Chapter 7 The Library Tree #3
He knew what was coming next and he didn’t want to hear it.
“Additionally, he saw something new. A large lupine creature with black, viscous, dynamic flesh that shifted to reveal the skeletal structure beneath. This cryptid appeared to be pursuing the fawn.”
And my throat.
“It was approximately the size of a large black bear with the morphology of an uncommonly stocky wolf, with a posterior curving S-shaped horn on its muzzle. The creature shattered my apprentice’s windshield as he sat motionless in his car.
It thoroughly investigated his person and caused several minor injuries.
He also experienced nonverbal communication with the creature. ”
Sure. The way a kick to the groin is “communication” with the kicker’s foot.
Valentina looked to Green and motioned him closer.
“As the discoverer of this new organism, the naming falls to my apprentice. He calls it…”
Valentina pointed at the device and looked to Green.
They hadn’t discussed the name.
Descriptions stampeded through his head.
Murder wolf. Nightmare wolf. Devil wolf.
He looked around at the shelves full of wonders and knew those names wouldn’t do. Green’s pulse raced, but he leaned in and spoke as steadily as he could manage.
“The horned wolf.”
If you wanted creativity, you should have given me some notice.
Valentina smiled.
He felt an urge to add a warning, to blurt out the sense of lethality and malevolence he felt in its presence, to mention the fisherman’s death and how it didn’t feel like a coincidence to him, but Valentina continued speaking.
“The horned wolf,” she repeated. “I would ask that you do not come here seeking this creature for the present. I know that request is unorthodox, but my apprentice has just begun his studies, and I wish to treat this situation with an abundance of caution. In short, there are enough variables on this mountain already. Valentina Blackwood signing off.”
She flipped the switch and closed the box.
“The horned wolf,” Valentina said. “Well done, Mr. Green. Descriptive. Practical. You shunned the ugly temptation to put your signature on a living creature by calling it ‘Green’s wolf’ or some such self-aggrandizing nonsense. Admirable instincts.”
“I have so many questions,” Green said.
Valentina folded her hands in her lap.
“Proceed.”
“What was that hand that took the sugar cube?”
“The network administrator? Mycelium network of a globe-spanning cryptofungus. The sugar is simple reciprocity. Though, there are numerous ways to access the cryptonaturalist frequencies.”
Green wondered at Valentina’s ability to deliver such bizarre explanations as if she were reciting a software user agreement.
He stood and moved to look out a window. He could see the pale line of the gravel lane and ranks of autumn trees fading to a jagged horizon.
“Shouldn’t I have said more about what the wolf is? Like, a warning? Nobody should go looking for that thing.”
“I am sympathetic. You certainly experienced a traumatic moment with the horned wolf, but you must not let it become the monster of your personal mythology. That animal may well be as dangerous as a Bengal tiger or a great white shark, but neither the shark nor the horned wolf are instruments of evil. Think of your time with the rag moth. Try to set aside emotion. Do not moralize. Nature. Not monsters.”
His anger flared, but he stomped the fire into a puff of smoke and cinders.
“None of this makes sense to me. Why can I see these things and people like Dancer can only see standard nature?”
Valentina snorted.
“Standard nature? There is no standard nature, Mr. Green. It is all fantastical.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but we aren’t leaving this point so quickly. I am your teacher and I sense a fundamental misunderstanding in your question. ‘Standard’ implies something hierarchical, yes? Standard versus superior? Or standard versus substandard?”
Great. Another semantics lesson.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Mr. Green, sasquatch is a common cryptid of popular imagination, correct? You could have told me what a sasquatch was a year ago, is that a fair assumption?”
“Yes.”
“Tall bipedal forest-dwelling ape. Would you call that standard nature?”
“Well, no. Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t. It’s hidden. People don’t just see them. They’ve never found a body. They’re…legendary.”
“So, it’s a question of rarity?”
