by C. R. Grey
Besides, the Loon was dead, along with his stories.
Tremelo shut the trunk quickly, and shoved it back under the chair. Fennel woke with a start.
“No more riddles,” he said, answering the question in Fennel’s eyes. “No more codes.”
Best to pretend that the past had never existed at all.
Ten
TREMELO’S RIDDLE PLAYED IN Bailey’s head for the rest of the week like a malfunctioning music box. It snuck its way into his recitations of Latin verbs, his memorizations of different shaped leaves for Flora and Fauna, and the names of famous members of Parliament for History. It danced through his mind just as he was about to fall asleep. Trees may bear seeds, but no fruit … the Sun calls to the Loon …
On Friday night, as he and Hal sat studying in the Towers common room, Hal led him to his first clue about what the riddle might mean.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Hal asked him.
“Why would I be?” Bailey asked.
“It’s Saturday. The Scavage results are supposed to be posted. You’ll get to see if you made the team!”
Bailey hadn’t even been thinking about the possibility of making the team. But he hadn’t done that badly, all things considered. In fact, before he’d taken that tumble down the hill, he’d been doing pretty well.
That’s when he remembered the tree he’d nearly collided with on the Scavage field—the leafless one, covered in seeds. Trees may bear seeds, but no fruit. Was it possible that the tree was a clue?
He told Hal about the riddle, and about the strange tree. Hal listened skeptically, with one dark eyebrow raised behind his thick glasses.
“I’m not sure what the riddle is supposed to mean,” Bailey said, “but if it can help me find … you know … then I have to try.”
“If you think you can believe a word ‘Mr. Myrgwood’ has to say, then all right,” Hal said skeptically. “If you want company, I’m always up for a stroll.”
Bailey and Hal woke before sunrise the next morning. Bailey pulled his blue Fairmount blazer closely around him as they walked past the dorms and herb gardens and out to the Scavage field. The air was crisp with an early autumn chill, and a hazy fog covered the grounds.
Hal was wearing a pressed pair of trousers and a vest over his white shirt, and his customary cravat had been replaced by a bow tie. Bailey wondered if formal clothing was all Hal had brought to Fairmount.
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too much about Tremelo,” Hal said. “Remember, this is the same guy who spent the entire class time yesterday telling us that the best way to avoid getting eaten by a bear was to put syrup on its nose. I’m pretty sure that nonsense is his first language.”
The entrance to the main gates of the Scavage field was locked, so together they headed toward the far end of the field, where it backed up to the forest. As the stands gave way to fences, and the fences gave way to dense patches of trees, Bailey felt his heart beginning to pound. He hadn’t realized how close the Scavage field was to the Dark Woods, which beckoned just beyond the first half mile of harmless forest. Bailey knew that beyond those trees were the Velyn mountains, winding their way south to the Golden Lowlands. He shivered. The morning was chilly and the boys darted quickly into the trees, following the line where the Scavage fences ended, to the back of the field.
Finally, they located the steep hill where Bailey had fallen down a few days ago all the way at the end of the Scavage terrain that marked the edge of the playing grounds. The strange tree looked so much smaller in this gray light. The seedpods hung down like heavy weights, and the tree’s branches bowed in sweeping curves.
Hal circled the tree, adjusting his glasses to look more closely.
Reaching up to touch the hanging seeds, Bailey found that the pods were dry and fragile as tissue. When he tried to press one between his fingers, the pod’s skin flaked away, and the seeds contained in it fell to the ground and scattered around Bailey’s feet. The riddle played over and over again in his mind. Kin rise from ashes, hand over paw … What did it mean?
“So what now?” Hal said.
Bailey shrugged. “I don’t know.” The thin morning light had been chased away, and bright shafts of sunlight shot through the branches around him.
Trees may bear seeds, but no fruit … Bailey sighed, picking up one of the seeds that had dropped on the ground. It was soft and round. He squished it and saw that the insides were the somber purple color of cooked blueberries. Tossing the seed away, he straightened up. Something told him he wouldn’t find any clues about his Animas here, unless his Animas was a jar of blueberry jam.
