A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  He claimed there were much scarier things in these woods than I could imagine. “Maybe we should, I don’t know, talk before we share a tent,” I said as I followed him out. “I mean, I don’t even know your full name or where you went to high school or where you’re from. I get there are two sleeping bags, but it would still help me sleep better.”

  He handed me the water bottle. “I’ve got to make a phone call.” He took out a rather dull looking phone from his pocket.

  “What? First you tell me that the woods are full of things worse than I can imagine—like you have any idea how dark my imagination can get—and then you tell me see ya. I’ve got the entire world searching for me. So, you are going to leave me out here by myself to make a call? And aren’t phones easy to trace?”

  “This is a two-way phone. It only transmits to one other phone, and they are both untraceable.”

  “But what if the Libratiers come and attack me?” I protested.

  “The Libratiers won’t attack you. Their goal is to take you back to the Merrics, not hurt you.”

  My hands went to my hips. “That’s not any better.”

  “I won’t be far.” Greer tossed me a Cloverfield fruit bar. “Eat up.”

  Greer walked away from the clearing, and I freaked. “Yeah, sure. How about I eat this snack and wait for the American Army to jump out of the woods?”

  “Trust me.” Greer turned back to face me. “If the American Army has found us, there is absolutely nothing I can do out here. I know you’re scared, but the person on the other end of this line thinks I’m dead so if you’ll excuse me…”

  “But— “

  “Don’t touch anything!” he called and retreated into the woods. I wanted nothing more than to throw a rock at him. I was certain I didn’t like this Greer guy except here was the thing: I felt so much worse with Greer not being around. He left, and the fear and weight of it all crashed into me. Greer and I were entwined in this, like it or not.

  I was too open outside and sought comfort inside the tent, and like a little child, I climbed over to my side of the tent, slipped into my sleeping bag and covered up my head. The ground was hard with rocks. Nothing quite feels worse than being utterly alone, muscles and joints swollen, throbbing from overuse, and finding yourself stuck on a stabby rock. But then, the bag’s fabric filled with warm air and turned into a comfort-controlled place to sleep.

  Terrible thoughts raced through my mind until Greer finally returned an hour later. I felt better and at ease as soon as he walked in, and that convinced me without a doubt I had been right. He had been the man at the opera. He might have had his reason to lie, but it wasn’t a good sign. He gave me unexplained feelings, and he lied. I had learned my lesson. I couldn’t trust this guy. I could trust no one. I needed to focus my thoughts and try to form a plan, a goal, something. First, I needed to be safe… and I meant really safe. Not just safe in a tent in the woods. I would stay with this guy until I had that or until I saw a better opportunity. Next, I had to find the words somehow and find a cure. Lothaire had given his life to get me this necklace. It had to amount to something. After I did that, I had to get home. To another world. I had to do all of this by myself because I could trust no one.

  Chapter 23

  Bird Attack

  Before sunrise, Greer shook me awake and then left the tent so I could get ready. I cleaned myself with the products he’d packed me and they all worked incredibly well, but I wore the same barely clean clothes from yesterday. My body ached in ways I didn’t know possible, and my arms, legs, forehead—you name it—were swollen from retained water. There was no time to complain. After a Cloverfield bar, we were off again.

  Our hike, while beautiful, was long and offered little to report. Greer looped ahead a lot to check for Libratiers and ‘traps of the forest’, whatever that meant. Not that he’d explain it; trust me, I asked. He said I’d know it if I saw it. I asked a lot of questions, like “where we are going “or “why are we going there?” He ignored many of my questions, which thoroughly annoyed me. To be fair, he did occasionally tell me not to step here, be careful, or—his favorite—"put your sunglasses back on”, but that was it.

  That was fine. I didn’t really need him. I had the necklace, and I needed to find the words. I had more information than I did before. Lothaire had had the necklace, and so I knew their relationship was part of the puzzle. I had pieced together what I thought had happened between Lothaire and Grandma. He loved her, but after he saw her powers, he ended things. He had loved her the rest of his life, and if he were still alive in the bird somewhere, he loved her still. He’d kept her necklace the whole time. If Lothaire had the words, I was sunk, but if he didn’t, and they were still out there, I’d find them.

