East of the Sun and West of the Moon 5 page

about the possibility of never.

She could do this, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she were afraid of work. She knelt again by the

kitchen sink, tore open a package of sponges, and began scrubbing the kitchen floor.

After three hours, her knees, back, and shoulders ached. She was sweating, and her stomach felt

like a furnace. Cassie sat up and rubbed her neck. She looked around her. For some reason, the

kitchen had seemed larger while scrubbing.

She had to be patient, she told herself. She had to be more patient than she had ever been in

tracking polar bears. She had to sneak up on her freedom. As she took her sponge and Spic and Span

(pine-scented, of course) into the living room, she thought of her mother surviving for years in the

troll castle. She wished she’d asked her mother more about it. She wished she’d talked to her more in

general, about real things, “feelings” things, instead of the conversations they had had about station

minutiae. She promised herself she’d rectify that someday—if she ever made it out of here. Gingerly,

Cassie got back down on her hands and knees. She winced as her back twinged.

Father Forest hovered in the doorway. “Good girl,” he said.

CHAPTER 25

Latitude 63° 54’ 53” N

Longitude 125° 24’ 07” W

Altitude 1301 ft.

The long afternoon of summer slipped away. As the autumnal equinox crept closer, the stars

appeared earlier, the sun rose later, and the aurora borealis rippled like a closing theater curtain over

the northern forest.

Cassie pressed her cheek against the window shutters and peered up at a sliver of sky. She

wrapped her arms around her broad stomach and felt her skin roll as the baby shifted inside her. Bear

had said she was due in the fall. She was nearly out of time.

As she watched the sliver of sky lighten from deep blue to rosy pink, she tried to keep from

screaming. She’d lost the summer to pointless chores. She was sure that Father Forest could have

commanded his cottage to do them. His reliance on man-made plumbing and Spic and Span was an

odd quirk, as if he’d forgotten a munaqsri’s powers could affect ordinary chores. But she had done it

all without complaint. Still, she was trapped inside this wooden cage and was no closer to rescuing

Bear.

Stepping back from the window, she checked around her to make sure she wasn’t crushing any

vines. Father Forest would feel it. Four months of worrying about what Father Forest would think or

feel, and still no opportunity to escape. She thought, as she often did these days, of her mother in the

troll castle. Now Cassie sometimes woke screaming at night. But no one came to comfort her.

“Hellooo, little mother!”

Cassie looked out through the shutters. Outside at the gate, the aspen waved her twig arms over

her head as if she were waving in an airplane.

Oh, not again.

The aspen skipped down the singing stones. “Tell Father Forest that I am here!”

Without fail, the aspen came every morning, but today Father Forest had other visitors too. Tree-

people from the southern part of the boreal forest had come to the cottage to discuss placement and

exposure and color of autumn leaves, as if they were artists participating in a vast art gallery. “He

said he can’t see you today,” Cassie said through the shutters.

Racing at the window, the tree-girl hissed at Cassie—eyes wild yellow, sharp green teeth bared.

In that instant, she’d transformed from a childlike tree spirit into something feral. Cassie instinctively

flinched away from the window, and then the aspen burst into wailing. “Oh, my aspens! They suffer!

It’s the spruces. Their roots spread—they steal soil from my aspens!”

“I’m sorry,” Cassie said, eyeing her through the shutters. No matter how cute the tree-girl could

look, she wasn’t a child. The perky innocence was an affectation, as much as Father Forest’s Santa

Claus image.

The aspen shrieked. Her leaves spiked, her eyes rolled, and her mouth widened into a gash

across her bark face. “He must come see! Spruces crowd my aspens back into the valleys. My aspens

lose mountain exposure. My aspens starve for sunlight!” Her stick body shook. “You must let me see

him!” Launching herself at the window, she clawed at the shutters.

Cassie retreated fast. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said.

The aspen beamed, again a green child. “Goody.”

Cassie escaped into the living room. Phosphorescent moss lit the walls in a faint green glow.

