Enchanted Forests (19 page)

wind-wrinkled water of the pool. "I own you- Isn't that funny,"

She'd been furious then, feeling trapped, wanting to scratch

and bite, wanting to go on a tear that would make the tears she'd

been on before she'd gotten clean look like the games of a child.

Her hands had curled into claws.

The lawyer wouldn't meet her eyes and fidgeted nervously

with the papers on his desk. She chuckled a little when she re-

membered how uneasy he was, how relieved when she left. Stu-

THE PRISM OF MEMORY         123

pid man. What did he expect? That I'd jump him and bite his

throat out?

This place was doing it again. The anger was draining out of

her, the urgencies, the need to move and keep moving so some-

thing ... whatever ... wouldn't catch up with her. She drowsed

for a white, aware of the sounds of the night but not really there

to notice them until a thread of music came from the shadow

under the trees, breathy, simple music, clear and clean as drops

of water falling on water. She sat up, aware that Grandma Mossy

had grown warmer behind her.

On the far side of the pond a golden man with antlers branch-

ing from his head danced with a pure white woman, gliding and

turning in time with the music. The man smiled at her and held

out his hand as if to say "come join us." They turned and the

woman held out her hand and beckoned with a sinuous graceful

gesture.

Jenny rose, walked round the pond, and stood while they

moved round her, touching her. The woman's hand was cool and

smooth, ivory rather than flesh, the man's hand was golden

brown like polished oak, cool and smooth. Their eyes were cat

eyes, shiny and shallow; their faces up close were even more

beautiful than she remembered, but stranger now, eerier. As she

moved into the dance, their smelt enveloped her, musky and

wild, their breath was sweet on her face....

She woke stiff and chilled when the morning sun touched her

face. Groaning as her body protested every twitch, she pushed

up, sat yawning and rubbing her eyes. A sometime breeze teased

at her hair, sent wisps tickling across her face. It was going to be

a warm day.

An emerald dragonfly darted in zags across the pond, eating

the small black biters swarming there. Somewhere a long way

off a bird sang a few notes alone, then another joined it, another

and another.

There was a rustle in the brush and weeds at the far side of the

glade. In the shadow under the trees, she caught a glimpse of a

pointed face, a glint of sunlight on black glass horns. She got to

her feet, bent, and picked up the wineglass and the bottle. When

she straightened she looked down at Grandma Mossy. "Don't

worry. I understand now. Mother may be gone, but I'm here and

I know what to do."

Feeling the Forest come alive around her, she moved briskly

along, thinking of breakfast and how much cleaning the house

124                      Jo Clayton

•needs. Go into town. Pry money out of the lawyer. Order sup-

plies. Buy a car. See a contractor to dig a ripening pit for clay

under the studio and reinforce the floor so it would hold the

weight of a kiln- A backup generator. She remembered poles go-

ing down, lines breaking when limbs fell across them. They

wouldn't have gotten better. Just older.

She was whistling a cheerful tune and almost running by the

time she left the shadow of the trees.

The Force That Through

the Green Fuse

by Mark Kreighbaum

Mark Kreighbaum has published short fiction and poetry

in a number of anthologies and small press magazines. He

and Katharine Kerr are collaborating on the science fic-

tion novel. Palace, due out from Bantam in 1996.

She dreamed of Yggdrasil again, of the father of forests.

Again, she hung by the neck from an ash limb of Yggdrasil. A

spear pierced her side. The pain was immense, worse than any-

thing she had ever endured in the waking world. Ratatosk scur-

ried close, carrying the dragon Nidhogg's insults to the noble

unnamed eagle in the crown, his endless task. His presence

frightened away the crows that tormented her.

"Help me," she said to the squirrel. It had taken many dreams

before she learned that she could speak. Every word cost spikes

of pain in her throat.

Ratatosk paused, his great red eyes alight with mischief.

"Do you know the First Rune, my lady?"

"No." Always the same question, the same taunt. 'Teach me,

please."

"Fool. You sip at the well of the world and tell me you are

thirsty."

"Please." She wept. Her throat burned as if she were swallow-

ing shards of glass. "Oh, please, dear Ratatosk."

The squirrel cocked his huge gray face at her.

"You are the daughter of Odin, lady. Too great a matter for the

likes of me." His voice seemed slightly regretful, and that was

new. She allowed herself to hope, a little- Ratatosk climbed

126 Mare KreignDauni

closer to her. She could smell his breath, sulfurous from his jour-

neys under the world where dragons gnawed at the roots of

Yggdrasil. His red eyes were echoes of the flames of his dragon

masters. "But I have never been called 'dear' before. It has a fair

sound. A fair sound, indeed."

"You're my only friend, Ratatosk." And she meant it, in the

waking or dreaming world alike.

"Ah, you are a miserable fruit, then, hanging so friendless on

the Tree."

"Will you teach me?"

"Dream deeper, poor fruit. Teach yourself."

"I don't understand."

"Neither did the All-Father. But nine years of hanging taught

him much. Farewell, fair fruit. Do not despair. The Twilight

comes, I am told." With a high mocking laugh that shook the

leaves, Ratatosk departed on his eternal errand.

"No! Please come back. Don't go. Don't go."

But it was too late. She hung in silence, within sight of burn-

ing Bifrost, the rainbow bridge of the gods, alone with her agony.

Clare awoke to a coughing fit and pressed her fingers to her

throat until it subsided. She was always surprised that no rope

encircled her neck.

"You all right, honey?" Her husband reached over to touch

her. She flinched.

"I'm fine." She pushed his hand away and got out of bed be-

fore he could reach again. The bedroom was dark, but she could

guess his expression—bewildered hurt. She'd seen it often

enough these days. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe. "I'll

make breakfast."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm working late tonight," she said. "Don't wait up."

