Authors: Walter Basho
The only body that stayed still throughout was Albert. He was still standing in the place where he started. Thomas could see only his back, silhouetted against the torches of the soldiers outside the gate. Those soldiers had darted back and forth, tentatively, when the screams started, but now stood stock still, looking at Albert’s face. Thomas looked into the soldiers’ eyes. It looked like they were gazing into something terrible.
And then Albert’s voice spoke again, Albert’s voice coming from everywhere. “The forest hurts you. So you tried to kill it and turn it into civilization, and then, when that didn’t work, you looked for people to blame. Adepts, and mayors, and other soldiers, and civilization itself, anyone and anything you could think of. And you came here, because you thought I was another one to take the blame. But you missed the point. I’m the forest. I’m the one who hurt and killed you in the first place. And you can keep challenging me all you want, and I will just keep killing you. Because I am patient, and I am vast, and I do not care.”
The soldiers that were left scrambled to their horses and rode away. In their haste, they left five horses without masters.
As they rode off, the noises and wind began to die down. Albert turned and walked toward Thomas. As he got closer, Thomas saw that he was covered in blood and soil. There were places on his face where the dirt was interrupted in streaks. It looked like the streaks had been cleaned by sweat, or tears.
“Would you take the horses back to stable, please?” Albert asked Thomas. It sounded like he could barely make out the words. “Don’t touch the bodies.” He walked around the side of the house. After a couple of minutes, Thomas could hear Albert cleaning himself in the basin near the rain barrel.
Thomas walked toward the horses. They had kept very calm, all things considered. He looked at the bodies as he crossed. Three men had trees growing through them. The rest were torn apart. He couldn’t tell what used to be Peter.
He tied all the horses to the fence, then led them back one by one. They hadn’t done a lot of cleaning of the stables, but they were still in good enough shape to get the horses in place and to bed them down. It occurred to him that the goat and chickens had some company, and he was glad of that.
When he was finished, he walked to the Plancks. “We have horses now. We took them from the soldiers. You can take some, if you could use them. I was wondering if you had some spare feed.”
“I do,” Mal Planck said. “What happened to the soldiers?”
“Albert took care of it.”
Mal was quiet for a while, then said, “I’ll bring some feed over tomorrow.” He closed the door.
Thomas walked back to the house. Anya was at the table, eating some cured boar meat and young pickles. “He wouldn’t eat anything,” she said. “He came in naked and wet.”
“What did you say?” Thomas asked.
“I told him to dry off and to put some clothes on. Then I thanked him. Then I asked him if he wanted to eat, like I told you already.”
Thomas went to their room. Albert was curled up in the bed, still naked, knees to his chest, facing the wall, clinging to a blanket too small to cover him.
Thomas sat on the bed and put a hand on Albert’s back. “Something happened to you while you were gone,” he said gently. “Something bad. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Thank you for saving us. I love you.” He rubbed Albert’s back for a while, until he felt Albert relax against the touch, just a little. Then he curled up against him and fell asleep.
+ + +
The next morning, Thomas woke early, before anyone else. He went out to look at the gate in the morning light. He found that the bodies were gone. The places where trees had grown through soldiers were just the young trees themselves, bigger than saplings. Where bodies had been strewn about there were just gently rising mounds, covered in moss. It was more challenging to get to the gate, but not unmanageable. “It’s beautiful, really,” Thomas whispered to himself, then realized what he said and cowed himself into silence.
He went into the forest. He gathered some mushrooms and chives. He milked the goat and brought the fresh milk in, and he gathered some fresh eggs from the hens. He brought in some salt-cured boar.
He got a pan over the fire and fried the boar in the pan while he made up some batter for flatcakes. Richer ones this time, with the goat’s milk and the mushrooms and chives. He took the strips of boar off and cooked cakes in the same pan. They bubbled up and turned golden brown on each side. He put the pot of tea he had been brewing on the table.
Albert woke up first and stumbled out of his room, eyes still half closed. He had managed to pull on some breeches. Thomas kissed him, and held him until Albert almost fell back asleep in his arms. He directed Albert to the table and poured him a glass of milk.
Cyd had cried several minutes before, but when Anya emerged with her, she had the placid air of a baby who’d just fed. Anya held Cyd on her hip as she crossed the room, took a strip of boar, and began nibbling on it.
Thomas looked at all of them, at his family and his provisions for them, and his heart was full. And he thought to himself,
it’s perfect, it’s perfect.
It was the end of the world, as it always had been, as it always would be. It was the end of the world, and it was perfect.
Sandra Spicher edited this book with the utmost skill, engagement, and professionalism.
Derek George provided stunning designs for the interior and cover.
Victoria Davis showed me how to begin, connected me to Sandra and Derek, and guided and supported me throughout.
Kira Lumiel, Donna Flynn, and Chris Pittman all read much poorer early drafts and provided thoughtful and valuable feedback.
Michael Craigue is my husband, my farm, my comfort spot.