Rich Shapero (2 page)

"Wait," Robbie said as they rose.
He lifted his hand and pulled at one of her ribbons. The braid untwisted,
covering her eye. When he brushed the hair aside, his fingertips skimmed her
brow.

"What are you doing?" she asked
softly.

He turned and tied the ribbon to an
overhanging branch. "Marking the way."

Fristeen's eyes grew wide. "So you
don't get lost." Kids did that in fairytales.

Robbie nodded. Would it work? They'd find
out on the way back.

The spell of fairytale was, in fact,
stealing over them both. You're listening, and it all seems so unlikely—full of
peculiar places and things that could never happen. And then all at once,
you're in the middle of it, burning to know what will come next and believing
every bit of it.

They crossed a bed of dead leaves and
whisked through parched grass. Strange signs appeared, half-buried in the soil.
A shovel head. A section of pipe. A rusty can. Relics of some ancient people.
Then the earth ended abruptly. At the verge, a large rusted barrel lay on its
side with its open end toward them, and beyond that, a stream wandered between
steep walls. On the opposite bank, a dark visage loomed.

Where a large willow had bent, you could
see the vault of a brow and a face netted with dead branches. Shocks of hair
rayed to either side. A nexus of twigs formed a piercing eye. The other was
narrowed, as if considering. Beneath the collapsed willow, where the bank had
been hollowed, a wetness glossed giant lips, and roots emerged around it.

"His beard," Robbie said,
pointing.

"Hear, hear, hear..." A voice
echoed from the rusty drum.

"And ears," Fristeen said.

"And a nose."

"He Knows," the face said.
"He Knows, He Knows . . ."

The mass of dark branches squinted and
stared.

"He Knows," Robbie whispered.
"That's his name."

They traded glances. If He Knows really
knew—

Robbie peered over the edge. "Where
does it go?" he asked.

"The stream," Fristeen added.

"Dream," He Knows replied,
"dream, dream, dream . . ."

"I'm in the mood," she said.
"Too, too, too . . ."

"Would we get back," Robbie
asked, "before dark?"

"Far, far, far, far . . ."

Robbie searched the rim. To the left, where
the banks pinched together, a fallen aspen bridged the stream. On the far side,
the way rose through the brush.

Fristeen started along the rim.

"Okay." Robbie followed.

"Wait, wait, wait. . ."

They looked at each other. Fristeen grabbed
Robbie's hand.

"You're an old troll," she cried.

"Cold, cold, cold . . ."

"No, it's not," Robbie shouted.

"Fog, fog, fog . . ."

They headed toward the fallen aspen,
kicking up litter, shoes sucking in mud as the gurgle of the flow rose in their
ears. The log's gray skin was patterned with moss. They straddled it and
scooted across. On the far side, they started up a long slope. They were both
breathing hard when they reached the top. A ridge rose on the right, dipped and
then lifted still higher. Everything seemed to slope down from that crest. It
made you dizzy, just looking at it.

"Do you think we should?"

Robbie saw the foreboding in Fristeen's
eyes. His dread surfaced, along with the memory of her bravado at the top of
the Hill. It was crazy—the impulse to hurl yourself at something you feared.
"Dare you," he said, and he started up.

"No!" Fristeen hurried forward
with shrieks and cries, jubilant.

The dry growth had been flattened by wind
or snow. At the dip were twin stumps that you stepped between. Then the pitch
grew steeper. They held hands, huffing as they climbed. What had happened here?
The slopes on either side were naked. Was it safe to look down? Not yet, not
yet. Then you did, and what you saw were the tops of trees, all thin and bony
with dead leaves beneath—a speckled brown sky with tiny green stars.

It was exciting, but frightening. You put
your face into the wind and you didn't talk. It was that kind of place. The
forest around you expanded with every step.

So many, Robbie thought. Uncountable. Below
and beyond, far into the distance— It was all one big tangle of trunks and
arms. Vast, endless. Maybe this was why grownups said scary things about the
deep woods, and got nervous when you asked. It was something they preferred not
to think about. How could you be anything but lost in a world like this?

"Robbie?"

He glanced over his shoulder.

"If we fell off—"

"You can't," he said. He stopped.
"Stay where you are."

He took a few more steps. Then he closed his
eyes and let his knees buckle. He landed on his rear in the soil. When he
looked back she was laughing. Then she hopped forward and sat down beside him.

It wasn't the highest point on the ridge,
but it was a privileged place. They scanned the valleys, and for what seemed a
long time, silence prevailed. Finally Fristeen spoke.

"When Dada plays his guitar, I don't
talk. Just like this."

A breeze passed between them.

"Mine's going to be a doctor,"
Robbie said.

"He wants to help people."

"Not that kind. Do you know what
you're going to be?"

Fristeen smiled to herself. "I'm going
to be the sun."

Her cheek brushed his. He could smell her
hair. It was sweet and smoky, honey melting in tea with a fire going.

"What about you?"

Robbie shook his head. "I'll figure it
out in first grade." He shivered. The air seemed suddenly colder.

"You're going to school?"

"When summer's over. Aren't you?"
Something shifted at the corner of Robbie's eye. White scarves were rising out
of the ravines just below.

"If I want to spell something, Grace
shows me how."

The scarves were connecting into misty
chains, climbing with such speed that it was easy to imagine they had some
purpose.

"We better go back," he said.

Fristeen saw the alarm in his eyes.

In front of them and behind, giant white
fingers crept over the ridge.

As they stood, a huge snarl of mist rose
with them, sending tendrils out, circling their bodies like icy rope. They
shivered through them, waving their arms to clear a view of the crestline and
hurrying down. As quickly as they moved, the vapors followed. Others appeared,
swimming from either side, anticipating their flight. Would they make it down
the ridge before—No, coiling vapors were drifting together below, meeting and
joining to seal the way.