He muttered something. Clare waited, ready to fight, but he

didn't push the matter. He never pushed.

The classroom was empty. She liked it this way, just before

classes started. Clare had her lesson plan open before her on the

desk, but she wasn't really reading it. After twelve years of

teaching English to seventh graders, she could recite whole chap-

ters of The Grapes of Wrath by heart. In any case, today was

scheduled for tests, a simple matter of passing out papers and

watching for cheats.

Clare went to the window to water the plants there, thyme, li-

THE FORCE THAT THROUGH THE GREEN FUSE 127

lac, and sage and others. One of them was a cactus, given to her

by her sister for her birthday. She'd called it Yggdrasii in the

birthday card. She wondered what Gail would say if she knew

that her older sister was having nightmares about the mythical

Yggdrasil. Probably insist that she see a psychiatrist. That would

be the smart thing to do. But Clare couldn't do it. Lately, she'd

begun reading every book she could find on Norse myths, the

legends of Asgard. the Eddas. They all came to her like echoes,

as if she had heard them sung to her long ago. Gail would never

understand.

Clare stared out the window of the classroom. Spring was

struggling with the end of another Minnesota winter. Frost

clutched the fields outside the school, and snow scarred the rip-

ple of forest on the horizon. She remembered all the camping

trips into those woods that she, Gail. and her father had made

when they were young. The forest held endless treasures, but

they were also a green curtain guarding secrets. It had been

many years since she'd spent time in the forest her father had

taught her to love.

Someone knocked on the door and opened it. Terence Finch,

the physics teacher, sauntered in.

"Jesus, Clare, why are the lights off?" He flipped them on.

Banks of fluorescents flickered into life with a hum and a snap.

"They give me a headache," she said. She put away the water-

ing can. "What do you want?"

He shut the door. His face had the sallow look of a man who

spends too much time indoors and the cmel light of the fluores-

cents only emphasized his pallor. Still, he had a good body, the

legacy of his years in the Marines. He shoved his hands in his

pockets and shrugged.

"Well, I just wondered if we were still on for tonight?"

He grinned. It wasn't exactly a leer, but close enough to make

her muscles tense. Clare's hands clenched into fists. How had

she gotten involved with him again? How could she have been

such a fool?

"No. I have errands to run. And Dave is expecting me home

early tonight."

Finch slumped a fraction.

"Oh. Okay. No problem." He flashed another grin at her, but

this one was nicer, somehow. "You okay, kiddo? Never see you

smile these days. Anything I can do?"

"Terry ..." She stared at him. Can you teach me the First

Rune? Clare felt a flare of bitterness and hurt. It prompted her to

128                   Mark KreigkLaum

say something she'd been putting off for too long. "We have to

stop seeing each other."

"What? But why? Does your husband suspect, or something?"

Clare sighed. "No. And it wouldn't matter if he did."

"Then why? Have I done something wrong?"

"Wrong?" She heard her own voice, the edge of sarcasm that

she was never able to fully sheath. Lately, she didn't seem to want

to. "I don't know. Do you consider adultery wrong, Terry? Hm?"

"Now wait a minute, dare. You were the one who wanted to—"

"Just go, Terry."

"Can't we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to say." Clare stared him down. His face

took on the same look of bewilderment that Dave showed most

of the time when they fought. She wanted to hurt him, as if he

were the eagle that lived in the crown of Yggdrasil and she

the bearer of insults from the dragons gnawing the roots. But

she held back, barely. "You better go."

He scowled, but was there also a glimmer of relief in his ex-

pression? She thought there might be. He shut the door softly be-

hind him.

Soon after, the first period kids started to arrive. She handed

out the tests—a quiz on parts of speech. Then she settled behind

her desk and watched the children work. She didn't expect to

catch any cheaters. They knew better than to try anything on her.

She knew all the tricks.

After a few minutes, though, her mind wandered back to the

dream. For four months, she'd been suffering the same night-

mare, since she and Dave had come back from visiting her

mother over Christmas. She and Gail were her only family, and

though all three lived within an hour of one another, they seldom

came together. Her mother had been so sad, losing Daddy just

before the holidays like that. She could see her, gray hair un-

combed and eyes always restless, trying too hard to make con-

versation. Gail had spent most of her time bragging about her

new therapist and flirting with Dave.

It had been a miserable vacation. Clare fought with everyone.

Dave kept trying to make peace, and her mother fussed over Gail

constantly.

Since that vacation, Clare hadn't been able to keep her temper

under control, as if a dam of fury had burst in her heart. She kept

hurting Dave whenever he tried to help, and she hadn't spoken

to her sister in months. She'd started up with Finch again. She

couldn't bear to let Dave touch her—

THE FORCE THAT THROUGH THE GREEN FUSE 129

"Mrs. Lenahan?"

Clare came alert with a start. One of the boys—Simon

Chemey, last row, third seat—had his hand raised. Frail, with

black hair, he reminded her of a crow.

"Yes? What?" She looked around the room. The children were

all staring back. She glanced at the wall clock and felt a chill.

The period was nearly over. She'd lost track of herself for almost

an hour. "Is everyone done?" They all nodded, too solemn. It

took an effort for her to keep her voice steady. "Please pass your

papers forward."

After the tests were returned, most of the students rushed out

ahead of the bell, but Simon hesitated. He hung back by the win-

dow, as still as the trees framed in the glass behind him, and in

a sense, further away. Clare had to wrench her stare from the

view of the woods.

"Yes?" The boy reacted to her tone as if he had been slapped.