  By late afternoon, I was stumbling forward more than walking. We stopped once more at the river to rest for the night. Small boulders popped out of the water and created the perfect place to sit and dangle our feet in the current.

  “Here.” Greer handed me the canteen. “Go to the moving water and fill up.”

  I was too tired to mention to him that he was being rude. "Please" and "thank you" go a lot further than "here". I took off my boots, stretching my feet and toes. I’d thought my feet were bad that morning—now my ankles were huge and at least triple their size. I pulled up the bottom of my pants and waded into the swift water, careful not to slip on the flat stones. My soles ached from hiking.

  I wasn’t so sure hiking was the right word for it. I missed our family hikes in Gettysburg and the field resort with the rented camper. Dad would give us history lessons, recite the Gettysburg Address. Four score and seven years ago our forefathers brought forth to this continent a new nation. Conceived in liberty.

  Lincoln. This world didn’t have a President Abraham Lincoln. They had Lincoln, the poet. Just another monarchy, same old as in 18th century Europe. My dad believed in America, the symbols of our country. He’d hate everything about this place. I wished he were here.

  With the canteen filled, I headed back to camp. Greer was on the shore reading a newspaper projected from his cubox. When I finally waded back to Greer, he informed me that he needed to make another phone call, and he’d keep it short.

  It was fine. While it was true I felt better when I gazed at him, I knew from the Merrics not to trust that feeling. It wasn’t real.

  I found a nice boulder on the shore and leaned back, careful to keep my feet in the water. I longed to lose the uniform and go for a swim, and if I knew Greer wasn’t coming back for a while or if I had more than my underwear to swim in, I’d go right in. I thought I still might. Didn’t a black bra and underwear work as a bikini?

  A fish swam in a low pool. I lay my sunglasses down on the rock so I could watch it circling. A cool breeze swept over my cheek, and out of the corner of my eye, something moved on the rock next to where I was sitting. I slowly turned. A beautiful brown owl perched on the rock not two feet away from me. Startled, I jumped. The bird swiveled its head down, confused. The large owl was impossibly cute, and I wished I had my camera.

  “Hi pretty bird. What are you doing out so early?”

  A moment later the bird flew into the air. He swirled around once, twice. He was so beautiful, so majestic. I forgot everything and enjoyed the swirling and looping bird.

  I watched him as he circled once more and then changed direction and dove. I ducked, thinking he wanted to get to one of the fish, and that’s when his talons dug through my shirt and into the flesh of my shoulder.

  “Ah!” The owl pecked furiously at my face, towards my eyes, and I fought to shake him off, but the bird was mental. I flung my arms over my face and scrambled to push him off, as his claws dug deeper into my skin. My shirt shredded like paper, blood flying as I darted left and right. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the bird.

  “Get off!” But it wouldn’t let go, and his beak kept coming closer and closer to my nose. I screamed louder as I realized what he was doing. He wanted to peck out
my eyes. I went to my knees, and the owl followed me down to the ground. I shrieked unintelligible words as the bird stabbed relentlessly to get through to my eyes.

  I had only one thought: Bollard. He’d made this thing, and the bird was coming for me. This little bird could be someone I’d met. I deserved this then.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I yelled through my tears, over and over, but the bird didn’t stop. It was on top of my head now. My scalp ripped open by its claws.

  There was a loud thwacking sound, followed by a thump and then the bird was on the ground.

  Greer stood over the bird, branch in his hand, arms raised. If my uncle did this, if this was Enzo or Manon, then this bird was my fault. I couldn’t let him hurt this owl.

  “Stop!” I cried.

  “It’s sick.”

  “No, please, it isn’t sick.”

  The owl didn’t move. Maybe the bird wanted Greer to kill it, but I couldn’t let him. “Please don’t.”