“I’m stumped,” said Hal.
“It was a dumb idea.” Bailey shoved his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go.”
As the two of them made their way back onto the main grounds, they saw that the herb gardens they’d passed earlier were not empty. A squat woman in rolled-up pants and a heavy, dirt-stained apron bent over the rows of pepper plants. Bailey remembered her from the first day, outside the rigimotive station: Mrs. Copse, the groundskeeper. Two roly-poly groundhogs chased each other down the row of tomato plants behind her back. Bailey felt a spark of hope again. Maybe Mrs. Copse could tell him more about the strange tree.
To his surprise, Mrs. Copse outright laughed at his description of the tree.
“Strange?” she repeated after him. “Those things grow like pests around here!”
Confused, Bailey felt his heart sink.
“It’s just that I—we’ve never seen one before,” Bailey said.
“You’re from the Lowlands, is it?” Mrs. Copse asked.
“Yeah,” Bailey admitted.
“No wonder. King’s Finger Oaks grow thick as thistles on the backside of a badger up here.”
King’s Finger Oaks. The name sent a small shiver of recognition through Bailey, though he was sure he’d never heard the name before.
“What about the seeds?” Hal asked. “Is there, I don’t know, a certain kind of animal that eats them?” Copse’s two groundhogs were busy rolling around together in the dusty garden, playing.
“Ha! We do!” Mrs. Copse said, tossing a withered vine into a compost basket and slapping the dirt from her hands against her apron. “Not the most delicious thing, a little tart, but mix them with something sweet, and they’re fine. I remember when my own kids were young—those were the start of some dark days, you know, under the Jackal’s rule, less to go around—we’d toast those seeds and eat ’em on our oatmeal. King’s Children, they’re called.” Mrs. Copse grinned and gazed off into the distance.
Bailey and Hal said a quick thanks, and they walked swiftly back to the Circle, toward the dining hall.
The quiet Saturday morning that Bailey and Hal had encountered upon leaving their room was gone. It had been replaced with a bright, sunny madhouse of students crammed in front of one of the dining hall’s windows. Some in blazers, some still in their pajamas; everyone craned their necks and shouted to one another. A playful pack of dogs ran circles around the crowd, and several birds perched on the trim above the windows, squawking. The whole campus seemed to be buzzing over a piece of paper on the outside wall.
“It’s been posted!” Hal said.
“Hey, over here!” shouted a familiar voice. He saw Tori waving at them from the group, along with Phi. Phi’s amber eyes sparkled as she waved too. Her falcon sat on her shoulder, and even she looked pleased. Hal and Bailey rushed to them, and together they pushed their way through the excited students to see the list of new Scavage players.
Bailey scanned the list of positions and names, written in blue and gold letters on the long sheet of paper. The first name he saw that he recognized was Sophia Castling, listed as Sneak.
“Congrats!” he said to Phi. She smiled, and pointed at the paper again.
“Keep looking,” said Tori.
And then he saw it. Slammer: Bailey Walker.
Hal clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, Bailey!”
Bailey reeled forward a bit from the force—he seemed to have lost the feeling in his legs. Was this real? He’d made the team, without the aid of an Animas. He looked dizzily around him. Several students were waving and congratulating their friends, and though Bailey knew that was what he should have been doing too, he felt as shocked as he was excited. He looked at Hal in disbelief. For the first time it occurred to him that Hal’s name was missing from the list.
“Hal … ” His tongue felt swollen. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be!” Hal looked genuinely happy. He leaned in and whispered, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”
“Welcome to the team.” Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed Bailey’s shoulder and turned him around. It was Arabella, the co-captain from the day before. She shook his hand vigorously, and then did the same to Phi. “You’re both going to be great!”
Finally, Bailey cracked a smile. “Thanks!” he said. The shock began to wear off, leaving room for nothing but gladness in its place. Across the group of students, though, he could see one person who did not seem to be pleased at all: Hal’s brother, Taylor. His arms were crossed and his glare menacing. As Arabella rushed off to congratulate the other new members of the team, Taylor sauntered over to Bailey, Hal, Tori, and Phi.