Robbie stumbled. He rolled over and stopped
abruptly as his knees struck something woody. Fristeen cried out, grabbing his
shoulder, trying to keep him from the invisible depths below. Robbie drew his
feet beneath him, then saw the problem: one of his shoes was unlaced. A sharp
wind cut through them, and then it was twisting and twisting. He shuddered as
he fumbled and his shoe came off. He watched it whirl away into the bottomless
fog, hearing He Knows' warning, "Cold, cold, cold."

Chill vapors circled as they stood, and the
ridgeline disappeared. Robbie shivered and hobbled forward, feeling his way.
The wind tugged the mist tightly around them.

"To the left," a wheezy voice
said.

Robbie stopped, glancing back at Fristeen.
Her eyes were wide.

He edged to the left, squinting through the
blasts. They were descending, leaving the crest, heading straight into a white
morass.

"Put your best foot forward," the
invisible voice said.

Robbie recoiled and began side-stepping up
the incline. As they regained the crest, the voice came again.

"Almost, almost—" A crazy titter
ricocheted around them.

"Who are you?" Fristeen demanded.

"The future," came the answer
from deep in the fog. The blast beat at them, shaking their parts.
"Shivers, for now."

Robbie peered at the whorls, then gripped
Fristeen. There were sockets for eyes and soggy cheeks below. A sagging nose. A
scud curdled like a rumpled brow.

"Whatever brings you here?"

"We're exploring," Fristeen said.

"Without coats?" An O opened
between Shivers' cheeks, and through it a freezing wind blasted.

Robbie flung his arm around Fristeen,
fearful they would be swept from the ridge.

The cloudy presence stood between them and
safety. Was that a high collar? No, a chin impossibly long, wound around his
neck.

"What do you want?" Robbie
shouted.

"Want?" Shivers blustered. He
began to quake. The turmoil mounted in his throat, as if he was choking, then
his lips sputtered, "Food!" and the blast was driven with a terrible
hacking. "I'm famished." The cloudy jaws chewed. "Children are best."

An eddy reached out, gripping Fristeen like
a quivering claw. She screamed. Robbie kept hold of her, shouldering into the
maw of the horrid face.

"Doubts, my boy?" Shivers mouthed
him. "It's doubt I taste."

Shudders raked their bodies, gums soft and
slick wetting them through and spewing them out, delivering them to a frenzy of
icy gusts that crossed the ridge like giant razors. Robbie stumbled forward,
dragging Fristeen along, a putrid smell clinging to them, trailing back into
the guts of the fog.

"Doubt and despair, and the sweet
nibble of decay."

Robbie waved his arms to loosen the mist.
"The stumps—" He gestured toward the gate where the ridge dipped.
They struggled through the flurries while Shivers whispered in their ears.

"Can you see? A feast. In your honor
it's laid. At the head of the table, that's me. I chew, I digest, I belch, I
void. Romance you seek, and romance you'll find. Hear? Do you hear? All those
voices lifted together— Whistling caeca. Buzzing livers. Lungs blown with mold.
Glorious—and
you're there.
I hear you both in the swelling choir. Your tiny
pipes join mankind's longed-for Esperanto. Hyphae ending! Mulch to all!
Shivers' peace worldwide."

A break in the fog—the twin stumps stood clear.
They raced toward them, but as they approached a shred of mist appeared,
hanging between, sagging and furred. One leg was crookt, one arm was raised.
And a smudge like a head lifted to face them.

"Get out of our way," Robbie
cried. Fristeen was shivering behind him, clutching his waist.

"I'm a patient sort," Shivers'
voice creaked with age. "But not for such as you." A tendril lifted
like a finger and quivered threateningly at Fristeen.

Robbie looked up and his heart rose in his
chest. A lake of fog was suspended directly above them. "Take me, not
her." And he hurled Fristeen through the gate.

The hanging figure dissolved as the dam
broke, and the freezing white lake came pouring down. And with it, the voice,
husky with omen and creaking with scorn.

"Both, and soon. You hear? Both, and
soon! It's the short way to Shivers if the heart is your guide."

Robbie dove through the gate. He collided
with Fristeen and they crumpled and rolled. Then they were up together, racing
down the long slope. Robbie skipped and squawked, sharp things poking through
the mulch at his shoeless foot.

They reached the stream, crossed the log
bridge and followed the bank. Was Shivers right behind? There—Fristeen's
ribbon. They scrambled beneath the Fallen Down Trees, and when they rose, the
Bendies were just as they had left them.

At the top of the Hill, the fierce wind
vanished abruptly, replaced by a gentle breeze. The spell seemed to dissolve,
and their panic subsided.

Far below, Robbie saw his home. The sky
hadn't yet dimmed, but the windows were lit. Down they ran, Fristeen headlong,
Robbie hobbling. About halfway, she shouted, "Tree to tree." So they
zigged and zagged, wheeling and slapping the cool gray trunks. Then the
Clearing was before them and they stumbled onto the flat, laughing and hugging
and gazing back up the slope.

"We did it," Robbie said. His
voice was tremulous. Fristeen's hands were still shaking. Their eyes met,
sharing their relief and the narrow escape.

How much had they imagined? Robbie pictured
himself recounting the adventure to Mom and Dad. Were they just lies—more
elaborate ones? No. What had happened was real. He'd pierced the forbidden
without help or permission. Fear had lost its tyranny over him. Fristeen was
beside him now, putting her hand in his, grateful and adoring.

"He Knows was right," Robbie
said, mastering his pride.

Fristeen agreed.

Robbie faced his home and sniffed.
"Hungry?" He could usually tell what was for dinner, but the air was
odorless.

"Starving," Fristeen said.