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The Woods
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Chapter 2:- The Woods
That night Jack sat down to dinner with his mother and father. In the last few years before he went off to NYU, he had grown accustomed to their silent dinners. It was as though when they sat down at the dinner table, some tacit agreement was made—all of his parents’ harsh words and arguments from the day, from the week even, were left behind. In some ways it was nice; but in some ways it made him feel like they were still trying to protect him. He wanted to say, “I know you two were fighting, not ten minutes ago! You’re not fooling me anymore!” But instead, they seemed to dine by the old “if you can’t say anything nice…” axiom.
“Can you pass the potatoes, please?”
“Certainly.”
Potatoes exchanged hands.
“Thank you.”
His father scooped the mashed potatoes onto his plate, and each spoonful made a gross sticking sound.
Jack could hear the clock ticking from the dining room wall.
And then the chewing.
“Alright! I’m done. Good dinner, Mom.”
He got up to take his nearly untouched plate to the kitchen. He had too much on his mind already to bare this kind of sticking, ticking, silent torture.
“Jack, sit down,” his father said quietly. That voice never boded well for Jack. It was his “Brownie got run over by a truck” or “Grandpa is real sick” voice. Jack stood for a moment, torn between running for it and sitting down. Then his father cleared his throat and put down his fork. His mother put her hand over his.
“Are you guys getting a divorce or something?” Jack said, almost hopefully, as he sat back down.
“What? God, no. What gave you that idea?” His mother asked. She seemed to notice that her hand was lying on her husband’s. She jerked it away like it had been burned.
“Jack, your mom and I aren’t getting a divorce.”
“What’s going on then?”
His parents did that terrible parent thing where they glance at each other worriedly, like nobody will notice the obvious exchange.
“Well, something a little bit odd happened at your dad’s company. There was… well, there was a bit of an incident—”
“Wasn’t anybody’s fault!” his father interjected. His mother went on as though she’d heard nothing.
“And one of the trees your father’s team had been working on, kind of… Well, it tipped before they had control of it and crushed Mr. Mason’s truck. Luckily nobody was hurt.”
His father snorted. He didn’t seem to think it was so lucky.
“Mason fired me and the rest of the team, Jack. That’s what your mother is trying to say.”
“Oh, dear, you weren’t fired really; more like you were let go, because of a little mistake.”
“It was a freak accident! I’ve never seen it happen that way before. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course not, dear.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
And it went on like this for a while, as though Jack wasn’t there, as though Jack did not have enough on his mind in the first place, and as though their no arguing at the table rule had never existed. Jack focused his attention on the clock’s ticking again, just to drown out their words.
Tick.
Tick.
“Jack, are you listening to me?” His father was looking directly at him; his mother was busying herself moving peas around on her plate.
“Jack, I was saying we’ll have to cut back on some expenses; really budget ourselves for the next while. Your mom is going to sell her car and get something smaller.” His mother drove a Suburban, purchased about seven years ago when she refused to be a Minivan Mom, but still had to cart Jack and his friends around. “I’m going to start looking for a job in Portland or thereabouts, maybe get out of the lumber industry …”
“And?”
“And you’re going to need to take a break from school for a while.”
And there it was.
Jack made a few weak attempts at arguing with his father. He offered to pay his own tuition, which they all knew he could accomplish about as easily as becoming the first female president. He said he would apply for more scholarships, but was quickly reminded that he was already on a scholarship and they still couldn’t afford it. Finally, he offered to work in New York part-time while he finished the semester.
“I only have one semester left!”
“Which is why it isn’t such a big deal to take a little time off. You’ll be finished before you know it. You want to speed things up? Get a job here in town and save up some money. Go back in a semester or two.”
His father gathered up his plate and utensils and walked into the kitchen. The conversation was over.
The first thing Jack did that night was call Lydia. She didn’t pick up and to his surprise, he found that he was disappointed. He thought about calling some of his friends at NYU, but more surprisingly still, he found that he didn’t really want to tie up the line, in case Lydia called back.
Well this is an unexpected development, he thought in his best scholarly scientist voice.
He sat down at his old desk, looking at the old posters in his old room. He felt exhausted and, well, old. Too old to be living another year in my parents house, working at the local grocery store, he thought.
