12 | Until It Is Dark

In the daylight, the open woods are not quite the things of nightmares. In the twilight and dawn, they are about as bad as this morning when the birds were swarming and Thistle was taken.

Foolish boy, running into the woods. What did he see that made him so wish to enter?

With the sun’s heat not reaching the ferns but filtering down through the branches like an oven, warming once would otherwise be a chill and windy mountaintop, many of the nasty things that would appear to hunt them are hunkered in whatever dens they hid within during the day. Eli has never ventured through the woods at night, at least not since before the magic was broken, and is keenly aware of the movement of the sun, the few short hours they have before they will be forced to find a place to hide for the night.

As he goes—picking the tracks through the trees where he believes his memory serves him Thistle was taken—he searches for signs of places they might be able to double back and hide within. Not many present themselves, but he is hopeful with how many fallen, dead trees there are. The little caverns of rocks and mossy holes in the ground were once inhabited by normal animals before they were corrupted and driven mad by the mutated magic.

To attempt to learn as much as he can, he keeps up a series of questions Klia can answer with a nod or shake of the head. Perhaps, when he is less troubled, he will ask her to teach her hand speak.

Until then…

“Was your father in the dead city because he was trying to manipulate the Order further?”

A shrug.

“Was he trying to stop it?”

A shrug.

“Is he unhappy with what it has become?”

A bit of thinking, and a slow nod.

Eli nods in return, weaving through the ferns as best he can, glad he covered all of the little girl’s skin from the weak stinging of the fronds. She learned quickly not to stick her hands in them.

Abner regrets what he has done. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eli figured he might eventually come to such a conclusion—when all this did not turn out as he wished and he was out of other people to blame for his mistakes. Eli had expected it, back when Lyra left them for good, but Abner had only been more certain of his experiments, angrier at Eli for not wishing to be part of them. Abner is much more like his father than he realizes. Eli can muscle his way through things with a sword and a plan, Abner believed he could fix the brokenness he created in the Order by muscling through it. Whether with the mind or the sword, they are too much alike.

Perhaps Eli should’ve born his son’s rage better, stayed in Monsetyra longer.

They are both at fault, and it appears both of them know it. Well, Abner knows the magic was a mistake, but he may very well still despise Eli for his stubbornness. Given Thistle's blatant hatred, Eli would assume this is truth.

It is difficult not to sigh, not to hurt over the progression of events. Glancing down at Klia, he observes the girl’s wide, fearful eyes as she takes in the dark trunks and thick canopy. She reminds him very much of Abner, his sweet, gentle side when he was too young to become bitter. Thistle is his father’s rage and stubborn head, Klia his curiosity and bright helpfulness. This is not a fair assessment, he knows, but cannot help the thoughts.

When he tracks down the kid, he is going to have a long conversation with Thistle, getting everything out before them. He does not have to like his grandfather, but hopefully, this will teach him both that he should listen to him, and that Eli may not be the best man, but he will trek through a dangerous wood to find him.

“Is your magic the same as your brother’s?”

A shake of the head.

“How is it different?”

She does not answer. Eli knows it is not a yes or no question, but was perhaps hoping for a demonstration. By the furrow in her eyebrows, he doesn’t believe he will receive one.

“Do you see your name and titles?”

A nod.

“And it gives you numbers for things you have learned or experienced?”

A nod.

“And skills?”

She frowns up at him.

“Er…stems? Mine is Bladewielder, yours is likely to be something different.”

Her expression clears, and she nods.

“What are yours?”

She shakes her head, and Eli doesn’t know if she has none or doesn’t wish to tell him. Either way, he can ease into those questions since she is being a little stubborn about it.

“Does your father have access to the Order?”

She shakes her head.

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Eli frowns. “How did you know I have it?”

A shrug.

“But you knew how to unlock it?”

A nod.

“Did someone teach you?”

Another shake of the head.

Eli drops it for now, enough information spinning around and around in his mind. Why would Abner’s magic remain broken, locked out of this new version, if his children’s are not, and Eli’s is not? He was injured in the same set of circumstances that led to the first little dot of an injury on his palm which Klia led to the new Order. He cannot possibly understand how this all happened.

“Klia,” he asks carefully. “Do you know if your brother is alright?”

She seems remarkably unworried, considering how she clung to him the first day.

Another nod.

Eli thinks about the necklace buried in his shirt. He doesn’t know why the thought came to him or how he knows Abner has managed something of a similar nature with his children, but it is suddenly certain in his mind.

“Are we going in the right direction?”

With another nod, she points into the dense trees a little to the left of where they are, and when Eli heads that way, he finds the path carved through the ferns indeed begins to turn the way she indicated.

Something akin to hope settles in his chest. He puts his hand on Klia’s head and hurries against the setting of the sun.

* * *

Eli touches a passing tree, scowling at the bark. He expected more of a fight from the woods, particularly with the sun heading for the horizon and his searching for a hiding place this last half hour or so. Even with short days, Klia looks about ready to collapse, and Eli isn’t too thrilled himself about walking so much after such events.

Less thrilled about not sleeping in even his lumpy bed back at the monastery.

All his joints are complaining, his head is stuffy, and his injured arm aches. All the little cuts he gathered from the birds and the ensuing scuffle finally decide to sting later in the day. He’s gained little scrapes from those damn birds in the past, they’re not harmful or poisonous in and of themselves, just irritating. They’ll mostly heal in a few days, as normal scrapes do.

