Need to let out the bad water.”

  He gave her a quick apologetic look before hurrying to the shelf and plucking the opener from beneath the can. As soon as he unlocked the Haven, she pushed the door open, crawled out, and scrambled upright. Dad followed her close behind all the way around the house to the little shack of cinder blocks not far away. It gave off such an awful smell, she briefly considered waiting for the air to clear, but couldn’t hold it any more.

  Wisp groaned at the foulness. “You made a big ngh. It stinks!”

  She turned her head―not that it helped―and took a huge breath before climbing inside. Dad eased the outhouse door closed and stood guard outside. Wisp pulled her skirt out of the way and sat on the ancient plastic ring.

  The horror in the air blurred her eyes, but she still wound up laughing to herself at him for shouting ngh. He didn’t yell ‘bad water’ when he did that. She didn’t usually say ‘ngh’ when she had to do it, however, sometimes (after too many seeds and berries) she did. Usually, she tried to stay as quiet as possible so the Tree Walkers didn’t hear her. Dad once told her that if they heard a child’s voice, they’d swarm like flies to a pile of ngh. Better to be quiet than taken.

  Exactly what they’d do to her if they took her away, she had no idea. Dad never mentioned it, but he didn’t have to. Watching him cry said more than any words could convey.

  Once she finished letting all the bad water out, she stood and did a little shimmy to get the skirt to fall back where it belonged. Dad stepped forward when the door bumped him in the back, smiled at her, and proceeded to walk off toward the cabin.

  Wisp strolled along at his side, staring down at the ground out of habit. Ever since she stepped on a wasp at seven, she always watched where she put her feet. She’d asked Dad about making her boots or sandals or something, but he’d never quite gotten around to it. In the cold weather, he didn’t let her go outside at all, so her attempt to argue about warmth hadn’t gotten her anywhere. The lush padding along the bottom of the Haven plus a blanket kept her plenty warm enough.

  She eyed his hand, swinging back and forth beside her. “Dad? Why don’t you hold my hand anymore when we go to the outhouse?”

  “Well… when you were small, the Tree Walkers could’ve flown by and grabbed you before I had a chance to do anything to protect you. Now, you’re a little too big for them to carry off so fast.” He smiled, then reached over to clasp her hand in a gentle, but firm grip. “But if you want me to.”

  Wisp grinned, and flung herself into a brief, but tight hug.

  He kept holding her hand as they walked around the cabin. Once inside, Dad headed over to the worktable and unfurled some old maps to study. Wisp rummaged the pantry
bins, selecting some root tubers to slice up for breakfast, along with a jar of grasshoppers she’d caught a day or so ago. She entertained a brief craving for earthworm, missing the chewiness, but that would have to wait until the next time it rained and she could gather enough to be worth cooking.

  After pouring the grasshoppers out into a wooden bowl, she picked one up and twisted its head off, gently pulling until a strand of entrails emerged from the body, dangling like a booger from the removed head. She tossed the guts into the fireplace, de-winged the grasshopper, and dropped the body/legs in the cooking pan.

  One by one, she plucked the heads from the grasshoppers, gingerly tugging until the snotty bits came out. It made her think of something she’d read, and when she popped the sixth grasshopper, she said, “Off with his head!”

  “What’s that?” asked Dad.

  “It’s from a book.” She plucked another one. “Off with his head!” After tossing the body into the pan and the severed head into the fire, she smiled at Dad. “There’s this queen, and she’s all angry and stuff and keeps saying that.”

  Dad pointed a little light-maker at her. “Well, don’t get angry at breakfast.”

  “I’m not.” She laughed, twisted the head off another grasshopper, and muttered, “I’m late. I’m late. A very important date.”

  He chuckled and resumed studying the maps.

  Awhile later, she finished beheading a small army of grasshoppers and wiped off her hands. The shelf of jars that held the taste powders made her frown. Most of the bottles, especially the reddish-brown one she loved, had almost run out. Still, no point having them without using any, so she dusted the grasshoppers with a pinch or five of the good stuff.

  “Dad. We’re almost run out of taste powder.”

  “Yeah. That stuff is hard to find. Most of it’s from the old world, before the Fire Dragons. I’m amazed it still even works.”

  She stirred yellowgreens into the grasshopper mix, and added a tiny bit of boar grease. That, too, ran low. “We need another boar, too. Maybe I can go with you this time?”

  “Maybe.”

  Wisp grinned to herself, too shocked at his not saying ‘no’ right away to come up with a reply. A snap came from the fireplace along with a flaming grasshopper head sailing out onto the floor. She leapt up and stomped on it before the dry floorboards lit fire. At a small jab of pain, she fell seated again, and pulled her foot up to examine her sole. A tiny black dot marked her skin, but it wiped off―ash, not a burn.

  When the food smelled done, she portioned it out to plates and carried one over to Dad, leaning up alongside him to look at the big white paper with red and blue lines going all over the place.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” He kissed her on top of the head and took the plate she offered.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m looking for a likely spot to scavenge. Maybe somewhere I haven’t gone before.”

  She shoveled two grasshoppers and a slice of tuber into her mouth at once, nodding.

  Dad leaned to the side, looking her up and down. “Well, Wisp, you’re twelve now, close as I can figure. Maybe it is time to start giving you a taste of the ‘out there.’ Would you rather wait in your Haven, or come with?”

  “Umm.” She ground her toes into the floor, casting an uneasy look back at her safe place where nothing could hurt her.

