by Martha Carr
He set foot deep into the forest only long enough to open another portal and step back onto Earth onto the sanctuary and in search of his father. It was time for a meeting, whether the Gardener was ready or not.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Blake Johnson ran out of Cheer Up Charlie’s with a long feather boa dragging off his shoulder leaving small purple feathers in his salt and pepper hair. One of the dancers noticed him showing the photo of the troll and dragged him into the spotlight, singing a deep, throaty version of Desposito with their arm around his neck, hugging Blake against their ample padded bosom. The singer didn’t let him loose until the last chorus and Blake tripped coming off the stage, spilling someone’s beer into their lap as he tried to find his way quickly to the exit.
He stood out on 9th Street leaning against the wall. “Come on Blake, good stories don’t come easy. You can’t give up now. The damn creature is playing with you. Gotta dig deeper.” He stood up and put his hands on his hips, leaning back and looking up into the sky. The Superman pose always gave him a little more confidence. He took a deep breath and let it out, checking his watch and calculating when he absolutely had to head to the Garden Show or risk his editor’s wrath.
Just as he was considering giving up for the day his phone pinged and two new pictures appeared on his phone. Yumfuck was upping his game. The troll stood, perched on an old sign that read, Midnight Cowboy Modeling in black and red lettering in the first picture. It was a fairly new upscale bar that could only hold a limited number of people in what used to be a long-standing brothel. Reservations were generally required but on the off chance there was an inch of free real estate to squeeze in another body the light would flash outside and those in the know, knew to run right over.
Its old reputation still somehow managed to follow it and there was a long list of what wouldn’t be allowed in the joint along with a reassurance that the wait staff would do their best to make their patrons happy, within legal limits. Blake was well aware of the bar but was never able to get a reservation.
“How did the damn furry monster get inside?”
He pulled up the other picture and saw the troll was standing, hidden in the middle of a propped-up drink menu in a dark leather booth, smiling broadly with all of his tiny, pointed teeth next to a tall cocktail. It was a Lawn Tennis Cooler, made with cognac, lemon, ginger beer, whole egg and cinnamon. The troll’s favorite.
“Goddammit, he doubled back to 6th Street. How does something so small get there so fast without growing so big someone would notice?” Blake ran back to his car and started it back up, squealing tires, already knowing he was on the losing side of things but still hoping for a lucky break. “Isn’t that what every great story has? Some kind of lucky break that some lucky bastard got because he didn’t give up.” He gritted his teeth and left his car on 7th Street when he saw a spot, running the last block to the bar.
He got to the front door and tried pulling the handle, but the door appeared locked as he shook it hard before pounding a few times on the frame.
“Try the buzzer.” A man with mutton chop sideburns sat on a small lawn chair outside smoking a cigarette. “Gotta push the buzzer or they won’t pay attention to you. Kind of a bougie speakeasy.” The new owner had even kept the buzzer from the old days. It was marked Harry Craddock and in the old days was used to alert the women in the back to a customer or a raid. Patrons wanting to get in still had to use it.
Blake leaned on the buzzer, jamming his finger against it. A waiter heatedly swung open the door to see who was insisting on getting in and looked down into Blake’s sweaty face, holding up his phone with a close up of the troll. “Is he in there?”
“This ain’t no damn Sesame Street… Fuck off and go drink your cheap beer down the street.”
“I’m a reporter! I’m not…” But that was all he could get out before the waiter slammed the door shut again.
Blake stepped back, blinking, his mouth hanging open.
“They don’t take kindly to a lot of ruckus. It rattles the aged scotch and makes the good gin go sour.” The man took a long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke out his nose.
“You seen him?” Blake desperately held up the screen, hoping for a miracle.
“He’s a regular. Sly one and real patient like. Gets in when no one else is looking. Love his laugh.” The man nodded, smiling. “But he bounced a little while back, headed down Trinity toward 5th Street. Good luck…” The man gave a small wave as Blake took off running, not even looking back as the man took another long drag and blew out perfect O’s into the air, his eyes glowing for just a moment. “Love that fucking troll.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The general sat up front in the pickup truck bouncing over the rough and uneven back roads into the sanctuary just outside of Austin, Texas. He wanted to take extra precautions to ensure he wasn’t seen by anyone on his way to meet with the mythical Gardener of the Dark Forest. They parked on the far side of the forest the Gardener had constructed on the vast ranch and hiked their way through the woods, following the instructions of the messenger bugs that had appeared on his table at an outdoor cafe in Pflugerville, just outside of Austin.
The waiter had moved to swat the bugs with a menu as the general grabbed him firmly by the wrist and gave him a strained smile telling him, “We’ll call you when we need you.” The general had already noticed something strange about their movements.
Alan Cohen waited until the waiter had walked far enough away. “What is it? Not a line of ants, I take it.”
“Not unless ants have learned Morse Code, can give out longitudes and latitudes and have met Leira.” The general kept his eyes on the bugs that were crawling all over his hat, quickly deciphering the message as he moved his lips. “We need to go. We can grab something on the way if you’re that hungry.” The general had gotten up, gently shaking his hat as the bugs took to the air again.
