Luckily she didn’t stop, because that would have almost certainly led to a major chat session with someone who thought he was a girl, and that was a conversation he didn’t have time for. Albert double-timed it to the edge of the woods and stared into the maze of trees. The wind blew, making the branches of the trees shiver. It almost looked like they were waving Albert in.
Farnsworth raced onto the path, leaping over a small boulder and ducking under a fallen tree in nothing flat.
“Doggy sugar high,” Albert surmised, and though he couldn’t say exactly why, he had a feeling an adventure was about to begin. “So this is what it feels like to deliver mail. Cool.”
Albert followed, breathless, as Farnsworth leaped over tree roots and uneven patches in the ground. It was dangerous work, running through these woods, but Albert was good at this stuff. In gym class, he’d beaten all of his schoolmates in the mile run, and then, right after, he’d climbed the tall rope in the gym in just twenty-four seconds.
Albert kept up a good pace, following Farnsworth’s wagging tail through the trees. Every so often, the animal would stop, sniff the ground, and bark. They hadn’t crossed paths with the slingshot tree yet, and the dog seemed to understand where he was going, so they kept on.
Farnsworth was small and could slip beneath thorn patches without gaining so much as a scratch, while Albert had to stop and find a way around. It was exciting running through the woods, crashing through little streams that soaked Albert’s shoes. He felt like he was Indiana Jones about to stumble onto some hidden cave with gold piled high to the ceiling. It was infinitely better than sorting through dead letters.
They finally passed the first marker on the map Albert’s dad had drawn—a tree that did, in fact, look like a giant slingshot without the string, its limbs split into two branches spreading outward. Albert imagined himself shooting massive rocks into the sky, knocking down forest zombies and wildebeests.
Farnsworth barked, reminding Albert of the mission they had. The dog took off again, forking left around the slingshot tree. Albert followed, running down what looked like a worn trail in the ground, as if someone had passed through here many times before. Albert wondered how many times his dad had come down this way to deliver mail. And why, after all this time, hadn’t he told Albert there was a person living in the woods?
As he ran, Albert’s shoelace got caught on a stray root. “Wait!” He called to Farnsworth to stop, but the dog was fast, and by the time Albert had released himself, the mutt had disappeared into the trees.
“Farnsworth!” Albert yelled, but the dog didn’t return. He looked back in the direction from which he’d come, and saw that the ground was thick with leaves and roots crisscrossing one another like a maze. He shivered, but then stood up straight.
“Dad’s counting on me to deliver this letter,” he said to himself. “I can do this.” He looked down at the hand-drawn map again. “The stream is next.”
He walked on, swerving around big trees and under branches, until he reached a rise in the trail. He climbed up, grabbing exposed roots and pulling himself along, until he reached a shelf. There he found the stream, like a silver scar in the ground. And sitting patiently, wagging his tail, was Farnsworth.
“There you are,” Albert said. He stooped down and placed his hand on the dog’s head. Farnsworth licked his hand, turned around, hopped right into the stream, and then across to the other side. Albert followed after him, leaping across the stream. The opposite bank was steep, and by the time he’d scurried up it on all fours just like Farnsworth, the dog had already raced off again through the trees.
“Wait up!” Albert shouted, and this time, he followed even closer, keeping his eyes on Farnsworth instead of the map. After all, his dad had said the animal knew exactly where to go. He couldn’t lose him again, not if he wanted to make it to his destination before sunset. Speaking of destination . . . his dad hadn’t said where he would end up. Albert guessed it was a house sitting in the woods, with an old man like Pap waiting for him on the front porch. He decided that no matter what, he’d deliver the letter in time, then cut out quick and make it home before it got dark. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his dad’s face when he told him he’d done the job right, all on his own.
