No Place Like Home, page 12
They approached together. Marlow and Annabelle lay on mats of furs and thin woven sheets. Annabelle could’ve been sleeping, her face wiped clean of dirt and blood. Marlow was not so peaceful. He was sweating, his hairline wet. His face was white. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his midriff.
Zephyr, Phoenix, and Kestrel stood up to face Ruse and Lan. They nodded again, and Lan copied them. She couldn’t voice her questions out loud, but they understood.
“The girl will be fine,” said Kestrel. “She’ll make a full recovery with rest.”
“And...him?”
“We have reason to hope. He’s a strong boy.”
“Thank you,” said Lan. She felt relieved, but her fears were far from gone. She could not take her eyes off them. Her body was stiff, unable to move closer.
“Takes a strong witch to hold her own in that grove,” said Phoenix kindly. “You’re not the first to cross the heart-eater’s path. Luckily, we heard you on our ride.”
“Are you elves?” Lan asked her.
Phoenix laughed, but her sister looked annoyed. Kestrel ignored Lan’s question, gesturing instead at a coconut shell full of steaming pearl liquid by Annabelle’s head.
“Drink,” she commanded. “It will help.”
“How?” asked Lan, but she took the bowl, anyway.
“Sleep,” she said, “the best medicine.”
Lan took a sip. The warm liquid tasted like diluted honey. It filled her with calm. She drank deeply and felt her body grow heavy. Kestrel waited until she’d drained the bowl, then nodded at an empty spot on the bamboo bed. Lan sank in and let the furs envelop her. The last thing she saw was Annabelle’s face, her tangled waves of brown hair framing her drawn cheeks, just inches away.
Ruse’s Hollow
Lan opened her eyes and lay still for several minutes, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the bamboo slats of the roof above her. Something was thumping rhythmically close by. She tried to rise, propping herself up on an elbow, but the simple movement made a wave of dizziness flare up.
“You’re in no state to get up,” said a sharp voice.
Lan started and immediately collapsed again. When she opened her eyes slowly and turned toward the source of the sound, she saw one of the flowery women from the previous night sitting on a large log crushing something with a stone mortar and pestle like Lan’s mother used to do for fancy meals before Tết. The thought made her hungry for the extravagant meals they cooked for Lunar New Year: crispy nem, xôi gấc—red sticky rice—and of course bánh chưng and bánh giầy, the legendary savory cakes that symbolized the earth and sky.
The lady was dressed in plain brown, her plantlike hair twisted into a giant bun that would’ve impressed Annabelle. Lan pushed herself up to a sitting position, noticing then that she was covered in furs. She shrugged them off.
“You’re Kestrel, right?” said Lan, struggling to remember.
“Yes. You called me an elf.”
“Oh—um, right, sorry about that.”
Lan glanced around, and her eyes fell on the figures of her friends beside her. Annabelle looked so worn and still in her sleep. It made Lan uncomfortable. The white bandages wrapped around Marlow’s side ruined any illusion of peace. She reached out and touched them. Both were freezing, despite the humid heat in the clearing.
“They look awful.”
“They’ll live,” said Kestrel. “Her fever just broke. She should wake soon.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Long enough. I’ll whip up another batch of that sleeping potion today.”
“What are you making now?”
“Something for the girl’s head.”
“I can help if you show me.”
Kestrel laughed in answer. Her voice had a strange accent to it, different from Marlow’s or Annabelle’s. The words wove together like a lullaby.
“I mean it,” said Lan, feeling slightly put off.
“I believe you, but it’s taken us centuries to master these remedies.”
“If you’re not an elf, then what are you?”
“Aren’t elves those little helper critters in woodworking shops?” said Kestrel with a sniff. “Or does it mean something different wherever you’re from?”
“Well, I guess there are different kinds,” admitted Lan. “Some of them can be quite tall... I wouldn’t say I’m an elf expert.”
“We are tree nymphs, silly. There is a nymph for every tree, every stream. Ruse has lived in this Hollow for ages, and Phoenix and I have shared it with him. It has been our home since he protected us as saplings fifty years back.”
She pointed to the border of the clearing, where the two towering red-flowered trees grew, bent in a close embrace.
“That’s you?” said Lan in awe. “You remind me of the trees by the lake in the city where I grew up, but they’re a long way from here.”
“A long way, you say? This forest is one of the oldest ones to thrive in any world. Perhaps we started off as distant cousins years ago, us and your trees. Seeds have drifted through portals as long as they’ve existed.”
“How did you know I come from another world?”
“It’s my job to read bodies, and yours bears the marks of a crossing not long ago.”
“What mark is that?” asked Lan, looking down at herself as if expecting to find a stamp of some sort.
“Not one visible to your eye,” said Kestrel. “At least not yet. It appears somewhat like—oh, I don’t know—baby skin?”
“Baby skin?”
“Like a snake.”
“You’re saying I look like a snake to you?”
“Of course not. You look like you’ve just shed a layer. You’re all raw and shiny.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, it’s natural to leave a bit of your old self behind when you make a big trip. Makes room for new things to stick. We all do it—people, snakes, trees—some in more visible ways than others.”