Alan shook his head. “No, do we need the team?” He got up, pulling out his wallet, and left a five-dollar bill on the table tucked under his water glass as a tip for the waiter.
“Good man,” said the general. “I always believe in leaving a little something even if I never get to order. In the PDF that happens way too often. Magical creatures don’t schedule very well.”
At the edge of the forest Alan had taken a look around as the general checked the coordinates again. “Where the hell are we? I’ve driven down the highway on the other side of this ranch a thousand times and never noticed these trees,” he said, looking up. “They have to be well over a hundred years old… You’d be able to see these for miles.”
A swarm of blue bees settled across his shoulders sending a feeling of bliss through Alan that only unnerved him more. He ducked his head and shook them off as they regrouped and flew on in a pattern, zigging right and then left.
“We’re still on Earth, right? I didn’t miss something back there and we drove into Oriceran?”
The general didn’t answer, still pondering the best way to go, confidently setting out, stepping over tall roots of a growth of live oak trees and pushing his way into the forest.
The forest was dense and the general quickly pulled out a small flashlight to help cast a light over the uneven ground. Even though he was short in stature he was able to make good time through the forest, occasionally checking the compass on his phone. Alan stayed just behind him, adding the light from his phone to the trek as he kept a sharp eye out for anything that moved.
A family of hedgehogs crossed his path between himself and the general and quickly disappeared down a mossy hole making Alan smile in the semi-darkness. I’m afraid of woodland creatures.
He looked to the side and saw three pairs of glowing red eyes staring back at him from the deeper, darker parts of the forest, hovering near the ground. Shit… His expression froze as he kept moving, his hand grazing across his gun, glancing back to see if the eyes were getting any closer. Where the fuck am I? I’ve fallen into Wonderland…
/> The general came to a stop at a divide in the canopy where the light streamed in, lighting up a center stone. Alan looked up, his eyes adjusting to the light again. They were under a large bush of trumpet flowers that towered over their heads, some of the yellow blossoms hanging just out of reach. A red and blue parrot vigorously flapped its wings just outside the circle of light and let out a loud caw, making Alan take in a sharp breath and hold it for a moment. I will never get used to this.
The general was unfazed and even took off his hat, patiently waiting for someone to arrive. The undergrowth stirred and he felt the ground shake as a lion quickly emerged, antlers protruding from his head. On his back was the Dark Gardener, scowling, the vines and colorful beetles in his long hair, twisting in and out and flitting around his head. The Gardener slid off the lion’s back, holding on to a tall staff of wood. Just behind him Perrom appeared, and came and stood next to the lion. He stroked the lion’s neck as he shook his mane of hair and shut his eyes, leaning his large head against Perrom.
Alan’s eyes widened as he watched the lion settle, lying down with a thud, the large antlers rustling the bottom branches of trees. He took in the two Wood Elves, watching the irises of their eyes move around, taking in every detail as their skin adapted to the background, changing texture and color to hide them. Finally, Perrom let his skin take on the smooth deep, honey brown tones of a Wood Elf as he leaned against the lion, one hand on the rack. “We’re waiting for two more to join us,” he said, his eyes still scanning the woods as he listened for their approach.
The general gave a nod and seemed content to wait even though he was tapping his fingers against his leg, tightly holding his hat at his side. Leira and Correk popped out of the thick growth on the far side of the clearing. Leira’s face was flush from running through the woods, letting the magic within her help her place her foot or leap over a large bullfrog. Correk did his best to keep up, his tunic snagging on a bush filled with thorns that gave off a sharp smelling gas when disturbed. He shook off the fine dust that had settled on him, releasing the strong odor again as Leira turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “You think it’s passed just as it knocks your head back again. I think it singed the hairs in my nose.”
“Next time, don’t run through an old growth forest with me in tow.”
“Everyone is here now, we can begin.” Perrom stood up straight, still stroking the lion’s fur.
“You sent the message?” The general looked at Perrom. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Part of the messenger bugs abilities. We speak our intention into them along with the message. Magic does the rest.”
“That is some pretty big magic,” said Alan. “They found their way across an entire nation.”
“Not exactly. Not the same messengers anyway. They live in large swarms that can darken the sky in Oriceran but given a task…” Perrom opened his hand as gold dust rose into the air and flew gently in different directions. “They split into smaller and smaller groups to deliver the message to as many as required and will even connect to other swarms to cross thousands of miles. That message came all the way from Iowa.”
“Why not call?” Alan held up his cell phone as the general hid a smile, shaking his head at him.
Perrom hesitated, pressing his lips together in irritation.
Leira leaned closer to Correk. “You can almost hear him thinking puny human. Take me to your leader.”
Correk nudged her, without changing expression.
“No one can listen in to a swarm of messenger bugs and they are remarkably efficient at getting someone’s attention. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not from these parts and we don’t carry phones.” Perrom eyed Alan suspiciously, his irises focusing on him for a moment, making Alan shift his weight.