Open flames, Father Forest had said, made his visitors nervous. Six visitors, birches, sickly green in

the moss light, had planted themselves into the wood floor.

grimaced—an odd expression on a Santa Claus. “Can you tell her ‘not now’?”

“You know how she is,” Cassie said.

“Oh, dear,” Father Forest said. “I should go—”

“This is not acceptable.” One of the birch-men flopped the leaves on his head. Another birch

frowned and said, “We have traveled a long way.” A third spoke up: “We have important decisions

to make.”

“Oh, dearie dear,” Father Forest said. “Cassie, my child, can’t you pacify her?”

Cassie began to refuse, and then she stopped. Maybe this was her chance. If she could use the

crazy tree-girl… Cassie’s heart thudded, and she tried to sound nonchalant as she said, “I could

convince her to show me the spruces. Tell her that I will report back to you.”

He frowned. “Surely, she can wait a few—”

“She is seconds away from bursting in here,” Cassie said. “As you can imagine, I would prefer

not to walk so far.” She patted her round stomach for emphasis. “But if it would help you…”

“Let the human go,” one of the birch-women said. Another birch said, “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

Another added, “Please, we have limited time.”

Father Forest surrendered. “Very well. Go, then.” He waved his hand to dismiss her as one of

the birches tapped Father Forest’s knee and said, “About that shade of yellow…”

“Golden tones are better, don’t you agree?” Father Forest replied.

Cassie backed into the kitchen, certain he’d change his mind. Any second now, he’d realize his

mistake. Her hand shook as she laid it on the door latch. Always before, it had behaved like solid

wood.

She squeezed the latch and pulled—the door swung open, and Cassie fell outside. Her knees

shook. She leaned against the door frame. She sucked in oxygen. It smelled of spruce and soil. It

smelled of shadows and sunlight.

“Little mother, is he with you?”

Cassie barely heard the aspen. She walked to the gate. Brown and brittle ferns brushed her skirt.

She felt the warm crunch of spruce needles under her bare feet.

Run, her mind whispered, run.

“Little mother?” The aspen’s voice held a dangerous note. She stomped her twig foot, and

Cassie focused on her. She had to keep the aspen pacified if her escape was to work.

“He asked me to observe in his place,” Cassie said. “I am to report back to him.”

“All we want is our due,” the aspen said, sweet again. “It is not fair. Other trees have much

better exposure.” Cassie opened the gate. Legs shaking, she walked out as the aspen continued, “Some

trees have such good exposure that they can speak to the winds. Never aspens, though. It is not fair at

all. It is injustice.”

Just beyond the picket fence, the dark of the forest was primeval. Shriveled ferns shrouded the

forest floor. Above, leaves and branches were knit so tightly that they choked light. She could lose

herself in that darkness. She could disappear.

Cassie glanced back at the cottage. Innocent as a gingerbread house, the cottage glowed in the

warm pink of morning. She could hear the rise and fall of the birch voices through the shutters. She

expected Father Forest to tear out after her any second. Her heart beat as fast as mosquito wings.

Forcing herself not to run, in case he watched from the window, Cassie walked into the forest, and the

shadows swallowed her.

The aspen bounced beside her, again childlike. “What do you think?”

She knew it was her imagination, but it felt as if the trees were leaning in on her, suffocating her.

As she squeezed between shrubs, she missed the openness of the pack ice. Out on the ice, her soul

expanded—but here, she felt boxed in, claustrophobic even. Filtered through the canopy of evergreen

branches, the light in the forest was an underwater green. Ferns and horsetails filled the spaces

between the spruces. She stepped over roots and brown-leafed bushes.

“Are you listening to me?” the aspen demanded.

Cassie hadn’t been. “You want exposure?”

“Yes!” The aspen’s yellow eyes flashed. “Some trees on mountainsides can speak to the winds.

Is that too much to ask? Some space to be heard?”

Cassie looked back over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the cottage anymore. Now it was time to

run. She didn’t know how much time she had before Father Forest realized his mistake, but she had to

be well beyond the reach of his vines when he did. She broke into a jog, cradling her oversize

stomach. Rocks jabbed at her bare feet.

