Where the Path Leads – Chapter 24

• MARY DRAKE –

Emily is at first grateful for being rescued by Annamund, the green witch of Blackwood Forest, but the two have trouble sleeping and soon, to their own surprise, begin arguing and finding fault with each other. Their quarreling has the potential to undermine Emily’s quest.  

Chapter 24:  Bad Dreams

Annamund seemed to move unerringly through the tall ash trees and dark pine groves of the forest toward Oderic and Gabriel, as if she somehow knew where to find them.  Oderic threw his red, cone-shaped hat into the air with joy when he saw Emily.

            “I was so worried about you,” he exclaimed.  “Gabriel and I searched and searched.” 

            Annamund examined Oderic’s stitches of Gabriel approvingly and thanked him for his care of the black dog, who was now walking almost normally.

            In the evening, the four of them huddled around Oderic’s small fire built at the edge of a clearing.  As darkness descended, another member joined their company, a great horned owl who settled in a nearby hickory tree, watching unblinkingly from its high perch as they spent the evening roasting cattail roots that Oderic had dug up along the riverbank. This would probably be the last of them, he said, since the ground was beginning to freeze. Along with the roots, they stewed some of Annamund’s dried mushrooms which, when cooked, had a surprisingly meaty flavor.

            It felt good to sit beside Annamund who leaned forward to stir the simmering mushrooms, her dark green cloak and black hair brushing Emily’s arm, Gabriel curled at her feet. And good to have Oderic across from her, carefully adding twigs to the fire, checking the roots buried in the coals to see if they were done. She could almost forget for a moment where they were headed. She regretted doubting Oderic’s wisdom, especially when she tasted the sweet potato-like roots. It was the best meat-and-potato supper she’d had since arriving here. Wherever “here” was.  

            When they finished, Oderic passed around his small carved cup of raspberry mead and Emily grew sentimental. Even though Sophia wasn’t there and she had no idea how things were going to turn out, for the moment she was happy with the food in her stomach and the camaraderie.

            “I’m so glad we’re all together,” she said, taking a sip of the mead, which fizzed in her throat going down and warmed her as it reached her stomach. Then she passed the small cup to Annamund. 

            Annamund and Oderic exchanged glances.

            “Ah, yes.”  Oderic cleared his throat. “Emily, dear girl, I’m much relieved to know you’re safe, and I know I told you I’d help you find the abyss, but you’re in good hands now and I’m afraid I must leave this company.” 

            Her bubble of contentment popped. “Leaving?” She couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice. “Why? What’s the matter?”

            Oderic stirred the fire with a long branch, then backed up to sit down, the orangish glow from the flames revealing his creased and wrinkled face, which looked serious but also pleased. “Nothing’s wrong.” He paused, as if considering how to broach a very important topic. “Well, you recall I said  that since we gnomes came here during the Great People’s Migration, we’ve been marrying and,” he looked up at them both with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “having children.  And you know how it is with children, how they always come in pairs. Adds up over time.”

            “Pairs?” Emily wasn’t sure where this was going.

            “Of course.  Gnome women always have twins.”

            Annamund took a sip of the mead and handed the cup back to Oderic, who refilled it and took another sip himself.        

            “They do?  Are you planning to have twins?” Emily asked.

            “Oh heavens, no! I’m not even married yet,” said Oderic, greatly amused and passing the mead cup back to her. “I have to finish building my house before I can even think of that. But I have reached the right age, so I suppose I should begin considering getting married.”

            Emily laughed out loud, something she hadn’t done in a long time.  “But you said you’re over two hundred years old?”

            “Yes, well, no need to rush into these things. Anyway,” Oderic‘s tiny, dark eyes twinkled like little sapphires, “I’ve been informed that my sister Helga, you remember I told you about her, she and her husband Fritz expect their twins to arrive any day now, and the birth of gnome babies is a great event.”

            “Of course,” said Annamund.

            “Gnome babies come to a woman only once in her lifetime, so I must be there for the birth.”

            “Yes, but how did you find out?” Emily asked, perplexed. He hadn’t mentioned this before when he’d told her about his sister getting married.

            Oderic and Annamund exchanged glances again and Emily sensed that beside enchanters, there must be other messages on the wind, the forest providing them with what they needed to know. However they got it, they weren’t telling.

