The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  As I walked past the waiting room, where Anderson had interrogated me in a previous life, I glanced in and recognized Gregg sitting in a wheelchair, staring out the window at the gray Ohio sky.

  “Gregg?”

  He jumped in his chair and tried to turn around. An exclamation of pain escaped his lips before he reached down with his one good hand and spun the chair to face me. Like Rocky after a big fight, black and blue bruises colored his brown face. One arm hung in a sling, and his leg was in a cast.

  Guilt flooded through me as I saw those wounds. They were my fault, and I couldn’t stand the idea. Uncertain and scared, I had no clue what he was thinking, but his face was drawn and grim. His bruised cheeks showed the savagery of his battle with Spring, and the bulk under his gown reflected the chest wrap keeping his ribs in place.

  He deserves them! This One should kill him, thought Spring with venom on every word.

  Can it, Spring! He was scared and protecting his sister. You have to get over the idea that killing people is all right.

  Ignoring what could only be described as a pout in my brain, I said, “I’m so sorry, Gregg!”

  One beat passed between us, then two… five… finally he said, “You know, I blamed you for what happened to my sister.”

  I still did. I nodded, ashamed.

  “Then, when I woke up after what happened with that tree, I was ready to kill you with my bare hands.”

  Even though he said it without heat, I swallowed hard, but found my throat dry. I didn’t blame him for feeling that way, so I waited for the ax to fall.

  “Then I had some time to think about it some more.”

  “Oh?” I battled my guilt and fear, and walked into the waiting room and sat beside Gregg. Another beat. His dark eyes were hard and cold, bitter, and angry.

  “I was inside at home, trying not to think, when I saw someone in my back yard. When I went to look, there wasn’t anyone there till I saw Jen coming out of our back shed with a chainsaw. I ran downstairs, but when I got to the back yard, she was gone. I had almost convinced myself I was just seeing things when I heard the saw starting up. It was coming from your yard.

  “That was when I knew I hadn’t been seeing things, and I knew what Jen was going to do. She had been going on about that tree for days. She kept telling me how it was evil and how you were in danger and all this shit about the end of the world. So, I ran over to your house to stop her. I knew she was crazy enough to try and cut it down.

  “Before I could see her, I could see the top of that oak. The branches were waving and thrashing around like they were in a hurricane.”

  He paused; his eyes darted to the ceiling as he recalled the scene. “There wasn’t any wind, Finn! Everything else was still. When I first saw Jen, she was standing under that tree, ducking branches while she cut into its trunk. She was already bleeding, but she kept going.”

  Spring sensed the horror the image brought back to me.

  This One, she attacked me! I had to stop her!

  “I didn’t know what to do, but I had to do something, so I ran to her. A branch caught her and swept her into the trunk, and she… she stuck! She started sinking into the tree like it was quicksand!”

  Gregg’s brown face went ashen, and his arms jerked in his lap. “I tried to help her, Finn! I tried to pull her out, but I couldn’t…so I grabbed the chainsaw, went to the other side of the tree and started cutting.”

  He is a killer! He attacked me. I had to stop him!

  Thankfully, he paused for a moment and I could take some time to soothe Spring.

  I know, Spring. I know…

  That’s all I could say to calm her down. I wrapped my sorrow and love around her, an invisible blanket to keep her safe and remind her what her loss meant to me.

  Gregg brought his focus back to the room. “I guess you know the rest.”

  I nodded mutely from my seat beside him, my hands clasped, elbows on my knees. I didn’t know what to say, but he wasn’t done. “So, she was the one who was visiting you in your dreams?”

  “For a while. After I brought the heart back home, she started visiting me in my room.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  “I did! I told you all about my dreams.”

  “You didn’t tell me she stopped being a dream.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Gregg, I had no clue. I still thought it was a dream.”

  “That is really lame, Finn, even for you. How could you not know?”

