Woodlock

by Steve Shilstone

  “Ye know, Teller, as waters tumble, I had planned to claim for myself a beckoning pool near the Falls of Horn. I have altered my current. I find that these Woods be saucy. I will make my likely home somewhere here. Good-bye, Teller.”

  He reached into his pouchbag. His lips moved. He disappeared.

  Chapter Eleven

  Winter White To Summer Green

  “Wait! I want…!” I screamed at the patch of trampled white reeds where Riffle Sike was no more to be seen. I splashed angry circles in the tricklestream. I stomped as hard as I could with my highboots. Then I threw myself down among the reeds and flailed my arms and legs. Kar would have laughed. Her laughter would have made me smile. Thinking so such caused me to see how silly I looked. I might have blushed green splotches. Truth, I felt ‘em, the splotches burning my cheeks. There I was alone again. I sat up to settle myself into some sort of dignity.

  “I have seen the brothers, both of ‘em. That must mean something. And here I go talking to myself again. I’ll pretend I’m talking to you, Kar, and it won’t seem so such…odd,” I reasoned. “They told me same, but different, stories about that pool with the tall tree and the woodlock, probably Delia Branch, I bet. My idea to find that pool was a good one, wasn’t it, Kar? Riffle Sike, so it seems to me, isn’t the lackwit that Runner Rill believes him to be. Such. So. That silver waterwizard in his dream vision was of course Shendra Nenas, don’t you think? I believe that. It helps to make some sort of sense out of all this…everything. I saw the tall tree from back up on the top of that ridge. This tricklestream, true as true so to seem, flows just such in its direction. You could fly me there if you were here, Kar. As Dragon, not jrabe. No more bony arms. Ah, well, no thorns in that cup, are there? You aren’t here. I’m alone, which means I’ll have to—Ohhh!”

  Why did I gasp so such just then there? Something enchanted happened. It is a truth that for half the year the Woods Beyond the Wood are warm winter white, every leaf, petal, root and stem. It is a truth that for the other half year the Woods Beyond the Wood boast the richest varieties of green groves and all the glorious rainbow colors in various bush blossoms and hedge blooms. And more to say, the change from summer green to winter white or from winter white to summer green takes place in a fair short enchanting span of minutes. Such is so! Such I knew from Gwer drollek stories! Such I was seeing before my very eyes! Green fingers of color climbed the white reeds Green seeped up from the base of each feather fern. All the trees around me, twist oak, shragnut, and others unknown, blushed in shiver white to green. Blooms unnoticed by me before, white lost among white, spattered the banks of the tricklestream, yellow specks nodding in a magic breath of breeze. An orange blossom vine popped into view wreathed around the suddenly ruddy rust trunk of a shragnut tree.

  “Winter to summer,” I murmured in awe, eyes wide, and a surge of happiness shot up my spine.

  Yes, maybe I had been placed in a when without proper guidance. Yes, of the important task I was to perform maybe I had only the vaguest of notions. Such was so. And yet, and yet, as the racketous garl says so often in many a Gwer drollek story, I witnessed a famed marvel of wonder! Winter to summer! Kar would be jealous. Oh, I would have such a tale to tell her! Such a tale…if…if…if I could perform an unknown task which would hold the future together as I knew it.

  “I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it!” I said, boosted with a confidence unearned, but nevertheless gained, brought to me by the magical change of winter to summer in the Woods Beyond the Wood.

  I strode briskly beside the tricklestream, certain I would find myself sooner than later standing by a pool and staring up at a tall, tall tree. What would be next? Next would take care of itself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Orb

  My mood swerved close to happy. While humming likely tunes, I sometimes skipped, other times hopped along the tricklestream surrounded by the lush green forest. I stilled myself to listen from time to time. For what? I didn’t know. Anything, I suppose. Such was so.

  “Hello! Riffle Sike! Runner Rill! Shendra Nenas!” I called out routinely after counting off silently every hundred paces or skips or hops I traveled.

