Root (11 page)

There was a ripping sound and a whole section
of roots collapsed behind me. The Reaper had broken out of the
tunnel and was coming after me.

“
Hello? Where the hell did you go?”
My voice was shrill.

“
Up here,” came her welcome voice.
“Climb.”

I looked up. She was halfway up the dome,
clinging to a narrow groove. Scowling, she reached out a hand to
help me up.

“
Where did you go? I tell you to
stay close!”

“
Believe me, I tried.”

She let out a sigh, leaned down and traced a
circle with her finger. A seam appeared where there had been none.
A hatch almost a foot and a half thick flopped open. She swung in
feet first.

I followed a little too closely and we
collided, dropping and rolling onto a spongy, carpeted floor. She
popped up, grabbed the hatch and pulled it shut, sealing its edges
with a swish of her wand, if that’s what it was.

I found myself in a chamber the size of an
efficiency apartment. The walls arched up to form a domed ceiling
decorated with a chaotic mishmash of flags and tapestries
surrounding what looked like a circular stained glass window of a
dove silhouetted against the sun.

I rested my back against the wall, my knees
strategically folded to conceal my privates. She waved me towards
the center.

“
That is not a good place to sit,”
she said.

“
Why not?”

“
It is just not. Please. Come over
here.”

I crawled over and set a cushion on my lap so
I could sit cross-legged without shame.

“
No need to sit on floor. I have
nice furniture. See?” She pointed to a chair that looked something
like a gilled mushroom, flared up at one edge.

“
Um … that’s okay. I’m fine like
this.”

There was a tremendous thud as if the dome had
just been hit by a truck. The wall shuddered.

“
Oh merda! It followed us. Would you
like some tea?” she said, bustling over to a little potbellied
stove on the far side of the dome.

“
Wait … that thing is out
there?”

The walls shook again. A circle of lamps
hanging from the top of the dome clanked into each
other.

“
Oh, no worries. It is just a small
one.”

“
A
small
one? How big do they
get?”

She shook her head. “Big.” She filled her tea
kettle from a small tap in the corner.

The thing outside growled. Something scraped
against the outer wall.

“
Don’t worry. He cannot get you. I
make this place strong.”

“
You built this place?”

“
My … eh … grandfather … helps me.
But is not really building. It is Weaving. I think you are a
Weaver, too. Yes?”

“
I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“
To change the roots. Make them be
what you want. That is what we call the Weaving.”

“
Yeah, well. Then I’m not much of a
Weaver, then. I couldn’t even break out of my cage, without your
help. Thanks for that, by the way.”

The dome rattled again. I wheeled to face the
source of the battering.

“
You are welcome. It is always nice
to find another Weaver. Our colony is so small. It is not every day
we find a new soul like you.”

The thing outside groaned and there was this
sound like a saw ripping through wood. The dome of the ceiling
bowed in and popped back up. I winced and held a cushion over my
head.

The girl laughed. “No worries. I promise, it
will not get you. It is just a small one. The big ones can’t leave
the tunnels. They are too fat.”

“
I just want it to go
away.”

“
Ah, but you have the smell they
like and seek because you are new to the Reaping. You are like
fresh meat.”

As if that was supposed to comfort me. The
creature’s groan turned into a shriek that made a shiver go up my
back. “You’re saying … I shouldn’t be scared?”

“
Of course you should be scare!
These are Reapers. Are you not scare of the truck when you cross
the highway? The train when you are on the Metro platform? It’s
like the bear that gets loose in the zoo. We must respect them.”
She peered into her tea pot and squinted. “But inside here, you are
safe.”

The Reaper scraped and scratched across the
dome. I held the cushion tighter.

“
Jesus! I wish it would just go
away.”

“
Patience. It is persistent, this
one. But it will lose your scent and go back to its tunnels. That
is what it is made for—the Reaping in the tunnels. But don’t worry.
They are very stupid and forgetting. Once it goes, it will not come
back.”

She poured hot water into two stoneware mugs,
blue and bone. I found it odd that her stove had no flue and
produced no smoke. It had no switches or dials, either. She brought
over a mug and handed it to me.

The water was clear.

“
Is there … a tea bag?”

“
Taste it,” she said.

“
Huh?”

“
Go ahead, taste it. And then you
tell me what you think it needs.”

I took a tiny sip and my mouth filled with
rich, sweet black tea flavor, tart and astringent with
lemon.

“
Whoa! How did you do
that?”

“
Lille taught me. I just have to
remember the good cups of tea I have had. And this was one of the
best.”

Her pointing stick was tucked into her belt
like a sword. She caught me staring at it.

“
You like?” She pulled it out and
ran her fingers over the sparkly tip. It was cut crystal, in the
shape of a honeybee.

“
Swarovski,” she said. “I find it in
the tunnels.”

“
Does it have … magic in it … or
something?”

She chuckled. “It is nothing special. It is
just pretty. A thing to help focus my thinking. I could have used,
a lump of coal or a rock. Luther just uses his eyes.”

She retrieved her sack and pulled out a
handful of little metallic objects that twinkled, and started
hanging them on what looked like a little brown Christmas tree that
had lost all its needles.

“
That’s … a lot of earrings,” I
said.

“
Yes. I collect them. But it is an
endless job. They are always disappearing.”

“
What do you mean? People take
them?”

