Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Liam woke to sunlight filtering in the window.
It took a moment to remember where he was as he took in the unfamiliar room. He pulled the blanket tighter about himself. The house reeked of wood smoke from the old stove, and it had seeped into the bedding.
Maple noticed his movement and inched forward from where she’d curled up near his legs. She greeted him with sloppy kisses, trailing saliva across his chin.
“Ah, Maple,” he scolded half-heartedly. “Gross.”
Her tail wagged in response, and she settled in closer, laying her head on his stomach with a dopey grin. Muted sunlight brought out orange undertones in her dark fur, and the complexity of her brown eyes. There was a single window to the left of him, framed by thin curtains that looked out into the forest beyond. It was bright out there—suspiciously bright.
Liam fumbled for his phone; he’d overslept, and wasted far more of the day than he’d intended. By the time he’d picked up the truck yesterday, got the boxes from Rebecca’s place, and made the drive, it had been nearly midnight when he pulled in.
“Shit,” he muttered, before rolling out of the old spring bed and throwing on a knit long-sleeve shirt. The house was already freezing. The fire in the wood stove had burned down to embers, and there was no furnace to speak of. He dressed in his usual tan pants and for added warmth, he pulled on a fleece, in his favorite dark green.
Maple grew impatient and sat whining at the back door. She was ready to go out for the morning, and probably more than ready for breakfast.
Giving her a quick pat on the head, he let her out and then took a look around the room. The house was so cluttered it threatened to overwhelm him. The looming task felt much bigger, now that he’d seen it in the daylight.
The cabin was built by Liam’s great-grandfather in the early 1930s. He’d been a part of the initial wave of settlers in the valley, who’d traveled in search of lumber. The region was remote, and rugged as hell, so many of those who settled the valley didn’t stay. He was one of the few who toughed it out. He never managed to make it very far in the industry; he was never one of those to profit off the lumber, but he did manage to accrue a good bit of land that he passed on to the future generations.
The house had started off as a single room, large enough for a small kitchen, sleeping space and a table and chairs. Over time, it was expanded, and the final result—while not over 900 square feet in footprint—contained two modest bedrooms and a bathroom. Liam’s grandfather had paid a steep price to run utilities out the cabin, but now it at least had plumbing and electricity, even if it lacked other luxuries.
Rebecca had told him the place didn’t need to be empty, but that was little consolation. The tiny cabin was so full to bursting with worthless junk, it would take days to sort through it all. Most of the furniture was heavy and handmade, from lumber felled on the property decades ago. It would weigh a ton.
With a sigh, he set about making coffee, since without coffee, nothing would get done at all.
The house had an old enamel percolator, that he filled with water and set on the stove. It had been months since he’d made his own coffee. It wasn’t espresso, but it would have to do.
While the water boiled, he went to find Maple outside.
It took a moment to find her—she was deep in the brush with her nose in the dirt. She looked up at him, her tail wagging lazily as Liam stepped out onto the wooden porch. It’d been a while since they’d been away from the apartment, and she was probably loving the space to roam off-leash. He sat down on the old rocking chair and watched her trample through the underbrush, nose first.
For all its flaws, the one thing he’d never hated about his childhood home was the forest. He’d forgotten the sound of the wind in the branches of the tall trees, the smell of the loam of the earth. He’d forgotten how much he loved this place. It felt as if he was truly breathing for the first time in ages. Just being out in the trees made his whole body sigh with relief. It felt right.
It was only Wednesday, after all. He had until Sunday evening before he needed to be back in the city, and he had help coming on Friday. How much work could it be, anyway? Certainly not enough to warrant laboring all the daylight hours. Maple would be much more content to wait around if she got some exercise first thing. She hadn’t seen much of the property, and it’d help clear his mind, energize him for the work ahead. Besides, he had taken the time off work, he might as well enjoy it, just a little.
***
Washington had a reputation for being the Evergreen State, which was true to an extent. Most people, when asked to imagine the temperate rain forests of the Pacific Northwest, thought first of the towering Douglas fir. It was understandable, for the Douglas Fir stood tall, stretching high above the canopies of the forest, reaching for the limited sunlight that penetrated dense cloud cover. In the old growth forests, dozens of species coexisted, thriving in the damp, cloudy biome.
One might next imagine the understory—sword ferns and stair-step moss, and the hundreds of other mosses and lichens that padded the forest floor. Liam knew most of them by name, and had drawings of them refined by practice and study. Perhaps he might even be able to tell them apart while blindfolded, the ways their damp fibers tickled at his hand. They draped over the limbs of the towering trees like curtains, setting it apart from anywhere else in the world for its curious landscape.
But Liam’s heart had always belonged to the bigleaf maple. Acer Macrophyllum . Truly, they were the heart of the old growth, tucked in amongst the conifers. The very soul of the forest. And in October especially, her changing leaves stole the show, fiery reds and oranges that sang out among the green and brown of the forest beyond. Their leaves brought the forests to life with color before falling, feeding the forest floor the coming year. There were dozens of them on the property, but his favorite maple called to him like a compass.
