Chapter Two

HE was no longer moving. He could tell because his stomach was where it should be. He was also laying down. That one was easy.

He attempted to open his eyes, but it was as though they were choosing to remain closed.

Where am I?

A distant ache poked at his ribs and his hands balled into fists. He couldn’t be sure, but his fingers sensed leaves, cold and thin to the touch.

Who am I?

‘Hush my dear’. It sounded like a woman.

Wait. Am I speaking out-loud? Now he thought about it; was it actually a voice? Maybe a breeze tickled his ear.

‘You should rest.’

Definitely a voice.

‘You are safe.’

A flash of memory: the creatures, armies of them, surrounding him, the protruding needle…

Upright, his joints as immovable as granite, he gave in to the tears.

The woman’s voice again, humming some long-forgotten tune. The sound massaged his temples with warm hands. The scent of some sweet, heavy perfume peppered his nostrils and his face collapsed into a droopy smile. His eyelids relaxed. 

A delicate light teased him, gentle and inviting. He could manage to open them a little more.

Trees. He knew what they were. They surrounded him. Living branches, woven around one another, forming the walls of a small cabin. The boughs reached toward the sky, joining in a natural thatch above his head. The leaves shimmied as the breath of a cool breeze meandered through. Sunlight trickled between the rafters in a thousand gleaming shafts.

From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the branches pick a deep-purple flower and scurry away.  

‘Rest, dear child.’

Do I know that voice? He opened his mouth to ask but no words came out, just a dry croak. He wiped his eyes, smearing the last of his tears across his cheeks.

‘Here,’ she said, tilting his head to a more agreeable angle. He caught a glance of her soft face, her ruffled, greying hair and deep-brown eyes. Then the cool touch of liquid on his lips. 

It was as though he was suddenly on fire, his body writhing with desperation. The liquid would quench it.

He snatched the wooden cup.

Give it to me, give it to me. He wanted to yell, instead he choked and spluttered at the drastic revival of his senses.

‘Easy child, take your time, you can and shall drink your fill.’

The boy eased his grip and caught his breath. 

‘Sorry,’ he said, his voice harsh and throaty, but at least operational.

Lifting the beaker once more, the dribble of cool liquid trickled through him. It grew colder as it travelled through his body; icing his veins. 

A few more glugs, then he smacked his lips together in appreciation and turned to thank his nurse.

She was no longer there.

A rustling from one of the walls snared his attention. The moment he narrowed his eyes; it ceased.

The boy swung his legs over the edge of his bed. They dangled like fishing-lines waiting for a bite.

He was right about the leaves. The bed he found himself on was a lattice of wooden arms, interlocked into a forgiving base. Beneath him a soft mattress of foliage; cool to the touch.

Clasping the beaker to his chest, using his free hand, he reached out to stroke a crawl of ivy resting at his side. It retracted at the touch, like an uncertain kitten. Then, as though realising it was safe, spread out its green palms even more than before.

The rustling again. This time from the other side of the room.

What is that? Some sort of animal?

There was a damp sensation, dripping down his chest, through the strange tunic he was wearing.

‘What?’

The beaker was still full. To the brim. Even as he watched it - and felt it - the liquid just kept… He corrected the angle of the beaker.

He held it to his eye. ‘What’s going on?’ He gawped at the cup.

There was only one option.

With a flick of the wrist the beaker was upside-down, the contents pouring onto the earthen floor. It flowed like an endless river.

‘Alright, alright, don’t waste it,’ a small, yet insistent voice called from the wall to his left.

The boy squealed. He didn’t know he could hit that note. His knees spasmed and he leapt from the bed, landing on the damp moss of the cabin floor. The strange beaker rolled, out of sight, beyond the foot of the bed. 

‘Who's there?’ He tried to shout with force, but his voice wouldn’t back him up.  ‘Come out. Come out now.’ 

There was another rustle, this time from the end of the bed where the beaker landed. Then whispering, the words inaudible, the tone irritated.

‘I hear you,’ the boy shouted. He sounded more confident now. Sounded. The constant flurry in his chest was like a flock of birds trapped in a net. For good measure he added, ‘I’m not scared.’

Eyes wide, his heart drumming, the boy pigeon-stepped toward the muttering.

‘What the...?’ Craning his neck, now with a perfect view, he backstepped.

‘Sorry I snapped,’ came the voice. ‘If you’d pardon the joke.’

The words were coming from a small sapling, standing no higher than the boy's knees. In one of its few, scrawny branches it clutched the beaker, individual twigs acting as fingers. ‘I see you’re feeling better.’

The boy went to speak but instead shrugged. He was busy trying to find the face. If it had one.

‘I’ll put this back.’ The sapling held the beaker up and scampered, several roots acting as feet, to a spot by the wall. A wooden limb reached out and allowed the beaker to rest upon it.

‘There.’ The tiny tree clapped two branches together.

There is a face, there really is.

‘I assume you still don’t have any memory of who you are?’ asked the tree.

The boy shook his head and took a few steps back.

