Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  “Look for your wife,” said Marta. “It’s confusing when you are so old – there are so many memories – but she is there. You probably want to remember her when she is a young mother. That’d probably be when you are around thirty-six. I don’t know for sure. I’m just guessing. But when you see her, try to hold onto that image, and block out everything else.”

  Marta watched Alfonso closely. He appeared to be deep in thought. His breathing was rapid, and his sallow, hairless arms were trembling. He stayed like this for several more minutes – and then it happened. In the blink of an eye, he morphed into a tall, muscular man with a suntanned face, a mop of shaggy brown hair, and a thick beard. He looked a few years shy of forty.

  “Keep breathing like I told you,” said Marta. “In through the left nostril, hold, out through the right nostril. And keep at it – otherwise you’ll go right back to being grandpa.”

  Alfonso nodded. He sat down, closed his eyes, crossed his legs, and continued with his breathing. “Good,” said Marta. “You’re holding your form. The longer you hold it, the easier it becomes to stay at that age. When you feel ready, I have some adult-size clothing that the monks from Jasber gave me. They should fit you more or less. But give yourself another few minutes to get used to being a tall guy with a beard.”

  She laughed. “You look like one of those scary guys who spends all of his time at the alehouse in Jasber. Do you like drinking ale?”

  Alfonso shooed her away with his hand.

  Roughly ten more minutes passed and then, finally, Alfonso opened his eyes. When he did, he found himself staring at a woman in her late twenties who bore a striking resemblances to Marta.

  “You morphed,” said Alfonso.

  “I did,” said Marta. “I figured we’d travel faster if we were both around this age.”

  Alfonso nodded.

  “I think I figured something out,” said Alfonso, as he rose to his feet. He looked strong, healthy, and determined. “I want to visit that tower – the one off in the distance.”

  “The one from your dream?”

  “Yes,” said Alfonso.

  “Okay,” said Marta, “I’ll go with you to the tower, then I want to head back to Jasber.”

  Alfonso wiggled his fingers and moved his arms about – as if he were still getting used to feel of his own body.

  “Weird isn’t it?” asked Marta.

  “Yeah,” said Alfonso. “And by the way, I figured something else out.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not my wife,” said Alfonso.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Marta with a smile. “You’re not that lucky.” She laughed merrily. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter 9: Into the Forest

  After the man from Jasber departed into the woods, Leif spent much of that day preparing for his own departure. He salvaged everything he could from the old rowboat including a pocket knife, a coil of rope, and an old leather flask. He spent several hours hunting for crabs and, with some luck, caught two. He hiked to a fresh-water spring at the far end of the beach where he bathed and drank until he could drink no more. Finally, he built a fire to stay warm and tried to sleep through some of the night.

  Leif woke at dawn and promptly set off, walking backwards into the shadowy depth of Straszydlo Forest. Kõrgu followed Leif quite closely. At first, Leif had tried to discourage the wolf from coming, because he did not want her to break the rules unknowingly and suffer the consequences. But the wolf could not be dissuaded from tagging along. Leif hoped for the best; after all, Kõrgu usually seemed to manage.

  As he walked, Leif kept his eyes trained on the ground. There were two sets of tracks: the first was fairly large and almost certainly belonged to the man with the green cloak; the second set was slightly smaller and Leif suspected that these tracks belonged to Alfonso. It wasn’t easy to follow tracks while walking backwards – on numerous occasions, Leif tripped and fell over a log or large stone – but he persisted. As he went, he often called out to his son. Leif suspected it would do little good, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Leif walked for much of the day and, though he had no way of telling the time, it was late afternoon when he came upon the tattered remains of the green cloak. The cloak was shredded into hundreds of small pieces; and all around it were bones that had been picked so clean, it was almost as if they had been dipped in acid and bleached in the sun. The larger set of tracks stopped here and there could be little doubt that these bones belonged to the Jasberian who saved him. What had happened to him? Why had he been attacked in this manner?

