by Colt, K. J.
We walked north for some time before heading into a forest.
‘I know there is a track for a horse and cart to get inside, but I have not found it yet, and so we will jump the fence.’ She disappeared between branches and leaves.
‘Uncle Garrad and I always used it, but I don’t remember where it is either. We only visited once a year, and only stayed a night or two.’
It occurred to me that during those times he didn’t once show me the kind of affection and physical touch he’d shown that night when I was ten.
‘Your parents didn’t come here?’ She sounded surprised.
‘They did. But they told me I was sick, and they were always worried about me going outside. So sometimes Uncle Garrad brought me here when they were away.’
I moved closer and could only see her legs under the bush where wooden beams dropped to the ground. The wood was rotten, and the posts were leaning; the forest beyond was dark. It reminded me of when I’d become lost in the woodland. It had been cold and scary; it made me nervous about going back into the forest. Klawdia scaled the fence without touching the railing. She landed with the grace of a dancer and the quietness of a leaf settling on the forest floor.
‘This way.’ Klawdia pointed.
The forest undergrowth thickened, our pacing slowed. After fighting stray branches and sticky spider webs, we came to a muddy path dotted with indents where water pooled between tiny mountains of dirt.
‘Look. See the animal prints in the mud?’ She bent down and moulded her fingers to each line. ‘Pheasant prints. There’s fresh meat here. With bow and arrow, we can survive for weeks, even months. Look at this shrub. Remember its heart-shaped leaves. You can eat its roots.’
At the mention of food, my stomach rumbled, and I realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It rumbled again, louder.
Klawdia turned and smirked at me. ‘One and half hours on the path,’ she said, and she walked onwards, her heavy boots sinking into the slush, destroying the animal tracks.
Further along, the ground dipped and rose. The rises of small hills meant we could see over the bushes ahead of us. The wind blew, and the forest became darker as the light faded. Cold air seeped under my garments, and my nose began to run. I’d paid close attention to every turn, feature, and noise since entering the property. I was determined never to get lost in a forest again. An animal howled in the distance, and I froze.
Klawdia looked in the direction of the howl. ‘Mountain wolves. They won’t hurt us. Wolves are too scared. Though they might try to eat you if you were fatally injured. They can’t resist the smell of blood.’
‘Is there anything that would attack us?’
‘Perhaps a snow lion. But we are not tasty. We are like broccoli to them, whereas a rabbit is… well, like a rabbit.’ She grinned. ‘The depths of winter might bring meat-eaters to the shack. We are close to the base of the mountain bowl, a first point of interest to animals forced away from the usual mountain hunting grounds by heavy snows.’
The thought of wolves and lions sniffing around the shack while I was inside terrified me. What if they tried to get in? What if they waited for me to come out? Sometimes, bears would come into Borrelia searching for meat in the winter months. A bear might be able to break down the door of a flimsy shack.
After what felt like two more hours of walking, we came to another wooden fence.
‘Did your uncle keep animals here?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I remember chickens, and a cow and pigs in the barn.’
‘The whole property is divided into six large sections. We are now climbing into the section fenced off for grazing animals which no longer live here. It is good for cattle, sheep, and horses, but we have no need of them since we’ll be leaving at the end of winter. We will eat pheasants, deer, and rabbit. There is a barn where we can house horses and cure meat.’
A memory of the barn came to mind. Inside it, Uncle Garrad had made a swing of pure rope. I used to stand on it and make myself go higher and higher. The memory made me feel sad.
‘I remember the barn,’ I said.
‘There are fruit trees, and the shack is not as small as it sounds. But then you probably remember that, too.’
‘Not well. And I was smaller then. I don’t remember things exactly.’
‘The shack is about the same as my house in Borrelia. Let’s walk faster. Nightfall comes.’
