I just sat there mute, trying not to crumble.
“Finn, your dad is not well. Something is wrong with him. I can tell, and I know you can, too. Denying it will not make it better.” Hereclined in the chair across from me in his neat little hospital office. “Unless you give me a better reason than you seem able to give, I have no choice but to have him committed to my care for extended observation.”
Kill him now, and then we can take your father home.
Spring, no, we can’t go around killing people!
I tried to wrench my attention back to the conversation. “Can I visit him?”
“Yes, of course—under supervision. I can’t let him be alone with anyone—not until I’m sure he’s no threat.”
I glumly lifted my leaden body from the cushioned seat and directed my weighted feet toward the door. It was hard to remember that earlier that day I’d felt so self confident after kicking Eric’s psycho butt. It seemed that whenever I started feeling even the tiniest bit good about myself, something came along and slapped me back into the ditch.
Of course, I was being a selfish ass-hat. This was about my dad, not me. But still...
The Fruit of My Loins
Home seemed empty and quiet without my dad. Of course, normally, he left the house all the time and I barely noticed, but now that he wasn’t coming back, he left a larger-than-Dad-sized hole.
From the set of her shoulders as she went through the mail, I could tell my mom felt it, too.
While struggling with loose ends and feeling disconnected, I wrestled with the sliding-glass door leading from our kitchen and stepped out into our backyard.
It looked like the aftermath of a war. Our poor oak had been removed, but the smell of blood, all copper, rot, and decay, remained. It smelled like death. Only a few of the posts we had put down for the new deck were still standing. The rest had snapped during the fight I thought of as “The Battle of the Oak.”
To my right, our oak forest continued expanding. These fast-growing trees were my love children with Spring— she’d used me as human fertilizer. To my left, in the side yard, sat a huge pile of tree bits: a mixture of logs, trunk sections, and branches—all that remained of our mighty tree. Around that sad pile, several small oak saplings were growing.
Curious, I headed past the shattered stump of our oak out to the pile of branches. It was heartbreaking to see my tree reduced to this. Spring remained quiet and somber. When I reached the pile, I noticed that instead of appearing wilted and brown, most of the leaves of the cut branches were still green.
“That’s strange,” I muttered.
Your light still provides some sustenance for them, observed Spring.
Are they still drawing power from me?
No, it is merely stored. They will fade and return to earth, in time.
I studied the leaves before me. In my new Sight, a gift from Spring, they did emit a faint yellow glow, like a small aura. Then the remaining acorns caught my attention. There were still many clinging to the ends of the branches. Each acorn gave a stronger light than the surrounding leaves.
My seeds concentrate your light. It is helpful when growing a new sapling.
I turned toward the burgeoning forest behind our house. No kidding!After turning back, I examined the massive sections of the trunk. The pieces with the largest diameter sported patchy brown stains on top of the bark. It came with a scent of putrefaction that was only partially masked by the strong scent of wood sap. I shuddered when I realized the smell came from the remains of my blood, blood the tree had somehow generated inside itself. When I had asked Spring about it earlier, she had answered with a question of her own: Who else’s blood would I use?
Sometimes thoughts such as these prompted a comment from Spring, but the sight of her once mighty oak had her preoccupied.
Her sadness blew my mind like a cold wind over a moor. Such waste. Such loss.
I reached out to the branches and started to pick acorns.
I had a tidy little pile when my mother said from behind me, “Finn? What are you doing?”
I glanced at her and then continued my work. “I’m not sure, but I think these acorns should be saved. There has been enough waste and loss here.”
“You don’t think we have enough oak trees growing in the yard already?” she asked with a smile of bitter amusement.
“No, it’s not that.” I continued to gather them. “I think there might be other uses for them.”
I plucked one mature acorn out of its little cap and popped it into my mouth. I bit down on the seed with some force. It finally cracked, and the inner meat released a bitter taste into my mouth. I spit out the shell and chewed on the meat of the nut. It started bitter, but ended with a sweet finish. As I swallowed the nut, a glow of satisfaction lit within me.
“These are delicious!” A tingling flush spread through my skin.
“Aren’t they bitter?”
“Yes, but they’re sweet, too,” I said.
I handed her one and urged her to try it.
She shuddered and refused.
“I’m sorry, Finn, but after you told me what happened with you and that… thing, and after seeing the tree bleed like that, I don’t think I could eat any of it.” Another shudder wracked her. “No, thank you!”
I chased the final bits of acorn around my mouth with my tongue thinking about that. Yick. But, they were delicious. I mean, it wasn’t any worse than plants grown on human manure… was it?
“I guess I can understand that, but I think I’m still going to save them.”
Spring agreed with me. Those that remain are not viable, but it will be good to see them used by something other than the animals, insects, and molds.
I agreed. Then I shivered in the heat of the afternoon. Spring, what will…?
She answered before I could finish. I would assume the creatures who feed on the acorns will have a higher than normal vitality.
It was disconcerting even before the answer sank in. Visions of giant flies, rabbits, and squirrels ravaging through the Ohio countryside, with a taste for human flesh, ran through my head.