“Slow down, little mother.”

“We have to reach the spruces!” Cassie said. “You want me to see them quickly, don’t you?” As

soon as she had enough distance, she’d distract the aspen and lose her. Her skirt snagged on bushes

and wrapped around her ankles. Reaching down, she hiked it up to her hips. She ran faster.

The aspen loped after Cassie. “But you’re going the wrong way. My aspens are east! Little

mother, stop!” Her shrill voice pierced the wind. She let out a screech.

Needles quivered overhead.

Holding her stomach protectively, Cassie ducked under a low-hanging branch. It slapped her

forehead. She pressed her hand on her stinging head. Blood or sweat, it felt wet.

Ahead of her, bark melted like molten metal.

Cassie veered to the left, and a second wall of bark blocked her. She looked behind her. Bark

sealed all the gaps. Caught! Cassie stumbled to a stop. All around her, wood ringed her in a solid

circle. She spun.

Perched up in the branches, the tree-girl peered down at her. “I said east!”

Cassie heard a horrible cracking noise as the wall of trees split. It fell open as if lightning had

struck it. Father Forest stood where the wall had been.

Cassie retreated until her back hit the wall of bark.

“You disappoint me,” he said softly. “I thought we had an understanding. After all, it is your own

interest that I am protecting.”

“I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…” Cassie wanted to weep. Months, wasted!

“Oh, my child, you have to know it is pointless. You cannot run from the forest when you are in

the forest, any more than you can escape the sea from within the sea.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” Cassie lied. “I was confused, and then the trees began to move and I

was scared. That’s why I ran.”

Father Forest tsked with his tongue. “Come, come, now…”

Dropping from the branches, the aspen landed on the soft needles. “It is my fault. She was

hurrying to help me, and she went the wrong way.”

Cassie stared at her. The crazy aspen was unintentionally saving Cassie.

“Truly?” Father Forest said.

The tree-girl shrugged. Disgust colored her voice. “She’s a foolish child.”

Please believe it, Cassie thought at him. She said out loud, “She was upset. I wanted to hurry. I

only wanted to help you. You’ve been like a real father to me.” She nearly choked on the words.

Lines eased on his face. He nodded. He knew how insistent the tree-girl could be, didn’t he? He

could understand how it could make someone run, couldn’t he? Cassie did not breathe. “Forgive me,

child, for doubting you,” he said. “Come back to the cottage.” Smiling at her, he looped his gnarled

arm around her waist. She tried not to tense.

The tree-girl bristled. “But my aspens!”

He put his other arm around the aspen. “Come too. We can discuss it.” Arm around each of them,

Father Forest propelled Cassie and the tree-girl forward through the rift in the wood wall that he’d

created. Cassie glanced over her shoulder and saw the spruces slowly reverting to individual trees.

She shivered. “Cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Cassie said. “I’ll make her some tea to calm her.” As soon as she saw the cottage,

she strode forward, breaking out of his circling arm, and walked down the singing stones. The stones

chimed cheerfully at her. She entered the cottage, and the latch clicked shut behind her. She did not let

herself look back.

Inside, the birches were gone. Stepping over their root stains, she carried the kettle to the sink.

Hands shaking, she filled it with water. Her mind ran in circles. She had not known he could control

trees from a distance. Outside his home, Bear hadn’t been able to affect molecules he wasn’t

touching. But Sedna could, Cassie thought. The mermaid had saved Cassie without touching her, and

Father Forest was an overseer like Sedna.

How would she ever escape if he had that kind of power? How could she run from the forest

within the forest? What part of the forest was not forest? The kettle overflowed. Water poured down

the drain.

“Cassie, the water?” Father Forest said, entering the cottage. “It is not an endless well.”

Mechanically, she turned off the faucet. She stared at it without moving her hand.

Water was not part of the forest. She remembered: The rivers are not my region. Suddenly, she

knew how to escape. She needed a river, a stream, a bog. Yes, a bog would be perfect. He could not

watch the whole circumference at once. She could lose him in the middle and come out on an

unexpected side. But how would she ever get to one? Father Forest would never let her outside again,

much less near water. What excuse did she have to get near water?