  Never expecting and never receiving any answer dimmed my brightness of mood not a nince. The Woods were green and lush, spattered with blooms. Beautiful. I had seen ‘em transform. A pity, I thought, the Woods will dry to dusty and brittle in a future deep in my past. A pity, yes, but the Woods will be saved, replenished by the watery woodlock, Rindle Mer. Such I knew from a wonderful Gwer drollek story heard countless times in the hedge. Rindle Mer, yes, daughter of…Runner Rill and Delia Branch! What if? What if… Runner Rill and Delia Branch… What if I fail in my task of bringing ‘em together? That is my task, isn’t it? Such thoughts boiled in the soup of my bendo dreen brain. I raced forward, no more hopping or skipping, so such idling. I leaped the stream and spun under low hanging branches until I fairly skidded into a clearing.

  I’d arrived at my destination. Tall tree. Round pool. I carefully paced a path around the pool, peering into its depths. I stood beneath the tree, searching its leafy greenness. All wrapped in silence, I studied the oddly brownish blue creamy limbs of the tree. So such an unusual tree. It was a one of one. Its trunk felt cool and smooth, almost slick. Its lowest limb jutted out high above my head. Truth, there existed not the least slice of a chance I could climb up into its green leafy heights. Instead, I sat myself down next to the pool on a thick carpet of green grass

  sprinkled with tiny lavender flowers.

  “Here are the pool and the tree,” I said aloud.

  The day sank orange with the sun. I felt peaceful. The pool was a mirror. I gazed at myself. Seeing my chonka attached to my belt made me shrug and raise my eyebrows. Why? To bring my chonka remained truly the one solid instruction I’d received from Shendra Nenas. I decided to sing the softest Lullaby I knew to match the peace of the orange sunsink by the pool in the Woods Beyond the Wood. Lightly I brushed my fingers across the chonka’s membrane as I sang. I rose and slowly circled the pool, pace, pace, pace. I moved in so such a sort of rhythmic trance. The Woods darkened around me. The moons floated up full, and I saw ‘em first reflected in the pool. On I paced, my eyes now captured by the moons on the surface of the water. Moons. Moons. Glimmer. Shimmer. Pace. Fingers caress the chonka’s membrane. Sing. Slower and slower I moved until I no longer moved. Motionless I stood, chonka held out in front of me. No longer did I sing. The moons in the pool approached its edge. The moons. A glimmer. A shimmer. I knelt. What lurked there below the feather ferns between the moons? A glimmer. I hooked my chonka to my belt, and reached a hand into the water. Refreshing chill. A touch of smooth and solid. Round. In the palm of my hand I held it. I drew it up, shattering moons. A gleaming orb it was. Such an orb! So such! The instant I raised it close to my face, shafts of yellow light shot from it. Eight of ‘em! Yellow shafts shooting from eight elongated oval openings evenly spaced around the orb! Metallic orb! Coppery! I knew what it was! I knew! It’s Rindle Mer’s orb! Rindle Mer’s! She doesn’t exist yet! It’s hers to be! My path is true! I’m stumbling in the right direction! I held the orb high over my head.

  “Look here! The orb! Runner Rill! Shendra Nenas! Riffle Sike! Delia Branch?” I shouted.

  Silence. The moons in the pool quivered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thinking

  Nobody nowhere. Me shouting is all, I thought. I’m holding in my hand Rindle Mer’s orb. Such. I can’t remember if it did anything in the story. I don’t think it did much. It soothed Rindle Mer, I recall. She talked to it at night. It kept her company. Yes, but what else? It looks so such…magical. Is it merely a night lantern?

  I examined the orb more closely, where possible, which was between and over and under the shafts of light. Coppery metallic gleaming so such, it was a fair color match for my own bendo dreen hair.

  It has to be magical, I thought. Otherwise, how is it lit? It must belong to the woodlock. In the near futu
re deep in the past, she will be Rindle Mer’s mother. She will leave this orb I am holding with Rindle Mer on that day when she abandons her youngling daughter by Riffle Sike’s beckoning pool. That will happen. That will happen. Yes, I remember what will happen. Now what? I’m involved. A task. Is this the pool where Rindle Mer will be abandoned?

  The night’s advance had made of the pool a black slab of smoothness, orb lit. The moons had dipped behind the trees. I felt a sudden exhaustion weaving into my limbs. I decided to curl down and sleep. Pursuing my task, whatever it was, would wait until morning. I slipped the orb into the pocket of my jacket. The pool remained a black slab, but now star lit. I looked at the black crown of the tall, tall tree silhouetted against the starry sky. With a yawn I curled down to sleep, making a pillow of my arms.

