8. One to Watch
CHAPTER EIGHT
ONE TO WATCH
Movement jars me awake. Even after hours asleep, my body has not forgotten all there is to fear. Jumping to my feet, I scan the woods for what made the sound. The morning light filters in through the trees andthe woods along the creek are no longer so terrifying. No birds sing and nothing rustles in the bushes and brush nearby. I hope it is just because it is too early and not because something hovers nearby to silence everything. It could be Fallow. After last night, Fallow isn’t even in my top ten things to have nightmares over.
The movement that woke me, is harder to sense awake than it was when I was on the edge of sleep. My gaze lands on a brown mouse in the brush, watching me. It appears entirely usual except for how it is not frightened of me at all. Where mice before would watch me with a nervous air about them, ready to sprint away at the slightest move, this one watches me with its head cocked in curiosity. There is an intelligence in its gaze that a typical rodent would lack.
In my mind, a question is posed in the voice of a woman. “Did you mean it?”
I sense the voice stems from the mind of the mouse. There is an ancient sort of tilt to her tenor, the remnants of a language long gone from the world. When I blink at the creature in shock, it hops forward and cocks its head to the other side.
It could be insanity breeding the thought, but I believe the mouse means to ask if I meant it when I thought to venture further into the woods last night. I did not speak my vow aloud. In this place where I can hear the queries of mice, maybe I should be more careful what I think. “I suppose I did mean it.”
Saying it now causes the world to shift. The air grows dense with moisture. The birds begin chirping. The creek to my right grows louder, startling me after my run in with so much water yesterday. For the first time, I realize I have been living in a fog since arriving in the rift. All at once, it is like cotton has been pulled from my ears. With my promise to leave this place, a shroud has lifted. Even the sun shines brighter .
“I could lead you there.” The mouse turns its back to me and drops onto all fours to scurry forward.
Despite not knowing where there is, the voice pulls at me. I wish to follow it if only so I could hear such a voice more often. The words of Fallow keep me rooted in place.
Trust no one.
Though it hurts to turn the seemingly friendly mouse away, in the daylight company no longer feels so crucial as it did last night. “I think I will carry on alone for now, thank you.”
Before my eyes, the mouse transforms into a pile of rotting leaves. A laugh carries on the wind followed by the voice of a woman with a very different air than the mouse had possessed. This woman’s voice booms in my head with power befitting a queen. “You are getting good at this already, Odell Darly. Let us all see what catches you first.”
The disembodied voice sneers my maiden name with a cruel twist, proving whatever it is was present when I gave the name to Fallow, and vanishes. I should assume everything here knows every word said aloud. Perhaps I should include about half my thoughts in that assumption as well.
Fear dances with pride in my body over having made the right choice. It is as good a start as can be expected.
I note that mice cannot be trusted, at least not ones that can speak into my mind, and lift my foot to walk deeper into the woods. Henry is in The Thicket. If I am to be separated from the rest of my soul, my daughter, I will set myself to a new task. I will find a way to save Anne, save myself, and maybe find my husband.
Turning over my shoulder, I scan trees and imagine the plains beyond that lead to the little house where I would be making breakfast for Anne right this moment if not for my ignoring danger yesterday. To go deeper into the woods would mean forgetting. That is what Fallow said. That we all wander, forget, and end up lost in The Thicket. Yesterday, I felt so certain that it would not happen to me. Now I am certain it will. There is magic in this space that I hold no hope of fighting.
This morning, I am not even sure I wish to fight such an end. Getting lost might be the way out. For all I know of this place, when the last shred of myself is lost, I will wake in my kitchen with Anne awaiting breakfast.
I must hope that my instincts prove enough to get through whatever this is.
“Where do I go?” I lift my foot again to trek deeper into the woods. “Is it the same woods as it always has been? If I walk far enough, will I reach town?”
Nothing answers me, which is a relief and a let-down in equal measure. Fallow might know the answers. I have little doubt he can hear me from wherever he hides. Though I might not have the guts to press on if I knew all the details he could tell me.