            “Let’s just say a bird told me,” Oderic chuckled. “Of course, every birth is a great event,” Oderic continued. “Why, if I’m not mistaken, Annamund, your Athena will be having owlets soon,” and he looked upward at the owl still perched in the hickory tree, watching them.

            “She’s yours?” Emily was incredulous. First the squirrel, then the huge dog, and now an owl!  No wonder she was called Mistress of the Creatures.  How many more animals trailed in her wake, Emily wondered.  “She’s a companion and helper.” Annamund’s gaze met the owl’s large yellow eyes. “What you say is possible, Oderic. It’s nearing that time of year.” She told Emily that owls were one of the rare creatures to have their young in winter.

            “Listen Emily,” Oderic said more seriously, “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I really would like to be there at the births. I’m hoping she’ll name one after me, you know.  Oderic and Oleta, if it’s a boy and a girl.  If it’s two boys, Oderic and . . . ?”

            “Just as long as it’s not Oberon,” said Emily.

            He laughed. 

            “No.  Oderic and Osgilith if it’s two boys.”

            “And if it’s two girls?” asked Annamund.

            Oderic pondered a moment, then brightened, his lined, brown face looking like a happy prune in the firelight.

            “In that case, I’ll leave the naming to Helga,” he said.

            Oderic didn’t waste any time; he left that night, since gnomes were nocturnal by nature anyway. Emily didn’t know if she would ever see him again, and as they said goodbye, her chest tightened and tears welled into her eyes. She shook his small, work-worn hand, then, on an impulse, knelt down and kissed his wrinkled cheek. She could have sworn that in the firelight she saw him blush.

            That night brought the first snowfall of the season, just a light dusting, but enough to make Emily shiver in her short pixie cloak. They slept under another oak tree, richly carpeted beneath with dead leaves which Annamund said would act like a blanket they could burrow down into, although Emily noticed that Annamund didn’t seem to mind the cold. That could have been because of her ample green cloak, but neither her face nor fingertips became red or showed any sign of the dampness in the air. Emily was sure her own lips were blue and she kept rubbing her hands together, her fingertips tingling and aching.  She wished desperately for a pair of gloves. Before sleeping, Annamund again rewrapped her swollen ankle then insisted Emily take her cloak.            

            “I’ll be in the middle anyway, between you and Gabriel,” she said, since they were all sleeping back to back. She rubbed the big dog’s head between her hands. “He radiates great warmth, for one who’s supposed to foretell death.”

            From the moment she laid her head down, Emily had trouble falling asleep. Her ankle throbbed mercilessly and the cold felt as though it seeped up from the ground into her body, making her shiver uncontrollably. Plus, she kept hearing strange noises: a flock of birds close by all took off at once, making a big commotion that caused her to jump; strange howling and eerie calls disturbed her, but what bothered her most was the whispering that seemed to be close by. When she sat up in the darkness, however, and peered around, she saw nothing and decided it must just be the rustling of the leaves. Once, she was convinced she heard someone whispering right beside her and leaned up on one elbow, eyes and ears straining in the dark. What if they were found by Jerome the Woodsman? She’d heard the villagers complain about the forester bringing anyone he found in the forest back to verdure court, where penalties were severe. Restlessly, she turned from side to side trying to find a more comfortable position, making a mental note to ask Annamund tomorrow if she had seen the forester. In a futile effort to get warm, she pulled both cloaks more tightly around herself, then felt guilty as the sleeping Annamund also shifted restlessly beside her. Leaning over Annamund to cover her with part of the cloak, she was dismayed to realize that Gabriel was no longer there. Where was he? He was supposed to be protecting them.

            Settling back into the leaves, she told herself she was just hearing the wind sighing in the branches overhead, and she would not pay any more attention to wind enchanters. 

            Just before drifting off, as she sank into drowsiness, she was again aware of rustling leaves beside her. But sleep had finally taken her by the hand and was leading her into its realm of unconsciousness. When she had looked before, nothing had been there anyway. Her breathing slowed and became regular, her eyelids ceased fluttering, and her muscles relaxed completely. 

