Forest of Lost Secrets

by Emmett Swan

  They grew close quickly because of their terrible loss. It was the last time she had such a strong urge to tell anyone what had happened. Yet she couldn’t do it. She let Caroline go back to school, her secret stuck in her heart. And now, here in these newly discovered secret woods, so many months later, should she dare go there with Riley?

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone this, Riles, but Curtis told me he loved me for the first time the day he died.”

  That much was out. She waited, but there was only silence.

  “And I feel like I should have stopped him from drinking so much before trying that trick. That’s what I’m feeling guilty about.” She was trying to put out part of the whole truth on him for now. She looked over at him to see how the words landed. He was already shaking his head.

  “Jess, don’t say that. That was just the way Curtis was. He was always showing off. You had nothing to do with that. No one could have stopped him.”

  “I know. But still.” Jessica twirled a long strand of hair around her finger. “Do you think I could have been to blame even a little?” she asked weakly. Maybe he would pick up on where she was going.

  “You didn’t make him drink those beers,” Riley stressed. “He did it to himself.”

  Her brother’s words disappointed her. He wasn’t getting it. She would have to come out with it or drop it. But she wasn’t sure if she could say it. The words were stuck somewhere inside her chest. They were heavy and burning and she felt herself getting hot.

  Jessica sighed and closed her eyes. That day on Lake Nolin, Curtis had told her he loved her and she had rejected him. She didn’t say she loved him back. That was why he started drinking. That was why he started acting crazy with his skiing stunts. Maybe he was even trying to make her jealous by showing off in front of Sylvia. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she said nothing, and that was why he was buried in the ground today.

  She decided not to tell Riley. Not yet. She couldn’t bear to have him, her only friend in this country, hate her for what she had done. She would keep the truth to herself. At least for now.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Riley pointed to an object sticking out of the moss below a nearby bush. He reached across the moss and tugged on it with his fingertips, working the object back and forth until it broke free from the green carpet and he could pull it out of the ground.

  It was a long piece of heavily corroded metal with a sharp tip. He stood up and held one end in his hand. Riley’s eyes widened.

  “You know, this could have been a sword. Here’s the tip and a handle could have been attached to this part.” He took a few swings with it, slicing the air. “It’s definitely an old sword.”

  Jessica stood up beside him and took it from Riley.

  “Maybe,” she said, looking the object over and testing its point with her finger. “But it’s so rusted, it’s hard to tell. Could’ve been anything.”

  “There’s no question it’s a sword,” insisted Riley.

  Jessica turned toward the tree she had been leaning against. “Whatever it is, it’s pretty sharp. I’ll use it to carve Curtis’s initials into the tree,” she said, facing the tree and examining its gnarled bark.

  “I don’t know, Jess.” Riley’s voice was wary. “Climbing them is one thing, but carving on them is another.”

  Jessica hesitated and turned to study her little brother. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she knew what he was thinking.

  Riley gazed hard at the tree. “It seems wrong to cut them. They’re…” He looked around at the entire forest. “I don’t know, different.” He blushed and looked down sheepishly. “And they are our only friends here.” He stood up taller and looked directly into Jessica’s face. “Thanks to you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Jessica, dismissing him and ignoring his jibing reference to their breakfast conversation. “They’re just trees.”

  She turned back to the tree and pushed the pointed tip of the metal into the bark and began gouging, wiggling the blade back and forth forcefully. “Damn!” she groaned, examining the metal tip more closely. “This thing is so dull!” But she went back to her task. She dug out a J and then a plus sign and almost finished a C when she abruptly stopped and stepped away.

  “Did you hear that?” She cocked her head.

  “What?” Riley asked.

  “Shh!” Jessica put her hand up. Riley perked up then too, looking around, and moving closer to his sister.

  “I thought I heard something,” Jessica whispered. “Didn’t you hear a voice?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Riley whispered back, looking around, his eyes dancing. “What did it sound like?”

