Green Jack (20 page)

Chapter
31

Saffron

“What the hell
does that mean?” Saffron snapped.

“It means the
Forest decides if you stay,” Roarke said. “If you’re a real
Jill.”

“Why would I
fake that? How would I even fake that?”

A woman named
Annie with twisted braids and an enviable tomahawk joined them. A
lot more enviable if Saffron had one of her own – or any weapon for
that matter. “Leaf masks are still mostly a mystery. We can’t be
too careful. The Mother Tree protects the masks, that much we know.
She’s the heart of the Spirit Forest.”

“Great. More
numen mysteries.”

“Science too,”
Annie pointed out. “ Every forest has a Mother Tree with roots that
connect to all of the other roots, sharing nutrients. Some trees
miles away couldn’t survive without that one single tree. This one
just happens to be special.”

“Keep up,”
Roarke interrupted as they walked. “Kitchen hall’s that way.
Latrines in the other direction, gardens behind the fences over
there,” he added but Saffron was only half-listening. There was too
much she didn’t know about the Greencoats, about the mask. About
the Spirit Forest. “There are cabins for Jacks and bunkhouses or
tents for everyone else.”

The cabins
lined the pond which glinted in the last of the daylight, fish
dimpling the surface. People smiled, busy with work and red-cheeked
with the sun. Birds sang all around. It was idyllic.

Saffron had
never trusted idyllic and she wasn’t about to start now.

She made
non-committal noises. Jane smiled and was polite enough for the
both of them. Even to Roarke who’d knocked her off her feet. There
was a training ring on one of the beaches. Greencoats sparred with
staff and dagger and sword. It made her feel instantly homesick. It
made her feel better too—idyllic wouldn’t protect you from the
Directorate.

“I know that
look.” Annie smiled. She was lean and muscular, scars on her
knuckles. There was something motherly about her-- the kind of
mother who might hit you over the head with a frying pan. It put
Saffron to mind of Oona. She missed her with such a sudden physical
intensity that she had to catch her breath. “You want to
fight.”

“Always.”

“Good.”

“But you’re not
fighting us, Sunshine,” Roarke interrupted. “Not until we know what
kind of Jill you are.” He glanced at Jane. “This next part’s not
for you.”

Jane just
nodded. Saffron sighed. “It’s probably okay to punch him.”

Roarke lifted
his eyebrows. “It’s really not.”

“Let’s test
your theory.”

Annie grinned.
“Easy, Jill. The Mother Tree is off limits to everyone but
Jacks.”

“I don’t mind,”
Jane said, excusing herself.

“How does she
still have manners even covered in blood and bruises and dirt?”
Saffron muttered.

“That same way
you wouldn’t have manners even covered in silk,” Roarke pointed
out.

She smiled at
him for the first time. “True.”

Still, it was
one of the most difficult things she’d ever done – walking into the
forest with strangers, unarmed and expected to blindly trust. It
battled with the serenity that was both foreign to her and
untrustworthy. The leaf mask was pleased, the foliage like a cat’s
whiskers tasting the clean green air without her permission. She
clamped her back teeth together.

Annie slid her
glance. “Most Jacks get off on that feeling, the closer you get to
the Mother Tree.”

“Not me.”

“Clearly.”

Wooden palisade
fencing surrounded several gardens dug out in clearings of
sunlight. The earth was dark and moist, bristling with corn,
tomatoes, peas, radishes, lettuces, beets and leaves she didn’t
recognize. Her mouth hung open despite herself. She’d never seen
this many fresh vegetables in her entire life. The scent of the
nearby pine grew strong, filling her nostrils until she wondered
what colour she would paint it: hunter green with a touch of gold.
The moss was so bright, it would never look real on canvas; she
couldn’t capture the surreal glow. She’d add the three of them to
the painting: Roarke the tan of sand, Annie, brown as a wet tree
trunk, and Saffron, the rust of red pine.

She recoiled
instinctively when a branch brushed her leaf mask.

“It’s just a
branch,” Roarke said.

