by Tim Tilley
A group of Home Keepers arrange the food on Hob-tables and a slate for me. Nissa puts out small jars filled with fireflies. I help Papa Herne hang long banners between the trees. The banners are decorated with the same design: blue-black silhouetted trees with weaving branches, on which sit all manner of forest animals and birds. When the decorations are finished, Oakhome looks beautiful. Everything is bathed in the evening sun. The leaves on the trees catch the light, shining with molten gold.
While the Hobs go and change into their party clothes, butterflies arrive and settle on the oaks around the grove. There are hundreds of them, closed-winged, showing their bark-brown colours.
I go through my rescue plan again and again in my head. I feel my muscles tighten. I can do this.
Then the Hobs gather round the half-built house. All of them are wearing bright green. Even Baby Tiya has a leaf-green outfit.
I feel a bit left out. I don’t have anything to change into. I only have my drab grey clothes.
A hush falls as Half Crown trots into the clearing and stops by the house’s balcony, where all of the Forest Keepers stand. He lowers his head so Papa Herne can climb onto his muzzle. As Half Crown raises his head, Papa Herne calls out, “Before we begin our celebrations, I have a small announcement to make. Wick, as you know, has been living with us an’ he’s been training to be a Forest Keeper. Not only did he save Tiggs from drowning—”
“An’ Tuff,” pipes up Tiggs.
“That’s right, an’ Tuff.” Papa Herne smiles. “An’ he also saved Finn an’ Nox from a wounded stag. He’s got great patrol skills an’ he’s helping us rebuild our homes. He’s still got more Keeper things to learn, but he’s already proved he’s made of the right stuff. An’ he’s conquered his fear of heights. He climbed four trees this morning.”
A flush of pride runs through me. I’d have climbed twice that if we’d had time.
There’s a round of clapping.
“An’ so, it’s time for Wick to get his cloak. Kneel, Wick,” he adds in a solemn voice.
I’m not expecting this. I feel weightless. Breathless.
Just then, a flock of blue tits and sparrows carry a cloak through the air. It’s not a patchwork of different fabrics like my other clothes, but a single cloak, dyed the same green as the others. The birds lower and hover in the air, then drop it onto my shoulders. This is more than I could ever hope for. I might have lived all my life at Harklights, but I belong with the Hobs now.
“This robe is the Cloak of the Forest,” Papa Herne calls out. “May the forest offer you shelter, as you shelter an’ protect the forest an’ all its creatures.”
Already I feel different. The cloak feels reassuring, like warm sun on my shoulders. I don’t want to ever take it off.
“How did you make the cloak so fast?” I find myself asking. From the stitching, it looks as if it must have taken months.
Papa Herne gives me a knowing smile. “A question for another time.”
Half Crown trots closer and lowers his wooden head. Sunlight glints off a silver leaf clasp in his mouth, larger than the ones the other Forest Keepers wear.
The clasp is handsome. Finely crafted. A burst of warmth spreads through my chest. I feel complete. Old Ma Bogey was wrong when she said nobody wanted orphans because we were broken.
“You’ll have to take it an’ fix it to yer cloak,” says Papa Herne in a low voice, before raising it again. “By the Four Corners of the Forest an’ with this silver leaf clasp, I charge you with the title Forest Keeper.”
He waits till I fasten my cloak, then adds, “Rise, Wick.”
Feeling a tingle rush down my spine, I stand and face the crowd of Hobs. There’s an explosion of cheering and clapping. I’m part of the Hob tribe now. I want to carry this moment for ever.
The other Forest Keepers join in with clapping. I give them a thumbs up.
Then Papa Herne taps his staff and raises his hands. “Let the Bring Forth celebrations begin!” Green light shimmers and shines, and ferns rise from the soil-filled carts by the half-built house. Their leaves are coiled, like watch-springs. Then they unfurl themselves slowly, making green arches.
All at once, the butterflies rise up, circling in the air. Flashing colours. Flickering wings, fluttering upwards.
