Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  Well, not entirely alone.

  Just on the other side of the destroyed rowboat lay the crumpled figure of a man who was resting under his heavy, green wool cloak. Leif knew very little about the man because he had not yet introduced himself or spoken a word of conversation. Most hours of the day, the man tended to the campfire and mumbled to himself incomprehensibly as if perhaps he were mad. At times it sounded as if the man was reciting a stanza from a poem, or perhaps an old ballad. Again and again he repeated the words, “Oh what a day to behold, when the truth is finally told.” Or at least, that’s what it sounded like. The rest of the time, the man was buried under his cloak, lying perfectly still. Once or twice Leif thought that perhaps the man had died; and, on these occasions, ever so gently, Leif nudged the man’s cloak to see if he was okay. Then the man would stir and begin again with his muttering.

  Leif did have one dependable companion – a female companion – and currently she was bounding down the beach, in a blur of motion, howling with delight. “How can you be so happy?” asked Leif incredulously. She howled again and then nuzzled her nose into Leif’s hands. “Come here Kõrgu,” he said. “You truly are a crazy wolf.” Leif regarded the wolf affectionately. She was enormous and her fur was brilliantly white. Leif felt very fond of her – not only because she had saved him from drowning – but also because each new day, no matter how grim the circumstances were, she played friskily in the surf, as if perhaps they were simply on an extended vacation at the beach.

  Kõrgu nudged Leif behind the knees, as if to goad him forward, and then she tore off toward the woods. Leif followed wearily. When he caught up to Kõrgu, at the edge of the woods, he found her yelping excitedly. “What is it girl?” asked Leif, as he strained his eyes to look into the shadowy depths of the forest. Truth be told, something about the woods made him very uneasy. If pressed on the matter, he would be unable to say what exactly he found so unnerving. There were no signs of any animals or birds – in fact, it was the most silent woods he had ever seen – and this was part of what spooked Leif. The place was deathly still.

  Kõrgu yelped again and, finally, Leif saw what had gotten her so excited. Just a short distance into the woods, no more than fifty yards away, a rich beam of sunlight illuminated a perfect cluster blackberry bushes.

  “You want the berries?” inquired Leif. “Is that it?”

  Kõrgu merely panted, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

  “They would be tasty,” admitted Leif.

  He could think of no good reason why he shouldn’t just dash into the woods and gather some berries. The last food he’d had, other than some seaweed, was a small crab that he had managed to catch and cook over the fire. That was almost two days ago. And there was another consideration as well. Initially, Leif’s plan had been to repair the old rowboat and make his escape from this place by sea; but, within the last day or so, he had come to grips with the realization that the boat was damaged beyond repair. Leif would have to leave this place soon and, when he did, it would have to be through the forest.

  Leif sighed, crammed his hands into his pockets, and took his first step into the forests.

  “The third law,” said a voice from behind him. “What about the third law?”

  Leif was so surprised by the sound of the voice that he instantly leapt backwards out of the woods and spun around in one quick, fluid movement. What he saw was the man, standing just a few feet away, wrapped tightly in his heavy, green wool cloak.

  “You best not enter the woods until I can remember what I have unfortunately forgotten,” said the man. He had a small shriveled face, covered with white stubble, a bulbous nose, and a set of crooked yellowish teeth. “I’ve been racking my brain for days but, I can’t remember the third law.”

  “The third law?” inquired Leif.

  “Yes,” replied the man matter-of-factly. “There are three laws governing Straszydlo Forest. We were told to memorize them in school, but I only remember two of them now.”

  “What are the two that you remember?”

  “Well,” said the man thoughtfully, “You must enter just one person per day and, of course, you mustn’t enter at night. That much I am sure of. But there is something else, something about where to look or where not to look, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the particulars.”

  “And what happens if you break the rules?” asked Leif.

  The man shuddered involuntarily, but made no reply.