“Congratulations, Walker,” he said, though it sounded less like a compliment than it did a threat. “I hope your little performance on the field wasn’t just beginner’s luck.”
“Buzz off, Taylor,” said Phi, which surprised both Bailey and Taylor.
“It wasn’t luck,” Hal piped up. “Bailey’s really good.”
Bailey’s heart was beating fast in his chest. He hoped Hal was right. What if it was beginner’s luck? Bailey noticed Taylor’s cat on the ground next to them, licking its lips.
“We’ll see,” said Taylor, with a narrow smile.
“Oh, Nature! My lands!” someone shouted outside. The hubbub around the Scavage results died down quickly as the students strained to see the commotion, gathering in the commons outside the dining hall.
It was Mrs. Copse, the groundskeeper with whom Bailey and Hal had only just been talking. She hurried toward the group with a look of despair on her face, pointing to the line of trees at the edge of the common lawn.
“Where’s Finch? Where’s Shonfield? Out of the way, students—out of the way!”
She stumbled past the onlooking students toward the administration building. Headmaster Finch and Tremelo, who were walking from that direction, met her.
“Oh, Nature, Mr. Finch! It’s terrible—I’ve never seen such a kill! And so close to the buildings!”
The students began to whisper among themselves, craning their necks in the direction Mrs. Copse had just come from. Bailey felt a tingle on the back of his neck. A kill meant one animal hunting and killing another. It happened all the time, but to see Mrs. Copse so upset … This must have been something out of the ordinary.
Finch tried to quiet Mrs. Copse, and shot the students a warning look.
“I’m sure there’s no cause for a commotion,” he said, gesturing with his thin hands for everyone to disperse. “Now, students, if you wouldn’t mind—I hear the dining hall is serving leek-and-onion tarts for breakfast, so hustle along. I mean it,” announced Finch after no one moved. “All students are ordered to go into the dining hall this minute!”
With groans and whispers, the students filed into the dining hall. Bailey and his friends were about to do the same, when Bailey heard Finch call his name.
“Mr. Walker and Mr. Quindley, if you’ll please accompany us,” said Finch.
Hal’s eyes went buggy behind his glasses.
“Us?” asked Bailey. “Why us?”
“Come along,” said Finch as he adjusted the collar of his plaid tweed jacket. He turned abruptly on his heel and began to walk toward the forest.
“I’m not missing this,” said Tori quietly. She pulled Phi along and followed the adults alongside Bailey and Hal. When Finch turned and gave the girls a questioning look, Tori’s eyes grew wide in a look of concern.
“Quindley gets light-headed at the sight of blood, sir,” she said, elbowing Hal in the ribs.
“They’re here for moral support,” Hal added.
Finch shook his head and continued walking. It seemed he would allow them to come along for now.
When they stopped at the edge of the lawn, Mrs. Copse put her hands to her mouth. Tremelo placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Finch plucked a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and held it to his nose. As the students huddled in closer, Bailey could see what had caused Mrs. Copse so much distress.
A massive black bear lay dead in the grass between the trees. Its neck and side had been deeply wounded by enormous claw marks across its hide.
“Ants,” said Tori. She gripped Phi’s arm, and two girls watched solemnly as Tremelo circled the dead bear, observing what he could. Hal squinted at it through his glasses and made small humming noises, as if he was thinking very hard about something.
“Very interesting,” Hal murmured.
“What could do something like that?” Phi asked. “The animal that did that must have been huge.”
“Quindley, Walker,” Finch addressed them, “Mrs. Copse said she saw you two near this spot earlier this morning. Did you happen to see anything?”
Bailey and Hal exchanged a worried glance.
“No,” said Bailey. “We were just walking around.”
“You’re not in trouble,” said Tremelo. “We’re just trying to figure out what might have done this. It’s odd to see a kill so close to campus, or so brutal.”
