by Shane Lee
“Good morning. Yes, I should be in bed. But you have to go to town, and Terra can’t fetch water without spilling half of it.”
“I could have gotten it,” he said, the sincerity in his words dampened by a stifled yawn.
“And now you don’t have to.” She set the half-full bucket on the table with a thud.
Usually she was much quieter in the morning. Monty suspected she’d be able to cook a full meal in this kitchen with a blindfold on, but today she was leaning against the counter and table more than usual. He held back a comment about it, instead opting to drink a scoop of water from the bucket himself and clear his throat.
“Well...I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, and the sincerity there wasn’t muted; he felt it burn his cheeks.
Delila smiled. “Thanks for picking up my slack, Monty. You won’t have to do it much longer.”
She crossed over the kitchen and plucked at the front of his shirt. “Is that what you’re wearing? It hasn’t been washed.”
“It’s fine,” Monty said. “I rinsed it.”
“Let me—”
“No, no—” He slid around her arms, rounding the table towards the front door. “I have to go.”
“Mm.” His mother didn’t give chase. She rested her palms flat on the table. “All right. But I’ll wash that shirt next time I see you.”
“If you must,” Monty said, and he left wearing an abashed grin that he carried almost all the way to Irisa.
Judge Mullen was a little more present that day, if not exactly cheery. Monty was bestowed with a “Good morning,” from the Judge, and was further surprised when Mullen asked him how things were going.
“Fine,” Monty hastened to answer. “Mother’s a little sick—winter illness, it looks like.”
“Delila? That is a shame,” Mullen replied. “Are you under the weather, yourself? Your sister?”
Monty shook his head. “No.”
Mullen was silent for a moment, his eyes tipping away from Monty’s own. The pause stretched long enough for Monty to want to say something, but finally Mullen spoke again.
“Well, let me know if she takes a turn,” Judge Mullen said. He placed his hand on the edge of the door, signaling the end of the conversation. “I will have Dr. Tobias over there to give her something to nip at the sickness.”
“Thank you, Judge,” Monty said. The tension he’d lately felt when talking to Mullen eased a little bit. “But she’s on the upswing of it. She’ll be all right.”
The door closed, and the rest of the day was lost in work and footprints in the packed dirt.
24
Monty returned home from courier work the next day a little earlier than normal. Things had slowed down in town, and Judge Mullen had dismissed him while the sun was still fat in the evening sky.
Approaching the farm, Monty was surprised to see the shapes of two people standing outside. Adults. Not friends that Terra had brought over.
Once he was close enough, he recognized their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Garten. Their own children were nowhere to be seen, but Terra was sitting on the front step, mostly hidden by the Gartens, who were facing toward her and away from Monty.
His footsteps alerted them before he could say anything, and when the Gartens turned to look, Terra burst through the gap between them and ran to him. She grabbed him around the waist and pressed her face into his stomach.
“Terra—” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Whatever she said, it was lost in the combination of gasping tears and muffling of Monty’s midriff.
The Gartens came over. Mrs. Garten’s face was colored in sympathy, and Mr. Garten’s wore the same drifting gaze he always did.
“Monty, I’m sorry. It’s Delila...” Mrs. Garten trailed off, wrapping her thin fingers around her wrist. “She’s...”
Monty picked up Terra, holding her against his side with one arm. His vision blurred. He moved past Mrs. Garten, her words fading into nothing. His heartbeat filled his ears.
She was okay. She was okay.
The words thumped steadily in his head as he climbed the front steps and opened the door. As soon as he did, the smell hit him. It pulled tears from his eyes, making the kitchen wobble, and he leaned against the door frame with Terra in his arms.
She was okay. She was okay, Terra can’t be in here, she can’t—
Monty set her down. She was still crying. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he couldn’t bring her in there. The smell, that godawful smell, that horrid stench that he knew—
“Go back outside,” he choked. “I’ll be—I’ll...”
He didn’t know what he was going to say, but Terra either understood or just didn’t want to be in there anymore. She pushed out the door, one hand on her face.
Monty was alone here now.
Wiping his eyes, he pressed forward. He bumped the kitchen table, the sharp pain in his hip focusing his vision. He tried not to breathe, but of course he had to. Had to inhale that stench. Had to feel it burn his insides like hot smoke.
Mother’s room. Dark; the curtain drawn. Had she drawn it herself? Had she asked Terra to?
Her bed, covers high. Concealing her. What about that—had she pulled up her blankets? Or had it been the Gartens?
“Mom...” Monty’s call was weak; almost silent. He crept forward, the floor creaking underneath him like it always did. “Mom...”
No answer. Standing at her bed now, he grabbed a fistful of blankets. The smell was so strong, but he wouldn’t retch, not here in the house.
He pulled the blankets back. Slowly. They weighed hundreds of pounds. Yet still, fine wisps of black hair went flying as they were freed.
Audrey—
Not Audrey. Delila. His mother. Terra’s mother.
Dead.
The smell disappeared; his vision cleared. He gripped the blanket hard enough to bend his nails back. The wasted, blackened corpse of his mother laid below him, unmoving and empty. There was no semblance of clinging life, like Audrey at the end. Delila’s body looked like it would crumble into black, ashy flakes at the slightest touch.