“
No. You see, these do not belong to
me. These are lost things. They end up here when their loss haunts
the people who lose them, when they care enough to think and be sad
about them. When people find them or forget them, they disappear.
That is why I have to keep decorating my tree.”

“
Where do you find them?”

“
In the tunnels and chambers. You
would be amazed what you can find there. Gloves. Money. Passports.
And some people lose some very big things. How? I don’t know. But I
like the earrings. There are so many. And I am not allowed to wear
on the other side. My father, he is … strict.”

She smiled and lifted her hair. She had at
least six earrings studding that one ear and none in the
other.

“
Um … nice,” I said, with a delay
that made it sound awkward. “Why do you hide them?”

“
I told you. Papa does not approve.”
She frowned at me. “Look at you, always hiding your boy parts. We
had better make you some clothes, yes?”

She went over to a wooden chest and threw open
the lid. She rummaged through a jumble of items, selecting a plaid
skirt and a white blouse that each looked like it might be tight
even on her. She tossed them over.

“
I … I can’t wear these,” I said.
“I’m half again as big as you.”

“
So make them bigger.”

“
How?”

“
How else? By Weaving.”

“
I might be able to make them glow,
maybe, but I haven’t the slightest idea how to—”

“
Oh, just give it to me!” She
snatched them back and laid them flat on the floor. She ran her
palms over them, each swipe expanding the fabric. She smoothed each
item down its length and then across, and handed over a blouse and
skirt that if anything, was too large now.

“
I am no tailor. If you need more
fitting you can do it yourself.”

I looked at the skirt and looked back at
her.

“
Oh, for goodness sake. Yes, it is a
skirt. Make believe it’s a kilt, and that blouse is a shirt, if it
makes you feel more manly.”

I nodded and pulled on the shirt, which had
buttons on the wrong side. I wished that the kilt had come with
some underwear, but was grateful to have any clothes at
all.

I noticed a silence outside the dome. “Hey! Is
that thing finally gone?”

“
I think so. What did I tell
you?”

“
Phew! That bad boy was eager to eat
me.”

“
He will have to wait his turn. I
get to have you first.”

“
Excuse me?”

“
It is not often we have new Weavers
come to the colony. So, lucky me, I get to show you off to Bern and
Lille … and the others.” She acted so proud, as if I was one of the
little treasures she collected in the tunnels. It was really cute
to see.

“
But don’t worry. They are all very
nice. Except for Luther. He can be … eh … unpredictable. But his
heart … it is not cruel … not intentionally, anyway.”

“
What’s
your
name?” I said.

“
Me? I am Karla. Karla
Raeth.”

“
Sounds … German.”

“
My father, he is from Dolomiti. In
Alpini, near Austria border. Bolzano.”

“
So you’re Italian?”

She scrunched her eyes. “Kind of. What about
you?”

“
Well, I’m James. I’m from Florida,
but I was born in Ohio.”

“
Disney World,” she said.

“
Well, yeah, that’s in
Orlando.”

“
Is near to you?”

“
Kind of.”

“
I always wanted to go,” she
said.

“
So … what about this place … what
is this place?”

She shrugged. “I like to call it Root,” she
said. “But it has many names.”

“
Like what?”

“
Eh, some say Purgatorio, but that
is false. It is not. Luther calls it the ‘Limen’ or the
‘Liminality.’ I don’t know why or what that means.”

“
Who the heck is this Luther
guy?”

“
He is King of our colony. Mayor.
President. Godfather. Grandpapa. Whatever.”

“
We’re not … dead … are
we?”

She scrunched her nose at me. “Stupido. No, we
are not dead. Not yet.”

Her eyes went sad and she gave me a lopsided
and disappointed smile.

“
What’s wrong?”

“
Already, you are
fading.”

“
Huh?

“
Your arms. Look. They have the
speckles.”

I looked down and saw empty space—holes—where
there was supposed to be flesh, and what flesh remained was turning
translucent, as if my body were dissolving.

“
Holy shit. What’s
happening?”

“
You are going home. That is good.
Maybe this is one time visit. Who knows? Maybe you come back. Not
if you are lucky.”

“
Wait … how do I … where do I find
you? On the other side. Assuming that you—”

“
Silly boy. Why would you want to
find me over there? I am right here.”

And just like that, she was gone. I gasped and
lurched awake, finding myself in that stuffy storage shed, the only
light a few streaks coming through the vent from the flood lights
that bathed the alley. I lay all covered with sweat, staring at the
spider webs above my head as a thunderstorm drummed a brisk tattoo
on the corrugated metal.

The image of that last, crooked smile haunted
me—the pity and regret it combined. It touched me, the way her
bangs fell over that one eye like a veil. I already missed her, and
I didn’t even believe she was real.

Chapter 14:
Probate

Day after day, leading up to the funeral, I
tried to re-conjure a visitation. I would go into that storage
locker tingling with expectation, dangling my misery like a bass
fisherman trying to seduce a lunker out from under a sunken
log.

I tried my best to wallow in my gloom, I
really did. But not a sprig of root ever came to visit, no matter
how much I begged and prayed. It knew I wanted it and my desires
were toxic. The faintest spark of hope was enough to keep it
away.

I didn’t even care about the damned Reapers.
They never entered the equation. The way Karla had gone about her
business like they were raccoons knocking over her garbage
cans—maybe that emboldened me.