The Beginning Woods

by Malcolm McNeill

  Do you think my Forever Parents crossed over accidentally?

  I don’t know. Maybe.

  I hope they didn’t become Wild Ones.

  You’ll never find them if they did.

  What about your parents? Tell me about them.

  Why?

  I don’t know. Just… I want to know about you. About your home.

  You’ll see when we get there. It’s just a normal village. Called Gilead. I used to think it was boring, but I miss it now.

  She’d grown up there, she said, with her parents (who made pillows and cushions with goose feathers) and her little brother Jake (who told lies). One day she’d been playing with Jake near the border of the village where the Woods began. They’d found a wasps’ nest and started throwing stones at it. The Woods hadn’t liked that at all: it had made the nest fall to the ground and the angry wasps had swarmed after them. Jake had run into the cowshed and Martha had jumped into the millpond. First the current had sucked her down, then the weeds had snared her ankles. Trapped between the weeds and the wasps, the water had been the only way to go.

  Lying flat on his front with his arms round the Wolf’s neck, Max was so engrossed in her story he did not notice the deepening of shadows as dusk fell. Then a tense anxiety gripped his mind.

  What’s wrong?

  We’re nearly here. It’s just up ahead. Another mile or so.

  I guess we can’t go too close with the Wolf.

  I’ve thought of that. Just follow this Path. When the Wolf gets near the edge of the trees, it needs to stay out of sight. Make it follow the tree line to the right. That’ll take us up a hill. We can look out over the village from there.

  OK.

  She went quiet, but he could sense intense bursts of feeling as he looked about. She was recognizing places she used to know. They brought out flashes of joy and sadness, memories he could not quite read. Under it all, though, she was scared. What were they about to discover? Why hadn’t her parents visited her all this time? What if something had happened to them?

  Are you sure you still want to do this?

  Stop spying on me! Yes I’m sure. This is where we turn. Just follow the slope up.

  The trees are pretty thin here. Won’t anyone see us?

  Nobody stays out on the fields at this time. It’ll be dark soon. Everyone will be heading back to the village. Just stay under the eaves and you’ll be fine.

  He guided the Wolf as she’d said, up the hillside, keeping to the very edge of where the trees met the farmland.

  This is far enough. Over to the left there’s a rocky sort of ledge. We’ll be able to see the village from there.

  Just here?

  Yes, this is good.

  That’s your village?

  Yes. And that’s Mount Gilead behind it.

  Max slid off the Wolf’s back and stretched himself. The village on the other side of a swathe of open farmland. A river ran through it, splitting it in two, then snaking across the fields almost parallel to the road. Lights shone in all the windows and bobbed along paths as the Forest Folk hurried home before nightfall.

  Do you see the millwheel?

  Yes.

  And the little cottage just past the pond?

  Yes.

  That’s my house.

  There are lights in the window. That’s good isn’t it?

  I don’t know. I suppose.

  So I should just follow the road?

  Yes. There’s a hedge you can sneak along behind.

  Why do I have to sneak?

  I don’t think you should let anyone see you.

  Why not?

  Just… it doesn’t matter. It’s not important. I’m probably just nervous.

  No. Tell me what’s wrong.

  Do you promise you’ll still go into the village?

  Of course!

  On the way in here. When you were looking about. When we were getting close.

  What?

  I saw tree stumps.

  So? I saw those too.

  They’d been cutting trees.

  They don’t cut trees in the Woods?

  Of course we do. But there are limits. Boundaries. We’re not supposed to go over them. Nobody is. It’s one of the laws that nobody ever breaks. And on the way in here…

  You saw they’d gone over the boundaries?

  Yes. Just here and there. Like… trying to do it in secret.

  Are you sure? Maybe something just changed when you were away. Lots of things have probably changed.

  The boundaries never change.

  OK. So… you don’t want me to talk to anyone then?

  Try not to. And if anyone stops you, don’t let on you’re a World One. Villagers can be funny about World Ones these days. They think you’ll bring the Vanishings with you.

  So what should I say?

  Just tell them you’re from Rosethorn village and you got lost. It’s at the other end of the valley, about a day away. I’ll be listening as well so I can help.

  OK. Look, I should go before it gets too dark.

  No. No, there’s something else.

  What?

  We just have to wait a bit.

  What for?

  You’ll see. Actually I think I hear it now.

  Max turned round. Behind him, beyond the crest of the hill, stars were appearing in the darkening sky. The Wolf had turned too and was sitting on its haunches, panting slightly, its large triangular ears pointed forwards. It whined suddenly. Then barked. Spun round. Then sat and barked again.

  I can’t hear anything.

  You don’t know what to listen for. It’s right on time. You should probably grab hold of something.

  Why?

  It’s about to get really windy.

  How do you know?

  Suit yourself.

  WHOOOOOSH!

  A terrific blast knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling across the ground. The sky exploded with a burst of orange flame. A huge shadow swept over his head, its belly lit up by fire.

  A DRAGON! A REAL ACTUAL DRAGON!