  She was in that tree, I mused. Runner Rill saw her disappear in a puff of sparkles, he said. He thinks Riffle Sike spelled her. But Riffle Sike didn’t spell her. He chanted himself invisible, following instructions received in a dream vision from a silver wizard, probably Shendra Nenas. Such.

  So. He didn’t spell her. And yet, she disappeared in a puff of sparkles.

  I bolted up, like lightning, to my feet. Puff of sparkles! A hundred thoughts crowded into my head. I banished ‘em all save one. Nimble Missst was the thought I held clear. Why Nimble Missst? Nimble Missst was a short drollek story, not Gwer drollek, merely drollek. Nimble Missst, a youngling known for her snapjaw mind, could change herself into a cloud of green mist. Maybe she looked like a puff of green sparkles when she did it. Such might have been so. I couldn’t recall it for certain from the parts of the story I clearly knew. But I did remember one very lively dancing fact. Nimble Missst was Rindle Mer’s daughter, and therefore the granddaughter of the woodlock, Delia Branch!

  The woodlock shifted to a sparkling mist. I bet it was green! Such has to be so! I know more. I’m learning more. I have to find her! I must speak to her! I thought. I pulled the orb from my pocket and walked straightaway to the tall, tall tree. I walked a slow circle around its trunk while peering up into its branches.

  “Delia Branch,” I called out softly. “Delia Branch, look. I have your orb. Are you there, Delia Branch?”

  “That am mine. Will you give it back? How do you know my name?” a tiny voice from behind me whispered.

  I whirled and caught her in a yellow shaft of orb light. Deep dark luminous eyes and satin black hair. Skin chalky gray. A tunic of gray ferns and a sash, chainbraided, covered her slender form. Her hands, which she held out palms up to me, had webs between the delicate gray fingers. I stared at a someone from a Gwer drollek story of the long ago, a story which took place eons before I was born.

  Now what do I do? I thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Delia Branch

  Her hands trembled. She was terrified. In the orb’s light I saw it clear, felt it strong. She was terrified of ME! Me, a bendo dreen scarcely two slices more than half her size! I can’t think of anything less dangerous than a me, a bendo dreen hedge dweller. I decided in a nince to try and reassure her, comfort her with a spill of soothing words while I otherwise remained motionless.

  “I am Bekka of Thorns, bendo dreen from the hedge near the Villcom Wood,” I began. “I am peacefully timid, known to be so such! I am therefore called Silent Bekka by all in the hedge. A truth. I know many Chalky Grays. They are my neighbors. I have been told that they are distant relatives of the mysterious woodlocks dwelling here in the Woods Beyond the Wood. I can see boldly clear that you must be one of ‘em, the woodlocks. You do appear so such to be a Chalky Gray save for the finger web arrangement of your hands. No Chalky Grays I have ever met are webbed. I may be mysterious to you, but I am harmless. You are mysterious to me! This orb, you say, is yours. Oh, I believe you. I intend to give it back.”

  If I gave it back to her, she would be quick flash gone. Such was obviously so. The manner and flow of my speech had calmed the tremble of her hands. Still she remained poised, ready to fly, or maybe to explode into green sparkles! The orb in my possession was the single strand holding her near.

  “When I return it to you, will you tell me something?” I bargained.

  “How do you know my name? Why did you call my name?” she whispered, taking a step back and beginning again to tremble.

  “No, no, no. Settle yourself. I am no thief. I say I will give you the orb. It is yours. Such is so. No argument. Your name?

  How do I know your name? I…was told by…,” I fumbled searching for a likely lie, “by…another woodlock.”

  “Who? Where?” she asked in her tiny whisper of a voice.

  “It was way over on the other side near the Danken Wood. She didn’t tell me her name. She said I might find Delia Branch over here. She said if I wanted to know about shifting to mist, I should find you. That’s what she said, whoever she was,” I lied, but truly with a probing purpose. “She said you owned an orb. This is it, I suppose. Naturally, when I found it under the water at the edge of that pool, I guessed what it was and to whom it belonged. I tucked it safely in my pocket and decided to search for you in the morning. But, such was so, I couldn’t get to sleep. Why not get up and hunt Delia Branch by the light of the orb? Such I said to myself. So that is what I did and have done. Won’t you please allow me to hold it for a little span longer while you tell me how you lost it? How did it fall into the pool? Does this tall, tall tree have a part in the story? You see, I’m a collector of stories. I happen to be the chosen Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined. Won’t you share this one little story with Silent Bekka? I’m not being very silent, am I?”