  “What would ever make me think that having a beautiful, naked, green-haired woman pop out of a tree and come to my room every night for sex could be real? It had to be a dream!”

  Gregg was silent for a moment while he picked at the edge of the cast on his leg. “So, that was her? She was the one who came out and beat the snot out of us?”

  All life must defend itself from death.

  I nodded. “But she was just defending herself.”

  He gave an exasperated groan and settled stiffly back into his chair. “Jesus, Finn. What did she do to Jen?”

  “She didn’t do anything, Gregg. It has something to do with the dreamstone.”

  “The dreamstone.”

  “Yes. Somehow, all the stories of Illyria are in that crystal…”

  “Your game world is in your amethyst.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe Gregg, but I think it is true, when I hold the heart…” I stopped. I hadn’t told Gregg anything about the heart. I took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes with my fingertips. “I’ll have to start from the beginning.”

  I spent the next half hour telling Gregg about the dreamstone and the Heart of Wendigota, my new senses—everything I could remember.

  When I was done, he shook his head and said, “So you think all this happened because of a magic stick you dug up out of that burial mound and an amethyst crystal your dad gave you. This is same stick you've been wearing on a string around your neck.”

  “Pretty much. Except for the healing after Erik beat me. I think Spring and the bear did that.”

  “So, you want me to believe that a fricking magic stick was the heart of a monster, and a magic crystal drove my sister insane? That whole story is insane!”

  My voice hitched. “And it drove my mother insane, too, though my dad didn’t have the stick at the time.” I paused to wonder what could have triggered the event with my parents. Maybe I was wrong about the heart’s role in that disaster. That would make me feel a little better. Well, not better, but less guilty, at least.

  “Can I see the heart of this monster?”

  My own heart started pounding. I didn’t want to part with the stick, but after what I had done, I couldn’t deny him.

  This one, do not give it to him. He will keep it!

  No he won’t Spring. I have to do this. He deserves at least this much after what he's been through.

  I pulled it off my neck and handed it over to Gregg. The moment it left me, the constant song stopped. The absence of the heartbeat of Wendigota left me in cold silence.

  Gregg grabbed the heart in his good hand, and his eyes widened in surprise. “It’s warm… It’s singing!”

  My head shot up with the shock. “You can hear that? Everyone else just thinks its nifty.”

  “Yeah, it’s amazing.”

  I smiled at the small O he formed with his mouth. Then, I noticed that the silence in my mind was deeper than just the absence of the heart’s beat. I called into that silence, Spring?

  There was no answer.

  I panicked, jumped up, and snatched the heart back from Gregg. I was too busy calling into my mind for Spring to notice his reaction. A moment after I felt the beat of the heart return, I heard her sigh.

  Relief flooded through me. Spring! Are you alright?

  Yes, This One, your sun set and I felt the approach of winter’s death.

  That sounded bad. Winter’s death? You mean I could have lost you again?

  Warmth spread from her reply. No, Thi
s One, but without the heart, I don’t think you shine brightly enough to keep us both awake.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, which must have sounded weird to Gregg. Thank God. I couldn’t lose you again!

  You cannot lose me. You are my Root!

  Gregg repeated what I hadn't been listening to earlier. “Finn! What the hell was that?”

  “When you took the heart, Spring… went away. She needs it to stay alive inside me.”

  Gregg's eyes sought out mine. “I’m sorry Finn, but you have to get rid of that stick.”

  “I’ve thought about it, Gregg, but I can’t. Even if it wasn’t keeping Spring alive, I can’t let some random person get hold of it! What if it really could free Wendigota’s spirit?”

  “Well, then, burn it or bury it in concrete and toss it into the ocean or something. Put it where it’s not going to hurt anyone else. Besides, if dryads and monsters are real, what else might come after you to take it away? Didn’t Jeff say in your dream that there were worse things than that Wendigota we unearthed?”

  “I can’t get rid of it. I can’t lose Spring! Besides, I think I can use it to help Jen.”