“You’ve never
been to Elysium city, have you?” Saffron asked. He shook his head,
something shuttered over the mocking amused gleam in his eyes. “If
the Protectorate doesn’t get you for touching the trees, the dryads
will.”

He blinked.
“What, like pretty tree nymphs from the old stories?”

“Not exactly.”
She felt better not being the only one who didn’t know anything.
The fact that his nose was swollen from her head-butt didn’t hurt
either. Her Oona was right – she had more demon in her then Green
Jill.

The trail
stopped at a huge ring of stones, crouched like turtles. Roarke and
Annie stopped respectfully, refusing to cross. “This part’s not for
us,” Annie said.

Saffron
hesitated. She didn’t know what to expect; bears, cannibals,
wolves. She found herself wishing Jane was with her, with her,
acceptance of Numen and omens. “What exactly am I going to find in
there?” She side-eyed Roarke. “I was assured you guys don’t
actually eat people.”

“Don’t be
scared, Sunshine,” Roarke replied. “It’s just a tree.”

There was a
tree in the centre of the ring, the trunk so wide it would take
half a dozen people holding hands to circle it completely. Moss
traced the roots and acorns crunched under her boots even though
she wasn’t convinced it was exactly an oak tree. It was more like a
tree made of many trees. A well glinted between roots that curled
around it like a cup.

The leaf mask
was light as feathers, even the burrs seem to float on the air. The
ivy reached out to touch the heavy branches, twining gently. She
didn’t know what to do next. There was no one waiting with
convenient instructions, just a boy she didn’t know waiting on the
other side of the stones, smirking. Still, she’d survived the
Underworld. Surely that that counted for something. She imagined a
sleek red fox at her side, ears perked, eyes bright. It helped a
little.

Leaves brushed
her face gently, like Oona with a cold cloth when she had a fever.
Tears stung her eyes even as adrenaline shivered through her bones.
She was exposed, emotions crashing, drowning her, even ones she was
fairly certain she’d never actually felt. It was comfort, pain,
love, lust, hunger, uncertainty, competence, longing…

Fear.

Definitely
fear.

She tried to
jerk away, to turn and run, but the ivy had her lashed to the tree.
Her back pressed against the trunk until she felt the imprint of
the grooves on her neck and arms. Twigs grabbed at her braids. The
branches knotted together until all she could see were leaves,
leaves, more leaves.

She knew in a
way that made no sense, that the tree was reading her. Just like
Annie had said, its roots extended far and wide, touching other
roots, exchanging information, nutrients, and tree – thoughts. This
tree had known the first Green Jack to walk out of myth, in a time
where no one believed in numen. Or in much of anything at all. She
dangled there too long, being turned inside out, dissected as much
as a Directorate scientist would dissect her.

When it finally
released her, she fell to her knees. Bloody scrapes stung when she
pushed to her feet but the leaf mask felt lighter on her head, more
natural. Happy. The last of the scab, over her healed tag fell
away, revealing new skin; and the mark of the Directorate, bisected
and broken.

Chapter
32

Jane

Jane walked out
onto a dock, following omens without conscious thought: turning
here when a blue jay flew past, there when a pinecone dropped from
a high branch. She didn’t know the rules here. There was no
Directorate or Collegium, but there would still be rules. Under the
beautiful trees were cooking pots and where there were cooking
pots, there were schedules, if only for meals. And where there was
water, there were water rations. She’d feel better when she knew
the rules.

Her numina mark
hurt and her head still felt tender, like a sunburn inside her
skull. The lightning forks of pain were gone though, replaced with
a confusing swirl of half formed images. It was like trying to see
in the dark. No matter how hard she tried to focus, nothing became
any clearer. Until there was a familiar jagged flash of light.

Saffron again,
too pale and too still. Fire burning in the trees. Light through
slats of wood set in the ground.

“Hey, easy.”
There was a hand on her arm, helping her to sit up. She hadn’t
realized she’d collapsed. The sky had faded to pink and gold. “You
all right now?” The voice belonged to a young man with pale green
eyes that seemed cheerfully mad in his dark face. “I’m Nico.”

“How long was I
out?” Jane asked.

