Enchanted Forests (34 page)

and life, let the past slip from her. She glanced around. Crowds

clustered around the sliding hill, but for the moment no one's

eyes were on her. Moments before, a cloud had covered the sun.

Now it slid aside. As the sun shone forth again unshielded,

Daphne called on Phoebus Apollo and reached one last time for

her long-unused powers.

At first nothing happened. The crowd pressed close around

her, jostling and sweaty and cheerfully noisy. Again she called

on the god, straining with her heart toward the wood and the life

she could feel still deep within it. Then the sun's warmth flooded

her, renewing life in her clothing-hampered limbs. Under her

seeking fingers, the wood quivered, alive. The crowd-noise

changed, fading and becoming the sound of a chant to the god.

"Yes." She whispered the word over and over, as the wood

opened its heart to her, waking under her hands. The ridiculous

heavy costume she had worn in deference to the strange customs

of this land thinned and faded. Faintly, in the distance, she heard

a mortal voice calhng her name, but she did not turn- She had

left poor Nikki far behind her.

She began to sing, the song of spring and new leaves, the song

of trees, and spread her open hands flat against the wood. Wood.

It was no longer dead wood, it was living tree, many trees, a

grove interwoven with many branches and crowned with iron

railings. "Soon we will dance," she promised them, and stepped

forward, merging into the now-living wood.

At the front of the ticket line, there was confusion as a young

man looked around for his companion. Confusion gave way to

panic, and later to an organized search. Long after a sobbing

family of Greek immigrants had been sent home by the frustrated

police, the search continued, but even under the roller coaster it-

self, there was nothing to be found.

The sensational press took up the story quickly. Rumors of

white slavery circulated, as always. The Pappadeas family found

themselves briefly famous, and the fish-stall thrived. The missing

girl's landlady defended her honor. Miss Dendrophilos was a

good girl, almost betrothed to that nice young man, Nikkolas

Pappadeas. In the newspaper, the betrothal became a settled

thing. A young lady who was merely almost betrothed wasn't as

WOOD SONG             223

tragic, or as newsworthy, as one who had attained that happy

state.

The girl's aunt was interviewed, but she spoke so little English

the reporter gave it up as a bad job. Anything she might have

said would only have added to the confusion, since she no longer

remembered much about her niece. Eleni Zanos had confused

memories of a sacred grove near Olympus, and a young girl

older man the oldest man in the village. She put it from her

mind, retreating into Greek and timidity in the face of the report-

er's questions. He went away satisfied. He had enough, with the

romantic Mrs. Kontos and the broken-hearted Nikki.

Long before the last echoes of sensation died away, before a

new lodger moved in to Kontos' Boarding House, months before

a suitable bride was found for Nikki Pappadeas, the newsmen re-

turned to Coney Island. No one thought of the missing immi-

grant girl when the supporting structure of the roller coaster,

made of seasoned wood, began to sprout. At first the owners

were accused of trickery. But the cross-pieces continued to put

forth twigs and leaves, and the uprights sheathed themselves in

bark.

The roller coaster became the most famous thing on the island,

surpassing even the Iron Pier and the Elevator. Slips were taken

from the living wood and nurtured, growing into a new species

of tree. The popular fancy at once dubbed the trees coaster-trees,

and it was noted that trees planted near one another would grow

together, connected by branches resembling the cross-pieces of a

railway bridge. Science had no explanation for the new species.

Members of the Royal Society crossed the Atlantic to visit Co-

ney Island, and the newly-formed National Geographic Society

published an article about the living artifact. Darwinists claimed

it as clearly evolutionary, while pulpits around the country

praised the miracle.

But even miracles grow commonplace. The story slipped from

the front pages to the back ones, then quietly vanished as an item

of interest. The scientists adjusted their theories to account for it,

then accepted it just as the public had done. However impossible

it was, it had happened.

The roller coaster at Coney Island has never lost its popularity,

and the picnic grounds in the Coaster Grove are still the most

popular at the resort. Neither the picnickers nor the occasional

scientist, still hoping to solve the old puzzle, ever see the beau-

tiful young girl watching from within the trees. Daphne, no

longer tied to mortal form, welcomes visitors to her grove with

224

Kate Daniel

soft breezes and the scent of green leaves. Sometimes she slips

from the wood and wanders past groups of young men near the

shore, teasing them as she never dared tease poor Nikkolas. She

had been mortal then, or almost. But her spirit has been given

back to her, and she is home.

At certain times of the year, late at night, the Coaster Grove on

Coney Island seems to sing softly to itself. Those who walk be-

neath the trees at such times feel a sense of awe, as though they

walk in a holy place. Beneath the metal tracks of the old roller

coaster, a nymph dances praise to the ancient gods of Greece.

The laurel, the original Daphne of legend, had prophesied truth

for her namesake. In a new land, in a new grove beside new seas,

the dryad Daphne sings to her trees.

Virginia Vooos

by Janni Lee Simner

Janni Lee Simner has sold more than a dozen short stories,

including those in Mike Resnick's Alternate Outlaws and

Susan Shwartz's Sisters in Fantasy 2. Although she grew

up surrounded by East Coast oaks and maples, she now

lives among the cactus forests of the Arizona desert.

As always, the Indians came at night. Eleanor had known they

would. When she saw the fields of trampled maize, gold beneath

the morning sun, she couldn't even bring herself to cry. She just

stood there, staring at the broken dirt. Already it seemed that

weeds were moving in, growing over the battered corn. The In-

dians had destroyed their crops once before this spring. She

didn't have enough seed to plant again, not if she wanted to eat

as well.