  Leif recalled his exchange with the man from the previous day. The man had said: “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.”

  Perhaps the man with the green cloak had gotten it wrong. Perhaps the rule was, as the man had first suspected, that you must never look backwards. If that was the case, then Leif had been breaking the rule all day, and his best bet might be to spin around and face forward. He didn’t know what to do – there was no way to know for certain which way he ought to face – but Leif felt that he had to do something and so, on an impulse, he spun around. As he did this, there was suddenly a great deal of movement in the forest – as if he were surrounded on all sides – and Leif waited in terror, expecting to be attacked at any moment. But the attack never came. Only silence. Without shifting his head in the slightest, Leif surveyed his surroundings, searching for a glimpse of whatever is was that was watching him. He could see nothing.

  “Is this what I am meant to do?” he asked suddenly, his voice filled with fright. “Am I facing the right way?”

  There was no reply.

  Leif looked down at the ground and saw, to his relief, that the smaller set of tracks – Alfonso’s, he hoped – continued deeper into the forest. Leif glanced upward at the sky. The light was fading quickly. He had an hour, perhaps a little more, until sundown. If he was still in the woods at that point, he would be in real trouble. Leif continued at a slow run. As he ran, he again called out the name of his son. “Alfonso, where are you?” he hollered. He was beginning to feel panicked. Around this time, Leif got the sense that he was being followed. Whatever it was, it moved very quickly and quietly, darting back and fourth among the trees, just outside his realm of vision. Leif also realized that Korgu, who had been bounding through the forest with joyous abandon, had returned to his side. She wasn’t growling at all, even though by all rights this was the moment to do so. Instead, the wolf stood close to Leif, and leaned against his leg. A whimper came from deep within her throat. Just then, Leif heard the sound of a branch snapping. He looked up and saw, just a stone’s throw away – right in front of him – the unmistakable figure of a teenage boy darting into the woods. Had he been in these woods, wandering around, for the last two days? If so, how had he survived? Had he holed up somewhere? Was he lost? Leif’s mind raced with questions.

  “Wait!” screamed Leif as loudly as he could.

  The boy didn’t stop. For a brief moment, Leif clung to the hope that he had found Alfonso, but there was something about the way he moved – and the figure that the boy cut against the dying light – that looked unfamiliar. Without looking back, the boy shouted back at him through the woods.

  “Quit following me you fool,” he screamed angrily, “I’m not your son!”

  The boy darted deftly into the underbrush. Leif ran after him, but the boy was astoundingly quick and agile, and Leif could not keep up with him. Leif felt both exhausted and perplexed. He wondered to himself: Why is the boy running away from me? And then a thought occurred to him: perhaps the boy was not running away from Leif – but from something else – something just behind Leif. Leif panted heavily for another minute or so and then it happened. Suddenly, the creatures – the things that had been following him for much of the day – all char
ged at once. Leif knew instinctively he had to run and run faster than he ever had in his life.

  Leif crashed through the forest wildly. Branches stung his face and whipped his body. His arms were soon wet with blood and sweat. He gasped for breath and pumped his legs as hard as he could. Behind him, he heard a chorus of voices. One voice was that of an old man, which kept asking: Which way is it? I think we’re lost. We never should have come into these woods. Another was the voice of a younger man who kept shouting: My wife! My children! Please don’t! Leif sprinted onward, all the while looking for the boy or Korgu, but they were gone.

  He continued running through the woods until, in his fatigue, he tripped on a root and fell heavily to the ground with a thud. Leif stayed there motionless, waiting for the inevitable attack. The creatures surrounded him. Something like a claw or a beak meandered curiously down the back of his jacket. The smell of wet fur filled his nostrils. One of the creatures bent down so close that Leif could feel its hot steamy breath on his neck, and he heard it say, “Stand up slowly and keep your eyes closed.” The voice sounded familiar. Leif had heard it before, perhaps in a dream. “Hurry now,” said the voice, “On your feet.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Leif obeyed.