  “Well it would be great if you could remember,” said Leif hopefully. “I think sooner or later we will need to cross these woods.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said the man, “Perhaps if I see that other fellow I will ask him and in the meantime I shall mull this over...” Then the man began to mumble to himself again.

  “What did you just say?” asked Leif.

  “Oh what a day to behold, when the truth is finally told,” muttered the man.

  “You just said something about the ‘other fellow,’” said Leif with exasperation. “What did you mean?”

  “I was talking about the other fellow that’s here on the beach with us,” snapped the man irritably. “The boy.”

  The mention of “the boy” briefly filled Leif was a soaring sense of hope. Leif pressed the man for almost an hour, begging and then demanding that the man tell him more. “What boy?” shouted Leif. “What did he look like? Where is he? Speak to me!” But the man he retreated inward and was again merely muttering and repeating the same cryptic piece of verse. Leif was filled with despair and finally, in frustration, he bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Alfonso! Alfonso! Alfonso! Are you here?”

  But there was no reply. Throughout that day, and through much of the following night, Leif did his best to engage the man with the green cloak – to get him to say anything at all about who the boy was. Once the man looked and said sharply, “I will tell you what I know, but first I must remember the third law, so please be quiet now so I can think.” The man said nothing else and Leif was left alone with his thoughts.

  Leif ached for his son. He had spent years stranded in a cottage in the middle of a vast labyrinth, dreaming of his family, yearning for the day when he would be reunited with his only child. Then, miraculously, it had happened. Alfonso had shown up with his two friends – Bilblox and Marta – and their wolf, Kõrgu. Together they had all traveled down the darkened tunnel that led to Jasber only to discover that the city was in flames. After that, much of what happened was a blur. Leif and Alfonso were separated as the city descended into chaos. Buildings were on fire, children were screaming, smoke was everywhere. And there was a bridge. Yes, the bridge he remembered with vivid clarity! Leif, Bilblox, and Kõrgu had ended up on a bridge that had collapsed and fallen into the water.

  Leif remembered thinking that he was going to drown. He was too weak to swim; his head slipped under the water; and that’s when Kõrgu saved him for the first time. The wolf had used her teeth gently and taking hold of Leif’s shirt collar, she swam with him until they were rescued by a man in a small rowboat, the same man who was now shipwrecked on the beach with them.

  “Get in the boat before you drown!” the man had yelled. Leif and Kõrgu struggled into the boat and, moments later, the tiny vessel was whisked into a whirlpool that sucked them downward into a underground river and out into the Sea of Clouds.

  Since all of this had transpired, Leif had done little else but think of his son. Was he still in Jasber, or elsewhere? How would Leif find him? Was he even alive? As the days passed, Leif felt increasingly desperate. Then the man with the green cloak had mentioned that there was a boy on the beach with them. Leif had seen no traces of anyone else, but deep down, he felt that this boy had to be Alfonso – that he too had been sucked down the whirlpool and out into the Sea of Clouds – and it was just a matter of time before he showed up.

  The following morning, Leif awoke and found the man with the green cloak in high spirits. He stood by the edge of the woods, pacing back and forth muttering excited
ly, “Yes, of course that’s it, why did it elude me for so long?”

  “Have you remembered the third law?” asked Leif.

  “Yes, yes, yes, I have,” replied the man giddily.

  “What is it?”

  “Just this morning it came to me,” said the man. “It came to me and I said to myself, ‘Yes, of course, it is: You must never look backwards. But then, thank heaven, I realized that was not quite right – not at all. The rule was, I am of certain of it now, as follows: You must only look backwards. A bizarre rule, it is, but one that must be followed zealously!”

  “What is your plan?” asked Leif.

  “I will leave through the woods tomorrow at dawn,” said the man eagerly, “And then I will be done with this wretched beach. I cannot wait to be off of it.”

  “If you are so eager to depart,” asked Leif, “Why leave tomorrow and not today?”