“I guess the boundary remains? It doesn’t move?” The horrifying reality that, if I leave the border too far behind, the woods might become something new strikes me. There is magic at play here. All these monsters cannot live in the small section of woods between our farm and town. If The Thicket were a place one could easily venture into, too many people would get lost inside.
Like Henry.
The belief that Henry is in The Thicket somewhere allows me to take a step away from the edge of my prison between worlds. My bones tell me Henry is somewhere ahead of me. There are a few upsides to this endeavor. Having nothing to lose could be one of them.
But there is something to lose. Anne is here. The fields I know that lie beyond my reach are here, too. Leaving behind the familiar weighs on me, holding me in place. I imagine a team of men lifting my foot with ropes the way the wall of a new barn is raised. At the sound of imaginary heaves and calls to haul, I take another step followed by another.
“And Anne will stay where she is? She will be trapped there? Does she know it?”
Like Fallow knows I did not need the other questions answered but have to hear this one before taking another step, the wind whispers, “She dreams of better things.”
That I cannot rescue Anne and myself from the rift is a fact I am becoming more aware of.
Fallow said it was a matter of choice, but there is no choice. Not really. Motherhood is full of such moments. Even if the answers to all of my questions are dour, I would still have to go deeper into the woods. It is Anne’s only chance, so I must take it.
In my mind, not yet willing to voice it aloud, I choose The Thicket. That is where I wish to go. I no longer want to hover in this limbo between my world and the other.
“What do you want from the woods, Odell?”
The voice is not that of Fallow or any creature I’ve heard before. It sounds through the air like clashing stones and feels as old as mountains. The birds continue singing, cementing that only I can hear the question. I see no one who might’ve spoken the words. I didn’t really expect to. The question has been asked by The Thicket itself, for all I can tell.
With a steadying breath, I manage to whisper to the woods, “I want to go deeper.” It feels a little silly, but knowing the air itself is alive and listening chases my foolishness away. “I want to go to The Thicket.” The words of the monster I met in the water return to me and I think I’m beginning to understand them. “I want to walk where others grow lost.”
Again, the feeling that the world has shifted beneath my feet strikes me. I stumble as the woods fly by while I remain in place.
With panic rising in my body like floodwaters, I step back and find the world has become an endless wood. The forest stretches on forever, so far as I can see, and it is denser than it ever has been. There is no going back now that I have made a choice.
The dappled sunlight glimmers on the wet morning leaves and birds hop in the branches. The brook by my side still piddles along the earth. The muddy banks are tracked with hooves and small, padded footprints of the animals that found drinks in the night in a world that I was present in but also not. The air still smells a little musty, as if the deer, rabbits, and racoons that frequented the banks in the night lingered long enough to leave their scent.
It feels as the woods always have, yet I know it is not so. A mouse spoke to me only moments ago, and the landscape just changed before my eyes.
Knowing the decision could be final, I made it willingly. With the reminder, I press back my tears. I have lost count of how many times I have reminded myself of late that tears serve nothing and no one. It remains true now, and I must forge on and complete my task. Another tear tracks down my cheek as a shivering breath escapes me. I can’t control every terror that slips free from my eyes, but crying will not stop me from walking. I will not break down and give in. That I lack all the details, save for the outcome I want, cannot matter.
“Fallow?” My voice shakes in a way that gives all my roiling emotions away. Like putting out a flame that might grow into a housefire, I smother it with resolve.
It feels stupid to speak aloud to no one. I get the feeling I will be doing a lot of that from here on out.
In a world where no one can be trusted, I cannot even trust the trees to remain in place if I stop watching them. The rules and roots of the world I grew up in hold no power here.
“Do you have any more advice for me, Fallow?”
“You want the advice of a digger, Odell?” I start at hearing an answer, having not expected one. Searching by my feet for a spider or mouse, I find a pair of boots instead, made from the leaves and twigs that cover the ground. Following the feet up, I find myself standing beside a man. He is made of leaves and damp earth. The rolls of his cheekbones have their own birch leaves pressed upon them, and his brows are the tops of creekside weeds. He appears as close to human as the woods could ever allow.