  Greer lowered the branch, and the bird rallied and flew off into the woods. “What’s going on?”

  My hair was slick with blood, and back of my head throbbed. I stood up and swayed. Greer grabbed my waist before I fell over.

  “Tell me later. You need help.” He scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the large stone where moments ago the bird had launched its attack.

  Blood dropped like rain onto the stone. With each thump of my heart, my head throbbed, and I leaned heavily on the rock as Greer poured the water bottle over my head. The quantity of blood running out of my hair made me gasp. The stupid bird must have scalped me.

  “Stay here,” Greer said, like I had any choice in the matter. He ran to the tent for supplies. Thankfully, he was gone only seconds. He parted my hair to see the damage, and I almost fell over again. The pain at the back of my scalp shot down my spine. God it hurt. Greer dropped my hair and retook my waist before I fell over.

  “I’ve got you,” he said in my ear. “I know it hurts. I’ll be gentle, okay?”

  I whimpered out a yes, struggling not to cry out with pain.

  He poured something on my head, and my skin numbed where the liquid touched.

  “Should feel better in a second.”

  The pained dulled to where it didn’t make me feel faint, but it still hurt. I caught my breath long enough to ask how bad it was.

  “Bad but not too bad.” As he poured more water, bright red blood flushed to the ground.

  My body was shaking. “Really?”

  “Heads bleed a lot more than people expect. The cut is only so deep, but you’ll need stitches.”

  “Is it going to hurt?”

  “Stitches usually do in the field, but you don’t have a lot of options unless you want to bleed to death. The lidocaine will cut some of the edge but yes, it’ll hurt.”

  “Can you do stitches?”

  “Does it matter?” he said. I would have nodded, but by then my head was viced in his arm. “Any idea why the bird attacked you?”

  The needle pricked my scalp, followed by a pull and a tug. I wasn’t going to tell Greer that I suspected the bird to be something Bollard had made. How could I explain what I saw to Greer? He said he knew what I was, but I kind of doubted it. If Lothaire, who loved Grandma, ran when he knew the truth, what would this stranger do? “Violent species of birds is my guess.”

  Greer chortled. “Great Horned Owl? Violent against humans? If the bird killed you, you’d have gone on record. ‘First death by hoot owl.’”

  Greer tied off the thread. “I should check out your shoulder too.”

  Great. Not that this wasn’t awkward enough.

  I unfastened the first few buttons, and Greer delicately lifted the shirt from my shoulder. He moved the chain of the necklace away from the wounds. Greer poured water over the cut to flush out the embedded fabric. He leaned in to see the cut, and my skin prickled as I became acutely aware of his closeness. My head throbbed worse, and I had to rest on Greer for support. “You think it wanted to kill me?”

  “It wanted to get through your skull.”

  Crap. I should have let Greer kill it. I was incredibly sleepy, and I leaned deeper into Greer. It felt good through the pain. I desperately needed a hug, but he didn’t seem like a guy who offered hugs to the scared or wounded.

  Greer sighed, not moving for a moment, before he added, “We need to wash the blood from you.”

  Embarrassed, I sat up. A large wet spot covered his shoulder where my head had been. Blood ran down the length of his arm and coated both of his hands. Mortified, I said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. I had my BFV shot and stuff.”

  Greer shrugged his shoulders. “I had my BFV too. You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” He helped me to my feet. “We better get you cleaned up. You’re dizzy, and dizzy and water don’t mix.”

  “You’re coming too?”

  “We’re both covered in your blood. I need to get it off me too.” This was way too mortifying. If I could crawl into a hole and stay there for the rest of my life, I would.

  He let go of me and he took off his shirt. The black of his shirt had covered the amount of my blood on Greer. A rust colored stain covered his skin. I turned my head down to the water. If I dared to look at him, I would be staring at his chest and then the blood.

  He noticed my blush. “Hey, I promise I won’t look. You aren’t the first girl I’ve camped with. I’ve camped with over fifty before. I didn’t look at them, and I won’t look at you.”