“Sorry if this is rude,” said Lan, “but are you the same thing as a tree guardian? You’re a whole lot nicer than the ones we’ve met.”
“No, nymphs are spirits, much like human souls, with the ability to move between physical forms. We have the power to create tree guardians from our bark.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t need to, beyond the odd one to run an errand here or there—or to prank Zephyr. He’s easily skittish, but keep that between us.”
Lan smiled. She took the potion Kestrel offered her and sipped obediently, but she couldn’t stay silent for long. The very air teemed with questions, bursting with so many smells that Lan could not keep up. Though it was early morning, and the fire was dead, the clearing danced with shadows flitting in and out of focus.
“Why haven’t we met more of you?” asked Lan. “Nymphs, I mean, if there’s one for every tree and river?”
“How many strangers stop you on the street to say hi?” said Kestrel. “We aren’t on display for your amusement. We show ourselves when we want, take any living form as long as we stay a day’s walk from our roots. Many nymphs never leave their homes. They’re happy in the shape they were planted. You’ve probably run into plenty without knowing. Phoenix and I like our human bodies, but many don’t. Ruse once claimed he saw a nymph in dragon shape. Can you imagine? That would be a hard form to hold.”
“Does it hurt you to not be in your tree?”
“It can get draining if I don’t return often. It is my life force, after all.”
“So, what happened when Ruse saved you? Was Zephyr there, too?”
“Zephyr is younger than that. Tell me, do you know why outsiders call this place the Weathering Woods?”
“No, I asked, but Marlow couldn’t say.”
“This forest has stood far longer than Asta’s orchard,” said Kestrel. She emptied the contents of her mortar into a separate bowl, added a new batch of ingredients, and continued crushing. “But everything changed when those seeds were brought to Silva.”
“Who brought them?”
“They were ordered by the Silvan ruler as an amplifier for the kingdom’s magic. Likely brought to the capital by merchants or traders. Along the way, they had a bad run-in with a witch or two. A fight broke out on the eastern road. The whole forest changed. Have you noticed how the air and trees feel different in this Hollow?”
“Yes,” said Lan. Her hair was getting frizzy, and her shirt was sticky with sweat. “It feels warm, almost like my home.”
“That’s because the rest of Silva’s weather is controlled by the meteorologists up in their towers in Asta. It’s always sunny, neither too hot nor too cold, with just enough rain to keep everything growing. These woods are the exception.”
“Who controls the weather here?” asked Lan.
“We do.”
“You mean, the nymphs?”
“I mean, everyone. Whatever residue that spell left in the woods centuries ago made the forest particularly sensitive to changes in weather, as caused by the whims of all beings who call this place home. It’s allowed for pockets of different plants to flourish, much like the orchard in Asta.”
“So this clearing we’re in—”
“Ruse’s Hollow is the product of many homes blended together—that of the centaurs and of the nymphs that live nearby, including Phoenix and me. If you stay longer, you’ll start to leave your own mark, too.”
“What’s the rest of the forest look like? It was so dark last night, I barely saw.”
“It greatly depends. I’ve heard the north is foggy, cold, and wet from the mists rolling in from the cliffs. Other parts are too dry for me to venture, and rumors are the southern coast is perpetually caught in storms. To each their own, I suppose.”
“That creature we ran into, the heart-eater—”
“He is well practiced in exerting influence over his grove. It takes ages to master that much control. Even I could not.”
“But if anyone can change the weather in the forest, what if I want it to rain and someone else wants sun in the same place?”
“You’ll find you’re more in agreement when your needs are aligned and entwined with the natural world. Nevertheless, you’re right. Some parts of the woods are always in chaos over who gets to grow where. You asked for my and Phoenix’s story. Ruse saved us when a nasty bunch of stone pines were ready to rip us from the ground. His scar is from that fight.”
“He fought off their tree guardians, like we did?”
“With the older nymphs who have passed on. Phoenix and I decided that we wanted to learn how to help, so we wouldn’t be helpless if anyone was in danger again.”
Lan opened her mouth to ask more, but then Ruse himself appeared at the far end of the clearing, where the terrain dropped off into the sloped ravine. Phoenix and Zephyr followed, draped with ropes. Kestrel stood, and Lan saw relief on her face.
“The sun is well up,” she said.
The centaurs spared Lan only a glance before they settled by the empty firepit. Kestrel called out a few words to her sister, and Phoenix approached.
“Lan, is it?” asked Phoenix. She planted her spear, ropes slung around it, in the dirt and looked Lan up and down. “What are three kids doing crossing these woods alone?”
“It’s a bit of a long story.”
“Let me guess—orphans headed to the capital?”
Lan stared. She didn’t bother to mention that she was neither an orphan nor going to Asta. At least, she didn’t plan on going.
“Do you meet a lot of orphans headed to the capital?” asked Lan.
“Anyone who’s after anything goes to Asta.”
“What did the others want?”
“Second chances?” Phoenix said, shrugging. “The forest isn’t kind to strangers, but I hear it’s rough out west. No one ever heads to the valley anymore, not in years.”
“Did you rescue others, too?”
“Zephyr and Ruse guided two on their way,” she said. “They didn’t stay long.”