            On the brink, looking into the dark chasm at the deepest stage of sleep, just before sliding down into it, she felt something cold and wet trickle into her ear. Her breathing paused. Like a swimmer struggling to rise from the depths, she tried to regain wakefulness, to sit up, or at least to open her eyes, but it was too late. She was too far gone. The last thing she was aware of before sinking  completely into sleep was Annamund’s soft moaning beside her.

            Emily’s sleep took a dark turn. She saw herself as if from a long way off walking through the forest, down a narrow trail, but as she watched, the trail grew wider and steeper. Yet she was being pulled backward, trying to walk up the path but inevitably sliding back. Reaching out for something to pull herself up with, she saw Lila and Tatiana behind some trees in their diaphanous river gowns, laughing, and when she saw them, the trail turned to water and she went under.

            She gasped, trying to come up for breath, as three girls walked towards her. They wore Calvin Klein jeans and Aeropostale tank tops and had crimped hair. Oh no! She couldn’t let them see her like this. She was dizzy with humiliation in her homespun, snagged, mud-spattered dress. They covered their mouths with long magenta-painted fingernails as they whispered and pointed. She froze stock still, like Lott’s wife turned to salt. As they came nearer, all three girls turned their beautiful, haughty faces towards her and she was shocked to see that all of them looked like Annamund. 

            She awoke with a start. 

            Annamund was gone. She jumped up, alarmed, but at that moment her companion reappeared.

            “Well, you certainly like to sleep late.” 

            Why did that sound like an accusation?

            “Is it late?” She asked sleepily.

            “I like the gray of early morning,” said Annamund, “when night creatures have retired and the birds sing their joy of another day. Sunrise never fails to inspire me.” She flipped back her dark hair in a movement that Emily hadn’t noticed before. “It’s my favorite time, but I suppose to someone with an education, like you, a simple sunrise holds no fascination.”

            The unexpected barb stung, and Emily shook her head. “No, I like to see a sunrise. I just didn’t sleep well last night. I kept hearing things and had strange dreams.”

            A shadow crossed Annamund’s clear, lovely features.

            “This place may be enchanted. I slept fitfully as well.” Then a mask of indifference seemed to fall over her face again and she shrugged. “But it’s not wise to sleep too soundly in the forest. Many creatures are on the prowl.” 

            Annamund looked the same–same green dress, same finely chiseled features, same thoughtful, observant brown eyes–but Emily sensed something different about her that she couldn’t figure out. Was it the lift of her chin or the way she spoke to Emily sideways, without really looking at her?  Was it the careless flip of her long dark hair over one shoulder or was it her barbed words? Over breakfast Emily had hoped to unburden herself about the troubling dreams she’d had, but Annamund said abruptly, “Shall we start, then?”

            “What, . . .what about breakfast?”

            From a shoulder bag Annamund took one of the small dark loaves Oderic had left them and tossed it to her.

            “Eat as you walk.”

            “Don’t you. . . ,” Emily faltered again, suddenly hesitant about asking this different Annamund, “want to rewrap my ankle.”

            “No,” she said, plucking her cloak from Emily’s shoulder and beginning to walk.

            “But Gabriel. . . ?” Taking a bite of bread, Emily hopped on her sore ankle after her.

            “. . . can take care of himself. He’ll return when he wants to.” Annamund was already ahead of her as she hobbled after, trying to keep up.

            “But he’s your dog!” she persisted.

            They had started uphill on a path that vaguely reminded her of the one in the dream. Emily chewed the bread with gusto, wishing for something to wash it down with.

            “In the forest there is no ownership.” Annamund strode ahead purposefully. “Gabriel chooses to accompany me some days and there are occasions when he does my bidding, but I do not,” and she emphasized the last word, “own him. I cannot force him to remain with me or to behave in certain ways.” Stopping suddenly in her tracks, Annamund looked at her in a way also eerily reminiscent of her dream. “He is not, as you call it, my dog.  He governs his own behavior.”

            The dry bread stuck momentarily in her throat, as did her words.  Before she could reply, Annamund was striding ahead again. Gulping down the lump and trying to appease her companion, she responded, “Well, he’s lucky. Around here, people are told what to do. I had to work in the water meadow. Sophia has to pay taxes. The villagers have to give their crops and their labor to the Baron.”