The aspen let out a screech.

“Tea here, please,” Father Forest said.

Cassie put the kettle on the stove, and after a few minutes, it whistled. She poured the steaming

water into his cup. She thought she sensed an idea forming as she poured. He needed water for his

special tea.

She brought the cup to Father Forest for the aspen. Father Forest concentrated on the tea for a

moment and then encouraged the aspen to drink. After a few sips, the tree-girl was calmer. Father

Forest gave Cassie a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Cassie smiled sweetly.

The next morning, as soon as Father Forest secluded himself in the living room, Cassie

completed her preparations. Checking over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she shoved a

wad of mud, sticks, and stones into the kitchen faucet. She jammed it farther in with the broom handle

and then added more, mixing it so it was as thick as mortar. All the while, she listened for the telltale

xylophone chime of the stones outside the cottage.

She was certain the tree-girl would return. She’d listened to Father Forest the day before. He’d

only soothed her; he hadn’t solved her problem. The aspen would be back.

Cassie finished plugging the faucet, and then she straightened. Her stomach sank. “Whoa, kiddo,

what’s going on in there?” She clasped her hands over her abdomen. It felt lower. What did that

mean? Her heart thudded faster. She had time left, didn’t she?

She could not give birth here. No doctors, no nurses, no hospitals. No Max to airlift her to

now. Not here.

She could not let this child be born here with Father Forest. It would grow up a prisoner. she

couldn’t let that happen.

“Hellooo, little mother!” she heard.

“Work with me,” Cassie whispered to her stomach, and then she called through the shutter slats,

“So sorry to hear about the spruces.”

Several octaves too high, the tree-girl squeaked, “Hear what?”

“Father Forest awarded the foothills of the Mackenzies to the spruces,” Cassie said. “He

decided last night. Didn’t he tell you?”

As she’d hoped, her words were a match to kindling. The aspen exploded. Shrieking, the tree-

girl slammed her stick body into the door. With a mighty crack, the cottage door burst open.

Father Forest ran into the kitchen.

The aspen was screeching loud enough to fell trees.

“Cassie, tea!” Father Forest shouted. “She’s hysterical!”

Cassie ran to the kettle. Conveniently (and intentionally), it was empty. She brought it to the sink.

She glanced over her shoulder. With his back to her, Father Forest wrung his hands over the tree-girl.

The aspen whirled around the room, scratching gashes into the wood walls and tearing at leaves.

Cassie turned the sink handle. “Plumbing’s clogged!”

“Fix it!” Father Forest cried.

Cassie opened the cabinet under the sink. She squatted. She’d inserted the clog in the faucet to

prevent drips, but the real problem with the plumbing was down here. She knew she could not fix it—

not after all the trouble she had gone through to break it. This was one time when Father Forest’s

dependence on man-made things instead of magic worked to her advantage. She patted the Spic and

Span fondly. “Doesn’t look good,” she said out loud. Pulling herself up by the counter, she said, “I’ll

try the bathroom.”

“Hurry!” She could barely hear him over the aspen. For a tree, she had quite a set of lungs. Ears

ringing, Cassie waddled to the bathroom.

“No luck,” she called. “The well must be dry!” She returned to the kitchen.

He was near tears. “She needs tea!”

Cassie went for a pitcher on a shelf. Now here was the final step. She uttered a silent prayer.

Heart beating in her throat, she said, “I could fetch some. Where’s a stream?”

“Quarter mile north.” He pointed. “Go!”

Cassie went.

The trees did not stop her.

CHAPTER 26

Latitude 63° 55’ 02” N

Longitude 125° 24’ 08” W

Altitude 1296 ft.

Cassie ran, soft steps on the needles. She clutched the pitcher to her chest. Her breath roared in

her ears. She felt the baby kick as if running with her. “Hang in there,” she told it. “We’ll make it. Just

hang in there.” Ligaments tugged as her stomach bounced.