“Well, yes, but I think it’s more than that. Sasquatch is a matter of debate. It’s not accepted as just rare. It’s different. It’s mythic. Mysterious.”
Valentina looked past Green to the window.
“Mr. Green, these mountains have a strong population of red oaks. A common, well-documented tree. Correct?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Green had no idea how common red oaks were.
“Some years, the oaks in this region produce massive crops of acorns. Other years, they may produce none. Not on a tree-by-tree basis, mind you, but as a community.”
Green touched the lump where his acorn rested. Valentina continued.
“There are theories as to why this is beneficial for the trees. Predator satiation and so on. But, how, Mr. Green, do all the red oaks in this region decide when to produce a crop and when to wait? Moreover, how do they speak with one another to coordinate their actions among their community?”
Green shrugged.
“I don’t know, but somebody must.”
“No, Mr. Green. They really don’t. Not in any real detail.
We do not know. We have no Rosetta stone for red oak language.
The red oak is a common tree. Communication is a common behavior.
And we do not know how they organize and plan their acorn crops.
Scientists cannot predict when the red oaks will produce acorns with any degree of certainty.
That’s the commonplace and inscrutable oak, standard nature.
There are countless such mysteries within easy view as you look out that window, among species no one would classify as cryptonature. ”
Green turned back toward the little round window and the mass of trees beyond.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Look out there, Mr. Green. Don’t just see. Really try to look.”
Outside, the branches swayed. The oaks’ leaves, russet and brown, rattled and muttered, but kept their secrets.
“Trees, Mr. Green. Organisms that fade into the background of our lives from simple familiarity. What are they? Imagine you arrived on this planet this morning. What are they?”
Green weighed the question in his mind. It was big. Surprisingly big. Too big to hold. Green knew that he couldn’t even name the species of most of the trees out this particular window. He certainly couldn’t talk about the intricacies of how they lived or reproduced.
“Modern people so often see trees as things. Fine then, let’s reframe them in a context familiar to you.
Let’s imagine them as human technology,” Valentina said.
“Self-replicating, solar-powered machines that synthesize carbon dioxide and rainwater into oxygen and sturdy building materials on a planetary scale. They lift tons of water hundreds of feet into the air without making a sound. Can humans build anything that compares to that in scope, subtlety, and efficiency?”
Valentina stood and joined Green at the window. Green looked down at her lined face, her dark eyes.
“We cannot, Mr. Green. Human ingenuity cannot re-create the most common of standard nature. Not even close. Do you understand? We cannot make, or even digest, our own food without the help of other species. Beyond that, the distinction between humans and our crafts and nature itself is an absurd fiction. We, ourselves, are standard nature.”
He didn’t answer. He looked back to the trees.
“Cryptonaturalists study a specific niche in nature because we’re the ones who can study it, not because it is any more important or amazing than the most common tree on earth.
Do not rob yourself at this early stage in your career by turning away from seemingly commonplace organisms. Bats can hear the shape of their world.
Pythons can see the heat of their prey. Bees can dance directions to one another at the doorstep to their hive.
There is no such thing as standard nature here. ”
“I think I understand.”
He thought about it. All nature felt new to him. Perhaps he could see all of it with new eyes.
“Um, Teacher?”
“Yes?”
“Is sasquatch real?”
Valentina nodded.
“Quite real. Sasquatch is a broad term for several species. Not terribly rare. There’s a long-running debate among cryptonaturalists if sasquatch should be considered a cryptid. Something of an edge case.”
“Oh, so, possibly too standard, huh?”
“Common. You can use common as a sensible description, just not as a pejorative judgment of worth.”
“I got it. So, do we have any idea why some people can perceive cryptonature and some can’t?”
Valentina walked back to her chair and sat.
“The short answer is no. We don’t know why any more than we can decode red oak speech.
We do know a few things. We know that some are born with the predisposition.
Some gain it through work and interest. I know two individuals who specialize in a single cryptid species and cannot perceive any others.