The Hobs gasp at the orange-reds, brown-reds, yellows and blues. The hairs on my arms prickle. I think the colour will stay in my eyes for days.
“They’re like…flying flowers,” I murmur, watching the last of the butterflies drift away above the treetops.
As the sun goes down and the light fades, I sit and make small talk as a procession of Hobs comes and congratulates me. I don’t see Nox and wonder if he’s avoiding me.
“Well done,” says Wyn, one of the Hobs who tends the fire.
“Thanks,” I say distractedly, looking around.
Then I spot Nox – he’s talking with Mama Herne. She’s wearing a new dress she’s sewn. From where I’m standing I can’t hear their conversation, but Mama Herne is talking animatedly. Then she turns and goes off, leaving Nox standing on his own. There’s a strange expression on his face, as if he’s lost something and found something he didn’t want at the same time. Maybe he’s thinking about his wife. I wonder whether I should go over and talk to him.
“Well done, Wick.”
I look down. It’s Nissa, standing rigid. Her wild hair is still tangled, but she’s wearing a cape made of flower petals.
“Thanks,” I say.
She presses her lips flat. Her cheeks burn.
I feel awkward. I can tell that she wishes she was sitting where I am now, or next to me, wearing the same cloak of green. I wish that too. “You should be a Forest Keeper,” I say. “You know more about the forest than I do. I haven’t been here that long.”
“Yeah, but it’s what yer done that counts. You helped stop an’ heal the stag.” Her voice sounds strangled, tight.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for making me show my twig model to the others.”
Nissa’s smile flickers. “Yeah, well, if you have the knack for doing something, you should share it.”
It doesn’t feel right that Nissa isn’t a Forest Keeper. When I’m back from Harklights with Petal and the others, I’ll ask Papa Herne if he can train her.
“Wick! Wick! Congratulations!”
Linden and Tiggs come running over. Tiggs has Tuff with him.
“Yer a hero!” says Linden.
Tiggs looks up at me. “I want to be a Forest Keeper just like you.”
“Maybe one day you will be,” I say.
“You can teach me about looking after the animals an’ everything.”
I smile. “Can you excuse me? There’s someone I need to speak to…”
But when I look up, Nox has gone.
I stare at the empty space where Nox had been standing. I was hoping he would congratulate me. I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I thought things were different now. Or was he just pretending, to make Papa Herne happy? My heart sinks. Maybe in his eyes, the cloak and silver leaf don’t mean anything. Maybe in his eyes, I’m always going to be the human boy, and I’ll never belong. All I want is to be accepted by all of the Hobs.
As it starts to get dark, the fireflies light up in the jars and the fire is lit. Music starts up. A band of Hobs play pipes, wood blocks and wood drums. The sight of piled food on my slate makes me realize I’ve not eaten since breakfast, but I’m not hungry. I pick up a small seed loaf topped with birch syrup but I can’t eat. I’m tightly wound with the fear and excitement of going back to Harklights.
I get to my feet. I need to talk with Nox. I can tell him I know what it’s like to feel alone even though you have lots of people around you. But as I make my way through the celebrating Hobs, a voice cries out.
“Hey, where d’you think yer going?” It’s Papa Herne. “You need to dance.”
“I was just…”
Papa Herne’s eyes and face are shiny from sap wine. “Come on, you. Fire
dance. This party is as much for you as it is for Bring Forth.”
Papa Herne is right. This is for me. It feels amazing. My heart thrums with happiness. I was just another cog in the Machine. But now I’m forest-shaped – my life revolves around the forest and all who live here.
I’m wondering how I can join in without stepping on anyone when Mama Herne appears and pulls Papa Herne away to dance. I take my chance and slip away.
Nox is over by the edge of the circle of oaks, standing in the firelight under one of the large banners. He’s up to something. He’s just as I was when I was at Harklights, trying not to be noticed. He glances all round to see if anyone is watching. Then he steps back into the shadows.