  “It was kind of a moan,” Jessica said, speaking softly. They stood still for several minutes, listening intently. Jessica became aware of all the sounds of the forest—birds, crickets, the breeze in the leaves, a quick faint rustle of ground squirrels. Her heart racing. Riley breathing. But not another human’s voice.

  “Hmm,” she said breathlessly and shrugged. “Guess it was my imagination.” She turned back to the tree to finish her task.

  She studied the tree and reached up to touch the bark with her fingers ever so gently, probing carefully the freshly cut opening, now showing lighter-colored pith underneath the dark exterior. She felt she should be gentle lest it hurt the poor tree.

  She finished the C then took a step back to admire her work. Something caught her eye and she moved closer, peering at her handiwork. Her eyes opened wide with amazement and she stepped away slowly. Without moving her gaze away, and using the sword to point, she called to Riley.

  “Riley, look! Do you see that?” A drool of sap oozed from the letters. “The sap is red. Blood red.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight.

  “That’s weird,” said Riley, though he was clearly not feeling the same level of amazement.

  Jessica backed further away, looking up at the tree. She suddenly felt ashamed. She tossed the rusted piece of metal aside as if it were hot. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  “What are you doing, Jess?” Riley’s eyebrows had drawn together and he was looking at his sister.

  “I’m apologizing.”

  “You’re talking to a tree like it can hear you,” he reminded her.

  “I know,” she said, “and I meant it.”

  Eighteen

  Saler Swamp was a sulfurous, smelly, festering stretch of land draped with thick yellowish mists. No animals lived within its boundaries, and most of the trees and other forms of vegetation existed only in skeletal form, having long before died from the unwholesome vapors.

  The temperatures in the swamp were always a few degrees warmer than the surrounding land, so most of the snow in the area had melted. Conall and his brothers followed a vague path through the heart of the swamp that kept to higher ground as it wound between the dark waters and yellow mists.

  “Conall, this seems like folly,” said Meyler, eyeing one of the strange blackened tree skeletons that stood near their path. He was visibly shaking, but Conall wasn’t clear whether it was from cold or fright.

  “I must say I, too, am having doubts,” added Laughlin.

  Conall exhaled a puff of air, expanding his cheeks. “What causes your reluctance, for we have seen nothing dangerous? Cast off your girlish hesitancy and let’s regain our family’s gold.”

  “Blast!” said Laughlin, summoning courage. “Come on, Meyler! Conall’s right. It’s just trees and miasmas.”

  “So far,” said Meyler. “But who knows what dangers lurk beyond the next bend.” He walked on steadily but stayed close to his older brothers.

  “Hark!” cried Conall, pointing ahead. Their path, which to this point was narrow with dead vegetation close to its edge, opened into a wide space enclosed with green foliage. In the center of the opening was a pond of water. Small bodies of water were common in the swamp, but the water in this particular pond, about twenty feet in width, was not bl
ack. It glittered a clean cobalt blue. As they approached it, they espied a gurgling spout of water near its bank, a few feet from the pond’s edge, sending a steady stream of clear water bubbling two feet into the air before splashing into a small plunge pool. The water overflowed the plunge pool and fed the larger one through a short stream. Conall studied it.

  “I think this must be it,” he said, leaning over the edge and peering into the water. “I can see bits of gold at the bottom.”

  “We could retrieve a coin from the water and simply toss it back in,” pondered Laughlin. “Who would be the wiser?”

  “Do we really want to risk vexing the Lady of the Mist just before we ask her for help?” asked Conall.

  “Perhaps it’s best that we not anger the supernatural being,” offered Meyler.

  “I concur,” said Conall. He looked at his brothers while digging around in his pocket. “I’ll toss in the guinea and then we beckon the Lady of the Mist together. Agreed?” The other two Kyne boys nodded.

  He threw his coin into the plunge pool, then slowly said, “I beckon thee, Lady of the Mist,” while focusing on the larger pool. He repeated it a bit louder and halfway through, Laughlin joined in. Their voices became stronger and louder, and soon, all three boys were chanting, “I beckon thee, Lady of the Mist,” over and over. Despite their cold toes and furtive glances, they continued for many minutes, occasionally glancing at one another, but mostly watching the pond.