It is a complex question with an untidy answer.
Like many aspects of nature and biology, it’s a spectrum, not a binary. ”
“Do you think Dancer could be trained to see cryptids?”
Valentina took a small broom from beside the broadcasting table and began sweeping away the spores left behind by the network administrator’s hand, brushing them through the gap beside the oak trunk.
“I do. I even suggested as much to her once. It made sense to me. Ms. Dancer strikes me as uncommonly observant and she chooses a quiet life on a cryptid-rich mountainside. I offered some basic exercises to broaden her perspective.”
Green laughed.
“I would love to have heard that conversation play out. I’m guessing she wasn’t into the idea.”
“You guess correctly. And, by way of apology, she dropped off a gift-wrapped hat. I think that was the second hat she gave me. Or third. I don’t recall.”
The wooden broadcast box began to make a soft sound like a finger tapping a tabletop.
Valentina turned and frowned at the device.
“Incoming message? Too fast for a reply. There is usually a delay on those broadcasts.”
A staccato chirping began and her expression hardened.
“Emergency call.”
She opened the box and flipped the switch.
“Valentina Blackwood. Go ahead.”
A burst of static and then a gruff voice.
“Ranger Cheng. Ranger Station Orion. Morning, Val. Calling with poor news, I’m afraid.”
The muscles in Valentina’s jaw tensed.
“Sorry to say, we’ve got fatalities reported in your area. Unknown cryptid suspected. Kinkaid Cabins, about five miles south of you. Know ’em?”
Green’s mouth went dry.
“Yes, I know them,” Valentina said. “Do the authorities know yet?”
“Affirmative, looks like local police are there now. Have been for a bit. Medical examiner already came and went. Likely leaving with the corpses soon, if they haven’t already. I’ll get you copies of photos and coroner’s reports via crawler as soon as I can.”
“How many?”
“Three. College kids. Sitting around a campfire.”
Valentina grimaced.
“Understood.”
“This one’s bad, Val. Preliminary reports are just preliminary, of course, but it looks targeted. We got pinged by the Whisperwood Agents and Old Threepwood’s Calamity Device. Something outside normal parameters is behind this.”
Green spoke up.
“What about the other death. Night before last. Kyle…something.”
“Kyle Cartwright,” Valentina said. She narrowed her eyes at Green, but let him continue.
“Right. Kyle Cartwright. He was found on the roadside.”
“Who’s that?” Cheng asked.
“My new apprentice. Are you familiar with the death he mentioned?”
“We are. We’re reexamining it, but nothing conclusive. It’s on our radar though.”
“Alright, Mr. Cheng. I’ll begin investigating.”
“Thanks, Val. Let us know what you find. We’re standing by to help with whatever you need.”
She clicked off the box and shut the lid. Her face smoothed to the sort of neutrality that looks like a wound.
Green shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had new angles courtesy of the wolf attack. Dread, bare and stark as a snowfield, placed a cold hand between his shoulder blades.
“Mr. Green, you seem fated to experience too much too quickly.”
“First, Kyle Cartwright. Now, three others dead? Tell me this isn’t a common part of your job?”
“No. Thankfully, not common at all. I haven’t had a call like that from the rangers in more than a decade.”
“God. What did he mean by targeted?”
Valentina pursed her lips.
“Do you recall what I told you about how we find rag moth corpses? The mummified remains? A deadly misunderstanding between species. An accident of place and time and instinct.”
“Yes, hard to forget.”
“Well, in the opinion of the rangers, this was not that. When Ranger Cheng says targeted, he means they believe that whatever killed those people sought them out with lethal intent.”
Green felt cold. In a deep, still pool of his mind, a skeletal wolf was surfacing from the dark water, an ivory island rising from the blackness.
I told you. The wolf is different.
“It means, Mr. Green, that whatever hunted and killed those people will likely do it again.”