The Forest of Hands and Teeth (11 page)

Cass stands behind me in the doorway, clearly confused. But rather than explain anything to her I walk to the window and tilt my head at an angle until I can see a handprint, the pads of the fingers clearly visible. I step closer and my breath hits the glass and words suddenly appear in the mist it leaves behind.

Gabrielle,
it says, followed by a series of letters:
XIV.
Other than this echo, there is no evidence that she ever existed. I trace my fingers over the letters, effectively obliterating them.

“What do you see?” Cass asks, coming to stand beside me.

“Do you ever wonder if there is an end to the Forest?” I ask her. I have asked her this before and I already know what her answer will be.

She giggles, fully herself now. “You never do give up your fancies, do you, Mary?” she asks. “You know, like the ocean?”

I smile a little. Still uneasy around my friend. Still afraid of her. “Probably,” I tell her. But if there is no end to the Forest, then where did Gabrielle come from?

Even though I am a pledged woman I still live with the Sisters in the Cathedral. Sister Tabitha explains that my brother is unwilling to take me in due to his wife's delicate health during her pregnancy. But a part of me wonders if that is only a pretext and Sister Tabitha is keeping me close in order to watch me. To see if I have given up my quest for answers.

I have not. Over the next week I find excuses to enter every dwelling room in the Cathedral. There is no sign of Gabrielle. It is as if she never existed.

S
pring in the village means rain, baptisms and marriages. It means Edenmass, the celebration of having lived another year, of triumph over the Unconsecrated and prayers for the years to come. The centerpiece of Edenmass is the marriages. Marriage in our village is a sacred bond and the three ceremonies that cement husband and wife together are called Brethlaw—a weeklong event beginning with the Troth, leading to the Binding and ending with Vows of Eternal Constancy. It is a culmination of the winter courtships that began at the Harvest Celebration.

The most important and sacred ritual of Brethlaw is the Vows of Eternal Constancy, which forever unites the couple together as husband and wife. The night before the Vows is the Binding ceremony, in which the Sisters tie the bride's right hand to the groom's left hand and the couple spends the night in their new dwelling. They are left alone together and are given a ceremonial blade they can use to cut their Binding. It is an opportunity to air any grievances between them and their last chance to reject each other as spouse.

The days of Edenmass between the Brethlaw ceremonies are a time to christen the children born of marriages from the year before and to celebrate the conception of those yet to come. It is the village's most solemn and joyous time, honoring our survival, our existence, the continuation of our people since the Return. It is a commitment to perseverance and dedication.

As one of only two brides this year, I am dressed in a white tunic that I will wear every day this week. Early spring flowers are woven through my hair. There are four of us getting married and pledging our Troth: me and Harry, Travis and Cass.

We are standing in a row on a dais in front of the Cathedral, its hulking shape throwing shadows over us. We face our intendeds with Sister Tabitha at our side, the entire village in attendance on our other side. The spring sun is especially harsh today, moist heat rising in waves from the ground and thickening the air so that breathing is like swimming.

Sister Tabitha speaks of obligations. Of sins and life and commitment and vows. Of how we signal the constancy of our village. She reminds us of our fragility, of the dangers not just from the Unconsecrated outside the fences, but from the threats within: disease, sterility, miscarriage. She points to the four of us and talks of how sometimes generations fail us in numbers and how it is our duty to grow our ranks, add to the community's larger families.

Her words slip through my mind and I am unable to focus on them. Other thoughts occupy me. It's the first time I've seen Travis since Harry spoke for me. After Travis was released from the Sisters' care. After I was left behind at the Cathedral with no place else to go.

His hair is lighter, blonder, as if he spends his afternoons outside in the sun. He has put on weight so that his skin no longer stretches so tight over his cheekbones. His eyes are brighter, greener, no longer hollow. He looks good. Healthy.

I ache seeing him. And it is everything that I can do to stay still in front of Harry rather than press myself up against Travis, who stands at my back facing Cassandra.

Sister Tabitha continues to speak of our duties to each other and to God but all I can concentrate on is the movement in air caused by Travis as he leans on his cane and imperceptibly shifts his weight, trying to get comfortable.

It's good to see him standing and walking and healthy. Though I hate to see him smile—I am miserable.

As Sister Tabitha brings us into the oaths portion of the ceremony, we all turn to face the altar. Harry is on my left and Travis on my right. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that it is Travis I am pledging myself to, Travis who will take me home at the end of the week to our new life.

We echo Sister Tabitha as she leads us through our Troth. And just as we pledge ourselves to each other, promising to vow eternity at the end of the week, I feel Travis's fingers brush mine. I grab for his hand but there is nothing but air.

I am now Harry's betrothed and he leads me down from the dais and out of the shadow of the Cathedral and into the sunlight. We are surrounded by well-wishers and I can no longer see Travis in the crowd.