His dad was gone the whole day, delivering mail, and at night, they always ate the same frozen dinners in front of the TV. They talked about fishing and hiking and all the things Albert wished they’d spend their summers doing, but never really did much of. Bob Flynn wasn’t remarkable, by any stretch. But he was Albert’s dad. And that was enough for him to be Albert’s favorite person in the world. He never wanted to disappoint him.
After a while, Farnsworth barked again, drawing Albert away from his thoughts. They had almost reached the bottom of the big hill, just like his dad’s map said they would.
“You want to race the rest of the way, don’t you?” Albert said, as he bent down to scratch behind Farnsworth’s velvety ears.
The dog’s ears perked up, and he took off in a flash, faster than Albert had ever seen him run before. It was a wild chase, both of them running through the forest as fast as their legs would carry them. Just when Albert was about to pass the little dog, his foot got caught on a thick vine.
Albert’s feet went out from under him. He flipped through the air and landed in a cloud of dust on the hard ground. It was awesome. He’d felt like he was flying.
“Did you see that?” Albert shouted. He’d expected Farnsworth to be at his side, wagging his little tail.
But Farnsworth was gone, again.
It was then that Albert realized just how dark the woods were becoming. He looked up at the sky. It was barely visible through the tops of the trees, but Albert could see the deep-pink-and-orange swirls overhead. Sunset was here, and by the looks of it, it was almost over. How long had he been in the woods? Time passed quickly, Albert realized, without a clock to measure it by.
“So much for delivering this letter before dinner.”
Albert called out, hoping for the dog to come running back with a stick in his mouth. He looked down at the map again. The directions ended with the top of the hill, right where he was standing.
Albert spun around, searching for a house, or a tent, or something in the woods. But there was nothing. Just trees, trees, and more trees.
A half hour later, with darkness coming on fast, Albert felt like he was trapped inside a maze. He sat with his back up against a tree and really thought about his situation for the first time since he’d left the dead letter office.
He hadn’t found the house or the person. He hadn’t delivered the letter, and by now, his dad had probably figured out that Albert had failed. But the really troubling thing, the thing that was starting to make him afraid like he hadn’t been in a long time, was that he was lost.
The map was no help anymore, Farnsworth was gone, and no matter how hard Albert tried to make sense of the woods, it all just looked the same. Every time he got close to finding his bearings, the ground itself seemed to have changed around him, and Albert was sure he’d walked in a thousand circles.
“What now?” he said to himself. He picked up a rock and tossed it as hard as he could. It landed against a tree trunk with a loud crack that echoed through the woods. Albert wished he had a friend with him right now, someone to help figure this all out. He could feel the letter in his back pocket, just waiting for him to deliver it.
His dad had said not to read it, not under any circumstance.
But Albert had made it all this way, followed all the directions right, and now . . . nothing. These were pretty dire circumstances, as far as Albert was concerned. Surely, if his dad knew he was lost, he’d want him to read it for a clue. . . .
Albert pulled the letter out of his pocket.
The writing was barely readable in the fading light. At first, Albert thought there was nothing on the paper at all. But as he tilted it, sure enough, there at the bottom of it, scrawled in his dad’s chicken scratch
, was one simple message:
Albert’s time has come.
The letter slipped out of his fingertips. It was about him? Maybe he’d read it wrong. He picked it up again and spent the next thirty seconds reading it over and over until the message sounded like it was screaming inside of his head. Albert’s time has come.
“My time?” Albert said. “What time?”
He looked in the direction of Herman. Or at least he thought he did. How far into the woods was he?
“Farnsworth?” he called halfheartedly.
He took one more look at the letter, shook his head, and started down the hill for home.
“I give up,” he said.
His timing was perfect, for right then, a shadowy figure moved in the trees, coming his way.
CHAPTER 3
The Troll Tree
Whatever was moving in the trees nearby, it wasn’t Farnsworth. The figure was much larger than that. A girl, maybe, from the slight build of the shoulders, and the way the figure took such small, delicate steps. Could it be the person he was supposed to deliver the letter to?