            “That’s society dictating to the individual. Forest creatures can’t really be considered to live in a society.”

            “But don’t you think people ought to have more of a right to determine for themselves what they want to do?”  She tore off another hunk of bread.

            “If you feel that way, why don’t you understand Gabriel’s independence?”

            “But he’s only a dog,” she protested. Instantly, she regretted the words. She was speaking to someone who cared for the animals. 

            Annamund didn’t reply and they walked on in silence, much of it uphill, for the rest of the morning. Annamund kept a brisk pace while Emily limped along, her ankle throbbing with every step. During the afternoon, they came upon an enormous tree that had fallen directly across their path.  Stopping, Annamund surveyed the trunk and branches. Then without warning, she turned and said,

            “Gabriel is no ordinary dog. I thought even you could tell that.”

            The topic had been dropped a long time ago, and Emily wondered why Annamund was being so prickly. Was it because they hadn’t slept well, or was she just moody?

            Before she could think what to reply, Annamund had lifted her green cloak and was grabbing a branch, scaling the tree blocking their way. The undergrowth was too thick at either end to go around it, so there was nothing to do but go over. Emily followed, concentrating on finding handholds and footholds and trying to avoid the branches scratching her face and catching at her tunic. Going down the tree on the other side, she lost her foothold once and slipped, grazing her shin when her stocking slid down and the rough bark of the tree trunk scraped across her leg.

            After they were over, however, she tried again to clear the air.

            “Look Annamund, I‘m sorry what I said about Gabriel. I just feel safer when he’s here, that’s all.”

            Her companion shrugged.

            “He has extraordinary powers of perception,” she continued, “ and is often aware of danger before people are. Because of that, people think he causes the danger. They think he’s an omen of death.” She looked Emily full in the face for the first time that day, her large brown eyes wise and compassionate when she spoke of the dog. “But if ill fortune sometimes befalls those who see him, it’s because he senses trouble that he cannot always prevent, as he did for you with the boar. 

             To change the subject, Emily asked, “Are you thirsty? Let’s find a place to drink.”

            Annamund shrugged again.

             Emily hadn’t noticed this habit before either and it was extremely annoying. How could Annamund be so impervious to cold and thirst? Come to think of it, she didn’t eat that much either.

            “We’re getting farther from the river,” Annamund said, “but there’s a small stream only a short way off the trail. We‘ll stop there.”

            Looking askance at her companion as they walked, Emily thought irritably that Annamund’s good looks were unaffected by hardship. If anything, she appeared even lovelier, her cheeks glowing pink with the chill and her long, dark hair falling in waves across her shoulders and down her back. Looking down at her own gray, snagged tunic and dirty, bare feet, Emily was overcome by a sense of shabbiness. She knew her hair was a disheveled mess. Was her face dirty as well? She felt it with her hands, wondering when was the last time she’d washed it.

            Suddenly, her heart felt as if it were being squeezed and something green and ugly was oozing out. Jealousy. It radiated through her chest, rose into her throat, and made her face burn hot even while the rest of her was shivering. And through it all, there was an annoying, maddening tickle in her ear that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much she rubbed it.

            Annamund had veered off the trail to one side and was going down a steep embankment.

            “Are you coming?” Her tone was peremptory.

            Emily followed with difficulty, her ankle throbbing. Annamund seemed to have forgotten about that, she thought resentfully. When they reached the stream, which was little more than a trickle, Emily lay on her stomach to scoop out water with her hands, drinking, washing her face, and washing the brush burn she’d gotten earlier. Though she tried to ignore it, she could feel Annamund watching her with a bemused expression. It might have felt good to soak her ankle, but the water wasn’t deep enough, so she just rewrapped it since they hadn’t done it that morning. The ankle was red and swollen, warm to the touch.

            As they made their way back up the embankment, Emily panted with the effort and the pain.  Annamund, who had reached the top first, turned to offer her a hand.

            “I can make it,” Emily said stubbornly, surprising even herself and grabbing a nearby sapling to pull herself up the rest of the way.

            Annamund had simply shrugged again and turned away. Emily thought that if the Mistress of the Creatures gave that shrug of unconcern one more time, she might just slap her.