I nodded. My feet ached, and my back hurt from carrying the large bag full of clothes, kitchen food, and other items I’d grabbed. I swung my leg over another wooden fence and dropped to the ground. The undergrowth was sparser than in the other parts of the surrounding forest. There were stumps where trees had been cut down or blown over during storms. Fresh shoots of grass grew underfoot, peeking between orange and red leaves that had fallen from trees that were mostly bare.
The sound of running water reached my ears, a familiar sound that I knew all too well. It was the creek called Bumbling Brook. The further forward we went, the louder it became, until we came to the bank. The setting sun cast sections of the creek bank into shadow, but it was still beautiful and banked by willows with low -lying branches that grazed the surface of the water. Skimming insects stopped to dry themselves on moss-covered rocks and as they tilted their glossy wings there were flashes of teal, purple and red.
‘There is recognition in your eyes,’ Klawdia said.
I smiled a little. ‘This was my favourite place. Does the creek belong to the property, too?’
‘Yes. It’s fed by two sources, run-off from the main river and the mountains. The creek flows right down the middle of the land. It is clean enough to drink.’
I breathed in deeply. The air seemed crisper at the water’s edge. I remembered swimming in the deepest parts as a little girl. My feet had barely touched the bottom.
‘It will freeze soon, and we’ll have to break ice so animals can drink.’
I removed my blindfold. When I looked up at Klawdia, she averted her eyes and focused her attention somewhere in the distant trees.
‘We have to go around,’ she said, and began walking alongside the embankment, heading upstream. On occasion, she walked too close and her boot would slide, the earth collapsing under her weight. The embankment flattened, and the water seemed to rise and fall due to the waves created by a small waterfall ahead of us.
‘There are rocks here, so we can cross. The creek also narrows. Use the rocks to cross like this.’ She hopped from one rock to another, her arms moving up and down like a bird’s. In three strides, she was on the other side. ‘Focus on the placement of your feet. Don’t let them slide, or you’ll fall into the water.’
I put one foot onto one of the rocks and pushed off with the other. But it was difficult with my knapsack, and I panicked, knowing the light was fading.
‘Throw me that,’ she said.
I swung the bag back and forward and let it go on the full swing. It flew a long way, but she still had to reach out and snatch it from the air before it splashed into the creek.
‘We will need to build those muscles of yours. Hurry,’ she urged.
I leapt to the first rock, putting my arms out for balance. The second hop, I slid sideways, but the toe of my other foot caught in a groove, and I squeezed my thighs together, holding myself in place. My forehead became moist, and my skin cooled. Finally, I landed on the other side, although in a patch of prickles.
Thank goodness for my boots, I thought, fingering the few scrapes that managed to catch on my skin.
There was another howl in the distance, but I ignored it. Klawdia’s footsteps were calculated and light, as if she were somehow part of the forest itself. She was constantly alert, scanning the scene around us. We came across another dirt path.
‘This track was made by tame animals that were here when your uncle was alive. Wild animals use it now. It leads from the creek to the shack.’
She gestured for me to follow. The sun had almost finished setting, and objects became shadowy.
Klawdia pointed. ‘There. See?’
The small house made from logs and brick stood nestled amongst willow trees. A chimney jutted out from the side. The warm familiarity almost swept me from my feet. I closed my eyes, remembering how it used to be. In summer, birds’ nests would hang near the windows, and the little pink birds would catch insects attracted to the light inside the shack. Jasmine scented the warm nights, and Uncle Garrad would tell me tales from across the seas. I opened my eyes again. It had changed, tainted by the memory of a man that had betrayed me.
‘Let’s go to the barn.’ The structure was at least five times larger than the house. Made of logs, the barn had enclosed sides, but the open middle allowed me to see inside. The ground was muddy, and there were old tools and farming instruments leaning against the walls. Hanging from the beams in the middle of an open space was my swing. The fibres had frayed, and the attached bar to stand on had turned a rusted reddish brown. We kept searching until the sun left the sky and the forest darkened. A breeze picked up, and my breath came out as fog in the chilly night air. We walked back to the shack and located a lantern on the porch.