“Enough of this!” The Gardener’s voice came out as a roar, echoing through the forest. The lion lifted his head and let out a low growl, shaking his mane. Alan instinctively took a step closer to the general, putting his hand back on his gun.
“No need for that,” yelled the Gardener, his palm outstretched.
“Seems we’re not getting off to a good start, here.” The general crossed his hands in front of himself, lightly holding on to his hat as he gave a relaxed smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “In cases like this I find it helpful to begin again. I was told you need my help. Some kind of protection to our interests. That some are even plotting in case of some kind of war. That got my attention. I’m here. Tell me what’s happening.”
“There are groups on both Oriceran and Earth that are aligning themselves to incorporate magic and technology to create something…”
The Gardener cut Perrom off. “Something grotesque. They’re threatening what I’ve spent my entire and very long life protecting. I will not allow this!” His eyes burned brightly, energy flowing through him as the symbols spelled out his anger along his chest and neck.
He held the staff into the air, sending out a shower of sparks as the trees fluttered and rustled. Living creatures of every kind were scurrying and flying for other parts of the woods. Small orange and black butterflies emerged from his hair, seeking shelter elsewhere.
The Gardener gave a low whistle and waved his staff again as another bison came into view, its mid-section a display of moving mechanical parts.
For once, the General was at a loss for words and his eyes uncharacteristically widened. “What in the name of Sam Hill…” He stepped around to get a better look, careful to give the Gardener a wide berth as Alan leaned to the side to see the machinery better as well.
“Is the animal in pain?”
“This one is not because I’ve been able to give it something to relieve it, but I can’t say the same for the rest.”
“The rest? What in hell has been going on?” The general stood up straight, putting his hat back on, his hands on his hips. “Can someone tell me when we all took a left turn toward Albuquerque into a new kind of hell?”
“It’s part of the artifacts race, sir.” Leira let the magic light up the symbols on her arms and she sent out energy to comfort the animal. The magic curled around the mid-section of the bison, curious, feeling the suffering. This is new. Leira felt the magic circle back around her, checking in, before it went back out again, seeking out others just like the bison.
Leira looked up in time to see a look of concern cross Correk’s face before he looked away. Her skin was glowing in the deep shade of the woods. She reached out and put a hand on Correk’s arm, sending the magic through him and tamping it down. The energy pulled back, splitting into different spirals to find all the bionic animals, but only going as far as the edge of the woods.
Correk kept his face turned away as he grimaced from the powerful surge, gritting his teeth as the muscles in his neck strained. He held on, funneling the energy as it lowered down to a more manageable level. He turned and smiled at Leira.
“This is part of what the corporations wanted the artifacts for…. These experiments.” She could hear her voice ringing in her ears, bouncing through the energy field and back out again.
“Experiments.” The general spit out the word. “Reminds me of another dark chapter in our history. Are these to be used in some eventual war?”
Perrom watched the bison breathe easier as Leira’s magic reached him. He looked up at Correk at the same time, raising his eyebrows.
Correk rested his hand on Leira’s arm, regulating the magic. “The experiments have more than one purpose. To create beasts of war that can fight longer or cross greater terrain or gain information but also to find a way to create a kind of fountain of youth.”
The general took a step closer to the large animal, slowly raising his hand despite the protests from Alan or the looks from Perrom or the Gardener. He steadied his hand, reaching out to stroke the wiry gray fur. The buffalo snorted, a fine spray dotting the front of the general’s uniform. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked just over the top of
the beast’s eyes, gently bringing his hand down to stroke behind one ear as it twitched slightly.
Leira suddenly gave an involuntary twitch, surprising herself as she felt a rush of emptiness fill her gut. Her eyes widened as she looked at the bison. He raised his head, his large dark brown eyes looking at her. I am connecting with the bionic animals. The artifacts are doing it. She shook her head slowly, confused. You can feel me too. Not in Kansas anymore. I may have to go Vegan. They’ll take away my Texas passport.
“Are you okay?” Correk was standing close enough to Leira that she could feel his muscled arm pressing against hers.
“Just another day in magic land. Need to get to Turner Underwood.”
“About that… We should talk.”
The general kept his breathing even, continuing to rub the animal’s neck. “My people can sometimes be a real sons of a bitches,” he said, softly, his voice catching slightly. “That’s when the rest of us have to step up and kick some ass.” He slowly lifted his hand, backing up a step at a time till he was a few feet away. “This really chaps me,” said the general in disgust. He took his hat off again and slapped it against his leg in anger. “Well, how do we make this right? How do we stop these cowards?”
“A complicated question,” said Leira. “The answer will take some time to even figure out. The best thing we can do is keep getting to the artifacts ahead of them.”
“Then why are we all standing around in the woods together?” The general’s anger and frustration were growing even as he kept his voice low.
“To do some good, despite this kind of evil,” said Correk.
“Lazy evil is what this is. No worse than any other but there’s something particularly cowardly about looking for ways to get some poor dumb beast to do your dirty work.”