“I’m not sure what a digger is, really. I want the advice of the only creature here who has shown me any kindness.” His strange brows rise with a reminder, and I add, “Not kindness freely given, I am certain. Do not fear for me, Fallow, I do not expect your kindness comes from the goodness of your heart but some purely selfish end.”
He smirks, but with only empty space inside him and no teeth to show, it lacks the teasing nature it might hold if he were a man in truth. It does feel familiar, though.
Before he speaks, there is a rush of air like when one can hear the gale coming down a valley before it strikes. “You are in better spirits than last night.” His voice sounds like wind through the trees. When he is done, there is no tenor, only air manipulated into words, the consonants like the creak of tree branches rubbing against one another.
“My husband would say I adapt fast.” A pang flairs in my chest at the memory of how he would smile when he said it. He often praised my adaptability when he first brought me to Tennessee, but also when I grew Anne in my belly and got a little bigger each day, always creating some new inconvenience to overcome. He said the same when I took to doing all my typical work with Anne wrapped in a length of fabric, held snug to my chest.
“I thought your husband was dead.”
It is rare that I allow myself to think of Henry being dead, let alone speak the words aloud. Not once in the day I have been here can I remember mentioning Henry aloud to Fallow. I take a step away from him and, though the leaves formed around sockets are filled with nothing, I can imagine a gleam of mischief there. “The huntress was right. You are getting good at this in a hurry.”
The huntress. That must have been the mouse. Fallow has assured me of something I began to figure out last night. He is following me. “Why do you remain near?”
“I am a digger. This isn’t peace work. ”
“A digger of what?” He shrugs, alighting my frustrations with yet another unanswered question in this place. “Right.” He might be able to tell from my expression that, even if he has answered my question to his knowledge, he has not managed it from mine. He probably would not tell me more details if I asked for them. “But why did you take me? The piece of my soul?”
For the first time in my presence, Fallow appears remiss to answer me and his bearing is less than haughty. “I was tasked by The Keeper to find the soul of a mother. It was an impossible task, or so I thought.”
The Keeper. I have heard that before. The creature in the caves before I entered The Thicket had mentioned it while I fled. A mother for The Keeper.
Shaking away the dread that the memory builds in me, I return my attention to Fallow and seek yet more answers. “Why impossible?”
He shifts on his feet, the ruffage that makes him physical shushing together. Then he straightens and shrugs. “The power of a mother’s soul is oft described. You’re surprising.”
He does not say in which way I have shocked him.
Based on how often I have cowered in his presence, and in this place, in the last day, I imagine I am unimpressive. He is not watching me like that is the case, though. If he had features that were easy to read, I would be almost certain there is a look of awe on his face. I do not want to know right now if that is true. “What is your part to play now, then? Where do you need to bring me?”
He shakes his head, rustling the foliage that embodies him. “I do not need to bring you anywhere. I am to ensure you get lost in a way that is productive. Finding The Keeper is a rare thing. Most mothers never make it to the center of The Thicket where He dwells.”
“What on earth does that mean?” I have already run out of patience with the many things I do not know, though moments ago I had been so sure of my ability to settle with knowing nothing but my goal.
“The end of your travels in The Thicket is meant to be at the hands of The Keeper. Devoured by a monster? Picked clean by golems? Pickled in a jar? Those are not my orders. If you are lured away by a huntress and turned into something unnatural, The Keeper would be very cross.”
“What is a keeper?”
“ The Keeper.”
My mind adds the new knowledge of this world to a growing list. Golems, huntresses, monsters, and The Keeper. The Keeper sounds like the sort of creature who might hold the keys to this place, someone who could free me from it if He deigned to do so. Fallow collected me for The Keeper. Maybe I can give Him what He wants and be on my way.