She heard the stream gurgling like a drowning man.

She jumped over a root and landed on feather moss. Her feet slid, and she flailed for a branch.

Catching one, she steadied herself before remembering it could be an enemy. She let go fast, and the

branch snapped back.

The ground softened as she neared the stream, and Cassie sank into it like it was a sponge. Mud

sucked at her feet, slowing her. She spotted the stream. Oh, no. It wasn’t wide enough! It wasn’t safe.

The narrow stream was still within Father Forest’s reach. Balsam poplars and alders leaned over it.

Horsetails and ferns draped in it. Cassie plowed through them and splashed into the water.

Bare feet on the wet rocks, she ran through the stream. She clenched her teeth as the rocks

pinched. Miniature rapids swirled around her toes. Please, let it lead to a river, she thought.

Cassie saw a fern unfurl. Her gut tightened. He knows. Bushes rustled, and horsetails whipped

her ankles. Branches stretched to scrape her skin. How could he know so quickly?

She heard the red squirrels chittering from the treetops—spies.

Branches waved like octopus tentacles. She kicked through them. She jammed her toe on a rock,

and winced, slowing. Branches snagged her hair. She wouldn’t get another chance at this. She had to

make it now. She yanked. She felt strands rip from her head as she splashed downstream.

Shadows fell across the stream. Cassie glanced up to see branches weaving and bending into a

net. She chucked the pitcher at the tree. It recoiled. She ran under it. Shrub willow seized her skirt.

She heard it tear.

“Little mother, wait!” Waving her arms, the tree-girl sprinted through the spruces. Father Forest

could not be far behind.

Holding her bouncing stomach, Cassie bolted down miniature waterfalls. Rocks and twigs flew

under her feet. She had to run faster—for Bear, for Dad, for Gail, for the baby inside her.

“Stop!” Leaping over bushes, the aspen raced beside the stream. She stretched out her stick arms

to Cassie. “It’s too dangerous!”

Avoiding the aspen’s arms, Cassie tripped over loose rocks. She fell, and her hands slapped the

rocks. She clutched her stomach and propelled herself onto her feet.

In the distance, she heard a crashing.

“No, no, no,” the aspen cried. “Danger! You must stop!” Her voice rose, approaching a shriek.

“Stop!”

Cassie heard the sound of a waterfall. Suddenly, she saw it through the spruces: the river! Blue,

beautiful, and wild, it rushed through the forest.

Branches slapped her. She shielded her face as she ran. Up ahead, the stream narrowed between

boulders, spilled through them, and tumbled down ten feet into the stormy water below. Squatting on

the boulders, Father Forest waited for her.

Cassie lowered her head like a bull. Father Forest was ten feet ahead of her. She barreled into

the gap. As if scolding a toddler, he said, “No, Cassie, no. You’ll hurt yourself. You’ll hurt your

baby.”

Five feet ahead of her.

He held out his gnarled hand. “You must trust me. I promise you will be safe with me. I’ll take

care of you. I’ll raise your child like my own.”

Inches ahead of her.

“Think of your baby, its future,” he said. “That’s a good girl, take my hand. Come home with

me.”

She was there. “Like hell I will,” she cried, and ducked under his hand and slid down the rock

face. Scrambling, the aspen tried to stop her. “No, little mother!” Her fingers scratched Cassie’s arm

like claws.

Cassie spilled over the rocks. She hit the water feet first. Her bare feet slammed down on the

sharp rocks of the river floor, and she doubled over, hissing. The stream crashed down onto her back.

She heard the aspen scream.

Cassie straightened, and water tumbled over her shoulders and down her stomach. Her feet

throbbed. Blood tinted the water and then swirled with the fast-moving current.

“Oh, please, come back!” the aspen called, again a little girl’s voice.

Cassie fought the churning water. She lifted her foot, and the current grabbed it. She forced it

down and wormed it between stones. She lifted her other foot. Wet, her skirt pulled with a weight that

smacked against her legs. She raised her arms as the water deepened, and she gasped when the wet

coolness licked her stomach.

