The Forest Beyond the Earth

by Matthew S. Cox

  Gaze on the ground, Wisp maneuvered around the area, careful not to step on any tracks or signs she could use to figure out what happened. Footprints she thought to be Dad’s went in a relatively straight line until a deep, sideways boot print suggested he’d swiveled, aiming to the left. Another set of footprints came up behind him. She pictured a man on the left being a distraction while another snuck up and grabbed Dad.

  She gasped.

  “They took him!”

  But… Tree Walkers didn’t leave footprints. They were the forest. Magic and wood and vines and leaves and roots all bundled together with a deep hunger to steal children.

  “Tree Walkers didn’t do this.” Wisp eyed the ground. “Men and some giant monster.”

  She approached the strange double tracks, somewhat like footprints, but much deeper and continuous, as though the men had been dragging a pair of large stones across the ground. The tracks had a curved shape, deeper in the middle and shallower at the edges, with a repeating pattern of dots slightly smaller than her fist.

  “What monster has feet like this?” She stood to her full height and tried to see the end of the tracks, but couldn’t. They went too far, weaving around the trees.

  Minutes passed in silent thought while she gazed down the length of the strange trail.

  Wisp pulled the rifle off her back, holding it like Dad always did, sideways across her chest, with the barrel pointing slightly downward.

  “Don’t touch the trigger until you want to stop a monster,” muttered Wisp.

  She walked a few steps forward, following the tracks.

  “Don’t point it at me,” said Wisp, quoting Dad.

  A squirrel dashed by not far ahead, but she couldn’t aim fast enough to get off a shot.

  “Don’t let any part of yourself go in front of the tip.”

  She lifted it to firing position, snugging the butt against her shoulder, cheek against the side. The smell of oil and metal filled her nose. For no particular reason, she aimed at a tree. It didn’t take long for the rifle’s weight to make her arms shake. She lowered it back to the sideways position, cradling it more than holding it in a posture ready to shoot.

  “Dad?” she called, advancing a few steps. “Dad?”

  Other than managing to startle a few more birds out of trees, her voice did nothing.

  It will be dark soon.

  Thoughts of being grabbed like Dad sprang at her from the shadows, as did the fear of Tree Walkers. A rustle in the weeds came from the right. She held in the urge to gasp, keeping silent, and hoisted the rifle to her shoulder, aiming into the deepening shadows of late evening. The longer she stared at the dark spaces between trees, the more frightened she became. Too petrified to look away or flee, she stood in place, snapping her rifle toward any motion. One minute became four; still she couldn’t make her legs obey her. Wanting to run, but paralyzed in fear, she emitted a soft whine from her nose.

  A small cluster of branches leaned out from behind a tree. Another patch of leaves a few feet to the right seemed to slide forward, growing from a flat low-lying mass of vegetation to a taller, thinner blob. Two more masses wavered about even farther away, reaching toward her with snapping vines despite being over a hundred yards off.

  Tree Walkers!

  Wisp sprinted back the way she’d come, somehow managing not to scream. Twilight forest blurred by on all sides, exactly as it always did in her nightmare. She couldn’t bring herself to look behind her at the rising wall of roots and vines she knew would be rushing closer. Every time she had the dream, she made that mistake. Whenever she looked back, she’d be so scared by how close the Tree Walkers got, she’d do something stupid like trip or run smack dab into a tree and fall on her butt.

  If she looked back, they would get her, and not in a nightmare―for real.

  Heart pounding in her ears, she pumped her legs as fast as she could run, not caring what she stepped on. The cabin had gotten frighteningly small in the distance, but she hadn’t gotten so far away she’d lost sight of it. Racing downhill, she ducked low-hanging vines, jumped the dead log, and zigzagged around bigger trees that hadn’t yet decided to come after her.

  Her more direct route home encountered a great gouge in the hillside. Too panicky to think, she hurled herself into a leap, fearing going around it would slow her down too much. She fell a short distance before landing in a somersault, keeping the rifle tucked tight to her chest. Fear propelled her straight out of the roll back onto her feet, and she kept running hard.