  “Because only one person per day may enter the woods,” said the man testily. “Have you learned nothing from me?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Leif, “Who has entered today?”

  “Why the boy has,” replied the man matter-of-factly, “He departed at first light.”

  The man with the green cloak then pointed toward the edge of woods and there, in the moist topsoil, were a set of footsteps leading into the woods.

  The following morning, shortly after dawn, the man with the green cloak set off into the woods by himself. He walked backwards, so that he never once looked forward, as he said he would do. The man seemed well - even merry - and he waved once at Leif before he disappeared from view.

  Chapter 5: To Be An Ageling

  Within a minute of waking up, Alfonso was in the middle of a panic attack. After his incredibly vivid dream, the blackness he had woken up to felt comforting. However, he soon realized that the blackness was not temporary and instead he was in a place without any light. He also felt stuck, as if his arms, legs and entire body were pinned. He struggled to move, but his muscles refused to obey his brain’s instructions. He tried to cry out, but the blackness swallowed any sound. He struggled again and again, and wondered in despair whether he was having any effect.

  And then a blinding cascade of sunlight poured upon him. A massive face peered down and a fat, enormous finger stroked his forehead. The person smiled, but Alfonso’s vision was too blurry to notice any distinguishing features. Only that the person was a giant. Alfonso tried to release his arms but he still could not control his muscles. His arms squirmed and wiggled spastically. More disturbingly, Alfonso found that try as he might, he could only hold up his head for a minute. All of the muscles in his neck – and indeed his upper spine itself – seemed to have turned into jelly. Something was very wrong with his body. He tried furiously to remember what had happened.

  “Come on little guy,” said a voice from above. “I’ve managed to find exactly what you need – a bit of sunlight. Look at that! You’re already out of the coma.”

  Alfonso recognized the voice, but he could not recall exactly whose it was. Moments later, two large hands reached down and picked him up, hoisting him out of the backpack – in which he had been sleeping – and up into the cool air of day. The sun was shining and it was very bright. Alfonso blinked furiously, but his vision remained blurry.

  “I would say that you are about two months old,” said the voice. “Gosh, I hate being that age. You can’t see anything, you can’t control your muscles, and you pee on yourself all the time. Still, its better than being a hundred and ten – I’ve done that too – and believe me it’s not fun.”

  Marta.

  It was Marta talking. Alfonso was certain of it; and she was talking about being an ageling. Suddenly everything was starting to make sense. This is precisely what Alfonso had become – an ageling. The last memory he could recall was of being in Jasber, running through the burning remains of the monastery, with a bag of green ash tucked under his arm. Then he had tripped, fallen, and gotten a great deal of that ash into his eyes. This must have transformed into an ageling and now, apparently, he was a newborn baby. This was, to say the very least, a serious downer. He’d have to re-learn how to walk, talk, and use the bathroom.

  Alfonso tried to talk, but instead he merely burped.

  “Take it easy,” said Marta. “First thing’s first, you need sunlight - the Abbot says that’s the only thing that will make you feel better.” Very tenderly, Marta set baby Alfonso down on a blanket that she had laid across the ground. Alfonso squirmed for a moment and then he closed his eyes and relaxed.

  As baby Alfonso rested on the blanket, Marta looked around with some small measure of satisfaction and admired what she had been able to do. She had made it to the foothills of the Urals – largely on her own. The Abbot had escorted Marta and Alfonso for part of the way. He and several of his monks led them out of Jasber, through the maze of razor hedges, and across the Sea of Clouds in a boat. Before they could all set out for the foothills of the Urals, however, the Abbot fell ill with a high fever and the other monks all agreed that he needed to be taken back to Jasber at once. Marta insisted on continuing onward by herself. Alfonso had taken on the form of a baby and Marta declared that she would simply carry him herself.