Monty felt a scream bubbling up in his throat. He jerked involuntarily, pulling the blankets off further, revealing bedclothes smeared with black, ashy remnants of her skin. Her inhuman remains stained the bed.
“I’ll wash that shirt next time I see you.”
He knew he should look away. And he knew it didn’t matter, that one bare second of this image was enough to burn it into him for the rest of his life. That it would follow him into the beyond itself.
“Mix the spices in.”
The only thing that helped him bury his scream was Terra, knowing his little sister was outside, that she would hear it. That it would haunt her nightmares, bringing them more crystal-clear detail to reflect on in the dead of nights to come.
Monty didn’t scream. He let go of the blankets and he closed his eyes, falling to the doorframe, tripping backward and landing hard. The dark room was sprouting eerie gray. His mother’s body, eye level now, was a black line in his vision.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass “out, don’t pass out...”
The words slid through Monty’s lips like sludge as he crawled backwards, eyes closed, hands scraping against the wooden floor. Inch by inch, through the hall, to the kitchen. The smell was back, assailing him in the wake of his shock. He held his breath and found he had none to hold.
Gasping in burning air, Monty made it to the front door. He pushed it open and tried to crawl out, putting his hands down on the steps, but he slipped. A thick splinter dug into his palm, the pain sudden and sharp. He felt blood dribble down his hand as he fell and turned, landing on his shoulder.
Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him up, pulling him to his feet without hesitation or strain. It was Mr. Garten. He didn’t speak; instead, he grabbed the long splinter of wood by its end and yanked it out of Monty’s palm. More pain; spots of red in his vision. More blood, covering h
is palm. He winced.
“You’re okay.”
Monty looked up to Mr. Garten. The tall man was eyeing the bloody splinter. He flicked it away and looked over to his wife, who was holding Terra against her. Monty couldn’t see Terra’s face.
“Wrap that,” Mr. Garten said, nodding towards his hand.
Monty said, “I need to take Terra...she needs to...”
His blood dripped onto the grass, bright red against dull green. Take her where? Back in the house?
“Wrap that,” the man repeated, and he motioned for his wife to come over. “We’ll take Terra. And you. Until this is...” He made a motion in the air, waving his hand to the horizon.
He’s talking about my mother. Her soul going to the beyond. Monty was numb, watching things unfold. Watching Mrs. Garten pet Terra’s head and make sympathetic noises, words he didn’t understand.
She’d been fixing their dinner two days ago. Just two days ago.
“Come on, Monty. You don’t...we shouldn’t be here.” It was Mrs. Garten, approaching him, holding Terra’s hand. He could see his sister now, strands of hair caught in her tears. She looked up to Monty, meeting his eyes. She needed him.
Mrs. Garten was right. They couldn’t be here. But...
“I can’t...I don’t...” Monty swallowed. “Mom. She...I can’t just leave her here. She has to...I have to tell the, the priest. The doctor. So they can...”
Mrs. Garten’s hand was on his shoulder. “We will take care of that. Right now, come home with us.”
Home? This was home. Were they going to abandon it? They’d leave their mother all alone in that house, roasting in the smell...
“Monty.”
He was staring at the ground, not realizing it. Mrs. Garten was in front of him. He tilted his head up just a bit to look at the shorter woman.
“Nathan will go to town and make sure your mother is taken care of,” she told him.
“Nathan...” The name meant nothing to Monty.
“Mr. Garten,” she said, softly, the way she said everything. “Mr. Garten will go to town right now, and someone will be back with him very fast. Nathan?”
Mrs. Garten looked to her husband, and the man nodded.
“Aye. I’ll go.” And without hesitation, he did, heading towards Irisa without so much as a nod in their direction.
Monty watched him walk away, Mr. Garten’s long strides carrying him quickly towards the town.
He’ll get there faster than I would, he thought, and then, No, I would run, I’d be to town in minutes, I—
A hand tugged on his. Terra. She wasn’t talking; just pulling. Urging him along.
He went with her, and the three of them walked back to the Garten’s home. Mrs. Garten held Terra’s hand, and Terra held her brother’s.
No sense in rushing to town, Monty thought, his head turned toward town. It’s too late to save her. It’s too late.
The thought didn’t sting like he expected. Everything was numb. All he felt was the weight of his feet as they pressed into the ground with each step.
At the Garten farm, it was quiet, almost as quiet as his own house. The young Garten boys must have been inside; Monty managed to string together the realization that Terra must have run to the Garten’s house for their help, that the neighbors didn’t just come over with no provocation. So the boys probably knew something was wrong, too.
The numbness swept over him again, burying the image of Terra running across the field; panicking; crying.
When they went inside, Mrs. Garten said something. Monty thought she might have asked if they wanted something to eat.
He saw Terra shake her head, and he did the same. She looked exhausted.
“Lay down,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “I think Terra is—somewhere we can lay down?”
