Across Carina (12 page)

He kept mostly to himself and had started a garden just east of the forest that we were in. Fruits and vegetables grew plentifully in the fertile ground so long as he tended to them. He said that he bartered for tools to hunt with, but he didn’t specify what he bartered to obtain those tools. I imagined him as a fourteen-year-old boy having to fend for himself on a strange planet. It made me sad to think about.

As Sal and I neared the last of the oak trees, the moon took center stage. Thousands of stars glittered around it, and the forest began to glow. Neon butterflies flew past. The trees shined a bright white, buzzing as if electrified. Roots rippled beneath the ground and sprang forth new trees.

“What’s happening, Sal?”

“They come out at night.”

“Who comes out?”

“The dryads.”

“Why are you whispering? Should we be afraid?”

“No, they’re just shy. They know me, but they don’t know you.”

“What should I do?”

“Just wait.”

Whispers and giggles swarmed in on us, but there was no one to be seen. I closed my eyes, hoping to sharpen my hearing.

“Who is she?” someone whispered.

With my arms in front of me, I walked toward the voice. I brushed against a tree and heard the voice again, closer this time.

“Who is she?”

I didn’t know what a dryad was, but it sounded like someone was inside the tree. I looked to see two ridges in the tree morph into big, blinking, violet eyes. They overlaid the tree, almost transparently. They blinked at me again and then floated off the tree.

A head materialized around the eyes, and I saw that it was a woman. I stepped back as she emerged fully from the tree, now looking less like a spirit and more like someone made of flesh and bone.

The tree from which she came dissolved into the ground, though her legs were still bound in the roots. But
she
was not bound. She began to glide across the soil toward me, and I could see the roots lengthening behind her.

She had the purplest eyes that I’d ever beheld. Thick, auburn hair swirled over her fair neck and breasts and down her back. Her cheeks were rosy; her lips full and pink, slightly parted.

Dozens of trees sprouted, and one by one their trunks filled with blinking, watching eyes.

I looked over my shoulder at Sal. “They don’t seem very shy,” I murmured.

“They usually are,” he said. “But they follow their leader, and she seems to like you.”

He stepped beside me and smiled at the dryad who had left her tree. She was right in front of us now. Her roots had climbed up her body and fused into a dress that was clinging desperately to her slender waist and décolletage. The dress looked somewhat sheer, but between the night and the electric white trees, I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing.

“Hello, Dion,” Sal said.

The glow of his white shirt contrasted with his bronze skin, making him look even darker.

He pointed to me. “I’d like you to meet my friend Jade.”

“Hello,” I said, smiling nervously.

Dion’s face brightened.

“Anyone who is a friend of Sal’s is a friend of ours,” she said.

She turned slightly to address the other dryads. “Come, girls—be not afraid. We are in the company of friends.”

She stretched her arms toward the sky. Then, pressing palm against palm, she brought her hands down in front of her. She was looking at Sal and me.

“We shall dance for you,” she said.

“They’re going to dance,” Sal whispered excitedly.

I couldn’t see how they were going to dance. I was about to ask Sal, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the edge of the forest. Leaves crunched beneath us as we sat on the ground. We were facing Dion, ready to watch.

The other dryads emerged tentatively from their trees. Slowly, they formed a semicircle in front of us. They all had the same violet eyes and auburn hair, and it was difficult to tell them apart. Seven of them stood there in their roots and sheer dresses.

The dryad in the center—I guessed Dion, since she was their leader—looked to the skies.

“Artemis, goddess of the forest,” she called, “please bless us with music so we may dance in thine honor!”

The sky responded in a flash of white. It was followed not by thunder and rain, but by a curtain of fireflies pulling down from the sky. They were glowing, floating like petals, row above row. They landed softly on the ground and then scattered. The dryads commenced.

Dion clapped her hands twice, and the others echoed her in unison. Somewhere a pan flute began playing a melody. After sixteen counts, a lyre joined in. And every four counts, a drum beat softly. I couldn’t see the instruments or who was behind them.