Trails snaked across the property, which totaled nearly thirty acres of mostly untouched old growth forest. Though now, seldom used, many of the trails had been overtaken by the smaller foliage. The salmonberry and huckleberry bushes Liam had once loved snacking on in the summertime encroached on the edges.
The property would sell immediately, if not for the house than for the trees, and they would likely be razed within the year. There was nothing to be done about it, really. Even if he wanted to keep the cabin, he could barely pay the rent in his shared apartment, let alone the cost of upkeep the place would need. And without anyone living here, what was the point? There were no lab jobs out this far, and taking time away from his career would only serve to set him back. No, this was the only way.
Maple trotted onwards, having no trouble navigating the thick foliage and dense ferns of the undergrowth. Liam remembered the way; it was so deeply ingrained in his consciousness that he’d never forget it. His feet carried him, and the deeper they went into the woods, the easier the trail seemed to get, like the very forest was parting before him.
***
Iona recognized him the second he set foot in her clearing. She took a moment to steady herself, trying to tamp down the thrill that rose at the sight of him. He’d aged, as humans do, though that was to be expected. But he was the same boy she’d watched and sheltered all those years ago.
He was not heavily muscled; rather, of an average build, but he was no longer the scraggly boy he’d been. The boy was a man now, taller than her by several inches. That was the nature of humans, she supposed, time wearing on them much quicker than it did for her kin. His warm brown hair at least looked the same as it had—short, but constantly messy, though now it was accompanied by a trimmed beard. The effect was rather charming .
He wore square glasses made of mottled brown plastic, but they didn’t fully obscure his eyes. They’d been so wide, in his youth, filled with a type of human wonder that Iona often admired. Now, that spark had dimmed, and his eyes had hardened. Soft lines chiseled into his expression, and she did not miss the bone-deep exhaustion that hung about him now. Iona was further disappointed that his hands were empty, no notebook in them today. Perhaps he wasn’t staying.
Sure, he didn’t know she existed—it was far too precarious for her kin to reveal themselves to the humans—but they shared something nonetheless. It had always been clear to Iona that the tree had been important to the boy. The clearing was the perfect place for a young child to play. Soft grass grew lush in the spring and summer, and the leaves of the maple provided plenty of shade. Whether she’d intended it or not, the tree had grown around him, bending its limbs to suit his needs, bolstering it’s crown to shield from the sun and rain. A heavy limb not far from its base had crooked just so, strengthening itself to form the perfect notch from which the boy would sit and draw. Iona had always loved to watch him draw, to see the world as he saw it.
She had felt a sort of… kinship with him. And she was heartbroken when he left, and never returned. Time slid by so rapidly for Iona, and the seasons changed. Still he did not return. Eventually, she gave up and stopped expecting him.
Her melancholy was interrupted as a dog burst through the brush after him. Bits of bramble were lodged into her short brown hair, and her tongue lolled happily as she romped through the undergrowth. Iona smiled; she loved dogs.
The boy walked up to her tree, placing a hand on its bark buried beneath the lichen and gazing fondly up into the branches. A strange warmth emanated from his touch, one she did not remember happening before—but Iona was far too pleased to worry about that now.
He couldn’t see her; in her current form she was little more than a ghost. With that knowledge she raised her spectral hand up to his, placing it on the other side of the bark. It was impossible, but he hesitated as if he felt her presence, quirking his head to the side .
The dog was staring at Iona’s invisible form, and began to bark, her tail wagging wildly. Most dogs could sense her presence, but she was never sure if they could fully see her.
“What is wrong with you?” the boy asked his companion, in an admonitory tone. But Iona knew better—she saw the affection in his eyes as they crinkled, the hint of a smile on his lips. And then the weariness fell away, leaving behind only the boyish smile that Iona remembered. There was something different about this human.
When the dog did not stop barking, Iona hid herself away inside the tree with amusement until the dog quieted. They were such sweet and perceptive creatures, it was cruel to mess with them. She could almost hear Eli’s chiding in her ears.
A gentle rain fell, soaking into the boys hat, but he remained unbothered. Iona watched him circle the tree, eyebrows knit together as he inspected it. Then, apparently satisfied by what he saw, he turned back to the clearing and pulled something from his pocket—a ball.
The dog perked up, standing at the ready and urging her human companion to throw, her tail swinging in the air. The boy threw the ball, and the dog chased after it. Iona settled herself upon the upper limbs of the maple, and watched them play, their joy nearly palpable in the air around her.
A twig snapped in the undergrowth behind them. Iona had been so distracted watching that she didn’t notice the strangers approach.
Three men stood across the clearing, the barrel of a rifle pointed directly at the boy.