Spring was doubtful. I don’t think it would happen that way…
Somehow, Spring, I’m not reassured.
The whole exchange made collecting the remaining magic acorns seem an even better idea.
Mom fetched a bushel basket for me, and then left me to my task. I spent the next several hours methodically collecting acorns. In short order, I was dripping with sweat from the humid summer heat, but I found the exercise somehow therapeutic, and I kept at it. Sometime in the middle of it all, I stopped to count the growth rings of the trunk.
I counted the rings twice. The first time I came up with three hundred and twenty-seven and the second I came up with three hundred and seventy-three. The last ring was over an inch thick. The tree had grown that much in about a month—after Spring had started using me as human fertilizer.
Wow, you must have seen a lot in three hundred and fifty years!
Perhaps, she answered tentatively. I don’t remember much from before.
Oh, right. You told me that.
I have vague memories of passing seasons, but I only clearly remember things since reawakening from my last winter’s death. One cycle of the moon has completed since This One brought me to full awareness.
I brought you to full awareness?
Yes, I have already told This One. This One is my sun. The light you shine upon me has brought me life as no other thing in my memory.
I don’t understand. If I shine so brightly, why did you only wake up this year?
My memory from before is imperfect, but I believe This One has only blazed like the sun since my recent awakening from winter’s death.
It was obvious the change coincided with my finding of the stick and maybe the bear totem before that. It also coincided with Spring’s sudden ability to take on physical form and visit me at night. And what a form it was. She was, literally, the girl of my d
reams: big breasted, green-eyed, sexy as hell, and she had been insatiable (let your imagination run wild here). She was also the reason I failed my English final.
Look at what we created! The life we made is glorious. Much more important than learning silly rules for talking. Humans spend too much time talking, not enough time being.
I’m not blaming you, Spring. I just wished you’d waited till after my finals.
This One worries too much. Take action when you can, solve problems when they arrive, and stop worrying.
Never mind.
I picked acorns in silence until my mom called me in an hour later. I plucked a couple more and then headed in with the basket at least half full of acorns.
I’ll finish later, I promised both myself and Spring.
As I approached the back of the house, I spied Gregg next to the stump of the oak, leaning forward on a pair of crutches, gazing at the blood-darkened and shattered trunk.
I paused, then hurried forward. We had last spoken in the hospital the day before, and I had told him everything that had happened. His reaction had led me to believe he might never speak to me again. He wanted me to get rid of the heart.
I dropped the basket about four feet from him. The putrid smell of the old blood around the tree filled my nose. I stood, uncertain and scared. I had no idea what he thought or how he felt about everything, but his face was drawn and grim. His arm and one leg were in casts, his bruised face and swollen eye showed the savagery of his battle with Spring, and he stood stiffly, probably from the chest wrap under his shirt.
Guilt flooded through me as I saw those wounds again. They were my fault. I couldn’t stand the idea. We had talked in the hospital just a day ago, and Gregg’s last words about my stick ran through my mind again: “If you don’t get rid of it, I will!”
I reached up and grabbed the heart through my shirt, taking some comfort in its eternal song.
He is no threat to us. We chased away the other one, the Erik boy, and he was healthy and much stronger. Just take his crutch and beat him over the head with it when he falls over.
Real nice, Spring. Please, he’s not our enemy.
I licked my lips and shifted my weight from foot-to-foot. I dreaded having to choose between Spring and Gregg. “So, your dad is moving you guys?”
“Yeah, my dad thinks you hurt Jen.”
I nodded. On impulse, I met his gaze. “Do you think so, too?”
He narrowed his eyes. “…No.”
The knot in my stomach eased the tiniest bit.
“Where did that crystal come from, Finn?”
“The dreamstone?”
He nodded.
I wrenched my eyes away from his. “Well, my dad says it was given to him by an Indian shaman who said it was actually a spirit in material form.”
“In the vision from your bear whistle, Jeff told you that the stick could free spirits, right?”
I bobbed my head.
“Do you think that might be what happened? Do you think some spirit was released from the crystal and took over Jen?”
“I don’t know, Gregg. It sounds so impossible.”
His eyes narrowed again, and he shouted, “It doesn’t matter if it sounds impossible! It happened, and we have to deal with it.” He blinked and swayed a bit.
I leapt to his side and put my hand on his good shoulder to steady him. “Gregg, you need to sit down.” I led him over to the cement slab jutting from under our sliding door and helped him sit. I sat down next to him. Even though it was an overcast day, the cement burned through my jean shorts. My body futilely pumped out another pint of sweat. A few days back, this would have been in the shade of my oak.
“Finn, we have to deal with this. Whatever’s happening to her, we have to help Jen. We have to figure it out.”
Gregg paused in thought before continuing. “What if we destroy the crystal?”
“No!” I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the amethyst that had tied me to my mother and had filled my childhood with dreams of a different world. The inspiration I drew from those dreams formed the core of my role-playing world, Illyria, and that world formed the core of my closest friendships—which included Gregg and his sister Jen.
“Why not?” Gregg’s eyebrows compressed in anger. “It drove both your mother and Jen insane. Why would you want to keep something like that?”