The dryads started to dance. They raised their arms to one side and then brought them back down and up to the other. As the tempo of the song increased, they moved their arms faster, and their roots retreated into the ground, revealing pale, slender legs.

“I thought they were part of the trees,” I said.

“They are,” Sal said, “but they separate from their trees on occasion. Never for long, or they will die. They make this sacrifice to worship Artemis.”

The dryads jumped up and down, smiling at the sight of their legs. They linked arms and began to skip around each other, light on their bare feet. Their hair whooshed like fire as they circled the trees in their fleeting freedom.

“To the stars and heavens we sing, we pray to our beloved queen. Goddess of all that is pure, we offer our souls, ever demure. Stronger than a warrior and fiercer than a wolf, thou art our guiding light. Thou art bold and brave as the moon that shines on us each night. We thank thee for this holy forest, for all that thou hast given us.”

The song ended as the dryads twirled three last times and fell into bows, their hair spilt across their faces.

“We dream of Artemis!” they chanted. “We long for our queen!”

A wolf howled from miles away, and then the forest fell silent.

Neither Sal nor I moved. I could see that he was entranced. His eyes had not left Dion yet.

“Do you love her?” I asked him.

“Who?”

“Dion.”

“Why love someone who is unattainable?”

I didn’t press the issue. Besides, Dion was walking toward us. She had left the other dryads in their chatter and laughter. They kept glancing over their shoulders at us with curious smiles.

“I hope you liked it,” Dion called to me.

“Very much,” I said, and I shivered as a breeze swept over us.

“Would you like something warmer?” she asked, pointing to my short dress.

I wrapped my arms around myself, nodding. In the sun’s absence, the temperature had dropped considerably.

Dion motioned for me to stand up. She closed her eyes and rested her hands on my head, like she was going to bless me. Her lips began to move, but she did not utter a sound. Then she opened her eyes. She slid her hands down the sides of my head, caressing my hair, and then down my neck, arms, and legs. As she moved down my body, my dress was replaced with a long, white tunic made of linen and belted at the waist. Jeweled sandals enclosed my feet.

“Thank you,” I gushed.

Dion smiled at me and then looked at Sal.

“Have you two eaten?” she asked.

“No,” he said, his lips in a straight line. “It was quite the afternoon. But I’ll find something for us later.”

Quite the afternoon?

He was suddenly troublesome to read. I had
been
his afternoon, and I couldn’t tell if he was happy or annoyed about it—or worse, indifferent.

“Let me hunt for you,” Dion said to him.

“You can’t have much time,” he replied, touching her arm.

Feeling invasive, I left them and wandered to the other dryads, who were still huddled in a circle. Their laughs faded in my approach, and I didn’t know if I should turn away from them as well. I didn’t know the rules. I was an outsider.

Honestly, I was surprised that I wasn’t floating. The sensations had stopped, and I didn’t know why. Maybe I was becoming desensitized to my own anxiety, having experienced so much of it lately.

“It was a lovely dance,” I mumbled to the dryads.

Apparently all that they had needed was my approval.

“Thank you!”

“You’re so kind!”

“Who are you?”

“Jade Callaghan,” I said.

“Would you like to play a game, Jade?”

“We know the best games!”

“Will you be staying long?”

“How do you know Sal?”

I looked back at Sal and Dion. They were locked in a tight embrace like they were saying goodbye.

“Does she love him?” I asked.

The dryads ushered me into the midst of their circle.

“Yes,” one whispered, “but their love is impossible. A dryad cannot be with a human.”

“They look like they’re together,” I said.

Another of the dryads looked down. “She means they cannot
be
. Their love cannot transcend physical barriers. It cannot be full or complete love.”

“Ah.”

I understood, and now, feeling even more invasive, I returned to my new friends and urged them to teach me whatever games they knew.

One of the dryads said that their time was running out. Another gasped, and suddenly they all began murmuring to the ground. I stepped back. They sounded like a coven of witches casting a spell.

Their voices grew louder and louder, and I watched as their roots pushed through the ground and climbed up their bodies, wrapping them tight. They had been reclaimed.