I have lost him for good.

The week of Brethlaw is a dizzying haze. At every event the four of us are guests of honor, set apart from the rest of the village, put on display. We are shuffled from affair to affair. Dinners to mark the import of the occasion. Solitary prayer sessions to prepare our souls for their impending commitment.

Other than the Troth, Binding and Vows of Eternal Constancy, the biggest event of Brethlaw is the christening. Each baby is brought before the Sisters and Guardians, is passed around the people of the village. These children belong to all of us, the Sisters say, they are our future.

Four children born of last year's marriages are christened and I can't help but watch as Jed and Beth try to sneak from the edge of the crowd. I wonder if the pain of losing their child this fall is too much to bear.

Finally, in the middle of the week, I find myself alone and I rip the flowers from my hair. I am tired of the villagers, tired of Harry and the Sisters and the Guardians and the well-wishers.

I am tired of the happiness. And so I go to the old lookout tower on the hill, the one place where I'm sure to find solitude.

But when I arrive there's already someone there and I'm about to turn back when I recognize the figure sitting against the tower. It's Travis. I feel a flutter inside me. It has never occurred to me that he would come to this place, that anyone but me ever came to this place.

It's been so long since we have been alone together that I can only stare at him, my eyes hungry. For a moment I consider turning and heading back, of leaving him here and pushing aside temptation. He is not mine, cannot be mine, and it's too painful to be near him and know the finality of our situation.

But before I can move Travis holds a hand out to me and says, “Mary, come pray with me.”

His words are my undoing. I run, tripping over my tunic and crawling and scraping at the ground until I am at his side, my hands on his chest, my breath coming out in pants.

“Oh, Mary,” he says, thrusting his hand into my hair and cupping my head. He pulls my face to his, across everything that has been separating us. I need him with an urgency that I cannot escape.

He stops my head just as our lips are about to touch, to finally learn home. He is panting and I can only breathe the air from his lungs. We stay like this for what seems like eternity, unable to commit to each other, to bridge everything between us.

“Mary,” he whispers. I can feel the movement of his lips.

I am waiting for him to push me away and tell me that we cannot do this. That I am not his to take and that he will not betray his brother. I thrust my head into the crook of his shoulder, pressing my forehead against his neck.

It's a warm day and he's sweating and I press my mouth against his skin, tasting his salt on my lips. I want to melt into him, to forget every barrier between us and it is everything I can do to suck in air and sit here and not press myself harder against him.

He's not mine but Cass's and I know I should turn away, leave this place. But I'm not strong enough to do so. Just this last time I want to revel in his essence, to wrap it around me like a memory.

For a while we sit like this. Me splayed over his lap, clutching at him, feeling everything inside me open. I realize that I am happy. Travis's hand strays back to my hair and I relax against him, releasing the last of my hesitation.

It is a perfect spring day. The birds have come back to our village, the snow has turned to mud and the sun is bright and soft and warm. A breeze covers us and the sound through the trees reminds me of my mother's stories of the ocean.

“Times like this, it's hard to believe that we aren't the only people in the world. Just the two of us on this hill,” Travis tells me. I smile.

He continues, “But then other times I think that we
can't
be the only people in the world. This village, I mean. That there must be more out there, something beyond the Forest.”

I try to pull my head back so that I can look Travis in the eyes. It's as if he has spoken my heart, found his way into my dreams. I thought I was alone in my belief in life outside the Forest. With a gentle pressure from his hand he keeps my head against his shoulder and my heart pounds through his words.

“You are not the only one who was raised with stories,” he tells me and I hold my breath, waiting for more. “And they just make me think that there has to be more out there. That this can't be it. We can't be it. There must be more to life than this village and its edicts.”

His voice is tight, as if he too feels the binds keeping us apart from each other. He places a finger under my chin and raises my gaze to his. “Don't you sense it, Mary? That there's more? That this life here is not enough?”

Tears spring to my eyes and my blood seems to sing. I look toward the fence line as if I could look toward our future. It is far enough away that I can't see individual Unconsecrated, just a mob of them pulling at the chain links. As the wind shifts I can hear their moans carried up the hill.

I am about to tell him about Gabrielle—proof that there is more—when a flash of red darts from the trees and my heart skips a beat, my breath catches. I sit ramrod straight now, every sense attuned to the Forest.

“What's wrong?” Travis asks, also sitting up, a hand on my back.

I think I'm hallucinating but then I see the flash again. An unnatural bright red against the shadows of pine trees. I stand, forgetting the calm, the happiness I just felt, and stumble down the hill, tripping over roots and rocks and not caring. I can barely contain myself as I approach the fence stretching across the base of the hill, pulling back just in time to keep my distance so that I don't risk being bitten and infected.