The man set out on guard duty the night before was missing.

A search party—her husband Ananias among them—had gone

out to look for him. Eleanor drew her arms tightly around her-

self. The last guard had been found just inside the forest, his

chest riddled with arrow holes. No arrows, though—the Indians

must have pulled them out before leaving the body.

Eleanor shivered, looking toward the edge of the field. The

trampled soil gave way to grass and scrubby bushes; the bushes,

in turn, gave way to dark trees. Their branches intersected at

wild angles; their leaves blew fitfully about.

The colony was surrounded by those trees. In the morning

light, their shadows stretched across the field, like the claws of

226 Janni Lee Simner

some wild beast. Eleanor stepped back, away from the dark

shapes.

Somewhere within the forest, the Indians were hiding. Only

Savages would hide in a place like that. The settlers had chased

them off the island, over and over again, but they always re-

turned. The last time the Indians had fled, the settlers' muskets

had been loud behind them. Still, the Indians had come back; the

ruined crops were proof of that.

With a whole continent to live on, surely the Savages could

leave Roanoke Island alone.

Eleanor sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

She turned and looked back toward the village. The distant

houses seemed small and vulnerable, huddled together in a

sweep of farmland. Beyond them stood the walls of Fort Raleigh.

The fields closer to the houses and the fort were never damaged

as badly as those further out; perhaps they would bear enough

seed that the settlers could plant again.

**Mama!" Eleanor looked down to see her daughter running to-

ward her. The girl tripped over her own short legs and fell, face-

first, into the mud. Eleanor hurried over and scooped her off the

ground.

"Virginia Dare! I told you to slay inside."

Virginia squirmed in Eleanor's amis; soon she'd be too heavy

to hold at all. "Didn't want to stay inside." Virginia stuck out her

lip. Her face and long shirt were covered with mud; her hair was

plastered to her forehead. Eleanor scowled, and Virginia giggled

at the fierce look.

Eleanor sighed. Nothing upset that child, and even less scared

her. It was unnatural, almost. Eleanor wondered, sometimes,

whether Virginia's being bom on the island, rather than back in

London, had anything to do with it. But Margery's boy, Hugh,

had also been bom here, and he was nothing like Virginia. He

was a quiet, frightened boy, always clinging to his mother's

skirts.

Virginia broke free of Eleanor's grip, sliding with a laugh to

the ground. She ran across the field and through the grass,

Eleanor close behind.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of spring rain.

Clouds gathered over the forest. The wind blew them across the

field, toward the village.

Eleanor caught up with Virginia at the edge of the forest.

"Windy trees!" Virginia giggled and continued forward.

VIRGINIA WOODS             227

"No!" Eleanor grabbed her. Virginia squirmed, but Eleanor

tightened her grip.

The branches swayed wildly, green leaves bright against the

gray sky. The neat, tended trees in London parks didn't have that

wildness; neither did the trees in any other civilized place

Eleanor knew. But then, this wasn't a land for civilized people.

It was a land for Savages.

What would the Savages do to Virginia, if she wandered into

the forest?

Eleanor didn't want to know. Tightening her hold on her

daughter, she hurried back toward the village.

By the time she got inside, rain had started to fall. It leaked

through the roof, muddying the dirt floor.

Eleanor dipped a rag in the washbasin, then sat on the edge of

the bed and washed Virginia up. She peeled off the girl's damp

shirt, scrubbed the mud off her face, ran fingers through her tan-

gled curls. Outside, thunder rumbled; flashes of lightning lit the

gaps in the log walls.

"Bright light!" Virginia laughed. Eleanor just kept washing off

the mud. Thunderstorms scared her; they made the house seem

even smaller and more vulnerable than it was.

Her gaze darted around the room as she worked. A table and

wobbling chairs stood against one wall, a chest of drawers

against another. Battered pots hung from the ceiling; empty jars

were piled in a comer. A clothesline stretched across the room,

damp clothes draped over it. Oil paintings hung on the walls.

The paint had begun to flake away, and the canvas beneath was

spotted with water stains. Ananias thought Eleanor was crazy to

hang her father's paintings here. He was probably right.

Eleanor stared at a painting in which tall, thick trees—oaks

and cedars, mostly—stood neatly side by side- Their trunks were

straight, leaves set like clouds of carded wool among the

branches. Sun shone between them, casting bright swatches of

light onto the ground.

All of her father's pictures were like that: bright, cheerful, un-

real. Sometimes Eleanor wondered if he'd really looked around

him at all, when he painted. Then again, if he'd shown the col-

ony as it really was, with all its dirt and dark places, would she

and Ananias have agreed to come here? Would anyone?

Eleanor pulled a dry shirt over Virginia's head, set her down

on the bed, and walked over to the painting. She ran a finger

228 Janni Lee Simiier

along the signature. John White, 1586. The paint fell away at her

touch.

"You should have stayed with us," Eleanor whispered, then

pushed the thought fiercely aside. As governor of the colony, it

made sense for her father to sail back to London for supplies.

He'd return as soon as he could.

After three years, Eleanor was one of the few settlers left who

believed that.

Outside, she heard voices, arguing as they approached the vil-

lage- Virginia tugged at her skirt. "Want to go out," she said.

"No." Eleanor tried to make out what the voices were saying,

but she couldn't. If she wanted to learn what had happened to the

guard, she'd have to go outside. She picked up Virginia and sat

her in a chair. Reaching for a thick length of yam, she started ty-

ing the girl down.

Virginia screamed, "Don't want to be tied!" But Eleanor had

no choice. She couldn't leave Virginia alone otherwise, not after