  When I hesitated, he added, “Go ahead and wear your clothes in at this point; they’re covered with blood too. I have a shirt you can wear in the tent. Come on.”

  When we made it to the waist-deep water, he let go. The clothes were heavy as I carefully lowered myself to a crouching position. I put my head back into the water, and the cold liquid stung the back of my head again. I didn’t dare use my hands to clean it. It hurt too much, so I let the water do the job, barely moving.

  Finally, I relaxed and came back to myself. I was okay. Sore but okay. Greer had sewed up my head, but it was okay. My shoulder had open wounds, bleeding but okay. I was okay because of Greer. He splashed in the water and without meaning to, I turned to see him. His shirt was off so he could clean it. True to his words, he faced away from me. His back was lean, defined with muscles. I wondered how I had missed his body in those shirts.

  Greer turned around and our eyes locked. We stood staring at each other in silence until I said, “I’m done.”

  Greer nodded and came over, a pile of clothes under his arm. Oh, my... he was only wearing his underwear. I went blotchy again and immediately turned around.

  “I’m here to help you get back.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, struggling not to look at him. To prove the point, I took one stumbling step towards the shore.

  “Waverly, we have a long way to go. You can’t make a big deal out of boxers—we’re sharing a tent. Now really, let me help you.” He pulled my arm around his waist.

  I forced myself away, tripping again into the water.

  “Are you pigheaded or modest?”

  “Neither,” I said, pulling my clinging shirt away from my chest.

  “Right.” He took my waist and kept me upright.

  At the tent, Greer carefully bandaged my shoulder wound and handed me one of his black shirts. “It won’t fit, but it should cover you.”

  When he left, I threw my sopping wet clothes outside the tent and slipped on the shirt. It hung down to my mid-thigh. When I went out to collect my clothes and wring them out to dry, I discovered that Greer had already done it for me, and I assumed that he’d left again to make another phone call.

  Okay by me. I’d had enough for the day. I was embarrassed, hungry, and in pain, but I needed sleep more than anything. I unzipped the tent and sat on the paper-thin sleeping bag. Air filled the mattress, making it a comfortable seat.

  That bird attacked me. I knew, just knew, that bird was one of my uncle’s. He probab
ly kept birds of prey to control Manon’s birds. That’s why they never misbehaved.

  Manon’s birds were probably terrified of the larger birds. I understood that. I remembered my chorus class junior year. Ms. Kitchner was mean, boring, and meek, all at the same time. A terrible combination for a teacher. We never behaved all that well. Her voice cracked every time she yelled. Old Crackling Kitchner. There wasn’t a lot of respect there, and most students acted accordingly. That was, until three kids took things too far by lighting a folder on fire to get her to really crackle. The principal suspended them, and then he hung out in the back for a few days to settle us down. You show control, and suddenly everyone remembers how to behave in school. I’m sure all the birds of prey had to do was kill just one small bird in front of them and suddenly, they’re all singing in harmony like a chorus finely tuned and scared.

  Like a chorus.

  I nearly fell over as the answer to the mystery became clear. I clenched my stomach in pain. If I hadn’t felt like throwing up before, I was close now. The reason the birds were always perfect, the reason they never bit her… Oh dear lord. Manon was not who she appeared to be because she had to know the truth, the awful, terrible truth. Those birds weren’t born birds. They were people!

  I placed my hands on both sides of myself so as not to fall over.

  “Waverly, you okay?” Greer called from the other side of the tent.

  No. No. No. “Yes.” My voice shook.

  He rushed into the tent and knelt beside me. “You look about ready to fall over.”

  Claudette was right. If Manon had ever cared about me, she would have told me the truth. “I’m okay,” I squeaked out.

  Greer gently wrapped his arm around my shoulder, careful not to touch my wound. “You need to lie down before you fall over.”

  He helped lower me down. “You don’t look so good. Is it the pain?”

  Pain? Like the pain Lothaire felt? The pain all those people must have felt being turned into songbirds. I nodded.