Instinctively I hide behind one of the oaks and peer round it to watch him.
Nox walks away from the sound of music and laughter and heads west along Fox Path. He takes a flat leaf from his cloak and blows on it, making a shrill whistle.
I wait for the Milk Hare to come, but a badger appears instead, shuffling along, snout low, nosing the ground. When the badger reaches Nox, it stops and waits for him to walk up its black-and-white snout and take a seat. Once Nox is settled, the badger trundles off into the South-West Quarter.
I follow them, keeping my distance.
We pass Bramble Patch and the Claw Tree, which the badgers use to sharpen their claws. After a while, Nox and the badger reach a cluster of birch trees, their tangle of exposed roots knitted and fused into a sloped bank.
It’s not somewhere I’ve been before.
Nox walks back down the length of the badger’s snout, steps off, then climbs the bank and stops.
I’m startled when he slips through a gap between the roots.
Where’s he going?
None of the gaps are big enough for me to fit through, so I climb to the top of the bank and clamber over the knitted roots. Here the slope drops into a deep ravine. There’s no moss, only mouldering wood, decaying leaves and the damp smell of these things. It’s as if the sun never reaches into this rift in the earth. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and see Nox. He descends a flight of Hob-sized stone steps and takes a turn through a tiny stone arch resting on two pillars.
I didn’t know this place existed.
“Nox, wait…” I whisper, but he ignores me or can’t hear me.
The steps are too small for me. I climb down into the ravine, careful that I don’t slip on the wet tree roots. “Nox…”
I’ve lost him.
I step over the arch then follow the stone path as it descends into a deep sunken lane, high-sided with black earth and filled with a low mist. I hug myself. The air down here is cold. A deep chill cuts through my Forest Keeper cloak.
After a few minutes, I catch sight of Nox again. He stops at the end of the misty lane, where the broken roots of a fallen tree and hard-packed earth make a wall. Beneath the wall are dozens and dozens of white stones, like large teeth.
Nox kneels before a group of three white stones and bows his head.
A shiver runs through me. “It’s a graveyard,” I say. “I never realized…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” replies Nox in a sharp tone.
I glance, stunned by the gravestones, which glow in the half-light. Three names: Willow, Bud and Twig.
“Who are they?”
Nox lets out a long sigh and his shoulders drop. “My wife an’ my two children.”
His words knock my thoughts sideways. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” says Nox with sadness in his voice.
I gasp and look around at all the stones. “There are so many. I thought the other Hobs—”
“Disappeared?” offers Nox. “Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks, apart from me, Genna, Papa Herne an’ Mama Herne.”
My head reels. “The Monster. Nissa heard you and Papa Herne talking about it, but he said it was nothing.”
“He wanted – we wanted – to protect everyone from the truth.”
“But why?”
“We thought it were better if everyone thought their family in the other villages had just left their homes, gone somewhere else. Finn lost his parents, his brothers an’ their families. Genna an’ the children are all he’s got. Many of us lost friends an’ family.”
It feels as if the ground is moving and staying still at the same time.
Nox dips his head. “Willow were out with our boys on a picnic close by Owls Hatch… Nissa were good friends with my sons. They were the same age. They grew up together from acorn-cradle.”
“The same age…” I’m dizzy, breathless.
“How could we tell her that the Monster took them away? It devoured everything. Birds, animals, plants, trees. All that stood in the path of its hunger an’ terror…” He pulls out a folded piece of oil cloth and opens it, revealing a painted image of a dragon’s head with a long snout.
“Nissa and I, we thought the Monster was Old Ma Bogey.”
“It’s much worse – something from a nightmare. Three times the size of a stag. Red scaly body. Huge claws. A ferocious jaw filled with teeth. Genna saw it. It’s what stopped her talking. After the other villages were destroyed, the Monster stayed in Sixways Wood. We thought everyone would be safe if they kept away from the North…”
I catch sight of a silver leaf sat atop one of the white stones.