  No, it’s not a Dragon, silly!

  She was right. The Wind had blinded him a second with leaves and grit. He scrambled to his feet, bracing himself against the hurricane and shielding his eyes as he tried to take in all of the magnificent sight.

  It was even better than a Dragon.

  It was a Hot Air Balloon.

  And what a Balloon!

  It’s only a medium-sized one. The five o’clock Balloon to Oslo.

  You knew this was coming?

  Yes. I used to sit right in this spot with Jake and wait for the Wind to roll us over. It would bring us presents. Funny-shaped leaves. Hats it had carried all the way from London. That sort of thing. You’re… not listening, are you?

  Max was staring upwards in wonder. The Balloon was so big it reminded him of pictures of Noah’s Ark. Beneath it hung a structure the size of a small house. Soft, golden lights glowed within; he could hear voices, laughter, the clink of cutlery, music. It surged out over the village and into the distance, the Wind sweeping it up and away.

  My Forever Parents might be on it. The Balloon in my dream was just like it.

  He watched the beautiful sphere grow smaller and disappear among the stars. It was drifting away, sure. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like his Forever Parents were getting closer again.

  I’m glad you like the Balloon. Really I am. But we should go. There are lots more in London.

  I know. Sorry. OK. I’m going.

  He started off down the hill, then stopped and turned back. The Wolf was sitting there, watching him.

  “You’re still going to be here, aren’t you?” he asked.

  The Wolf simply licked its lips, then gave a gigantic yawn, its mouth snapping shut.

  It’s not a person any more. It can’t understand you.

  It understands. I know it does.

  If you know so much, then why is it helping us?

  I don�
�t know. I just… it just feels… better.

  Better how?

  Having it there. And maybe the Wolf was lonely. Maybe it feels better too.

  Why doesn’t it bring out all its friends then?

  I think it’s difficult for it to do that, or it would have done it much sooner with the Shredders. It only did it because it had to.

  He turned to go down the hill. Sure enough, the Wolf stayed behind, watching him from the outcrop of stone. But the steady golden gaze was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable.

  The Wolf seemed more intent on watching than on anything else.

  And didn’t that remind him of someone?

  THE RAILING

  Down the hill in the darkness, across the fields and through the hedge.

  Down into the ditch, footfalls crunching lightly on frosty grass.

  Standing, looking left and right along the road.

  Keeping out of sight.

  The village, forgotten for now.

  There was something else.

  They’d seen it as they came across the field, a dark silhouette, glinting in the moonlight.

  Can you get closer?

  Not without going up onto the road.

  Just go.

  Max clambered up the side of the ditch and moved closer to the peculiar structure. He circled it, touching its cold metal shell with his fingertips.

  I was right. I thought you didn’t have electricity in the Woods.

  We don’t.

  Well—you do now.

  Just tell me what it is!

  It’s a street lamp.

  What’s it for?

  They light up roads. They come on at night.

  You mean it’s a New Light thing?

  Yes. It’s electric.

  It can’t be.

  Well, that’s what it is.

  What’s it doing here?

  You tell me. It’s your village.

  There’s no light coming out of it.

  It hasn’t been connected yet. It’s like they’ve just built it.

  The side panel was loosely fastened—inside the wires dangled unattached. On the other side of the road, another was lying flat out on its side. A furrow of earth ran along the road towards the village. Further in the distance stood another street lamp. Then another. Spaced at regular intervals.

  It must be something else. Find out what it really is.

  Trust me. It’s a street lamp. Looks like they’re going to light up this whole road.

  You don’t understand. Electric light is deadly for Forest Folk.

  It’s not deadly for Mrs Jeffers. She met me in the World. Electric light is all over the place in the World.

  Forest Folk do go to the World sometimes. They have to be careful though. Did she ever get a light shining on her?

  But Max was already remembering the umbrella and how the old woman shielded herself as she ran through London. The Book House too. No lights there, except in his cupboard under the stairs.

  OK… I get it. No. She had an umbrella. So what happens if you get hit by electric light?

  We call it New Light. We just shrivel into nothing. It’s horrible. Have you ever thrown hair onto a fire?

  Right.

  That’s what happens to us. So you see. It’s totally impossible for anyone to be building street lamps in the Woods. Even if they wanted to, New Light doesn’t work here.

  I don’t think the Woods and the World are the same these days. The World never had the Vanishings before, and they broke all the rules when they came along. And Mrs Jeffers did this weird thing with Old Light that she said should have been impossible—

  Stop DISAGREEING with me! I’m the QUEEN! You’re the KNIGHT! You’re not SUPPOSED to have a BRAIN!

  I’m just saying—

  You shouldn’t be SAYING THINGS! You’re supposed to DO things, not talk and be CLEVER. You’re not supposed to be all “Oh, the Woods and the World are different” and “Mrs Jeffers did something impossible with light” and “The Vanishings broke the rules”! I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE STUPID RULES! Just get on with it!

  She dropped down to the Merry-Go-Round and snapped herself shut.