Just then, his phone began ringing: “Loser” by Beck. Lydia must have programmed it in the library. In any other circumstance it might have been funny, or at least not depressingly accurate.
Before he could delve into his depressing news about school; before he could even finish saying “Hello,” Lydia was off and running. Here and there he was actually able to make out a few things. He caught the words wizards, bastards, wizarding bastards, bastardly wizards, and several references to the Whispering Woods he’d momentarily been able to push out of his mind.
“So there’s nothing to do but go back,” she finally said in a slow exhale.
“Go back to the woods? Lydia, are you crazy? I’m not going to go back out there if those things are really trying to ‘lure me in’ to suck up my soul or turn me into some kind of slobbering, deranged maniac.”
“First of all, that’s not what they do. They just feed off of your energy, steal all your memories, and use them to lure others in later.” Oh, no big deal then.
“Second of all, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? It’s those bastard wizards out in the forest are the reason behind all of this. I knew it was them. See, Whispering Woods don’t just choose somebody to pick on; they don’t think like that. They don’t think at all really. They’re just a tool. And I can almost guarantee it’s those bastard, bastardly wizards that are using them.”
Lydia didn’t typically curse, at least as far as Jack remembered; which is precisely why her choice of words stood out to him. She’d used this oh so clever phrase one time before, nine years ago.
It had been late spring and the afternoons were finally starting to warm up. Jack and Lydia were twelve. They had been in the woods nearly all day, relaxing near the water, watching the little sprites splash and chase each other. They really hadn’t been up to any mischief that day, which in itself was an accomplishment. Usually when they were in the woods, they’d at least try to conjure a minor spirit, attempt a new spell, or try a new potion out on one of the gnomes. That day, though, they just relaxed on the warm, golden bank; no magic.
When it got darker and cooler, they built a fire. They were still down by the stream and the sprites had long gone, probably schmoozing with the tree nymphs; so they were free to pick some of their coveted, and usually heavily guarded, mushrooms.
Before they’d even finished picking enough for a proper stew (or realistically, something more like a mush), they were interrupted by the heavy sound of hooves. Lots of hooves.
“Centaurs?” Jack had immediately suspected. They were ornery creatures, but generally kept to themselves. It didn’t bode well for them if centaurs were approaching.
“Not centaurs,” a man spoke from the shade of the trees. His voice was deep and rough, like he’d been chewing on gravel for the last few days.
“Just plain old men with these fantastic creatures; I believe we call them ‘horses.’ Jack and Lydia, am I right?”
They nodded. The man urged his horse forward, and with a discreet nod, the rest of the group stepped forward as well. There were about ten of them, all dressed in long robes the colors of the earth, all seated on Palomino horses. The flowing robes didn’t seem very practical for riding, especially with this warmer weather.
“The robe is the mark of our clan,” The man who seemed to be the leader said, staring into Jack’s eyes. “We are a clan of wizards of the earth. We protect all that is sacred in the forest—the rivers, the trees, the waters… the mushrooms.”
He paused to let this sink in, his lip curling slightly beneath his long, dark beard. If he was trying to scare Jack and Lydia, it worked.
“Jack and Lydia, we’ve been watching the two of you for some time. You are both quite talented. Lydia, you deal well with the mind, with things less physical. Jack, you are like us, of the earth, of the body. I’d show some respect to the forest if I were you. We might make good use of you one day, if you would join us. Don’t look for us, though. We’ll send for you.”
Then they were gone. When Jack looked into the bowl of mushrooms they’d gathered, he realized that they, too, were gone, and were growing peacefully again next to the stream.
That’s when Lydia started in on her “bastard wizard” diatribe the first time. As usual, Jack was unsure why she was so upset.
“Wizards are always trying to recruit new, young blood. ‘Don’t look for us—we’ll send for you.’ Such bastard, bastards. They won’t forget, either, Jack. They’ll come looking for you one day.”
Again, Jack didn’t really know why she was so upset.
“What’s the big deal? Are you jealous that they didn’t try to recruit you too?” That apparently had been the wrong thing to say.
“The big deal? The big deal? Jack, all the wizard clans in this forest work for the Warlock.”
He looked at her blankly.
“The Warlock trying to overthrow the royal family and wipe out all the half-breeds!”
