Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Mm-hmm,” responded the hare, wiping a thin film of foam from his furry lip. “The Council Tree. Oldest tree in the Wood. They say it was here before anyone, any animal or person. It has roots, I guess, that stretch miles in all directions, like a fungus. It knows the Wood unlike any other living thing here. That’s where the Mystics meet, so. And all issues and petitions of the North Wood have to be put to the tree before any decision is made.”

“The tree . . . talks?” asked Prue, remembering the picture she’d seen on the wall of her room in the Mansion—the figures linked in a circle around the massive tree.

“Talk, not so much,” he said. “That’s why the Mystics are there. They’re the ones who can hear it and can translate its thoughts for the rest of us. Though, the way the Mystics tell it, it’s not only the Council Tree that talks: It’s everything.” He waved an arm above his head. “Every tree, flower, and fern.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything myself, though I don’t quite find the time to practice as some folk.”

“Practice?” Prue asked.

“Meditation. That’s the key, supposedly. Calming your mind in total silence. Understanding your connection to the natural world, and all that. You do that, and you can hear it. All the talking.” He took another swig from his beer. “But between the big brood in my warren and that damned fox yapping my ear off all day, I hear enough talking as it is. Don’t need my tomatoes yammering to me, so.”

“Really?” Prue asked. “Just meditation?” This “practice” was not unfamiliar to Prue: Prue associated it with sneeze-inducing incense, sweaty yoga mats, and the smell of brewer’s yeast, of all things. “That’s their . . . magic?”

The hare didn’t have a chance to respond before the girl came out with a pair of pewter plates in her hand. She set them down on the table: Prue’s dumplings were topped with chunks of white cheese and looked delicious. She thanked the waitress and, tearing a hunk of bread from a small loaf the waitress had set on the table, began eating. The hare pushed his colander-helmet back and dug into his meal with enthusiasm. The time passed in silence between them as they ate. Prue never got her answer about the Mystics’ practice. She assumed that Samuel had interpreted the question as being rude, so she didn’t bring it up again.

Prue had just finished wiping the remnant sauce from the bottom of her bowl with a hunk of bread when the fox reappeared. “Okay,” he announced. “They can see you.”

The narrow path led away from the main road between two long, neat rows of stately cedar trees—to Prue’s eyes, they seemed almost manicured in their orderly appearance. At the end of the path, the tree rows fell away and the wood opened into a great, grassy meadow surrounded by a wall of towering fir trees. The tall grass of the meadow shifted under the disturbance of a cool breeze, though the entire ecosystem of vegetation in the meadow seemed to heave toward a central point: a gigantic tree of indeterminable variety, exploding from the center of the meadow, its massive, gnarled trunk twisting upward to burst into a joyous eruption of vast arteries of leafy branches, a canopy that spanned nearly the entirety of the meadow’s breadth and towered in the air over the surrounding trees, where its topmost spires grew hazy against the cloudy sky. Prue’s eyes widened at the sight. She immediately recognized it as the same vista rendered in the painting in the Mansion. The awesome size of the tree was made even more incredible when Prue saw the gathering of creatures at the base of the trunk, meandering in the shadows of the tree’s branches like so many ants below a skyscraper. As she grew closer, she saw that the figures were her size, animals and humans, and they were dressed in simple, flaxen gowns. Some stood chatting in the field of grass; others lay in respite on some of the roots that snaked away from the tree. As Prue, the fox, and the hare walked closer, a single figure stepped away from the crowd and approached them.

“Hello there,” said the figure, a wizened human woman, hiking her robe as she walked to keep its hem clear of the wisps of grass. As she

came closer, Prue saw her face was lined with deep wrinkles and her hair was long and gray, falling away from her head like silvery strands of wire. “Welcome to North Wood.” A beatific smile lazed on her tawny face, and she extended a hand in greeting. “I am the Elder Mystic. My name’s Iphigenia.”

Prue took her hand and shook it; it felt worn in her grasp, the inner skin of her hand smooth as tanned leather. “I’m Prue,” she responded.

“I know,” said the Elder Mystic. “I’d heard of your coming. The tree”—here she gestured back to the enormous tree behind her—“has been following you. All along. It has informed us of your travels.” Her hand moved to caress Prue’s cheek. “You’ve suffered, my girl. You’ve endured great hardship. Come.” She wrapped her hand around the crook of Prue’s elbow. “Walk awhile with me.”

Iphigenia waited as Prue set down her bike before leading her away from the two constables, her arm locked in Prue’s. The distinct smell of lavender hovered over the Elder Mystic, and her touch was warm. Prue immediately felt calmed in her presence. A group of children, similarly bedecked in robes, played a frenetic game of tag in the meadow. Prue and the Mystic fell into a distant orbit of the giant tree, and Prue couldn’t help but marvel at its immensity. The flesh of the tree was a great knot of sinews spiraling upward, and its base was easily fifty feet across. A small galaxy of knotholes disrupted the wide grain of the trunk, some of them big enough to swallow a human whole. A tempest of birds circled the high canopy, enriching the sky with their colorful plumage.

Iphigenia marked Prue’s wonderment, saying, “Incredible, yes? You’re not the first Outsider to see the Council Tree, though very few have braved the journey.”

“Incredible, yes? You’re not the first Outsider to see the Council Tree, though very few have braved the journey.”

“So, others have been here? Other Outsiders?” asked Prue.

“Oh yes,” replied the Elder Mystic. “But long, long ago. Before the invasions and before we wove the perimeter trees with the Boundary Magic—the very spell that you are so able to disregard.” She smiled warmly.

“And how did I do that? I didn’t mean to, believe me,” said Prue.

“Of course you don’t mean to,” said Iphigenia. “It’s nothing you’ve done. Rather, it’s something that you are.”

Prue began to understand. “The constables, they called me a half-breed. Something about being of ‘Woods Magic.’ What does that mean?”

“It means that you belong here,” said Iphigenia matter-of-factly. “That you are part of the Wood. For whatever reason, the germ of your being is tied to this place.”

Prue nodded. It was peculiar that no one else in the Wood had recognized her as being a half-breed, and yet everyone she’d met in North Wood saw it immediately. “My parents made a deal with a woman from here—from Wildwood. She made it so they could have me.” Her stomach knotted at the thought. “In some ways, I guess, she made me be.”

Iphigenia gripped Prue’s arm and looked at her. The Mystic’s frame was bent with age and her eyes met Prue at the same height. “Alexandra, yes. Very sad, that family. Great tragedy. But such is the case: She has imbued you with Woods Magic. You are a child of the Wood. For better or worse.”

“So you must know about my brother, Mac,” said Prue. “I need to save him.”

The Mystic frowned and looked at the ground as they walked. “Alas,” she said, “I’m not sure I can be of help.”

Prue felt her heart sink. “Why?” she asked. “I’ve come all this way; you’re the only hope left to me.”

“My dear Prue, we are the inheritors of a wonderful world, a beautiful world, full of life and mystery, goodness and pain. But likewise are we the children of an indifferent universe. We break our own hearts imposing our moral order on what is, by nature, a wide web of chaos. It is a hopeless task.”

Prue didn’t quite follow.

Iphigenia smiled. “These are difficult issues for a young girl to grasp. Needless to say, I must respect the order of the universe and the paths that each of us, as individuals burdened with free will, has chosen to follow. For your parents, that path was to have a child, at all costs. They were granted their wish. They must now face the consequences of their actions. I would upset the balance of nature if I were to intercede. This, I cannot do.”