Root (44 page)

***

Bern and Lille slithered through the roots
with a confidence bred from many prior passages. We passed through
the loose matrix between the tunnels, making light where it was
need, parting any walls that blocked our way. We ducked out into
one of the broader tunnels well below the junction. I recognized it
as that darker place where I got stuck in my pod after that
backslide and had to watch that poor girl get Reaped.

Lille found a seam in the tunnel wall and
sliced through. We went in a good hundred yards before reaching a
low-ceilinged cavern in the roots. Little yellow specks like
fireflies illuminated the outlines of a boxy structure that looked
like a crude, windowless garden shed.

“
I apologize for the appearance,”
said Lille. “We just threw this together as a temporary haven. It’s
a camp, really.”

“
I think of it as a cabin,” said
Bern. “Few of us have Luther’s knack for creating perfect
domes.”

“
And we haven’t been around much of
late to maintain it,” said Lille. “For obvious reasons.

“
Stop apologizing,” I said. “It’s
fine.”

“
Come inside,” said Lille. “I’ll see
if I can whip us up a pot of tea. I’ll make sure it tastes good,
but don’t be surprised if it’s clear. I’m not up for making it look
authentic.”

The interior of the cabin was smaller and
cruder than their cottage, although the layout was quite similar—a
single room with a sleeping mat at one end and a little table and
cupboard at the other. Roots dangled from every corner of the
ceiling.

Lille ripped a mass of roots from the inside
of her teapot.

“
So what brings you this time?” she
asked.

“
What brings me?” I took a seat on a
rickety chair and looked at her blankly.

“
Surely there must be some bad
news?” she said. “No one ever comes here for pleasure.”

“
I guess … I’m not a happy
camper.”

“
Go on,” said Bern, taking a seat
beside me. Lille had somehow conjured water in her little pot and
caused it to steam, though I saw no spigots in the room and no
source of heat.

“
I went looking for Karla … in
Scotland. And now … I think I’m dying on the side of a
mountain.”

“
Oh my!” said Lille, pouring my
cup.

“
Why on Earth are you looking for
her on a mountain?” said Bern. “Is she—?”

“
It was a shortcut,” I said. “Or so
I thought.”

“
What did you mean by … ‘dying?’”
said Lille.

“
The weather turned bad,” I said.
“I’m not wearing the warmest clothes. I’m soaked and chilled. And I
think I’m hallucinating.”

“
Not about us, I hope,” said Bern.
“I hope you don’t think that this—“

“
No, not you,” I said. “Imps and
faeries.”

“
Oh my,” said Lille.

“
I’m cold. Very cold. So cold, I’m
starting to feel warm.”

“
I see,” said Lille. “So you’re here
because you’re sad that you will die without ever finding
Karla?”

What Lille said hit so close to my true
feelings that a wave of tears overcame me. Until now, I hadn’t
thought it was possible to cry in Root.

“
I’ll never see her now. I blew it.
I’m gonna die of hypothermia and that will be it …
forever.”

“
Oh my,” said Lille.

“
Get yourself someplace warm, lad,”
said Bern. “Hop to it … as soon as you’re drawn back. There’s
obviously hope. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t still alive and
somewhat rational.”

“
I can’t … I can’t walk,” I said. “I
can’t get my muscles to do what I want. And … I’m hallucinating. I
saw faeries … and imps.”

Bern and Lille looked at each
other.

“
Those … may not have been
hallucinations, dear.”

“
Huh?”

“
Well, there could be … other states
of mind … that could act as portals to other worlds beyond Root.
Lille and I … we haven’t experienced such ourselves, but we’ve
heard about—“

“
Faeries?”

“
Well, no,” said Bern, shrugging.
“Not exactly. We’ve heard of some pretty strange things from those
on the brink of death. Bright lights. Ancestor’s voices. But …
faeries? That’s a new one on us, I’m afraid. Regardless, you need
to summon your strength and get yourself off that mountain. That’s
an imperative, lad. We can’t afford to lose you.”

I sighed and sipped my tea, which was bitter
and strong. “At this point … I don’t think I have much choice in
the matter.” A fear began to grow in me. “What … what happens if I
die on that mountain? Can I … would I stay here in Root? And like …
never go back?”

Bern and Lille gave each other that look
again.

“
One fades, son,” said Bern. “And
one doesn’t come back. But we don’t know… no one knows where you
go.”

A panic rocked me. “Is it possible … that’s
why Karla hasn’t come back? She might be dead?”

Bern hemmed and shrugged and turned up his
palms. Lille slugged him.

“
Don’t say that. Don’t even think
such a thought. She’s a healthy young girl. The odds that she has
passed are … infinitesimal.”

“
What about … suicide?”

“
But that would mean she would have
to be taken by Reapers,” said Bern. “Our girl would never let that
happen. Would she, Lille?”

“
Fat chance,” said Lille. “That
one’s a fighter, she is. She—“

Lille gasped and her jaw dropped. Bern’s eyes
widened.

“
W-what’s wrong? Why are you looking
at me like that?”

Before they could answer, a swarm of prickles
spreading across my skin told me I was about to fade.

Chapter 40:
Bothy

I awoke to flames crackling and dancing before
my face. Smoke stung my nostrils. Hushed and worried voices
speculated and disagreed. I lay on a pair of spongy pads, wrapped
like a mummy in poly towels under two layers of down sleeping
bag.

A young man in a rain jacket with a bandanna
tied over his head swore into his phone.

“
What’s wrong? Can’t you reach
them?” A girl with a rope of braided red hair that dangled nearly
to her waist looked on with concern.

“
No bloody signal whatsoever. Should
have went with Vodaphone.”

“
Aye, this could’ve been us, you
know. Climbing that face. What if we had had an
accident?”