Mrs. Garten showed them to one of the rooms, but whether it was hers and Nathan’s or one of the children’s, Monty didn’t know. The memories of being in this house were fuzzy, just close enough to make it passingly familiar. He let Terra climb into the bed first, but once he got in, she laid across his chest, her slight weight warm and trembling.
He stared at an unfamiliar ceiling and put his arm around his sister, holding her close to him.
I never should have gone back, he thought. Never should have left her when she was sick. It’s my fault.
“Not your fault.”
Terra. He must have said his thoughts aloud, or part of them. She spoke, but she didn’t move or try to look at him. Her head was on his chest, facing toward his toes.
“I should have been home,” Monty said, whisper-quiet. “I should have been there.”
“Not your fault,” Terra said again, and her words were sleepy and drifting. “It’s the forest. The forest took her.”
Monty shifted, looking down at the back of her head. “What do you mean?”
“I tried to get Daddy back,” Terra murmured, fading away into sleep. “But...I couldn’t. Now it’s...got them both...”
“Terra?” Monty whispered, but she was gone, her trembles disappearing into her doze, her breath evening out. He let out his own long breath, slowly, so as not to disturb her. He heard Mrs. Garten say something unintelligible, presumably to her boys. He wanted to lie awake until Mr. Garten got back, but he was burdened with sudden, immense tiredness.
He regretted going to town and trusting his mother’s health. Some part of him knew there was nothing he would have been able to do, but it wasn’t the part that was lying in an unfamiliar bed and holding his sister close to him.
Monty closed his eyes. His mother’s corpse didn’t float there, as he feared it would; he instead found blessed blackness. Terra, hopefully, wouldn’t give herself nightmares about the forest taking their parents, whatever that meant.
Maybe he’d show her the leaves that were growing there.
See, Terra—it’s just a regular forest.
The room was warm, and he was cold. He wished the forest really had taken their mother. Then they might be able to get her back.
25
Monty opened his eyes to see weak morning light. Terra hadn’t moved and was still sleeping like a stone. There was an instant where, upon waking, his mind was empty, before the weight of the world came back on him with crushing force.
He closed his eyes, chewing the insides of his lips. If nothing else, he had to stay strong for Terra.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her. “Wake up, Terra.”
She did, slowly, raising her head and blinking. She looked around. “Where...”
“The Gartens.”
It was all Monty had to say. He could practically see reality returning to her, and it tugged at his heart. He put a hand on her head, losing the tips of his fingers in her hair.
“We’re gonna go home,” he told her. “We’re gonna...get through this.”
He hoped she believed him. He didn’t know if he believed himself.
The smell of cooking was in the air, scents he knew but couldn’t place. They were just different enough, and they didn’t stir his appetite. His stomach didn’t feel full; it felt like it wasn’t there at all.
“Stay here for a minute,” he told Terra, getting up. But she clutched at him, grabbing two tiny fistfuls of his shirt.
“Where are you going?”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t push her away, just waited for her to relax enough to let him go. “I’m just going to talk to Mrs. Garten. I’ll be right back. You can come if you want.”
She considered it, then shook her head.
Monty left the room, taking a moment to remember which way to turn, trying to follow the sounds of cooking. When he came into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Garten there, working on breakfast, pain swept over him so suddenly and with such power that he couldn’t speak.
“I’m cooking,” Mrs. Garten said with some uncertainty when she saw him. “Usually Nathan does, he’s better...”
“Um,” Monty said, trying to find himself. “Did he...did Mr. Ga
rten get to town?”
“Oh.” Mrs. Garten nodded. “Yes. And back. He’s fixing the shed now, with the boys. They should be doing most of the work.”
“And...” Monty hesitated, but Mrs. Garten didn’t seem to have any inclination to finish his thought. “Did he, you know...bring someone? For—for my mother?”
“He did, yes. They took her to town. To prepare for, ah—” Now Mrs. Garten hesitated, perhaps realizing the pain Monty was in. “Her sending. Tomorrow. The Judge said...well, to Nathan, he said that you don’t have to work, until after the sending. You’re welcome to stay here until then.”
“I...” Monty thought, I need to go home and open the windows. “That’s very kind. I’d like to take Terra home, though.”
“I understand.” Mrs. Garten shook the pan over the stove, a burning smell emerging in the kitchen. “Will you eat? It’s just a little burnt. Nathan usually does the cooking. He’s better.”
After letting her know that neither he nor Terra were hungry, Monty got his sister from the bedroom and the pair of them left the house. Talking with Mrs. Garten always made him feel odd.
The walk back home was long and quiet. They stopped outside the house, standing some yards back and staring. Monty wanted to think it looked different; eerie or foreboding—but the truth was, it looked the same. Short but well-built; small but welcoming. Strong wood stained dark and pretty. Everything inside would be the same, except for the most important thing.
“Mom’s not in there anymore, is she?” Terra was holding him now, her hand on his wrist.
“No,” he said. “It’s okay to go inside.”
He noticed that the windows were open; whoever had come to retrieve his mother’s body must have done that. Would the smell be all gone?
Terra let go of him and approached the house, but she didn’t go inside. Instead, she turned and sat down on the steps, looking towards Monty and the Dromm behind him. He sat next to her, looking at those dark trees.