  Eventually, their efforts were rewarded. Conall was the first to notice and grabbed Laughlin’s arm. There were vague but peculiar changes taking place above the larger pool. The light began to darken, and a narrow, vertical oval of light, about the height of a man, slowly resolved itself.

  They continued chanting until a shadow was visible inside the oval of light, and their voices trailed off mid-sentence.

  The shadow transformed into the shapely form of a woman, first as a blur, then sharply focused. Then the oval vanished while the woman remained, somehow suspended two feet above the surface of the pond. Conall gazed at her face, for she was beautiful to behold. She had long white hair and a gown that fit tightly around her feminine form yet billowed loosely around her legs. Her skin was pale, but her face seemed to radiate light as the woman smiled at them.

  Dark shadows swirled in the background behind the woman, making Conall uneasy. But whatever caused the flitting shadows remained hidden.

  “Three travelers have wandered into my swamp,” said the woman, her voice kind and clear. “Welcome, though I do not have much to offer in the way of hospitality.”

  The friendly nature of her words encouraged Conall. She did seem benevolent.

  “We are here by design,” said Conall. “We seek your help in our dealings with a magical being.”

  “An evil magical being,” added Laughlin.

  “There are those blessed with magical skills that seek to harm. I am sorry for your plight. And I know most magical beings, evil or otherwise. Can you describe it?” she asked.

  “We cannot, for we have yet to see him,” said Conall. “But I saw his footprints forming in fresh snow as they were being made. By assuming an invisible form, he has stolen gold from our home over the course of several months. Once we realized what was afoot, we followed his trail into the Donny Hills. But the trail ended at a vertical wall twenty feet in height. We are certain he used magic to evade our grasp. And now we ask you for help in countering this magic and finding this thief, who we wish to bring to justice.”

  The Lady of the Mist frowned as she contemplated the three teenagers. “An invisible being, you say? Stealing gold and taking it to the Donny Hills? And what would you do with this thief should you catch him?”

  “He would spend many years in the jails of Galway,” exclaimed Laughlin. “Worse, should he resist.”

  “I see.”

  “But we must catch him first,” added Conall.

  “Well,” said the Lady of the Mist. Her tone, somber a moment before, was again cheerful. “I know the one you seek and will help you. We can’t let criminals wander the countryside stealing from others, magical powers or no.”

  “Thank you,” said Laughlin. “We’re grateful.”

  The Lady of the Mist tapped her chin with her finger. “But first, you need to level the playing field. I need one of you to retrieve a handful of the black muck that abounds in this swamp, and a straight stick, twice the length of a finger.”

  Conall sent Meyler off to retrieve the items. He returned and dumped the vile soil on the ground before them.

  “Now,” she continued, “using the mud and the stick, each of you should mark a two-inch line on your forearm, then two parallel cross lines perpendicular to the first.”

  Conall followed her instructions and showed her his forearm. “Like this?”

  “Just so. Now, between the parallel lines, on either side of the central trunk, make a dot.”

  Conall added the dots.

  “Good,” said the Lady of the Mist. “Now, you two, do the same.”

  Laughlin and Meyler traced out the same design on their forearms with the smelly mud, and all three held out their arms as instructed. From the folds of her gown, the Lady of the Mist retrieved a glass vial containing a luminous pale blue substance. The vial itself seemed material yet immaterial, and the fluid within pulsed with a pale blue light. She used an applicator to withdraw one drop of the blue liquid.

  She looked at Conall. “Now, hold up your forearm and I will administer this elixir.”

  Conall peered at the blue vial. “What is that potion?”

  “It is a powerful elixir called luth. I need to drop a tiny amount on the rune you have drawn on your arm for it to have its effect.”

  Conall nodded. “What does it do exactly?”