The crystal that I called the Dreamstone had always been a part of my life. First the stories came to me as dreams, and now with the Heart, they came to me as visions whenever I held it. I couldn’t bear to lose it. I sidestepped his question.
“Gregg, it only seems to happen when two people grab it. If I keep it locked up, nothing will happen to anyone else.”
“What if it’s cast some kind of curse or spell on my sister?”
Curses and spells? Were we seriously talking about this?
Yes you are, offered Spring from wherever it was that she lurked.
I shook my head in despair. “I don’t know Gregg, I’d destroy it in a minute if I thought it would help, but it just doesn’t feel like that. When Jen and I both grabbed the crystal, it felt like a tornado of power exploded inside of me. It started with the Heart, flowed through me, into the crystal, and then into Jen. It’s like Jen was a power sink or a short circuit, and the power flowing through the crystal took the stories of Illyria and planted them in her mind or something. Now she can’t tell what’s real and what’s Illyria.”
“You told me the same thing happened to your mother, that she started freaking out and talking about Illyria.”
I nodded glumly. In my dreams and visions, the world of Illyria was facing a scary, faceless ancient enemy who threatened to bring cataclysmic destruction to the world. It seemed like the fear of that enemy completely overwhelmed my mom and Jen.
Gregg’s mind was following a different track than mine.
“But your Dad didn’t have your stick.”
A familiar despair raised its head in my mind. “Yeah, I haven’t figured that out yet. But, from my dad’s description of what happened, it wasn’t as bad for my mom.”
“It killed her, Finn.”
“We don’t know that!” I desperately didn’t want it to be true. “She died in childbirth. That happens all the time. Besides, the crystal doesn’t show any evidence that it contains any power at all. I think it’s just a conduit or a recording or something.”
Gregg eyed me for a time, then said in a calmer voice, “If that’s true, then what are we going to do?”
“Maybe we can undo it. Maybe there’s some way to reverse it.”
“So where’s the manual?” he asked.
“Maybe the answer is in the crystal itself. If I hold it and the Heart, it pulls me into these visions. Maybe I can control what it shows me.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“I plan to, but everything is crazy right now. I’ll start as soon as I can.”
“If you can’t find the time, maybe you should give it to me.”
I really hated that idea. I searched for a better reason.
“What happens if it does the same thing to you as it does to Jen? Then what?”
“Then Jen is no worse off.”
“Look, Gregg, if we’ve stepped into some fantasy world, we can’t be stupid, we have to be smart and game this.” I was referring to an approach to war and role-playing games where the people played against the letter of the rules, not the intention, and searched for weak links that could be exploited to give a player an unfair advantage. Of course, you had to know the rules first.
“You’re right, but shit, this sucks,” he said.
I was nodding my agreement when the sliding door behind us opened up and my mom said, “Gregg, your father just called. He’s looking for you.”
“Oh shi—sorry, Mrs. M. Did you tell him I was here?”
“No, I didn’t get the call. He left a message.”
Greggrelaxed. “That’s good. He’d toss a rod if he knew I was here
.”
“Well, he sounded worried. You should get home.”
“Yes, Mrs. M.”
My mom paused as I helped Gregg to his feet and handed him his crutch. “It was good seeing you, Greggory. Our prayers are with you and your sister. You take care of yourself.”
“I will, thanks.”
My mom shut the door, and I faced Gregg from a foot away. He seemed so fragile and worn.
“I got to be going.” He looked down at his feet. “But, I wanted you to know I didn’t just come here to bust your balls… I… I came by to apologize.”
That caught me by surprise. I had spent so much time hoping for his forgiveness that it never occurred to me that he might apologize to me.
“What? Why?”
“You were going through some intense and weird shit, and I never even noticed. You fell into a coma, for crying out loud! Then, I came over here, with my sister, and cut down your tree. That’s not something you do to your friend. I never meant to hurt you. I was just trying to protect Jen. When I saw that tree pick her up and start swallowing her, I just freaked.”
I ignored the part of me that agreed about his guilt. I was reasonably certain Spring was the source of that. “It’s not your fault!” I insisted. “How could you possibly know what was happening? I never told you! I can’t blame you for what you did.”
Yes, you can!
I ignored Spring. I was on a roll now. “What happened to Jen was some seriously bad stuff, and it happened when she was with me. I should have been able to stop it, somehow. I should have kept her away from that crystal. I should have—”
He raised his hands to cut me off, holding the crutch in place with his elbow. “Okay, white boy. I give! It’s all your fault, yo evil honky mofo bamma. You planned all this from the start.”
“I know… hey!”
He grinned, and the knot in my stomach almost vanished. It was good to see him smiling again.
“There’s no use arguing with you when you’ve got your heart set on feeling guilty. Remember how broken up you were about what you had done to the Indians?”
“Hey, we stole their land…”
“Sure. The only reason you became my friend is that you felt guilty the other kids had never seen a black guy and treated me like some weird species of bug. Just the fact that you never apologized to me for keeping my great-greats enslaved is a source of major wonder.”
The Shadow's Touch Page 2