  “You both may die,” warned the Abbot weakly. He was covered with sweat and shaking. “You mustn’t do this!” he warned. Marta didn’t waver. She explained that Alfonso had saved her entire family and, at the very least, she owed it to him to try and get him better. “So be it,” said the Abbot with a sigh of frustration, “You always were a stubborn child.” He then removed a gold chain from his neck. It had a small, circular Pendant on it, embedded with several emeralds. He handed the chain and Pendant to Marta. “When you are ready to come home,” said the monk, “Build a fire and place the Pendant in the coals. Within a few days time, we will find you.”

  Before parting ways, one of the monks grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. He was a big man and very muscular. His name was Michael Papa and, before serving as a monk, he had been one of the “sweepers” who patrolled the labyrinth that surrounded the entrance to Jasber. In fact, he had been one of the so-called “Rogue Sweepers” – one of the very few who were, occasionally, allowed to leave the labyrinth and roam the landscape beyond. It was Michael who had navigated their boat across the Sea of Clouds. “Listen to me and remember this,” Michael said as he pulled Marta close. “Avoid anyone you see – especially the children.”

  “The children?”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “The slave traders have captured so many of the adults in this region that hoards of children roam the hills – and they are wild and as fierce as wolves. They may call for help, but ignore them, or they’ll quickly tear you to pieces.”

  Marta blanched, but said nothing.

  “Good luck,” said Michael.

  After parting with the Abbot and the monks, Marta had walked for several days through a pouring rain. Both she and Alfonso got drenched to the bone. Alfonso’s health appeared to worsen by the hour. He grew pale and sickly looking. His soft, wet skin glimmered like the moon as Marta held him close to her chest. He shivered constantly. Marta knew she should’ve been holed up in a cave or even an overhang to keep them both dry, but she had a long ways to go and she didn’t want to take too long to find sunlight. According to the Abbot and the monks, it would be seven or eight days of steady walking before they reached the foothills; and so Marta pressed on without resting and the days quickly blended together.

  Marta got her first sense that she was being followed just after dawn one morning. She had been cutting across a steep slope, heading north towards what appeared to be a distant area of rolling hills. She had no idea who lived in these hills, but they were green and therefore, they almost certainly received some sunlight. Marta was traversing this steep slope when, some distance behind her, she heard the sound of someone losing their footing. She whirled around and saw someone hurtling down the mountain in a cloud of dirt and rocks. Whoever it was had been following
in her footsteps. For several minutes, she stood and listened. Silence. Nothing more.

  For several hours afterwards, Marta occasionally thought she heard something and, in each case, she whirled around but saw nothing. She hoped it was fatigue or weakness brought on by so many days of ceaseless walking. But deep down she knew there was something back there, just out of her line of sight. Perhaps it’s just an animal that is following me, thought Marta. Maybe a dog or perhaps a coyote.

  The following day she neared her destination. Marta knew she had entered the hill country because the ground had short stubbly grass that cut into her ankles. Just beyond this, Marta saw the beginning of scrubland; short bushes tightly bound together, made of gnarled wood and woven together with tiny branches. She pressed onward, slowly climbing upward, and after a few hours of climbing – rather miraculously – the clouds parted and sunlight poured down from the heavens. She almost wept with relief.

  With the sun out and shining, Marta’s fear retreated. What’s more, she saw no signs of any living soul around her. Marta set Alfonso down on the blanket and rested. At some point, she even gathered up some small kindling and started a fire to cook some potatoes that the monks had given her. She knew it was probably unwise to build a fire, but the thought of cooked potatoes overrode her sense of caution. She built a fire and ate. Then she lay down. An hour passed and then two more. The sky became a spotless blue.

  As baby Alfonso lay on his back, on the blanket, he began to feel better. The warm rays of the sun bathed his body in heat. It felt so good. He lay there for a very long while, though it was impossible to say exactly how long. Ever so slowly, the deep cold in his bones began to diminish. He started to feel sensations in his toes and fingertips. Even his vision became less blurry. He relaxed, drifting in and out of sleep. At some point, he woke to the sound of Marta’s voice.