“We have to get going, too, as soon as my friends are better.”
“You might have some time to wait.”
Lan made a face. She had to believe they’d all be back on their feet in a few days, even if the odds weren’t great. Her stomach turned uneasily. Waiting was the worst.
“Get yourself food,” Kestrel instructed, pointing to a cauldron beside the fire with her pestle. Something soupy smelled good. Lan gladly obeyed, getting up cautiously. It took her two tries to steady herself.
The creamy broth was nothing like the clear soups Lan was used to eating with her family. It had too many beans for her taste and some strange grain, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. The honey cakes that followed were delicious.
The sun rose high over treetops laden with spring flowers. Kestrel ordered Lan down to the stream to wash. She stumbled across the dirt paths, tripping on roots amid the giggles of tree nymphs, and found the creek in minutes. Lan sank into the cool water. In the shallow riverbed, sunlight flitted across her face. A rush of feelings came over her—exhaustion that lingered in her bones, a loss of what to do while she waited for Marlow and Annabelle to recover, and the strange mix of comfort and hesitation at being in this unfamiliar Hollow. Her toes squelched in the mud. Small fish nipped at her ankles.
Lan lost track of how long she sat in silence, submerged to her eyes like a frog. Her fingers grew pruny. She tried to ignore the thought of hidden tree nymphs watching and judging her gross clothes and icky hair. Carefully, she rinsed away the layers of grime and gods knew what else coating her body. As the gunk floated downstream, Lan could almost feel the current carry the events of that horrible night along with it.
When Lan got back to the Hollow, the camp appeared empty except for Zephyr, who stood alone by Marlow and Annabelle as if keeping watch. Wet clothes and furs hung to dry on a line strung between two saplings, just like the clothesline Lan’s mother had rigged herself on their old balcony. The young centaur glanced up as Lan returned, his arms crossed and his face impatient.
“Finally,” he said. “I was tasked with looking out for you.”
“I was right down the hill,” said Lan grumpily. “My walk to school is longer, and I’m not helpless.”
“That’s what I told them. Kestrel wouldn’t listen. She says you’re very fragile in your condition—don’t get mad at me! I’m just repeating.”
His front hoof pawed the ground in a fidgety manner. In the light, Zephyr looked infinitely younger than Ruse, like a teenager, whatever that meant in centaur years. His hair was black and neatly braided, his eyes bright. They examined her with curiosity.
“Kestrel says you’re not from here, not like the other two,” he said.
“I—um, I guess not really,” said Lan awkwardly. “I just wanted to help.”
“Good thing for them that you did.”
“But I should be getting back before long.”
“Back to where?”
“Toronto, I suppose.”
“Is that your home?”
“Well, it’s where I’m supposed to be. I don’t know... It’s hard to explain.”
Lan stood dripping from the river water, wondering how she could excuse herself politely but was spared the need to escape when Zephyr abruptly changed the subject.
“Wanna go for a ride?”
“Oh, um, yes, I do. Will Marlow and Annabelle be okay alone?”
“Every nymph in this clearing’s got eyes on them. Well, maybe not every one. The peach blossoms are throwing quite the party downstream. But the rest aren’t far.”
“Can we go see?”
“See a nymph party? Ruse would have my head if I brought you there. No, we’re going for a nice gentle stroll somewhere I can justify when we inevitably get yelled at.”
“Is Kestrel going to be mad we left?”
“Absolutely, but you’d rather sit here and do nothing?”
“No.”
“Then hop on.”
Lan grabbed hold of Zephyr’s hand and clambered awkwardly onto his back. She tried not to sway as he began to move.
“You don’t have to squeeze your legs so hard,” grumbled Zephyr. “My shins are bruised from you kicking around, trying to get up. A truly ungraceful display.”
“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to ride, but I never got to learn.”
“No centaurs willing to give lessons?”
“Um—I guess you could say that,” said Lan. She did not have the heart to tell Zephyr that she came from a world so empty of magic it didn’t even have creatures who looked like him.
“The trick is sitting upright,” said Zephyr. “Keep your back straight and try not to move around so much. A strong center means you’ll stay balanced through all the bumps and turns. You won’t get far by clutching on tighter.”
Lan tried to relax and keep her balance. Zephyr moved slowly. He pointed out the names of nearby tree nymphs they encountered, at least the ones in human form that Lan could see. Some waved and peered at her curiously behind winding trunks or perched atop branches. Others flitted shyly between the foliage. Now that she listened, an undercurrent of laughter and whispers followed their walk. She realized that she had never spent so much time outside the city, never recognized the pull of the bustle and silence that sat in the outdoors. It wasn’t scary or wild at all but bursting with life. That mixed feeling of solitude and company reminded her of being in a library.
“Everyone’s so friendly,” said Lan. “The pines we met in the western valley didn’t give us this kind of welcome. They sent a whole tree-guardian army after us.”
“Tree guardians are only called on under threat,” said Zephyr. “No offense, but you’re hardly a threat here.”
“We didn’t do anything there, either. Marlow might’ve taken some firewood and sap for his arrows early on, but then we just wanted to pass.”