I’m struck with sadness, circled by fear. All those Hobs and animals and birds killed by the Monster.
And it’s still out there.
“But it got closer. Now it roams Wayland Heath, past Lightning Rock. An’ these last days, it’s twice ventured into the edge of the forest. It’s looking for more food. It’s still hungry.” Nox looks at me. His eyes are like black stars in the dark. “Everyone’s safe in Oakhome as long as it stays away from us.”
“There must be a way to stop it.” I want to be able to do something, but I don’t know what.
“I don’t know. Promise me you won’t tell Papa Herne about our talk.”
“Why not?” I clutch onto the broken roots for support.
“You’ll only stir up a hornet’s nest of trouble.” Nox scratches away the dead leaves from around his wife and sons’ gravestones. Then he straightens up and wipes his hands together. “Well, we should be getting back. We don’t want anyone to see you’ve gone…it’s yer party you know.”
I grit my teeth, scrunch my fists. Then I chase away an unwanted tear with the back of my hand.
I thought life in the forest would be safe. A sheltered place surrounded by trees. But it’s not. It’s like Harklights, only a different kind of dangerous.
As we turn to leave, a thin stream of soil falls from above our heads.
“What were that?” says Nox.
I strain to see in the darkness. Leaves move, as if somebody was just there.
Nox was right to say we should go back when he did. The party is in the last stages of winding down when we arrive back. There are only a dozen or so Hobs left talking, while foxes and mice pick at the leftover food. Mama Herne is putting the younger Hobs to bed. She finds me to say goodnight to them.
“Wick is gonna protect the forest now,” says Mama Herne.
I smile at Linden and Tiggs, but my stomach sinks. How can I protect it – and them – against a monster? Mama Herne knows the truth about the Hobs who were killed – what does she really think I can do to stop it happening again?
I don’t know how I feel. Nox told me not to say anything to Papa Herne, but I want to talk to someone.
“Where’s Nissa?” I ask Mama Herne, keeping the need out of my voice.
“Oh, she’s gone to her bed in the half-built home. Weren’t feeling too well, poor thing. She said to say goodnight. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I wanted to talk to her, but it can wait.”
Everything has changed now I know the truth about the Monster. I can’t go back for Petal and the others, not just yet. I can’t bring them here – it’s not safe.
I watch as Mama Herne settles Linden and Tiggs in their feather beds.
The Hobs are in danger. I have to find out if there’s anything I can do to help them, to stop this Monster. I’ll find Nissa first thing in the morning, tell her everything Nox said. Then we’ll both speak with Papa Herne. It’s the only way.
It’s not long before the music stops and the rest of the Hobs head off for bed. A group of Hobs gather light, collecting up the firefly lanterns and loading them onto a little cart. The cart is filled with pine sprigs, which the fireflies love – it sends them crawling over and under each other, weaving invisible lines.
It’s strange watching Papa Herne’s contentment as he glances up at the hanging banners. Underneath his calm exterior is a terrible truth, locked away. The Monster is real. And it can kill.
“Goodnight, Forest Keeper,” he says, heading to bed. “Don’t stay up too late.”
As the fire dies down, I spread the hot coals, making a fiery constellation that glistens and winks. I take off my cloak for the first time and lie down under my blanket.
It takes ages to get to sleep. My head swims with images. Clusters of flowers and dead badgers and dead foxes. A red dragon crunches Hobs as if they’re acorns. Then I’m stuck on a carousel of trees, clambering over and under branches, trying to outrun the dragon…
I wake to overcast skies. Everything looks grey. All the colour has drained from the forest. Papa Herne and Nox are talking together as I climb out of my blanket and brush the dry leaves from my cloak.
“Morning, Wick,” says Papa Herne. “How’s our new Forest Keeper?”
“Good.” My mind flits back to everything Nox told me last night.
Nox doesn’t say anything, but he gives me a knowing nod.