Kid had to go run off into the monster-filled trees.

Squatting at the tree, he rubs his finger along the knot of wood he noticed. He first picked it out because it is shaped oddly, a ragged star in the puffed circle of the long-healed wood.

He first noticed it in passing—about an hour ago.

Squinting at his surroundings, the trees seem just a tad familiar, even with the changing light.

How can we go in a circle when we haven’t walked uphill once?

Going in circles isn’t possible on a steeply-sloped mountain.

Klia has found an open patch of dirt to settle in, giving quite an evil glare to the closest fern. She plays with the too-long sleeves of the shirt Eli gave her, unrolling them over her hands, delicate as bird’s claw.

“Girl, does your magic have anything to do with your surroundings? Or can you only tell which direction to follow your brother?”

Leaning over, she writes Brother in the dirt.

“I’m imagining it,” Eli mutters to himself, getting back to his feet with popping knees. “I’m paranoid. Perhaps all the trees have knots like this.”

Klia looks at him as if he may be mad. Which is a distinct possibility.

“Come along,” he says, pulling her to her feet and keeping a hold of her hand now she wants to lag behind. “I’m looking for a place we can hide during the night. An old foxhole will be better than nothing.”

There’s a chance she really isn’t listing to a thing he’s saying, but he feels the desire now to speak since there is someone to speak to, not simply the ghost of his Lyra. If nothing else, perhaps it makes her feel just a little better to hear his voice, even if his tone is unkind, as Abner so keenly informed him

Klia doesn’t appear to be unsettled by his tone.

Perhaps she has seen many things more frightening than a grumpy old man.

Eli hopes not.

Eli pauses, a few dozen steps down the trampled-down ferns—no sign of any injury litters the foliage, and he is immeasurably grateful—and stares at the same knot in the very same tree trunk. Glancing back over his shoulder, he squints into the purple dark haze of the woods.

“I’m not mad, not this time,” he tells himself and looks up at the canopy of the trees. Barely any daylight is to be had. “It’s tricking me.”

Klia tugs on his hand but only gazes up at him curiously.

It’s darker, much darker. Eli keeps squinting at the sky, then around at the surrounding trees, the trunk with the familiar knot.

It wants us to wander until it is dark.

With a huff and more than a little rage, Eli heads left, off the path. Klia gives a small whine and tugs at his hand, pointing back to the path.

“Hold on girl, I’m testing something. That path isn’t going anywhere—”

He stumbles back onto the path, the same tree staring him down. It’s darker.

Darker.

Eli wonders, if he put aside his aches and pains and old body, if sprinting full down the mountain would fix it. He doesn’t believe so.

He has survived much worse than trickster trees, and he’ll be dammed if they fool him into staying out here, unhidden until darkness falls. He will climb to the top of the canopy and sit up there if he must. It could certainly attract monsters, but he will stay awake all night if there is no other option. He will not die out here, not on the first day venturing down.

Not with his little granddaughter clinging to his hand.

Circling the tree, he turns his sickle over in his palm, glaring at the offending ferns and watching for any other monsters which might be attracted to Klia’s power. He wonders, offhandedly, if it is only Thistle they were after, but given how the ferns bend toward the girl so much more than they even pay Eli any mind, he doubts it. It is still daylight, after all, and the worst monsters are out at night. Even that big cat came in the early dawn before the smothered sunlight was truly strong.

Knocking the tree with the handle of his blade, he wonders at why this one, in particular, is the one the forest keeps circling him back toward. A hollow thump greets his striking. Hollow. The tree is hollow. They can hide in a hollow trunk.

The sun is setting.

Unwilling to risk snapping the blade of his sickle, he digs out one of the duller kitchen knives and finds the largest crack within the bark he can, wiggling it in and attempting to widen it. He doesn’t believe it is this tree in particular that is fooling him, just that it is the only one with unique enough markings he noticed the trick. Besides, one of the only ways he is able to collect and burn firewood is through one method and one method alone: if the wood is dead.

This tree is not only hollow, but the bark flakes away, and what wood he can pry open is eaten away and light. Glancing upward, he sees not even the smallest speck of leaves on the craggy branches. It has fully fallen to the ravages of time, perhaps even before the Order was broken.

He only has to make his way in and doesn’t have much time to consider options. Now he’s stopped to notice and is not taken in by the forest’s spell, he is aware of the setting darkness. It is cold and fast this time of year—the setting sun. In the distance, something hisses, and he pauses long enough to listen and decide it is not the roar of the Unknown creatures, and doesn’t wish to find out what indeed it is.

Klia yelps as something snarls at her in the grasses. Eli spears it with the sickle, knocking aside whatever dead rodent he doesn’t wish to inspect is driven mad by the magic.

Dead as the tree might be, Eli’s hopes of wringing it open with a knife don’t seem to be wise. Swearing, he feels around for more cracks. If there were branches low enough to reach, he’d climb up and see if there were a hole through the top of the trunk as many dead trees tend to have.

Hissing grows louder, and Eli doesn’t believe he can ignore it any longer. Stuffing the knife away and setting his pack against the tree, he edges around the side of it, keeping Klia behind him, pressed against the trunk.

Finally, in the hazy light of dusk, he spots something slithering in the closest trunk.