by Kristy Tate
“It seemed so real,” Lizbet muttered, staring past the doctor and out the window, beyond the bustling city to the green hills where the canyon began. “And there are so many things I didn’t know, that I couldn’t have imagined...like the Ollos Verdes.”
Dr. Meehan smiled. “Our subconscious minds are incredibly powerful. We know many things that we’ve never given much thought to, yet our brains have filed away the information.” She patted Lizbet’s hand. “You can’t believe the nightmare. You can’t argue with it, or challenge it. Your only option is to destroy it.”
“Destroy it?” Lizbet thought of Declan, his face, his smile. How could she destroy the memories someone she loved? But maybe that was exactly what she had done.
Dr. Meehan gave her a kind and sympathetic look. “It’s not real, so it can’t be destroyed literally. The only way to defuse its power is to shine your light of reason upon it. There’s no other option. You can’t believe the lie, but you might find it helpful to write it down. It will help you clarify your feelings. Journaling about such a traumatic experience will let you explore, process and release your emotions.”
The doctor gathered her things and rose to her feet. “You’re lucky that you have so many people who love you. If you’re interested in journaling, I’ll get you a pad of paper and a pen.”
“Thank you,” Lizbet lisped, wetting her lips and tasting ash. “I’d like that.”
Dr. Meehan patted Lizbet’s hand again before leaving.
Pushing herself up on the bed, Lizbet saw her reflection in the window. With her singed hair, chapped red skin, and swollen lips, she looked like someone else. She was ugly, inside and out. She had killed Declan as surely as if she’d put a gun to his head, pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet into his brain.
THREE WEEKS LATER, Lizbet sat at the table with her grandmother and toyed with the slice of cake in front of her with a fork. This was supposed to be a celebration and a homecoming, but Lizbet knew she’d never be able to celebrate again.
“I don’t like it one little bit,” Elizabeth groused.
“We’ve been over this, Grandma. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Lizbet pushed cake crumbs across her plate.
“In my day, young girls didn’t just hike off into the hinder-parts on their own.”
Lizbet sighed. “I’m not going alone. Matias and Maria are coming with me to the tribe of Stehekin. It’s only for a few days.”
“I just don’t understand why they don’t have roads. They must not want visitors if they don’t have roads.”
“I agree.” Lizbet took a bite of her cake. It tasted like sawdust.
Elizabeth gave her a squinty-eyed look. “Why do you want to visit someone who doesn’t want visitors?”
“I’m curious. They’re my people.”
“No. I’m your people. Your mom is your people. Love is always thicker than blood.”
“I love you, too, Grandma. But the Stehekin tribe is my heritage. I want to learn all I can about them.”
“You might not like what you learn.”
Lizbet put down her fork so she could pat her grandmother’s hand. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before school starts. You won’t even miss me.”
EVEN THOUGH IT WAS mid-September and the rest of the Western Hemisphere was at the end of summer, in the high Cascades, the leaves were already turning to shades of red, orange, and yellow. Sitting on Trotter’s back on the mountain peak, Lizbet could see for miles. Far below them in the Methow Valley, a fire burned. It promised disaster for those who lived in the thick of it, but from this great distance, the smoke cloud looked as threatening as a cotton ball. Still, the thought of a forest fire turned Lizbet’s stomach and she wondered if she’d ever be able to be near open flames again without having a panic attack.
Trotter must have sensed her unease, because he balked on the trail.
Matias looked over his shoulder at her. “You okay?”
She nodded and rubbed a hand over Trotter’s sleek neck. “Do you think the horses need water?”
Maria pulled alongside her. “I think I hear a stream. Let me check the map.”
A cardinal flying overhead pointed his wing to the left. “Not far!” he called.
Lizbet urged Trotter off the path. “I think it’s this way.”
“I don’t know how you do this,” Maria muttered. “You’re like a divining rod.”
“I just have good hearing,” Lizbet joked as she led Trotter through the tall grass to a thicket of birch trees.
Maria and Matias followed close behind on their horses. The closer they drew to the water, the more audible the stream became. Lizbet said a silent thanks to the cardinal as he flitted overhead.
Once they reached the creek’s bank, she slipped off Trotter to let him drink. Maria did the same, and rummaged through her saddlebag looking for the guide book.
Matias found a giant fallen log and rested his butt against it.
“We should be close,” Maria said, studying the guide book.
“It’s hard to believe people still actually live like this,” Matias said.
“The Stehekin aren’t the only ones,” Maria said. “There are tribes living at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Their only access to the outside world is a ten-mile donkey trail or a two-minute helicopter ride.”
“We could have taken a helicopter?” Matias asked in a wounded tone.
“This is more fun,” Lizbet said.
Matias rubbed his back with both hands. “For who?”
Lizbet laughed and pulled a roll of toilet paper and a trowel from her bag. “Don’t follow me!” She followed the stream until she reached a cluster of boulders that could provide shelter and privacy.