“Hey!” Albert shouted. “Hey! Over here!”
Whoever—or whatever—it was, it didn’t answer. When Albert took a step forward, hoping to get a closer look, the person or the thing vanished entirely. A twig snapped to Albert’s right. He whirled around, and there, in the trees, was another figure.
This one was tall and thin, most definitely a boy.
“Hey, you!” Albert yelled. He waved his hands. He called out twice. But the person or the shadow or whatever it had been vanished again, right in front of Albert’s eyes.
There were noises, like the night woods had started to come alive. And one of the noises, way up in the distance, was familiar.
“Farnsworth!”
Albert followed the barking through the trees. He got closer and closer to the sound until he found Farnsworth standing in front of him with the soft light of evening bouncing off his little eyes. It was the most welcome sight Albert had ever seen.
“I forgive you for leaving me,” Albert said, as he reached down and placed his hand on the dog’s head, “but could you try not to do that again, please? It’s getting dark out here. And in case you didn’t notice, we’re lost.”
Albert didn’t take his eyes off Farnsworth after that. He was too afraid the little guy would bolt ahead again. So when he finally did look up, what lay before him came as a big surprise. The forest cleared away, like the ground itself was sacred, and there in the middle, an ancient tree stood alone against the night sky. It was the wildest, most peculiar thing Albert had ever seen. The trunk of the tree was as wide as three school buses were long, and so short that if he wanted, Albert could have taken a small leap and been able to skim the leaves with his fingertips. And because he was a boy with a big imagination, he couldn’t help but call the tree by a name that seemed fitting.
“A Troll Tree,” he said, because it was the most accurate description he could think of. It looked like it belonged in the dark wood of a fairy tale.
Albert stood there for a while staring at the thing he’d named a Troll Tree, with a crooked smile on his face. He’d explored these woods for five summers and counting. How had he not come across this monstrous thing before? It had to have been there all along, and just now, at the age of eleven, he had finally discovered it.
Farnsworth barked, a low, rumbling sound that made Albert jump.
“What is it, boy?”
The dog padded forward and grabbed Albert’s shoelace, pulling on it like a chew toy. Farnsworth was dragging him toward the tree, as if it were important. And something in Albert’s feet must have agreed, because they carried him along with the dog. Walking toward the tree was like walking toward some sort of bright, beautiful beacon. Albert’s chest felt lighter. His fingertips tingled, like they wanted to reach out and touch the solid bark.
They circled and circled and circled the tree, or at least that was how it felt to Albert. Finally, just when Albert’s head was starting to spin, Farnsworth raced off, out of Albert’s line of vision. Albert walked a little faster, turning the wide corner around the tree.
“Farnsworth? Hey, buddy?”
Albert looked to the woods searching for the dog, and found instead that while he’d been wandering around the tree, the forest had turned to night. Only a hint of sunset remained, far off on the horizon. The trees swayed softly, like ghosts moving noiselessly closer. Albert backed up against the great tree and began sliding along its rough surface. Somehow, having the solid weight of the endless trunk against his back made him feel less afraid. At least nothing could jump out at him from behind and carry him away.
Suddenly, the coarse feel of the bark on his right palm and fingers changed—now it felt smooth, like polished brass—which made Albert pull his hand back like he’d been shocked by an electric fence. Okay, this is getting seriously weird. He inched his fingers out once more and felt the cold, slick surface of something very untreelike. There was nothing left to do but turn around.
There, on the side of the trunk where bark should have been, was a smooth wooden door.
Albert took a step back, confused. Was this where his dad had wanted him to end up? It was the only thing that resembled a house he’d come across all day. At least it had a door—that was something. But the map hadn’t led him here. Nothing had, really, not even Farnsworth.
Albert pulled the letter out of his pocket. It was crumpled now, and whoever was behind the door would surely know Albert had read it, but he didn’t care. What he wanted, more than anything, was to get out of the woods.