  The pistol bumped against her leg; the knife rattled in its sheath, and the air burned in her lungs. A tremendous roar of snapping branches and crackling twigs would rush up behind her any second, but she still refused to look back.

  Wisp reached the clearing around the cabin and bolted for the front door so fast she nearly slipped and fell when rounding the corner of Dad’s room. She darted in the front door, slammed it, locked it, and rushed over to her Haven. Hands shaking, she lay the rifle across the top, pulled up the blanket, and crawled in. Not until she’d spun around, slammed the door, and locked herself in, did she spare a second to breathe. She snugged the blanket down to hide and scooted as far back in the corner as she could get, clutching the opener in both hands at her chin while staring at the pink-orange blanket in the direction of the door. Still, the roar of an onrushing wave of vegetation flooded her mind.

  “You can’t get me in here. You can’t get me in here.”

  She tucked the opener under her pillow and sat on it. Dad might’ve been missing, but the Haven’s bars felt like he hugged her from far away.

  “You can’t get me in here,” she whispered. “You can’t get me in here.”

  No loud smashing noises came from the room beyond the blanket. The Tree Walkers hadn’t bothered coming in since they knew she’d taken refuge in the Haven. After a few minutes to let her mind cling to the hope she’d be safe, she curled up in her bedding to sleep for the night, but couldn’t close her eyes.

  “They can’t get me in here,” she muttered.

  Breaking the rule

  -9-

  Clatter.

  Wisp startled awake at the bang of a door. “Dad?”

  She pushed up on the blanket so she could see out into the room, but the cabin remained empty. Confused, she sat in silence for a little while until a gust made the front door jostle about.

  Her heart sank.

  “Just the wind,” she whispered.

  Light coming in the window to the left of the fireplace, above her Haven, suggested early morning and nice weather. It hadn’t yet become too warm to enjoy being in her safe place. She yawned and started to stretch in the confined space, but stopped, feeling a touch silly.

  Wisp pulled the opener out from beneath her pillow and fumbled to insert it in the keyhole on the outside since she couldn’t see what her hands did. Her head had never been small enough to fit between the bars. Once she got the door open, she stashed the opener under the pillow again and crawled out into the room. There, she stood and stretched, yawning a few more times.

  “Dad?”

  No response came to her knocking on the metal door to his room.

  “Dad, I know I’m not allowed inside, but is it okay if I look just this once to make sure you’re not hurt?”

  When only silence answered, she peered back at the door to the Mother Shrine.

  “If I go in because I am worried about him, does that make me bad?”

  Mother said nothing.

  Relieved, Wisp walked up the three metal steps hanging in front of the room’s other tire, and turned the knob. Breath held, she pulled the door open.

  She stuck her head in past the doorjamb, afraid to do more than that. A large bed on the right, something like a huge version of her pile of sleepy bags, was empty. At its foot end sat a giant trunk, about the size of her Haven. Cabinets lined the opposite wall, all closed. Bookshelves surrounded a tiny desk on the left side of the room, but she couldn’t make out what any of
them said from the doorway. A trio of tall, narrow metal tanks stood in the far corner with rubber hose draped over them. Drab green metal boxes clustered under the desk, with another stack off to the side. Clearly, Dad had not returned to his room.

  “Sorry,” she said to no one in particular, and backed out before shutting the door.

  Nothing in there looked scary, dangerous, or worthy of her being banned from the room, but Dad’s rules said she couldn’t go in there. She would’ve broken the rule if he’d been in there and needed help, but with the room empty, she didn’t want to get in trouble.

  Wisp took the rifle from where she’d left it atop the Haven, slung it over her back on the strap, and went outside. She made use of the outhouse before continuing past it up the hill to the stream where Dad had built a metal enclosure with a flip-up lid and mesh grating walls that extended into the water. The frigid creek would keep the meat from going bad for quite some time, while the enclosure prevented scavenging animals from stealing anything, or the current from sweeping it away. Whenever he took down a boar or deer, he’d salt the extra meat, put it in plastic bags, and store it in the cold.