“Not sure, not
long I don’t think. Why don’t you come and eat. Looks like you need
it.”

She couldn’t
actually remember the last time she’d had food that wasn’t protein
paste in a foil wrapper. Nico chatted easily, as if finding girls
unconscious on the pier was a regular occurrence. “Avoid the
pickled rapini. It tastes like feet.”

“Duly noted.
What’s that?” Jane pointed to a cabin set off from the others, the
roof cluttered with equipment, the kind you’d expect on a rooftop
in the Enclave. Solar panels, wires, satellite dishes.

“Caradoc’s
private cabin,” Nico replied. “Locked up tight and set with alarms
and traps.”

“I wasn’t
planning on breaking in.”

“Then you’re
smarter than me,” he grinned. “I tried on my third night in, on a
dare from Roarke. Still got the scar to prove it.” He lifted the
hem of his shirt, showing off abs he was clearly proud of, and a
puckered scar.

“Did he stab
you too?”

“Sort of.”

“Then I guess
I’ve been initiated,” she touched her bandage.

“Oh right, he
put out your eye. I heard about that.” They climbed the steps onto
the wraparound porch around the hall. Inside, tables circled a
central fireplace. A half wall ran along one side, open to a
bustling kitchen with shelves stocked with jarred fruits and
vegetables. On the counter were platters of fish, roasted greens,
red beets, a basket of rolls and glass carafes of herbal teas. She
didn’t see stewed livers or finger bones.

“How long have
you been a Greencoat?” Jane asked, mostly because the others had
paused to watch them approach the food. She felt as awkward and out
of place as she had her first high school dance. Her mother had
chaperoned, and snapped at her to stop lurking in the corner. They
had just moved, and she was new to the school, and the street, and
didn’t know anyone, not even Kiri yet. She wondered if Kiri was
worried, if she’d find a way to just be glad Jane was out of the
Garden. She was probably mad Jane had taken off without her.

“About three
years,” Nico nodded a friendly greeting to a table of Greencoats.
“My dad was a Mad Jack.” Jane had heard of them, they worshipped
trees and considered the Spirit Forest to the only sacred place
left in the world. To make a pilgrimage here was the ultimate
spiritual goal, even though leaving the City was mostly impossible.
After the first Jack had shown himself, the idea of the old gods of
the forest and the earth mother had taken root again. It was
peaceful for a few years, then the droughts and the earthquakes and
the Lake Wars. Some of the villages still worshipped the earth
mother but it had fallen out of fashion in the City.

Nico shrugged.
“He thought he’d find salvation or God or the Goddess or something
but he didn’t know anything about living in the woods. He ate the
wrong kind of mushrooms instead and died.”

“I’m
sorry.”

He shrugged
again, forcing the sudden serious gleam in his eyes back behind the
curtain and easy-going charm. “Don’t get a lot of Enclave girls
here. I like the accent. Very posh.”

“Oh.
Sorry.”

He rolled his
eyes. “Stop apologizing.”

“I’m – –.” She
cut herself off deliberately.

He laughed.
“Double helping of dandelion greens for my girl here, Kristoff,” he
told the old man behind the sideboard. He was shirtless, with a
long grey beard that reached to ribs tattooed with the dark
branches of a winter tree. He arranged the food on her plate as
artfully as any Enclave chef.

A girl clamped
her hand around Jane’s wrist when she reached for the plate. “Why
is she eating? She’s from the Enclave, isn’t she?”

Nico sighed.
“Ease up, Livia.”

“Since when do
we feed the enemy?” she sneered.

“She’s with the
Green Jill,” Nico pointed out, rescuing the plate before its
contents ended up on the floor. Jane’s wrist began to throb.
Livia’s fingers pressed viciously onto her veins, leeching
colour.

“I heard she’s
not even a fighter.”

“So? Neither
were you when you got here.”

Livia’s cheeks
went purple. Kristoff rapped Livia’s hand with the back of a wooden
spoon. She snatched her arm back, glaring. “She eats,” Kristoff
said calmly. “Everybody eats. Caradoc’s orders.” The old man façade
crumbled, showing something else, something stern and
unyielding.