  “You’ve broken our rules,” said the voice.

  “I know,” said Leif. “I am sorry – I am just a father looking for...”

  “Your son,” finished the voice. “We know.”

  Several bodies moved behind him, there were snarls, and once again Leif waited for an attack; but it didn’t come.

  “I know you, don’t I?” asked Leif finally.

  “Yes,” said the voice.

  “Who are you?”

  “Be quiet,” said the voice. “Now listen carefully. I want you to reach backwards with your right hand, very slowly. I am going to give you something.”

  Once again, Leif did as he was told. He reached backwards tentatively and soon he felt someone – or something – press a smooth, flat, hard object into his hand.

  “Hold it up to your face,” said the voice. Leif obeyed. “Now open your eyes.”

  Leif blanched. Was this a trick? Were they trying to make him break the rules? Were they looking for an excuse to kill him? But surely, if they wanted to kill him, they already could have done so. He had little choice. He opened his eyes. It was dark in the forest, but the sky still glowed with the light of dusk, and Leif saw the face of a gaunt, haggard man, with a grizzly white beard. It took him a moment to realize that he was gazing into a mirror, at his own reflection. In all the years that had passed since he left World’s End, Minnesota, he hadn’t once had a chance to look at himself in the mirror. It was frightening to do so. It looked as if he had aged decades.

  “Now turn the mirror slowly to the left so that you can see over your shoulder,” said the voice. “And be careful. If you drop the mirror or turn around, my companions will feast on your flesh.”

  Leif took a deep breath and slowly tilted the mirror. As he did this, something clicked in his brain, and he suddenly recognized the creature’s voice. It belonged to Imad, the Cyclops who had visited him in his dream; and as he continued to tilt the mirror, the image that came into view was Imad’s broad face, with its single, bloodshot eyeball situated in the center of his forehead.

  “You,” stammered Leif. His hand trembled.

  “Bloody hell – hold the mirror steady!” barked Imad. “You mustn’t see the others.”

  “OK,” said Leif. He tensed his wrist and fingers and held the mirror as tightly as he could. “But I don’t understand... Are you a...”

  “No,” said Imad. “I am not. It is an illusion created by the mirror. The mirror allows you to see me as Imad. I do not exist. But let me assure you, the Straszydlo do exist. I can hold them at bay, for a while, but they will tear you to pieces if you do not do exactly as I say. Understand?”

  “Yes,” said Leif. “But what about the boy?”

  “Forget about the boy,” said Imad angrily. “He’s not Alfonso. In fact he’s not a boy at all.”

  “What?”

  “Listen to me,” said Imad. “Just a stone’s throw off to your left, you’ll find a faint animal trail. Follow it for a quarter mile or so – it’ll take you where you want to go – to a great old tree.”

  “A great old tree,” repeated Leif. “And is that where the boy went?”

  “Yes,” said Imad. “But the boy won’t find what he’s looking for.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have hidden it,” said Imad.

  “In the tree?”

  Leif heard more snarling and he struggled to keep his hand from shaking.

  “Yes,” Imad replied. “You will soon see. Now listen carefully because we are running out of time. Once you get inside, you’ll need to retrieve something I’ve hidden there. It’s what the boy was looking for. Go to my study and take the artwork. Do not leave without it.”

  “The artwork,” repeated Leif, hesitantly. “What do I do with it?”

  “Don’t worry about that now,” said Imad. “It will come to you at an appropriate time. You’re not in the proper frame of mind.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” said Imad resolutely. “And one more thing. There is a parcel that you will find nearby – you need to burn it right away. There is a fireplace near my desk. Take the parcel and burn it there. Don’t open it or... or I promise you – you’ll regret it. Can you remember all that?”

  “Yes,” said Leif.

  “Good,” said Imad. “Now slowly put down the mirror and whistle.”

  “Whistle?”

  “Yes,” said Imad. “Whistle as loud as you can.”