  “No,” agreed or refused the woodlock quickly.

  “No, what? No, I’m not silent, or no, you won’t tell me the story?” I asked.

  “No, you amn’t silent,” she said.

  Would she stay? Would she go? I decided to show her a trust I truly felt. I placed the orb in her hand. Our gazes locked. I suddenly remembered from the Gwer drollek story how the woodlock could be held by a forceful gaze. I smiled and broke the gaze lock, turning my face away. I wanted her to make the choice to stay and tell me how she lost the orb. I wanted her to do so freely. I hoped and believed that Runner Rill and Riffle Sike and the meeting at the beckoning pool were all elements of the tale. I wanted her to trust me. I had a task. The shafts of yellow light shooting from the orb flicked off, doused.

  “I will tell it in darkness. I will stand behind the tree,” announced the tiny voice of Delia Branch.

  I nodded and sat down quietly, thorned with relief.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Story According to Delia Branch

  I glanced at the black star-spattered sky. It seemed so such like the magic cloth of a waterwizard’s robe. Time moved. A seed of doubt began to sprout in the thorny briar of my mind. I clutched at my chonka. I turned to look at the tall, tall tree. Had the woodlock fled? Would a lullaby lure her back? I should have kept the orb. What a lackwit I am. A dull thorn. I’ll play… I scolded myself. But before I could tap my chonka, the tiny whisper voice of Delia Branch floated out from where she was hidden behind the tall, tall tree.

  “These Woods have become far too crowded,” she said softly. “It are enough to make a woodlock nervous. You am from near the Villcom Wood, you say, where Chalky Grays live in horrible masses and am, in spite of that wretchedness, known to be content. We, we woodlocks as I are, am abandoned, and rightfully so, to dwell alone in forests, the more dense, the better we like it. Peacefully content I have lived here for all twelve of my full bar years. I have a cave, and I like this tree. I practice my spells here. I swim in the pool. I are a fine swimmer.”

  She seemed to spill the words reluctantly and took long pauses at the end, and sometimes in the middle, of each sentence. I inched closer to the tree, straining to hear the tiny soft voice.

  “The orb holds my secrets,” she continued. “It am mine. I lost it a time ago. I didn’t know where until today when I saw you. Now I can gue
ss what must have happened. There was a day when I came to swim in that pool like all the other days, but different. I swam. Then, as I ever do, I flitted up this tree to relax while I dried off in the sun warmth. There, barely settled, was when I first heard the commotion. I looked down and saw two youngling waterwizards shouting at each the other. I never before saw mist green wizards with hair like fire!”

  Her voice changed. In it I could hear something more than excitement. The pauses disappeared. She rushed on.

  “I was standing up there high looking down. They had not seen me. Then they looked up. He saw me! Orange eyes! Oh! I sparkled to green mist and escaped. I ranged far to the river, swerving between tree trunks up hill and down. I rested as fog on the river for days. Fiery eyes and hair! Mist green skin! In time I calmed. I shaped to woodlock, swam and swam, thinking all the while about how my Woods had been invaded.”

  Now her voice slowed again. The pauses returned.

  “When I had swum myself beyond the edge of exhaustion, I sparkled home to my cave. I shaped to woodlock and sat on my red roamer woven carpet. I felt the need to consult my orb. I reached under my sash to retrieve it from the fern pouch. The fern pouch was flat, empty. My orb was missing. My eyes flashed to the dug out ledge shelf on the cave wall where I sometimes rested my orb. It wasn’t there. In a panic of nervousness I left the cave and sparkled to everywhere I might have dropped it until I came to here today. I saw you take it from the pool. I can guess how it got there. When the one with the most glorious fiery eyes saw me, I must have had the orb in my hand. I sparkled so quickly that I failed to return the orb to the spell sparkle pouch. Out of the pouch, it cannot sparkle. So it fell when I raced away in panic at being seen. Now I have it back, and I have done as I promised.”