Klawdia used flint to light the wick and turned back to me, her face shadowed. ‘Snow will fall tonight. Let’s go inside and prepare for sleep.’ She yanked on the thick front door. ‘Good door,’ she said, slapping it twice. ‘The shack is insulated by hay and animal fur. An inside fire will make the place a furnace.’
As we entered, I stifled a sneeze as dust and dirt filled my nose.
‘It needs airing,’ she said, leaving the front door ajar.
Klawdia went to a small hearth and crouched beside a nearby pile of sticks, dry leaves, and firewood. She assembled kindling in the pit, dipped a twig into a nearby pot, and poked it into the lantern. The stick burst into flames, and she carefully inserted the lit end under the debris. A few leaves caught, then the twigs. A wolf howled nearby. I jumped and, without thinking, slammed the shack door.
‘You’ll get used to that,’ Klawdia said.
I wasn’t comforted. When I looked back at her, she was blowing on the flames, encouraging them to take hold. The smell of burning wood and smoke filled the room, but I resisted opening the door, remembering the wolf cry. Instead, I moved over to the window on the far side of the cabin, near a single bed. I pushed against the glass, and the night air seeped in, cooling and stirring the musty air. I turned back to look at the room.
Everything was neat and in order, and was mostly how I remembered it. His bookshelf still contained books. His bed still had the same boring coverings, and the pottery was the same horrid brown clay. He had never shared in my father’s taste for finery.
As I moved away from the window, I knocked over some vials and jars of herbs, spices, and other brews I hadn’t seen before. There were hundreds of the little containers in a row.
‘I gathered enough firewood to last us a couple of days. I did it this morning when I was inspecting the land,’ Klawdia said. ‘I set traps as well.’
For animals or soldiers? I decided I didn’t want to know.
My attention was firmly fixed on the display in front of me. Some of the bottles had animal parts, others leafy bits and oily salves. I opened the lid of one, and a putrid odour filled the room.
‘Ugh, take that outside.’ Klawdia’s nose crinkled, and she walked over to me, her eyes widened. ‘He was a collector,’ she said, admiring the exhibition. She frowned. ‘Do you know what these are for?’
‘No.’ I said.
‘Some of these are rare. And costly.’ She puzzled over them a while longer, then went back to the fire and searched through her bag. She removed an additional lamp and used a burning stick from the fire to light it.
The cabin now drenched in light, my familiarity with the room grew stronger. The furnishings were quaint, and the shack was bigger than I had anticipated, more like a house with the inside as large as the living room at Mother’s house. The bed, kitchen, and living space were combined into one room, but it was cosy enough for two people. Many of my uncle’s possessions remained, such as pictures on the walls and other treasures.
On the wall hung a picture—dobs of red and blue on a white background—that I had finger-painted for him when I was five. I tore it down and threw it into the fireplace, and drew pleasure from watching the paper curl and blacken before its ashes sprinkled onto the coals.
Klawdia watched me, but I was too embarrassed to return her gaze.
‘I’ll make dinner,’ she said.
The kitchen area was small and close to the entrance of the shack. The one bed ran the length of the furthest wall from the entrance. Every space was well utilised, and I wondered which of us would sleep in the bunk. After emptying the contents of my bag onto the bed, I started to put my clothes, boots, and the material for my blindfolds into a large chest at the foot of the bed. But when I lifted the lid, the chest was already full of clothes. Uncle Garrad’s musky aroma sent my head spinning, threatening my frail state. I ran out into the night air and put my hands over my nose. His smell. I could see him clear as day in my mind.
‘Adenine,’ Klawdia said, stepping out of the shack behind me. ‘Are you well?’
‘Yes.’ I took deep breaths, trying to slow my thoughts and relax my body. ‘It’s him. He’s everywhere in there.’ I could feel icy spots of snow on my skin. Light spilled out from the window, fading into the night. Closer to the shack, it illuminated tiny, floating snowflakes.
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Capacia worried that being here would upset you.’