Hal stepped forward. “It is odd, isn’t it? Don’t most large forest animals have the good sense to stay away from campus, even if their human kin are present? And look here,” he said pointing to the claw marks. “Whatever made the kill didn’t stay to enjoy it. It slashed and ran. Either it was scared off, or this was defensive.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment, Mr. Quindley,” Tremelo said.
Finch looked Hal up and down, seeming to take in the lanky boy’s formal clothing and professorly tone with no amount of amusement. “Answer the question, please,” he said.
“Bailey and I were taking a walk around the edge of the Scavage pitch,” Hal said. “We didn’t see anything strange.”
Finch nodded.
“Mr. Loren, can I prevail upon you to help Mrs. Copse arrange a funeral?” he asked Tremelo. “Best to handle this sensitively. We have at least two Animae Bear enrolled, I believe … ” Finch kept his handkerchief firmly in place. “And you four—I’ll thank you to join your cohorts in the dining hall now.”
Tori and Phi turned to the two boys.
“Want to come back to the dining hall with us?” Tori asked. She and Phi linked arms, and Phi leaned a little on Tori, as though she needed comfort.
“Sure,” said Hal. “Bailey?”
Bailey felt shaken. Everyone wondered what animal could have done this, and Bailey’s mind returned to that ghostly, glowing white beast he had seen from the rigimotive. It was the only thing he’d ever seen that could be large enough to make this kind of kill, but he didn’t dare say it out loud. It was too strange.
“I’ll meet you there,” he said.
Hal nodded, then he and the two girls walked back across the commons. Bailey caught Tremelo’s eye.
“Don’t encounter kills like this in the Lowlands, I imagine,” Tremelo said.
Bailey studied the body of the bear. Its face was calm, as though it hadn’t had time to be afraid when it was hunted down.
“I’ve seen a kill before,” he said quietly. “My mom is Animas Horse, and we had a mare, Maple, that was attacked by coyotes one night. My mom felt terrible for weeks. She could barely get out of bed. But my dad said that it’s just part of life … ” He kicked nervously at the grassy dirt with his toe. “When another animal kills one of your kin, you can’t blame Nature—not the way
you can blame people for doing bad things. It’s just part of life.”
“Your father is very wise,” said Tremelo. “We’ll be sending the bear back to Nature in about an hour, if you’d like to watch,” he added. “Normally teachers handle animal deaths without much of a fuss, but students are welcome to attend rites if they choose.”
A few hours later, Bailey stood with Tremelo, Phi, Hal, and Tori around the bear’s body, which had been moved to a small patch of grass in the shadows of the woods. Mrs. Copse and Ms. Sucrette, along with two older students, a boy and girl, also attended. Mrs. Copse had changed out of her gardening apron into a smart floral dress and cardigan, which she wore above rubber gardening boots. The two tearful students who clung to each other must have been Animae Bear, and Bailey wondered if they had felt the pain of its death as sharply as the bear had itself.
The two Animae Bear had gathered long sticks from the surrounding undergrowth, and together they worked silently, weaving the sticks into a low rectangular fence around the bear’s body. Bailey remembered his mother performing the same rite for the horse when it had been found dead at the far border of their wheat field. Like she had then, the two bereaved students scattered flowers and leaves inside the outline formed by the sticks until the bear’s body was nearly covered. Tremelo stood by silently, waiting to light the makeshift pyre.
When they were finished, the girl wiped her nose with the end of her blue blazer sleeve and silently looked at the ground. For a few seconds, the clearing was completely silent. Finally, the girl looked up and glanced at the boy, who seemed too unnerved to move.
Mrs. Copse stood at the bear’s head, and addressed the small gathering. “This animal was known—she had animal brothers and human sisters who felt her joys and sorrows. She lived, and we gathered here are connected to that life, and changed forevermore by it.”
The words were similar to what his mother had said over the fallen horse—and just as he had then, Bailey felt a mixture of solemnity and a strange jealousy that made him feel guilty. This creature was “known” by more than just his friends or family, but by the entire kingdom of Nature. There was a sad, lonesome part of himself that desperately wanted to Awaken. He wondered if that loneliness would always be a part of him.