Unable to remain still, I start walking and the sound of Fallow’sfootsteps behind me is much like squirrels shaking autumn branches in their search for acorns. This cannot be so simple as following a road to the center of the woods, so I ask, “Where do I find The Keeper?”
“You need not trouble yourself with looking. All paths in The Thicket lead to Him if He wants them to. He would find you, thwart you, or meet you if He felt He must. In fact, all you would have to do is stay still to test His patience.” Fallow’s leafy boots crunch on the earth. His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he sighs, which sounds strange on him. He doesn’t seem to need to breathe. Perhaps his sigh is an old habit from when he once did. He murmurs, “I wouldn’t suggest doing that— staying still.”
I wonder if The Keeper needs to be impressed like the monstrous water yesterday. Standing still wouldn’t serve as much of a test for my soul, I suppose.
Awash in contradictions will be my new, most prominent trait. The soles of my feet itch and I do not know whether it is to find The Keeper faster or make my best attempts at evading the one Fallow claims can find me whenever He wishes. “Can you tell me why I should not stay still? That sounds simplest.”
Tempting, even.
Wandering aimlessly in a dangerous world doesn’t appeal to me at all, but my feet burn to move forward. My daughter lies frozen behind me somewhere in a realm I can no longer reach.
“Never mind.” I shake my head and keep walking, picking up my pace. Fallow does the same in order to stay beside me, his strange footsteps keeping me pleasant company. “I can’t sit still, not when walking will save Anne faster.”
Fallow gives me a raised look, or as close to one as he can manage. “The Keeper is in the center of The Thicket, a place you swore to never find only yesterday, a much harder place to find than you know. Does your mind shift with such ease in all things?”
I get the feeling that Fallow is bending rules to tell me what he has. I think he is performing a careful dance around what he is and is not allowed to say. “The Keeper… Is He the end I am meant to meet? Will He kill me? ”
Fallow remains silent and still.
“Leaving me to know what is coming or what choices would be right would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? Must I make all my decisions with only guesses and hearsay to aid me? My daughter’s life hangs in the balance!”
He barks a laugh and, in his strange, breathy tone, it sounds like a hiss. “Are those all your questions?”
Already the pieces of the forest that make up his person are floating back into the air around him and dropping to the earth. I don’t want him to vanish. When he does, I will be wandering these woods alone again. Though he has answered precious few of my questions in any way I can understand, I do not want to be left with no one to pepper with them.
“Why are you called a digger?”
The leaves cease their retreat from his form, shoring up the lines of Fallow once more. “That isn’t important.”
“Did The Keeper make you a digger? Or did you become one when you arrived? Have I become anything new?” I inspect my hands and find them to appear just as they always have. I feel no different than I did yesterday aside from feeling more in step with the path now laid beneath my feet.
“What would you call me instead of a digger?”
Fallow changes the course of our conversation so fast I almost forget I had one in the first place. I heard fairies love bargains and, though Fallow claims to not be any variety of fairy, this place reminds me of ancient tales. “Perhaps if you answer me, I will answer you.”
He moves to clap his hands in front of his chest like a man who is sealing an exciting deal. Henry used to do the same. Fallow’s hands, hollow air surrounded by leaves, pass through one another and reform in a clash of autumn colors. He does not appear to notice the strangeness of the act. “Alright. You are a mother. The Thicket grows with each one trapped. You are Odell, just as you were yesterday collecting walnuts or the day before riding your mare. The Keeper doesn’t get His prize if you are changed, though many seek a mother’s soul for themselves.”
I wish I felt as powerful as Fallow keeps saying I am.
“You owe me an answer, Odell.” Fallow appears very interested in what I have to say on the matter of what he should be called. A digger seems a very strange title for him. From what he has told me, I can think up a few better ones. For now, I will hold what leverage I can.
“You have broken one of your own rules, Fallow. Never trust anyone.”
If he is offended by my slighting him in our game, he does not show it. With a laugh like rustling leaves, Fallow’s makeshift body of twigs and weeds drops into a pile by my feet. The wind tickles my ear and whispers, “One to watch.”