Again, nothing.
“The big guy in the black cloak, who rides the flaming black horse followed by his hundreds of black and scary hounds. We saw him just the other day. Really, Jack.”
She let a few more choice words fly, this time describing Jack; and they left the woods feeling watched, the trees and the forest echoing threats behind them. Over the next few weeks, though, the forest grew quiet again and they ignored the memory of the wizards and their promise to send for Jack.
When they finally did send for him, it was almost a year later—the last time he and Lydia would go into the woods as children. It was winter and well below freezing. They were just crossing the frozen stream, carefully stepping from rock to rock so as not to slip on the ice, when the water starting moving again. It happened suddenly, one moment it was winter, the sun was falling, and the water was solid. The next, the plants around them were burgeoning with life, the water moved swift and warm, and the sun was hot on their thick clothes.
“Hello, Jack.” He recognized the gravelly voice, but couldn’t find the source. Then the group of wizards materialized, clichéd, right out of thin air.
“Cool party trick,” Lydia muttered.
“Ah, and the fair Lydia. Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you.” She shivered visibly.
“Jack, I hope you have taken some time to think about our offer. You’re thirteen now, nearly a man.”
Lydia made a noise that sounded mysteriously like, “Yeah right,” but covered it with a sudden, violent, coughing fit. The leader of the wizards ignored her.
“We are on the brink of great change—not just in this forest, but in the magical world everywhere. Power will be given where it is deserved, and our master, Warlock Daemn, seems to have an eye on you. I can’t possibly imagine why, what with the company you keep; but it seems as though he sees something special in you. Join us, Jack. The world will be at your fingertips.”
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
Jack chose his next words very carefully, aware of Lydia’s warning glances and the five or so clan member’s eyes on him.
“I really appreciate your offer, Mister—”
“Master Summum Malum.”
“Well, like I said, I do appreciate your thinking of me, but see, I am just thirteen, and where I come from, that is still pretty young. I’ve got school to go to, my family, our dog, Brownie… So, thank you, really, but I am going to have to pass.”
He grabbed Lydia’s hand and started to walk away.
“I’m very disappointed,” Summum said with mock sincerity. “But you know who is going to be the most disappointed? Our master. Master Daemn does not like to be disappointed, Jack. I believe one day you will come to change your mind.”
“And why’s that?” Lydia snapped. But they were gone. It was then that Jack vowed never to come back to the woods again.
It was a week later that Lydia disappeared from her home. And he didn’t even go looking for her.
“Jack, you haven’t said anything in like thirty seconds. Are you still there?”
Lydia was still on the phone.
“Yeah, I’m here. Just…a lot on my mind. So, what, you think these guys are still pissed that I turned them down all those years ago, and now they’re using the Whispering Woods to draw me in?”
“Honestly, I’m not really sure why they’re using the Woods. To draw you in, learn more about you, maybe capture you… but yeah, I think they’re pissed. I think their master is pissed too. They tried very hard to get you to come back there all those years ago,” Please, God, don’t mention the kidnapping. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… “And you never showed. Not until yesterday, and you just kind of waltzed back into their territory. Now they’re using what they can, namely nature, to get to you.”
He was grateful that she hadn’t mentioned the kidnapping, but it didn’t mean he completely understood what she was implying. She really always had been the brains.
But something was clicking very slowly into place in his head. He told Lydia about the mysteriously falling tree leading to his father’s unemployment.
“And the worst part is I have to take time off of school, because we can’t afford it right now. I was so close to being done; I had like three courses in—”
“Wait, you’re stuck in town now?”
“Well, yeah, just until I can save up some money or my dad finds another job…”
“You are stuck here in town, near the forest, near these wizards, near the warlock, because a tree mysteriously fell down?”
Ah, there it was. This is why he needed Lydia in his life: to point out the obvious. And maybe a few other reasons he hadn’t quite figured out himself. He interrupted this train of thought, though, as she was still on the line.
“I think we’ll have to go back out there and settle this, Jack. You can’t avoid this by staying away; they’ll come and get you. Believe me, I know.”
He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to explain why he hadn’t gone back to the woods to find her; that he had been thirteen and a coward and that if he could take it back, take back the last eight years, he would.
“I know,” he said, “We’ll go.”