They were still able to navigate a small part of the woods, though with less ease. Dion was the only dryad who had not returned to her tree. She was still talking to Sal. I wondered how much time she had left. After a few minutes she disappeared into the forest, and Sal joined us for a game.

It was a simple game. A familiar one, too. We caught fireflies and then peeked at them in our cupped hands before releasing them.

Garrett and I had spent many summer nights combing our yard for fireflies. Except, we had never released them. We had caught them and trapped them in glass jars, leaving them as captives on our kitchen counter with a few air holes and no food. And we had watched them until their glows had faded, not knowing the blood on our hands.

At least the dryads knew to release their fireflies. I scurried around the forest with them for a little while, catching and releasing fireflies like a child. Draped in my new tunic, I felt a part of something for the first time in months.

Sal asked if I was having any fun, and I laughed that I was. My only concern was that I wasn’t more tired. I hadn’t a clue which day it was or how long I had been away. Days and nights had merged into one moment, one breath. I had forgotten that time passed differently in Carina.

Dion returned cradling a dead fawn. She made a pile of sticks and leaves on the ground where she and the others had danced, and then she laid the fawn down. She pointed at it, looking at Sal and me.

“For you,” she said.

“What about you?” I asked.

“You’re very kind, my dear, but we survive off the water and the light. This is for you. Now let me start a fire for you. Just remember that once the fawn is cooked, you must make an offering to Artemis, but then you two may enjoy the rest.”

She waved her hand, and a flame kindled over the fawn. I stepped back as the flame diverged into several flames all dancing before us. Each one resembled a person or an event, much like the clouds that I had seen on The Mango Sun. Memories burned through me as I thought of Garrett and then about the night that I had screamed at my family over a single flame on our dinner table—the night just before I had run away.

“What is it?” Sal asked, and Dion frowned at me.

My stomach rumbled, reeling me back in from my thoughts. Reluctantly, I inched toward the fire. I needed food, and this was likely the only way that I was going to get it.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Then take this.”

Sal handed me a large, sturdy stick. I held it loosely between my thumb and index finger, unsure of how to cook anything over an open fire.

As he arranged the fawn and set to work on cooking it, I noticed that Dion still hadn’t retired to her tree. She was standing next to Sal, looking from him to the fire and back. I supposed that this was the closest she could be to him—when she had her legs.

Sal noticed, too. He dropped his own stick and led Dion back to the trees. They began to speak in urgent whispers, their faces glowing from the moon.

He wiped her cheek. Her lips trembled. Her narrow shoulders fell.

After a long embrace, she surrendered to her roots, and Sal rejoined me. I was sitting several feet away from the fire, but I tried to lean in and poke the fawn from time to time in order to contribute.

“How long will this take?” I asked.

“A few hours,” Sal said. “Maybe more.”

I sighed.

We cooked in silence for a while. Too long of a while. Each minute was more stubborn than the last. Time threatened to stop altogether, to never feed us, and the quiet left me nothing else to think about. It was only after I heard a cry from within the forest that I was distracted, relieved from my thoughts.

I looked around, thinking that the cry had come from one of the dryads, but they had all withdrawn into their trees, only to appear as violet eyes.

A second cry came, then, lingering in the air. It twirled around and around and then scattered into a dozen short laughs.

Sal and I watched as a wide shadow moved through the trees. Gradually it shrank and divided into three shadows, and two boys and a girl emerged from the night. They looked slightly older than us and were carrying dark bottles in hand.

One of the boys—a brunette—tossed his bottle on the ground. He grabbed the girl by the waist, and down they fell, rolling. The girl giggled as the boy kissed her cheeks, mouth, neck, and then stomach. The other boy—a blonde—watched casually from between the trees. The trio was several yards away, but they didn’t seem to notice us or our fire.

The brunette became fixated on the girl’s shirt, and he began to undo her buttons. She slapped his hands, but he continued down to the next two buttons. Between her laughs and whines of “No,” it was difficult to tell what she really wanted. I wondered if
she
even knew. I could smell all their alcohol from where I was sitting.