  With a grunt, she heaved the lid up with both hands and stared at one bag of venison hanging on a cord from a hook on the wall.

  “No!” she wailed, then slouched, disappointed. “I thought we had more.”

  She frowned, but fished the last packet out of the water anyway. It had been there a while now, and probably wouldn’t last much longer. On a whim, she headed back toward the hill where she’d spotted the strange tracks, confident the Tree Walkers would remain in hiding for the daylight hours. After collecting a handful of bolete mushrooms along with some yellowgreens, she hurried back down the hill to the cabin.

  Once inside, she plopped on the floor and cooked her breakfast. It had been days since she’d had any meat, and the smell of it after a few minutes in the pan got her salivating. While prodding the venison around the pan amid a mixture of mushrooms and greens, she kept fidgeting with unease for breaking another of Dad’s rules. She’d never been so disobedient before, yet here she sat, defying him by being out of the Haven alone.

  “He’d let me go outside if he needed help, wouldn’t he?”

  With her meal ready, she slipped into the Haven to eat, but again left the door open. His rule required her to be in the Haven, but it didn’t necessarily say anything about it being locked. Besides, she felt safer in there anyway. She’d almost forgotten how good deer tasted, and had to work hard not to eat the entire piece in seconds, chewing each bite until the meat broke apart into mush and stopped tasting like anything. Taking her time with it also made the relatively small portion seem bigger.

  Once she’d finished her meal, she crawled from the Haven and washed the pan and plate before lugging the big jug out to the creek to refill their primary water supply. She thought about refilling her water bottle as well, but she’d only need that if she had to stay in the Haven and couldn’t get out. Until Dad returned, she didn’t have to worry about that. As much work as it took her to get the opener, she would not lock herself in the Haven and toss the opener away to trap herself.

  Well, maybe she would if the Tree Walkers came in the door, so they couldn’t take over her mind and make her give it to them. But, if she threw it, they could just pick it up.

  “Argh,” she muttered. “I’d have to like eat it or something.”

  She paced around the cabin for a while, trying to come up with something to do. Staying here alone did not feel like a great idea. Leaving Dad to whatever grabbed him would make her feel too guilty. What would he want her to do?

  Lost, she approached the door to the Mother shrine and knocked. “Mother? Can I talk?”

  The usual wait of ten seconds passed without a denial.

  Hopeful, Wisp opened the door and stepped into the gloomy chamber. So soon after eating, the mixture of pinesap and the underlying bad smell caused her stomach to protest. Mother sat as she always had, but at least the ring of flowers had a few spots of white and bright green now. She hoped it cheered her up.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  She padded up to the chair by the right armrest, head bowed, hands clasped. Since no voice told her to go away, she exhaled in relief and lifted her head to look Mother in the eye sockets. A bit of food bubbled up in the back of her throat at the weird smell in here, but Wisp swallowed it, trying not to grimace too much, lest she offend Mother.

  “Dad didn’t come home for two days. I don’t know what to do.”

  Wisp stood there, waiting, but Mother said nothing. So, she knelt and rested her cheek against the dried-out arm and took hold of the desiccated hand, lacing her fingers with Mother’s. “Please tell me what to do. I know Dad said you would only talk if I was a bad girl, but I’m scared. I think something bad happened to him. A strange monster with people riding it took him. I didn’t see blood, so I don’t think it ate him. It’s not a huge bitey-bug. It’s something else, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Mother didn’t speak.

  She gazed downcast at Mother’s grey foot and claw-like toenails. Years ago, she’d asked to file them, but Dad said no, explaining that it could hurt her. Plus, he’d added, in the Other Place, spirits needed claws. Mother had a pretty ankle bracelet with beads of red, blue, and clear glass. Wisp traced a finger around her own ankle, thinking about wearing something like that, too. She’d asked Dad about it once, but he said it came from a faraway place, too dangerous a journey for something as unnecessary as a bit of jewelry. She hadn’t dared ask to wear Mother’s. Especially not with it being part of a shrine.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Wisp, staring at the floor. She told Mother about her walk, finding the rifle, the footprints, and the strange tracks that disappeared into the Endless Forest.