I tried to speak, but only grunted. I wasn’t
entirely back just yet.

“
Sean! He’s conscious!” said the
girl, her freckled face leaning close to mine.

“
Where am I?”

“
You’re in a bothy,” said the girl.
“We found you face down on the path and brought you back. You’re
lucky we made an early start for Ben Macdui.”

“
Ben who?” I said,
rising.

“
Lay back down. You shouldn’t be
moving.”

“
Hypothermics are susceptible to
heart arrhythmias when jostled,” said the guy. “Says it right here
in my book.”

“
Here, have some of this.” The girl
handed me a plastic mug filled with steaming broth.

“
We saw you lying there, your body
all dark with your hood up. Thought you might be the Greyman,
sleeping.”

“
It’s true,” said the girl. “I was
afraid. I felt this aura. It was so strange. I wanted to
run.”

“
Greyman?”

“
The
Am
Fear Liath
Mòr. Guardian of passes and portals. Folk tale,
but I know of some who have felt his presence here. Imagine how
relieved we were to roll you over and find you were just another
ill-prepared American tourist.”

“
Tourist? Hey, listen. I ain’t no
tourist. I’m anything but that.”

“
Whatever. You need medical help,
regardless. Sean’s going to hike to the road in Braemar. I’ll stay
with you, in case you run into any problems. I’m CPR
certified.”

“
But I’m going in the other
direction. To Aviemore.”

“
Not today, you aren’t.”

My head pounded. I sat up and shrugged off
both sleeping bags. I had one microfiber towel wrapped around my
waist, another draped over my shoulders like a shawl. I only
retained my skivvies. “Where are my clothes?”

The girl nodded to a clothesline set up over
the hearth.

“
They’re soaked. Might take all day
to dry them, clammy as it is.”

“
Listen, I need to get to
Aviemore.”

“
In time,” said Sean. “First thing’s
first.”

“
No. I need to leave now. I feel
fine. I’m not hypothermic anymore. I’m warm.” I didn’t tell them
about the pulsing headache that made it feel like my brains were
squeezing between the plates of my skull.

“
You can’t. You’ve got no dry
clothes. If I can only get a signal we could have a mountain rescue
team up here to help you. Perhaps a helicopter.”

“
Helicopter? Christ! No way can I
afford that.”

“
It’s okay, this is Britain,” said
Sean. “You don’t have to worry about paying. If you need a rescue,
you get a rescue. There’s no bill.”

“
You don’t understand, I can’t
afford to dilly-dally. Someone might die if I don’t get to
Aviemore, soon. And I don’t mean me. I wish I could explain, but
….”

The couple looked at each other.

“
Maybe he could borrow your extra
set of clothes, Sean?”

“
This is a bad idea,
Sharon.”

“
Sean … listen to him. He’s
desperate.”

***

They turned me loose and I went back up the
trail in my own damp but smoky sneakers but wearing layers of
microfiber slacks, a poly flannel shirt, fleece and a parka
shell—all of it a size or two too large and rolled up at the cuffs
and sleeves.

Sean had been a hard sell, and had almost made
me sign a waiver, which made no sense at all. Why would I sue him?
Was he a lawyer or something? Sharon, sensing my urgency, dissuaded
him, and they let me go, watching me from the door of the
bothy.

I felt like crap, but well enough to walk. I
kept a murderous pace up for the first mile just to show them how
strong I was, before disappearing into the fog in the heights of
the Lairig Ghru.

There was sun up there somewhere trying to
burn through, glowing through the thin spots. I was well past
whatever point I had collapsed the night before. The place was
devoid of greenery beyond the ubiquitous lichens. The boulders were
larger, the footing less even. I couldn’t imagine a cow passing
through here without breaking its leg.

Rime ice, created and broken by the wind,
tinkled off the boulders. The sum total made for quite the concert,
like some glockenspiel concerto.

At the cusp of the pass, where the land
leveled off and began to descend, I began to hear footsteps—or were
they hoofsteps?—behind me. For every three steps I took, I heard
one clomp behind me. When I stopped, it stopped.

I didn’t stop at all after that. At the risk
of fracturing my ankle, I careened between boulders, hopping and
darting down the narrow valley aiming for the dark blotch of trees
and the ribbon of grey that I hope was the A9, that I could see far
below. I had never been so frightened without a tangible
reason—just some story passed on in a shelter.

Patches of forest huddled like herds of
beleaguered wildebeest amongst the boulder fields and meadows.
Another mile and the trail would pierce the first rampart of the
greater forest.

The sun was out by the time I reached those
trees. I paused by a trailside spring and quenched my thirst. My
head still pounded and I had a knot in my gut that Sean and
Sharon’s granola bars could not remedy. I pined for the full
Scottish breakfast, whatever that was, I saw advertised on a
restaurant window in Edinburgh.

The trees were a bit sketchy looking at
first—all stunted and twisted in the trunk, and encrusted with
scabby lichen, but they soon lengthened into ordinary looking firs
and pines. The boulders sank beneath topsoil, making for easy going
on the wide trail.

I passed groups of hikers going the other way.
I just nodded and smiled, torn whether to warn them of the fell
creatures and weird doings that lay in wait for them on the
heights. They probably would just think I was crazy. I didn’t look
so trustworthy in my scraggly beard and baggy clothes.

I breathed easy now and the miles whizzed by
over packed sand and gravel. I passed miraculous tarns and
fairytale estates without much more than a glance. I could hear the
traffic now on a highway that could be nothing other than the A9,
according to my map. My heart bonged in anticipation of reaching
the main road to Inverness.

I passed by some park buildings, went straight
into a village I was relieved to discover was Aviemore, and took a
table at the first restaurant I found.