  “You can’t just go around sharing your brain! Especially with some tree spirit who was ready to fuck you to death so her tree could grow.”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that, Gregg! She didn’t know!”

  Did you Spring? Did you know what you were doing to me? Were you trying to kill me?

  I could feel thoughts moving underneath Spring’s presence. This One, I was not trying to kill you, but I might have. You offered what I needed.

  That was something you never wanted to hear from your girlfriend. My shock hit her, and hard images of intense heat, dry summers, and parched earth flowed back to me around her voice. This One, my need was my need. In my world, I did not worry about right and wrong so much as you do. I had a need and you fulfilled it.

  So you didn’t love me?

  This One, I do not understand the difference you make between love and need.

  I shoved that whole topic aside and met Gregg’s eyes. “I’m not going to get rid of the heart. I’m going to use it to help Jen and my dad. I owe them that much. Please understand—without it, Jen could be like this forever…”

  “Neither of them would be here if not for that thing.”

  He was right, but I couldn’t change things, and I couldn’t throw away the one hope that I might be able to help Dad and Jen. While I didn’t understand how, I was determined to believe the heart could help her. I would have believed anything that let me keep the artifact.

  I said, “Gregg, I’ve got to go see my dad,” and I fled the room.

  Gregg's shout followed me. “If you don't get rid of it, I will!”

  ***

  Gregg's last words burrowed into my brain, rooting out and releasing a burgeoning panic. I tried to lock it down, to think of nothing as I went down to the information desk, got my dad’s room number, and then headed out to find it.

  When I arrived, I hesitated and prepped myself for whatever I might find. I took a deep breath and went into the room. I didn’t go far. My dad lay still, asleep in bed, and didn’t have any mechanical breathing equipment or anything like that hooked up to him—just an IV pole with a couple of drip bags. A urine bag hung from the side of the bed (I winced with sympathy), and the same machines I had in my room were busy muttering to themselves. His heartbeat monitor showed a regular, slow beat. The other machines all had little green lights, which I took to be a good thing. The rest of the room was similar to mine—gray and white with some tan thrown in.

  My mother stood at his side, holding his hand, her back to me, but by the shivering slump of her shoulders, I saw she was crying.

  I reluctantly turned my attention from my mom and forced myself to look at my dad. The situation wasn’t as bad as I feared or as good as I could hope. Soft snores came from his open mouth. The raggedy beard growth on his face accentuated his pale color and his illness. It made him appear unkempt and disreputable, two things my dad seldom allowed himself to be. He could have been asleep except that his breathing came too slow and shallow.

  I uttered, “Mom?”

  She turned to me with wide eyes. “Finn! What are you doing here out of bed? You shouldn’t be up and running about!”

  I walked up to her and said, “It’s okay Mom. I’m feeling fine now. Really, I feel completely okay. I just had to see Dad.”

  She relaxed a little when she saw her own pain reflected on my face. Without releasing my dad’s hand, she moved aside so I could have some room beside him as well. I’d heard that people in a coma could still hear, so I said, “Hi, Dad,” and then ran out of words. I watched him, and held his hand for a few moments. “Mom and I are okay. So are Jen and Gregg, and Spring, thanks to you. I think Spring would have killed them if I hadn’t been there, and I wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t saved me.”

  As I talked and thought about what I needed to say next, my eyes teared up. “I…I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t understand it, but I think I stole something from you. Something… something you need to live.”

  Silence.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated while the tears rolled down my face.

  My dad didn’t react, not even a little. His chest just kept going up and down in a slight movement, and his heartbeat peaked and dropped in even, slow beeps on the monitor. Where my father was unmoved, my mother was not. She wrapped me in a warm hug.

  “Oh, Finn, dear, it’s not your fault! You understand me? There’s no way you could’ve done anything differently.”