Reaching the middle of the river, she forded downstream. Pleading with her, the aspen and

Father Forest followed onshore. Mouth pressed into a grim line, Cassie focused her eyes on her feet

over the broad curve of her stomach. Blood stopped swirling around her toes after a few minutes.

Salmon darted through the clear water as passing streaks of silver. She hoped Father Forest was not

on speaking terms with their munaqsri. How soon until the river was also her enemy?

The shore was suddenly quiet. She spared a glance at it. Father Forest and the aspen were

nowhere to be seen. Bracing herself between the stones as the current pushed against her back, Cassie

scanned the trees. Was it paranoia if the trees really were watching? She managed a grim smile.

Cassie waded to a boulder midriver and pulled herself out of the water like a whale beaching. In

protest, the baby in her writhed. She stroked her undulating stomach and leaned back on one elbow.

“Rest first. Then stage two,” she said to it.

She should not have difficulty finding a bog. In a boreal forest, it was harder to not find one. In

fall, the woods were riddled with them. Cassie rubbed her aching thighs, chilled into gooseflesh in

the wind. The trick would be after the bog.

She knew where she was going; the aspen had told her: Some trees on mountainsides can speak

to the winds. She remembered seeing the Mackenzies back when she’d been in the tundra. But the

journey there…

First things first: Find the bog, lose her pursuers. Cassie slid off the rock. The water felt almost

warm after the chilling air. She waded downstream of the boulder, then lowered herself in up to her

shoulders. She lifted her legs. Her stomach buoyed with her torso. Floating, she was swept

downstream.

“Charming,” Cassie said, half to herself and half to the bog. Steam rose around her from the

rotting ferns and logs. Hell could not have more humidity. Or smell worse. She wrinkled her nose.

The bog smelled cloying, the sweet-sour of decomposing vegetation. “Whose bright idea was this?”

she asked aloud.

She waded across the muck. It squished between her toes and oozed over her bare feet like

melted tar. Stepping into a patch of rotting leaves, Cassie sank to her knee. Mud slurped as she lifted

her foot out. She grimaced. It was nearly impossible to distinguish depth. One false step, and she

could drown in mud.

Cassie looked across the bog. Straggly spruces clung to the muck like sickly scarecrows stuck in

an abandoned field. Roots need ground, she thought. The mud will be shallow near the trees. But

were these trees in Father Forest’s domain? She did not want to risk it. But she did not want to risk

sinking into bottomless ooze either.

Mosquitoes descended en masse as she debated. In a cloud, they rained down on her unprotected

skin. She swatted the air. “Bloodsucking vampires,” she said. “This just gets better and better.” She

wondered if her slapping was attracting the attention of the mosquito munaqsri. Anything could be an

enemy, she thought. She stopped slapping. Quickly compromising, she tugged a sapling out of the mud.

Waving away mosquitoes and poking the ooze, she slogged forward.

She used her makeshift walking stick as a guide. If it sank less than two feet, she waded forward;

more than two feet, she went in another direction. She did not bother to test the pools of black water.

Purple orchids and pitcher plants marked those bottomless pools. She steered wide around them, and

worried she was doing figure eights through the bog. She missed her GPS.

By the time that sunset flared across the sky, she missed her water canteen even more. Cassie

wet her lips, and she tasted mud. Her throat felt like sandpaper. The baby squirmed, and she felt an

elbow in her rib. “Sorry,” she said, patting her stomach. “It’s not purified.” The bog water looked

like chocolate syrup in the fading light.

She had to stop—the growing shadows made it impossible to distinguish between the bottomless

pits and the harmless puddles. Cassie curled up on a moss patch as Orion’s belt poked through the

deep blue. Hours later, she woke three inches deep in muck.

She extracted herself with the aid of her walking stick. Mud made her skin itch. Her hair was

clotted. She stretched her back, and mossy mud slid off her shoulders.

Cassie eyed the muddy water. Do you know how many bacteria are in that water? her father’s

voice said in her head. Could one sip hurt so much? she argued with him. Her tongue felt swollen. It

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 607