  Whenever Dad went hunting or scavenging, he’d always insist she stay in it. Sometimes, he’d be gone all day. Other times, she’d spend two or three days in a row safe inside the bars. If not for the bookshelf, she’d hate being alone and bored for so long. Finally getting the chance to see the forest more than a one-minute walk away set off an explosion of excitement inside her. Fear dampened it somewhat, as the Haven still beckoned her into its loving embrace, but she whipped her head back to grin at him.

  “I wanna go. If it’s okay.”

  Dad set the plate down on the map and put his hands on her shoulders, staring her in the eye. “You will need to listen and do whatever I say, without question or hesitation.”

  “Yes, Dad.” She nodded. “I will.”

  “And stay close. Don’t go rushing off.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t… go running off.”

  He smiled. “All right. Let’s finish eating first, huh?”

  Wisp hopped up to sit on the workbench, swinging her feet back and forth while shoveling food past her giant grin.

  Thunderbird

  -3-

  Wisp stood in the middle of the cabin, arms slightly raised to either side as Dad walked around her rubbing his chin. She lifted and lowered her toes, twisting her head to watch him. He stopped, tapped his foot for a moment, then disappeared into his room, the metal door banging shut behind him.

  When he returned, he took a knee in front of her and held a slab of leather up to her right thigh, the top about touching the hem of her skirt. He fidgeted at it for a few seconds before smiling. Wisp waited while he tinkered at the worktable for a little while, then carried the leather thing back over, now with a bunch of thin black strands hanging from it. Again, he pressed it to her thigh.

  “Hold it.”

  She put a hand on it, examining a narrow pouch on the outside.

  “These will clip in place. It’s probably going to feel strange at first, but you’ll get used to it. They need to be tight enough to hold it on, but not so tight your leg feels funny.”

  “Okay.”

  Dad pulled the thin nylon straps around her leg and clipped plastic parts together with a sharp, but quiet snap. He repeated it for the lower set, but neither one had any real grip on her leg. It took him a bit of fiddling with another section where the straps twisted around metal clips, but he snugged both loops smaller and smaller until they squeezed into her skin. He tried to get his fingertip under one, couldn’t do it, then loosened it a little bit.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Let go, see if it stays there.”

  She removed her hand, and the leather object remained stuck to her leg. Dad nodded, crossed the room to the shelf long enough to retrieve a knife similar to the cooking-and-hair-cutting one, but somewhat smaller. He slipped it into the leather sheath and closed a small loop over the handle to keep it in place.

  “Jump up and down a bit. Try to make it fall.”

  Wisp examined the knife hanging on her leg, unable to figure out if she liked or disliked the sensation of having something tied to her thigh. Eventually, she decided she had no opinion either way. She bounced on her toes a few times, then jumped a couple inches off the ground and came down hard on her heels. The sheath slipped straight down her leg to the floor.

  Dad chuckled and brushed a finger at a faint mark where the strap had been. “Well, I suppose that’s good for now. It’ll get a bit easier on you once you have some shape.”

  “Huh?” She peered up at him.

  “You still have kid legs.” He made a double-chopping motion in the air. “Like asparagus stalks. No shape.”

  She raspberried him.

  “One moment.” He grasped her leg behind the knee to lift her foot out of the knife sheath straps. A few minutes of tinkering at the worktable later, he carried it back over and clipped it around on her again. He’d added another strap that went up to loop around her skirt’s belt. “There. Now I can even loosen the other ones.”

  She bounced and jumped, but the knife stayed put.

  Dad grinned. “Perfect. An asparagus sheath.”

  She raspberried him again.

  “Right. So. Knife.” He tapped the handle. “That’s in case something happens and you get in trouble, okay?”

  Wisp nodded, pulling her hair out of her eyes. “I understand.”

  “Oh, one thing you can help out with…” He retrieved another nylon belt from a shelf with two green pouches on it. “Here.”

  She clipped it on and held it up while he adjusted it down to her size. Once it sat properly, he handed her a pair of plastic
bottles, both the same drab green.

  “Oh. Water!” She grinned and put the canteens in the holders on her belt. “We’re going for a long trip?”

  “Not too long, but we’ll be walking most of the day. We should bring some water in case we can’t find any.”

  Dad grabbed his rifle and led the way outside.

  She followed beside him, a half-step back on the right, to the small stream a minute or so away from the cabin. There, they both drank before filling canteens. Wisp crouched shin deep in the chilly flow, keeping her attention to the south while holding the canteen under the water’s surface.

  Tree Walkers always came from the south.

  Dad stood guard, eyes on the forest around them while she filled her second canteen, then the two on his belt. She replaced the canteens in his belt pouches, closed the Velcro flaps, and patted them twice. He took her hand and helped her step up out of the water.

  That he headed north comforted her to some degree since it meant moving away from the Tree Walkers. However, those creatures could be anywhere and everywhere in the woods. At any moment, a patch of greenery could spring to life and come rushing at them, as it had done hundreds of times in her dreams. She pushed herself to walk faster, keeping close to him in case one of the monsters tried to grab her. Her attention to ground hazards suffered for it, but aside from an occasional uncomfortable pebble or hard root making her stumble, she didn’t stick a foot into anything dangerous.

  It had rained quite a bit the previous day, leaving the air thick with the fragrance of moss and wet wood. Trees surrounded them, some small, some huge, many dappled with patches of pale green lichen. The forest had become so thick she couldn’t tell which way led home anymore. In every direction, greenery stretched off in a seemingly endless spread of life. She couldn’t remember ever walking so deep into the woods that she couldn’t turn around and see the cabin.