He took a step forward, swallowed the knot in his throat, and knocked. The sound echoed.
No answer. Albert knocked again, a little harder this time. Maybe the person inside was like Pap, and couldn’t hear very well. Maybe they’d grown weary of waiting for their letter and gone to bed. Albert noticed a round copper handle on the door. He reached for it and turned it enough to understand that it was not locked, then pulled his hand back.
“I can’t just wander into someone’s tree house, can I? I’m not even sure that’s legal.”
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the wind made the trees groan and sway. His hand went quickly to the door, and this time he turned the knob all the way.
The door swung inward with a long, loud creak, like it hadn’t been opened for a million years. Surprised that the door had opened at all, Albert remained outside and peered in. It was darker inside than it was outside, like looking into a bottomless well.
“Hello?” Albert called into the tree house. His voice echoed back to him, a ripple of sound. He poked his head in just the slightest bit, and called again. “Is anyone there?”
Albert heard something rushing up behind him, and fearing for his life, he ducked inside and slammed the door shut. His breath came in waves as he realized just how dark it was inside the tree, and then things turned considerably worse—something was moving next to his leg.
The thing chasing me was fast enough to get in here, too, he thought, his heart skipping a beat. But then he heard the soft pant of a dog, and reaching down, felt the familiar silky fur.
“Farnsworth!” Albert knelt down in the pitch-black and gave the dog a good scratch. “You scared me half to death. If this relationship is going to work, you need to stop running away. Understand?”
Albert kept scratching under Farnsworth’s chin, which helped him feel a little less afraid and a lot less alone. He resolved to go back outside and walk home by the light of the moon. Enough was enough. He could find his way back if he set his mind to it. Albert reached up with one hand—he didn’t want to stop scratching Farnsworth—which was when he realized there was no door handle where there should have been one.
“Uh-oh,” Albert said. “This is bad. Really bad.”
He felt all around the door, but it was no use. It was a door with no handle on the inside, a door made for trapping someone. He turned back to Farnswo
rth and started scratching him behind the ears, hoping beyond all hope that the dog wouldn’t run off again, and that was when Albert screamed for the first time on his adventure. Farnsworth’s bright blue eyes had begun to glow like a Bunsen burner. It was like they were heating up, sending a soft glow of blue light into Albert’s face. Albert tried to back away, but there really wasn’t anywhere to go—the now-bright light confirmed it—there was no door handle to be found.
Albert slowly turned around to face Farnsworth, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Okay, little doggy . . . That fruitcake must have messed up your wiring, huh?” He bent down slowly, got up the courage to scratch the dog behind the ears again, and when nothing else unusual happened, ran his hand back and forth in front of Farnsworth’s eyes.
“Okay, blue light coming from dog’s eyes—no big deal, Albert, no big deal.”
If he was being honest with himself, a dog with glowing eyes was actually pretty cool. But Albert was also stringing together a series of thoughts that led to a terrible conclusion. What if his dad hadn’t really sent the letter and the map? What if the dog was sent by a witch or a warlock or a forest troll? Obviously the dog wasn’t normal. Maybe the dog was sent by a witch to find the new kid in town and lure him into the woods. Albert had made every mistake in the book. He’d followed a dog into the wild, hadn’t left any instructions about where he’d gone, entered a tree, and closed the door behind him.
Albert looked down at Farnsworth, not sure he could trust the dog as much as he once did. The lights in his eyes were still bright, but they had dimmed a little.
“Looks like your light’s going out,” Albert said. He scratched behind Farnsworth’s ear and his blue eyes brightened like a dimmer switch being turned. The dog turned around, sending beams of blue light down a corridor that ended at a wall of dirt and roots. Albert saw for the first time that he really was inside of a tree. There were twisting, turning roots shooting every which way down the middle of a tunnel that led to the wall.
Balance Keepers #1: The Fires of Calderon Page 2