  Leif put down the mirror and whistled as loudly as he could; then, in the distance, he heard something tearing through the underbrush, growling as it went. It was a ferocious growl, the kind that begins at the pit of an animal’s throat and stays there, biding its time until the inevitable attack. At first, Leif thought this was yet another Straszydlo; but it was moving too quickly and too low to the ground. There was a great commotion directly behind him – it sounded as if the Straszydlo were fleeing – and then the growling newcomer emerged. It was an enormous wolf, fangs bared, the very picture of stark aggression. When the wolf saw Leif, it leaned forward, whimpered once and licked his hand. It was Korgu. Leif held up the mirror again. Imad was gone, but Leif heard him speak one last time, uttering three final words: “Run, you fool!”

  Leif broke into a run. He headed to his left, until he found the animal’s trail, and he followed it for a quarter of a mile or so. The whole time, he could hear a stampede of footsteps behind him. Finally, he saw it up ahead – a massive tree with deeply grooved bark and a thick trunk that shot upwards into the night sky as if it were propping up the heavens all by itself. This had to be it. Built into the base of the tree was a small, round door made of solid steel. It appeared bolted shut. Leif knew there would be no time to try to unlock it. The creatures were almost upon him. There was only one thing to do. He had only tried doing this once before – back when he was in the maze of razor hedges – but he had to give it a go.

  Leif sprinted for the door and, as he did, he forced himself into hypnogogia – the narrow space between sleeping and waking that is the hallmark of Dormian Great Sleepers. He leaned forward and dove at the door. His head paused for a split-second when it hit the door and then his entire body transvaporated – passing through the steel barrier as if it were made of air. The rest of his body followed and he was conscious of falling through cold and damp air. When he finally hit the ground, his head was thrown back sharply. In the last seconds before he passed out, he was dimly aware of Korgu howling somewhere far above him.

  Chapter 10: The Journey to Dargora

  After several days of traveling together, Kiril and Bilblox emerged from a forest of towering pine trees and reached a river cutting through a vast ice field. Both men paused to catch their breath. Bilblox blinked his eyes in the gl
are of the sun and drank in the sights around him – the pristine snow, the pale blue ice, and the crystal-clear water. The other thing that Bilblox eyed was the leather pouch on Kiril’s belt – the pouch where Kiril stored his green ash. There it was, just waiting to be taken.

  “I suppose it is pleasant to have your eyesight back,” observed Kiril in a friendly tone. “I myself can’t imagine being blind. Were you able to see any colors or was it just blackness all the time? It’s the blackness that would get to me – like a never-ending night – dreadful, I imagine...”

  Kiril waited for his companion to say something, but Bilblox made no reply.

  “Come on then,” said Kiril, “Help me cut down a tree so we can make a dugout canoe. It is two days of hard paddling and then, my friend, we’re practically home.”

  “Dargora ain’t my home,” said Bilblox in what sounded like a growl.

  “Don’t be so disagreeable,” chided Kiril. “No one is forcing you to do anything. You are a man of action, like myself, and I very much doubt that I could hold you against your will. If you want to escape, I suspect you will, but where will that leave you? Wandering in this desolate wilderness, searching aimlessly for food, shelter, and your friends? That won’t do and we both know it. So why don’t...”

  Kiril never finished the sentence because, in the next instant, Bilblox lunged at him and, in one furious movement, raised his massive fist into the air and hit Kiril squarely in the jaw. Kiril flew backwards and landed with a thud on the ground. Kiril howled in pain and, for a brief moment, his jaw appeared mangled as if it had been broken in several places. Kiril spit out a tooth and some blood as well. Then something miraculous happened. The blood stopped flowing, a new tooth grew back, and Kiril’s jaw realigned itself perfectly so that – in a matter of seconds – it appeared as if he had never been hit. Bilblox charged Kiril again, but this time Kiril was ready, and Kiril adroitly grabbed the longshoreman by the shoulder and threw him into a bank of snow.