A small dark-haired and green-eyed woman stepped out of the trees. She carried a pipe in her right hand.
Lizbet’s heart jumped. “You scared me!”
“As I should,” the woman said, right before she put the pipe in her mouth and blew a puff of smoke in Lizbet’s face.
The world went dark.
LIFTING ONE EYELID, Lizbet took note of a few dim stars twinkling in the darkening sky. She crawled out from beneath a heavy wool blanket to peek out the door. A circular fence made of poles shoved into the ground encompassed the village. About thirty round huts filled the enclosure, and one large pavilion-like building stood in the center. Smoke filled the pavilion. A large woman with ebony skin and grizzled gray hair dressed in batik cloth stood at the foot of an altar with her arms raised to the sky, her face also turned heavenward. Men, women, and children gathered around her. The sound of beating drums and chanting filled the air. Lizbet scooted so that her back pressed against the wall. How had she gotten to this place?
“The question is simple. It’s the answer that most find difficult.” A man’s voice answered her unspoken question.
Lizbet swiveled her attention to a small man with leathery skin, graying dark hair, and eyes the color of her own. He sat cross-legged on a mat in the corner. She wondered how long he had been there, apparently doing nothing more than watching her sleep.
“Who are you?” Lizbet gasped, afraid that she already knew the answer.
“You know who I am.”
She swallowed down a lump of anger. “Where have you been all of my life?”
“Have you been unhappy with Daugherty?”
“I could have used you!”
“What use would I have been in the world of men?” He waited for her answer, but she didn’t have one.
“You left me an orphan!”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
Lizbet thought of her mom, Elizabeth, and even cranky Josie. “Not really...but I always wanted a father. Everyone does.”
“But did you want a father like me?”
“How can I answer that? I don’t even know you.”
“And now you have the chance...and the choice.”
“The choice of what?”
“Will you choose the life of men, or the ways
of the Ollos Verdes?”
“Why can’t I have both?”
He sighed. “This, I’m afraid, is the path your mother chose. It is the way of heartbreak. If you choose to live in touch with nature—as you have up to this point—you must devote yourself wholly to its pleasure.”
“What does that even mean?” Lizbet rubbed her aching head.
“Your mother had been unable to decide between devotion to Mother Earth and a life with a man. She lived a half-life—neither here nor there. She tried to find a balance between the two. And it killed her.”
“That’s not what killed her. Godwin—a werewolf—killed her.”
He nodded. “Yes. The wolves hate the Ollos Verdes. That’s why we must stay together.”
“So, what you’re saying is if I want to be able to control the weather, I need to sequester myself away from the world and devote the rest of my life to safeguarding the earth?”
“You do more than control the weather.”
Lizbet struggled to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed her back down against the mat. “Wait. What are you saying?”
“Your communion with the animals. This will also be lost.”
“But...” She tried to imagine a world where she could no longer talk to animals. “I could talk to them?”
Her father nodded. “And they will talk to you.”
“Then there’s no problem.”
“Except you will not understand them.”
Realization dawned. “I’ll be like everyone else.”
“Everyone except for the Ollos Verdes.”
“And to be a part of the Ollos Verdes I need to live here...in seclusion.”
His lips twitched. “It’s not so bad. You will, I believe, enjoy it.”
“But why not be a part of the rest of the world?”
He shook his head. “You will find it too painful. Mother Earth is a demanding mistress.”
“But what good can we do here? Don’t we have to be in the world if we want to change the world?”
Her father smiled in response, but still looked sad. “You would like to try, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would. I’m not willing to give up my relationships with my mom, my grandmother, and my friends...” Lizbet lay on her back staring up at a star-studded sky. “And how can I not know what I already know?”
“The gift will still be inside you, but you will forget it’s there, so you will no longer reach for it. It’s like a tool that you will have forgotten you possess.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Without the protection of the tribe, you will never survive as an Ollos Verdes in the world of men.”
Lizbet thrust out her chin. She didn’t fear anyone. She’d faced the wolves and won...or had she? She’d lost Declan. The pain of his loss swept through her. She couldn’t lose her mom and grandmother as well.
He slowly nodded. “I see you’ve made your decision. Before you go, will you not join me in a glass of wine?”
When Lizbet hesitated, he added, “I think you’ll find it to be the tonic you need.”
And Lizbet, thinking of Mawmaw’s wine, drank.
LIZBET WOKE TO FIND Maria and Matias stretched out side by side on a blanket, asleep. She sat up, braced her elbows on her knees, and cradled her aching head. “Such a strange dream,” she muttered to no one.
Pulling herself up, she leaned against Trotter while she rummaged through her saddlebag in search of the first aid kit and a bottle of aspirin.
Trotter blew out a warm breath and nuzzled her hair.
“I love you, too,” she said, patting him.