  Mother continued to stare off into a place only a spirit’s eyes could see.

  While the silence reassured her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, Wisp had been hoping Mother would guide her in the right direction. Since that hadn’t happened, she stood, backed up to the door, and bowed.

  “Goodbye, Mother. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  She eased the door shut before sighing at the room. Pacing and thinking ate an hour with nothing to show for it. Having no better ideas, Wisp grabbed the fishing spear and headed outside to the stream, where she waded into the calm water to a little over her knees. A handful of tiny fish took notice of her and began nibbling on her toes, heels, and legs. She giggled at the sensation, but ignored them since they didn’t hurt, nor were any of them close to being large enough to consider eating.

  Eventually, a reasonably sized fish came by. She stabbed at it, but missed, and the fish vanished into a streak of silver, zooming out of sight. Sighing, she resumed her wait. When another fish came by some time later, and she missed it too, she suspected something strange went on. Using a rock on the creek bed as a test target, she extended the spear at it, and noticed her aim wound up being off by a couple inches. For some reason, everything below the surface of the water appeared offset from where it actually was. Her legs lost feeling after a while from the cold, so she climbed up to sit on a rock and spent an hour and some odd minutes practicing her aim on stones. Not wanting to break or dull the points Dad carved, she stabbed with the blunt end.

  Once she felt confident in her ability to judge the true position of objects in the water, she shifted her weight onto her feet and squatted upon the big, round stone, spear held high. Some minutes later when a fish came gliding by, she jabbed her weapon into the water and sank two of the four points into its side. The sizable fish thrashed about, but she leaned all her weight into the spear, pressing her future dinner into the creek bed. Flashing silver scales soon disappeared amid a cloud of muck, but the wooden shaft kept bucking and twisting.

  Wisp waited for it to go still, and hauled the dead fish out of the water. The weight of her catch bent the long spear shaft when she held it up, so she figured she’d get a
least two meals out of it. This meant she’d have to use the cold place to preserve it. She carried the fish back to the cabin on the tip of the spear. Once home, she cleaned and gutted it, dumping the head and insides into an empty coffee can. She’d watched Dad filet them often enough to not do too bad a job at it, and hacked off two big slabs of fish meat. Upon seeing that, she reconsidered its yield from two meals to four. It would probably keep well one day at least, so she’d have some tonight, and more for breakfast and supper tomorrow.

  She placed two slabs in plastic bags with a handful of salt, a third slab in without salt (for tomorrow breakfast), and left one piece in the pan. The three extras, she carried out to the creek and hung them in the food storage box. She climbed up on top of it after closing the lid, peering off into the woods along the strange tracks. Not that she expected to see Dad walking home, but she had to fight off a sense of guilt for not going after him. Too many things, he’d never explained to her―like where he got salt from, or where he went to scavenge stuff like her new shirt. She peered down at her bare stomach, picking at a fray where the fabric ended. More than likely, it had ripped long before she’d ever been born. Sad thoughts of who might’ve worn the shirt before her melted into sadder thoughts about Dad.

  What would he want me to do? Stay here or go find him?

  Head swimming with confusion, she trudged back inside, locked the door, and read for a few hours before cooking her fish. Smelling it made her think of the day she’d gone for her first trip. Dad’s absence grew painful, and she wound up eating and crying. Every bite reminded her of not having Dad nearby, bringing more and more guilt. How could she eat while she didn’t know what happened to him and did nothing to help? She forced herself to finish it, trusting Dad would want her to eat so she didn’t become sick.

  After her meal, she rinsed off the plate and pan, then spent an hour or so pacing around the room until the sun went down. Dazed by guilt and worry, she automatically crawled into the Haven and locked herself in. Wisp tucked the opener under the pillow and curled up before realizing she still had the gun on her hip and the knife on her left thigh. Neither one caused discomfort, so she decided to ignore them.