  Hello?

  No answer.

  He’d kind of expected it. He’d felt her fear and confusion building. Now she’d closed herself off.

  He stood there a moment, wondering if he should go on.

  Well, he had to. He was here now and he just had to. It would be better for her if she found out what had happened, even if it was bad. He would want the same thing.

  Still, electricity in the Woods…

  That was like magic becoming possible in the World.

  When he got back to Marylebone, he had to tell the Dark Man as soon as possible.

  He crawled back under the hedgerow and followed it into the village. There was a large barn on the outskirts—he circled round it, keeping to the shadows.

  Hearing a noise, he stopped for a moment, then watched two young girls, four or five years old, emerge from a hut with jars of pickle held before them. They ran across his path and pattered up the porch of a cottage.

  Moving on, he passed two big-bellied men on a bench, arguing so heatedly about the price of a cow they did not notice the shadow flitting through their garden.

  Creeping through an orchard, he was nearly spotted by a woman who banged out of her house and stood with hands on hips, muttering angrily about whoever she’d left inside.

  Whatever the street lamps were for, life in Gilead seemed to be continuing.

  The village was small, and he soon reached the cottage Martha had pointed out. Dozens of geese huddled out the back in a large run. Smoke curled from the chimney, and curtains hung in the windows. It was a solemn, quiet house, wrapped all the way round with a wooden veranda. Everything looked well.

  What now?

  She made no reply, and he didn’t try too hard to call her. Her silence was too fragile, too tense—he could almost see her hunched before the Merry-Go-Round, legs pulled into her chest, chin on her knees. All he had to do was get a look at her parents and brother. At least she would know they were alive.

  He crept closer. Within the house a knife was snicking softly, like someone was chopping vegetables. Then a chair scraped and a shadow slung itself across the curtains. As the person moved the snick of the knife continued.

  Two people at least were inside.

  But who?

  He waited an age for movement or voices. Nothing.

  Snick snick snick went the knife.

  There was a small gap in the curtains. He had to get to it. He took a chance and darted right up to the porch. Then padded lightly up the steps.

  creeeeeeak

  He winced and froze, expecting the door to open at any moment. Instead there was another noise, a scampering sound directly under his feet. Looking down, he saw a small hole in the steps where the wood had rotted away.

  shuffle scuffle

  There was something under the porch. Some kind of animal was trapped, and was rushing back and forth.

  shuffle scuffle

  He bent closer to peer into the hole.

  Eyes glittered out of the darkness.

  A hand shot out. Thin fingers seized him by the ankle.

  “The weeds have got you!” intoned a hollow voice. “Now you’re dead too!”

  Yelling in fright, Max yanked his foot free and fell backwards, landing with a jolt on his bottom. In a flash the front door opened and a stout woman was on the porch. She was carrying a knife, and her hands and apron were covered in blood and feathers. Behind her came a small, timid-looking man with no hair. He was holding a piece of cloth that trailed long tangles of thread, and he had a number of pins in his mouth, held between his lips.

  When they saw Max at the bottom of the steps they relaxed slightly, but only slightly.

  “Jacob?” the woman said. “Come out from under there.”

  A wooden slat in the side of the veranda banged outwards and a boy appeare
d on his knees, holding a squirming kitten against his chest.

  “I was getting Pippi.”

  “Have you got her now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then come in and finish stuffing the cushions. No buts!”

  With a sly smile at Max, the boy flung the kitten back under the porch. “She’s escaped!”

  He disappeared in a flurry of limbs, but the woman didn’t seem to care. Her eyes never left Max’s for a second.

  “You’re not from these parts,” she said after a moment. “Who are you? Where are you from?”

  Max got to his feet and brushed himself down.

  “I’m Ma-Matthew. Mark. Matthew Mark. Panthalassa.”

  What was that village called? Rose-something? HEY!

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Panthalassa? What kind of a name is that? Where are you from?”

  “I’m from… Rosethorn?”

  “Rosethorn?”

  “Rosethorn, yes. I got lost on the Paths.”

  “There are no Panthalassas in Rosethorn.”

  “We moved there. The other day. That’s how I got lost. Because I don’t know the area.”

  “The area?” She took a step towards him, lifting the knife a little, as if to remind him it was there. “Where did you move from?”

  “From London.”

  Tell her. Tell her the truth.

  You’re listening? Are they your parents?

  Yes, this is them. But they’re different somehow.

  OK, I’ll tell her.

  “I… eh… I’ve got a message from Martha,” he said. “She wants to know why you haven’t been to see her. In the graveyard. In Marylebone.”

  The woman’s face didn’t change or even flicker. After a long silence the man turned and disappeared into the house, leaving Max and the woman alone.

  She came down the steps towards him, stopping at the bottom.

  “Martha’s dead,” she said.

  “No she isn’t, not yet, she’s still—”

  “Martha’s dead. She died three years ago.”

  Max felt a shock go through him—from Martha.

  What’s going on? Doesn’t she know about the gravestone and the messages?