He snorted and neighed in response, and she found an apple and held it while he munched on it. She looked up at the moon hovering above the trees. “I guess this is as good a place as any to camp for the night.” But why had they fallen asleep before setting up the tent or starting a fire? Had they eaten dinner? She couldn’t remember anything but the strange dream. The man claiming to be her father.
While her friends slept, Lizbet pitched the tent and gathered wood for a fire. That night she had crazy dreams of talking animals and werewolves.
They spent the next three days wandering beneath the hot August sun.
“I don’t get it,” Matias groused. “For two days it was like you had an inner honing device—and now we’re walking in circles.”
Lizbet laughed. “I didn’t really get us anywhere, you know.” She looked up at the sky. A flock of geese flew in a perfect V formation on their way to warmer climates. The birds were headed south and the humans would be wise to follow.
“I guess the Ollos Verdes Indians was really just a legend after all,” Maria said.
“Home is that way,” Lizbet said, using the geese as her compass.
Matias shrugged. “Ready to give up?”
“I guess... It was fun. I don’t know what made me think I could find something others have been searching for eons.”
“Optimism,” Matias said grimly, but with a hidden smile. “It’s been making people do crazy things for years.”
To the north and south in the golden glow of a September twilight we saw the long line of the Outer Hebrides like the rocky backbone of some submerged continent. The scenes and colors on the land and ocean and in the sky seemed more like some magic vision, reflected from Faerie by the 'good people' for our delight, than a thing of our own world.
W.Y. Evans-Wentz
From Lizbet’s Studies
CHAPTER 16
Declan froze. It had been a common enough experience in the past ten years since he’d disappeared from his life in Washington and reinvented himself in Alaska, but this freezing had nothing to do with the temperature—still brisk, even in September, one of Anchorage’s more pleasant months—and everything to do with his heart.
Lizbet. Had she followed him? After all this time? She stood on the sidewalk in front of a display of wildflowers, touching the leaves of a basil plant. His memory flashed back to their time at the nursery, when she and old Mr. Neal would sing to the plants. Declan had teased her for it, saying that plants couldn’t hear her—that was before he knew she could not only sing to them, but persuade them to do whatever she asked.
She must have felt his gaze, because she lifted her eyes to meet his. He waited for a flash of recognition, but saw nothing more than warm curiosity. He flinched as if she’d struck him and turned away.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed home. When he was sure she couldn’t hear him, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Malcolm.
“Lizbet’s here,” he said without preamble.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s been ten years, dude.”
“I know.” Declan raked his fingers through his hair.
“How long was your last rotation?”
“Does that matter?”
Malcolm borrowed Declan’s word. “Absolutely. How much sleep have you gotten in the last forty-eight hours?”
“Almost none, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that LIZBET IS HERE.”
“Okay, calm down. Let me see...” Declan heard the tap of Malcolm’s fingers on a keyboard. Since his arrival in Anchorage, Malcolm had not only married Courtney, but he’d also started a tech company that helped paranormals connect their business needs, and yet also protected their privacy.
Declan sat down on a bench in Delany Park and watched a young kid throw a ball for a golden retriever. Memories of his dog Rufus flooded him. Declan battled to control his emotions.
“Lizbet, as you know,” Malcolm said, “has a PhD from the University of Washington in English Literature and she specializes in folklore...huh...interesting. I guess you’re right.”
“What? Tell me.”
“She’s on sabbatical and will be teaching at the University of Anchorage.”
Declan pulled on his hair. “What am I going to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don
’t know...”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Maybe you should talk to Courtney. She’s better at this sort of thing.”
“I don’t want—”
Courtney cut Declan off and took the phone. “Declan, if you’re worried about her recognizing you—”
“It’s not that, it’s just...” His eyes focused on a pair of women’s black leather boots. He slowly drew his gaze up to meet Lizbet’s. He ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket.
“Hi,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “I thought...for a moment...it’s just you remind me of someone I used to know.”
He squirmed beneath the intensity of her gaze.
“But...” She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” He scooched over and patted the spot next to him on the bench. “Are you new here?”
She laughed, and his heart ached at the memories the sound bombarded him with.
“Is it so obvious?”
“No, it’s just...I think I would have noticed you...had I seen you before.” He was having a hard time stringing words together. He’d be lost if she asked him something more complex than his name. And even though he’d been living with his new name for almost a decade, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he’d be able to keep the lie around her.
“I’m Lizbet Wood,” she said, sticking out her hand.
“John Hart.” He took her hand. She still gave him tingles.
“John. That’s my stepfather’s name. It’s also the name of the father of the boy I’d mistaken you for.” Slowly, she pulled her hand from his and tucked it in her coat pocket.
“Strange coincidence.”
She cocked her head to stare at him. “Really? Do you think so?”
He shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Do you believe in coincidences?”
“Yeah.”
“Some people don’t.”