‘An incredible oddity.’ The roots twitched and the little tree seemed to glide toward him. It outstretched a fragile branch. ‘I’m Tinglenook’.

The boy was grinding his teeth.

‘My, my, you really are afraid.’

‘I’m not!’

Tinglenook lowered his branch and softened his voice. ‘I know that you’re confused, we all are.’ The tightness in the boy’s chest eased. ‘I promise, I am a friend. I am here to help in any way I can.’

‘I don’t understand what’s happening.’ He trusted a single step closer to Tinglenook. ‘I can’t remember who I am.’

He could see the face clearly now. Protruding from a tiny knot about three quarters of the way up the dark-green bark. Intricate features, framed by a mane of spikey twigs. Three petite leaves, a delicate, light-green, were sprouting from the very tips.

‘I just remember...’ His head began to spin. He clasped a branch as it appeared by his side. ‘Those things... those creatures.’

‘Grotesques,’ stated Tinglenook.

‘Grotesques?’

‘It’s a long story, suffice to say, they are terrible things.’

‘Terrible things?’ yelled the boy. ‘That's an understatement. Why were they after me?’

‘Couldn’t say.’ The knee-high tree was now standing beside a small table in the corner of the room. Like the bed, it had no legs, instead the illusion of weightlessness. ‘Are you hungry?’ Tinglenook asked. As the boy internally assessed, berries of every size and colour burst forth in great clusters on the table. 

Saliva frothed his tongue.

‘Please, help yourself.’ The three leaves on the sapling’s crown fluttered as it nodded toward the berries. ‘Greatest berries in all Avalonia.’

‘Avalonia?’

‘You really don’t know where you are; do you?’

The boy shook his head.

‘I wish I could be of more help.’ It was a struggle to see the subtleties in the tree’s face. The discomfort in the strange creature’s voice however, obvious. ‘Maybe our Lady...’

‘The woman who was helping me,’ interrupted the boy. He turned back to the bed. It was no longer there. Of course. Where it once floated, two wooden thrones with angular seats.

The boy rubbed his eyes. ‘Who is she?’

‘She is our Lady, the essence of the land, the life-force of this forest. She is the wind, the light, the rain.’

The words weaved into a comforting blanket of sound, like the woman’s voice as she sang to him. They meant nothing.

‘Can I see her?’

‘I am right here.’ A young woman was sitting in the right-hand throne, her smile kind and beaming. 

‘You’re not the lady who helped me.’

Her grin widened.

A rush of twigs and leaves brushed the boy’s legs as Tinglenook came to a halt beside the girl.

‘You see someone different?’ she asked, gently.

‘Yes, you don’t look like the lady I saw.’ He furrowed his brow. Maybe he was remembering wrong, perhaps it was a dream, the eyes seemed similar. ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful.’ The last sentence felt strange coming from his lips.

 ‘You are not.’ The girl smiled again. ‘All is well.’

‘All is well,’ Tinglenook echoed.

‘Please.’ She made a gesture toward the throne at her side. ‘Sit.’

Automatically the boy sat down. It was the perfect height for his legs.

‘You seem familiar,’ he said softly, studying her face. ‘Like I know you.’

‘Of course,’ she said, offering no further explanation.

‘Who are you?’

‘I feel Tinglenook did a fair job of explaining for now.’ The sapling was standing a little taller and smiling proudly.

‘If it was within my power,’ spoke the girl, staring deep into his eyes, ‘I would answer every question you have. I swear to you, if I could, I would. However, the truth is, you are an enigma.’ Reaching over, she stroked the side of his head. ‘You are a piece in a puzzle we are putting together. Because of that, guesses or theories threaten to do more damage than good.’

The boy feigned a polite smile.

‘Maybe the first thing we should do,’ she said to him, ‘is give you a suitable name.’

‘A name?’ asked the boy.

‘Yes, until we know your true title.’ The girl sighed and placed both hands on her knees. ‘We cannot keep referring to you as boy.’

‘Oh, oh, I have one,’ sprang Tinglenook’s excited voice. ‘How about Ningletook?’

The girl giggled. ‘Maybe we should think on it.’

‘Hmmm,’ considered Tinglenook. ‘Ohh, what about, Nooktingle?’

This time the boy also laughed, it felt new. Relief flowed through him as he realised, he was no longer in pain.

‘I’ve got it,’ chuckled Tinglenook, but before he could finish, the girl made a gesture with her hand and he fell into silence.

‘He is returned.’ Her voice was serious but not concerned. She turned to the boy. ‘Asatru is returned.’

‘Asatru?’

‘He who saved you when all hope felt lost.’ 

The boy shook his head. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

His mind’s-eye flared. Incredible white antlers, the gigantic, muscular frame, the mighty head of the great white stag.

‘Asatru,’ he murmured.

Now on her feet the girl motioned toward a door frame. It definitely wasn’t there before. ‘You must talk with him.’ 

‘Will I see you again?’ He didn’t want to stop feeling safe.

She refreshed her smile, adding extra glee to the eyes. ‘You will.’

Taking a slow breath to steady his nerves, he smiled lamely at Tinglenook and made for the door.