‘I’m fine,’ I snapped, and stomped inside, plonking myself into a chair close to the hearth. I knew I was acting silly, but all I could think about was him. His smell. His touch. Because of what had happened, sometimes I could see him clearer than my own father. He didn’t deserve any place amongst my memories.
The door closed quietly, and Klawdia resumed cooking without another word. I became even angrier. I hated it when people tiptoed around me. I wanted to leave the shack and run into the forest. But I was trapped, too ashamed and embarrassed to show Klawdia my feelings.
We ate our stew and said little else to each other.
‘I’m going to check the barn for skins. Need something to sleep on,’ Klawdia said after dinner.
She left with one of the lamps, and the silence inside the shack was thick and suffocating. It was too warm, so I put the door ajar. A light snow continued to fall, but the flakes melted upon touching the ground. I could hear the creek running in the distance, and a slight breeze rustled the remaining autumn leaves. Crickets chirped, and the cries of several animals echoed around the forest. Then something splashed in the distance. When I closed my eyes, all of those sounds grew louder, mingling into a magical symphony.
If not for the floating, ghostly lamp, I would have failed to notice Klawdia’s return. She was so quiet. As she grew nearer, she gave me an inquiring look.
‘Believe me, I am well,’ I said.
‘A lot has changed.’ And her lips spread into a thin line.
‘And?’
She didn’t reply.
I was tired and mentally drained. But at least I didn’t have to run. Mayor Vawdon and Healer Euka didn’t know my whereabouts. I liked the idea of being unfindable.
‘Let’s get some sleep.’ She held up a bundle of animal skins, and while they had been treated, they were not yet fit for use in a home. But Klawdia had mastered wilderness survival.
‘You sleep in the bed,’ I said.
She looked surprised for a moment, and then her face softened, and she nodded.
‘It’s my way of thanking you,’ I said.
Klawdia was easy company since she rarely gave me orders or made me feel guilty in the same way Mother did.
I took the animal skins to the other side of the shack, far away from the chest of clothes, away from his smell.
‘Goodnight,’ she said.
‘Goodnight,’ I replied.
Sleep didn’t co
me for many hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SOFT LIGHT TRICKLED THROUGH THE shack window, illuminating dust that lingered in the air. The previous night’s fire had reduced to a mound of coals. I added some twigs and leaves and jabbed at the dying embers with a branch. The flames engulfed nearby sticks, so I added more kindling until the fire smoked. I began preparing the ingredients for breakfast, and when they were arranged in neat piles, picked up a black pot to collect water with.
As I pushed open the front door, I gasped. The dark, gloomy forest had become a wonderland. Trees seemed to blaze with their yellows, oranges, and reds. In the morning sun, droplets of water clung to grass and leaves, glimmering in the first light. In the distance, the water twinkled, and a fine mist rose from the creek. How could someone like Uncle Garrad have lived in such a pure place?
I followed the dirt track leading from the shack to the creek, only thirty to forty paces away. Further down, water trickled through a maze of rocks and boulders where birds were perched. They dipped their heads into the stream and then raised them abruptly. The action threw water onto their backs as they fluffed their feathers to bathe.
Upstream, where the water was calmer, insects hovered close to the surface. Fish leaped out at bugs, and one caught a dragonfly in its mouth, dragging it into the deep.
I filled my pot halfway and walked back to the shack. A vine crept along the logs, coating one half in red, trumpet-shaped flowers and small, round leaves. The shack looked cosy and comfortable, almost like a cottage. Back inside, Klawdia stirred dry and wet ingredients that were needed to make the pancake mixture.
I hung the pot of water from an iron bar suspended directly above the fire.
Klawdia nodded at me. ‘I am going to the town today to scout, and perhaps spread rumours of my having left town. Capacia was to meet with Mr. Corgastor today, so I’ll check on her.’
‘Won’t that be dangerous?’ I said. ‘The point of being here is to evade capture.’
‘I am more stealthy than you think.’