  The Lady of the Mist frowned and shook her head. “Do you wish to capture this invisible thief? Then you need to be able to counter his invisibility magic. This elixir will give you the power of true seeing. Once applied, you will be able to see the thief as he stands before you.”

  Conall nodded again and held up his forearm. The Lady of the Mist held the suspended drop over the rune.

  “Wait!” said Meyler. “Are there any unpleasant consequences?”

  “There are none. And after a while, the effects wear off of their own accord.”

  The drop of glowing blue elixir released its grip on the applicator and dripped down onto Conall’s arm. He stared at it with intense scrutiny, but nothing happened. After a moment, he turned to his brothers.

  “I think it is safe,” he said.

  “What is your name, my brave lad?” asked the lady.

  “I am Conall Kyne.”

  “Conall, you now possess the power of true seeing. The one you seek goes by the name of Thallach, an evil being who dwells in the Donny Hills. His hunger for gold is insatiable. I have long wished for him to be brought to justice for his many crimes. With this potion, you will be able to see the entrance to his hideout, which his magic keeps invisible. Once inside his lair, the potion will allow you to see him, even should he use his invisibility magic. You can then capture him and bring him to justice.”

  She gestured toward Meyler and Laughlin and they both stepped forward and received a drop of blue elixir on their forearms. The Lady of the Mist then regarded all of them with a contemplative gaze. “But beware. I do not know what powers Thallach possesses beyond invisibility.”

  “Great,” said Meyler, shaking his head and frowning at Conall.

  “We will take care,” said Conall. “Is there anything you would want in return for your help?”

  “Only that you report to me when the deed is done. I would know that the evil Thallach has been brought to justice.”

  “That’s fair enough,” said Laughlin, examining his forearm.

  “Well then. We bid thee farewell,” said Conall.

  The Lady of the Mist beamed and then, in an instant, the oval of light returned and her image changed first to shadow and then van
ished. The three brothers were alone again.

  “Now what?” asked Meyler. “Perhaps we should head home for a while to warm our bones and take bread?”

  “No!” said Conall. “We know not how long the spell of true seeing will be in effect. We return to the Donny Hills immediately.”

  “Yonder is Sandy Creek,” said Laughlin, pointing to a small stream some distance away. “If we follow it instead of retracing our steps through this stinking swamp, we would shave off a goodly portion of our trek.”

  “Aye,” said Meyler. “But the waters are surely frigid.”

  “Excellent idea,” said Conall. “We can endure a little chilly water to reach our prey more quickly.”

  The three brothers slogged through several patches of black mud before reaching the bank of the creek. They stepped into the clear current and began walking upstream.

  “The creek is cold,” said Conall. “But the waters are clean and will wash away the foul smell of that swamp from our shoes.”

  The shallow water and sandy bottom made the going easy. But after sloshing half a mile, Conall felt strange. His head became light and his vision blurry.

  “Let us leave this stream,” he said. “The cold is having an unnatural effect on me.”

  “Aye,” said Meyler. “Me too.”

  “It is, indeed, strange,” said Laughlin. “My joints are becoming so stiff, I can hardly move my limbs.”

  They climbed up a mossy bank into a copse of trees and began stomping their feet to warm them up.

  “Something is wrong,” said Meyler. “I don’t feel like myself.”

  “I cannot bend my arm!” blurted Laughlin, his hand on his elbow.

  “These effects are not the result of cold,” said Conall. “There is some magic afoot. We are bewitched! I can feel myself changing!”

  “Thallach must have perceived we were coming,” wailed Laughlin. “Somehow, he knew.”

  “Oh my God!” cried Meyler. “I can no longer—”

  Meyler’s words became an indistinguishable mumble as if he lost the power of speech. Conall, too, found that he could no longer form words. He looked at his brothers in despairing horror as their bodies stretched out and their skin became dark brown and knobby. Branches grew out from their torsos. The same was happening to him. He could no longer move. His brothers, a trace of their faces still discernible in their bark-like skin, gaped at him in amazement and deep alarm. And then he saw them no more.