  I wanted to stay safe and forgiven in that hug forever, but I pulled back. “No, Mom. I think I did something to him. I think I’m the reason he’s like this.”

  “Don’t think like that. It’s just the grief talking. We all want to think that everything that happens to us is our responsibility, but that just isn’t true. Sometimes, things just happen.”

  I knew differently, but I couldn’t find the words to explain my thoughts, so I let her sweep me into another warm hug.

  When she released me, I turned to my dad and grabbed his lax hand. The heat of his small flame still burned. The pulse in his hand beat against my fingers, and I imagined it running through all the veins and capillaries in his body.

  My focus narrowed in on my dad’s hand. Gradually, the thump… thump… thump… filled my world. Somehow, I traveled down and down through his hand into his body. Once again, I felt the fires burning in his cells, the life that burned there. With surprise, I recognized that most of the life was not my dad’s—it was mine. There was a connection between him and me, but I couldn’t follow it; the connection went through somewhere I didn’t understand, but I could feel it. The smell of flowers and loam surrounded me as Spring rose up within me. The wonder in her thoughts mirrored mine. You are now also his Root.

  Hope hit me like a cold stream on a hot day, shocking, but invigorating. If I could give him more of whatever it was, maybe he would wake up and be okay. I concentrated, trying to find the connection between the fire sustaining him and myself. I tried to remember how I had accomplished it before, but like a word I couldn’t quite remember, it escaped me. I thrashed around mentally trying to come up with it. As I tried different approaches, nothing seemed to work. Desperation was feeding my frustration, but I wouldn’t give up.

  Finally, something responded. Excited, I poked it again, and found I could sort of blow on the flames. It didn’t involve breath, but words fail me here (explaining color to a blind man and all that). Anyway, I moved my focus sort of higher and “blew” on the fire across his body. Spring somehow helped me, gave me more breath.

  The life in him responded and started to burn brighter. Encouraged, I put everything I had into it. I “blew” harder and the flames grew brighter and stronger. I did this for some time, giving it everything I had. After a time, I slowed, feeling lightheaded and vague, just as if I had blown into a real fire too much.<
br />
  This One, you must stop now.

  Spurred on by my success, I ignored my own feeling as well as Spring’s warning and pushed through the fatigue. The fires were now much brighter, but they were not as bright as they had to be. As I prepared to give him even more, Mom shook me out of my trance.

  “Finn! Look at me! Finn, what's happening?”

  The room around me crashed back into my senses. Which senses seemed small and confining, and I struggled to fit myself back into them. I had to squeeze to do it.

  When I could pull together a coherent thought, I shook my mother’s hand off my arms and said, “Mom! Why did you stop me? I was helping him! I know I was!”

  “Finn, you were standing there just swaying and sweating and shaking like you were having a seizure! You scared me. What were you doing?”

  At that moment, we were interrupted by a rough voice. “Helen? Finn?”

  We turned to see my dad looking up from his bed to us.

  “Jack! Oh thank God, you’re back!” My mother clasped him in her embrace.

  As I watched, part of the ice that had gripped my heart melted. I had done it. Warm hope flowed through me. Maybe things would be all right after all.

  “Helen? What happened? The last I remember…,”

  She shushed him. “Don’t worry about it right now dear. You’ve just woken up from a coma, and I don’t want you to spend too much energy worrying about what happened.”

  “But I feel fine Helen.” He tried to sit up which can be hard to do in a hospital bed even when you are feeling fine. “Where are the controls for this thing?”

  “Jack, I don’t think…,”

  “No, I need to talk about this.”

  Being all too familiar with the bed controls, I helped him push the bed up. He had just gotten where he wanted to be when a nurse came hurrying in to the room.

  Her eyes grew round when she saw my dad. “Goodness, Mr. Morgenstern!”

  She bustled over to him, pushed by my mom and me, and checked my dad out. She grabbed the remote and said, “Here, you shouldn’t be sitting up right now. You need to be horizontal.”