The Semaphore

The three walked in silence. Whatever briskness had seized them the previous days was depleted. By midmorning they were already exhausted.

The ravine grew shallow and nearly disappeared at the same point that the outpath finally dissipated. The three walked sluggishly, wading through ferns, the trees growing closer together. Even the air seemed to languish; the monk elms’ canopy stifled all but the faintest sunlight, and the gnats and mosquitoes, typically hardest at work this time of day, were nowhere to be seen.

Pontis trailed to the rear of the group. He daydreamed about Ien and Harper, drawing together at the kitchen table. Ien smiled at him, but then his smile faltered.

Where are you? he asked.

Pontis looked up. The woods were dense. Ahead—as well as behind—there was only meager space between the trees. Pontis looked down at the carpet of ferns beneath his feet. He stopped and turned in a slow circle, surveying the reverberating woods. A single bird trilled far away.

He jogged ahead and tugged Varia’s sleeve.

“Hang on,” Varia called to Laszlo, who slowed to a stop and turned to face them.

Pontis fumbled with his voice pad, jotting a quick note.

‘No ravine.’

Varia scanned the woods. Laszlo strolled back to them and read the note. He frowned and turned in a slow circle.

“We were right beside it,” Varia said.

“Let’s cut east,” said Laszlo, glancing at his compass. “We can’t’ve strayed far.”

“You mean west,” said Varia. “We crossed over the ravine.”

“We didn’t, I’m sure,” Laszlo said.

Varia wiped her forehead. “We did. Went shallow for a ways and hooked west. We passed right over-top it.”

“I’d’ve noticed.”

Varia looked past Laszlo at the woods beyond. “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”

Laszlo led them east. The woods sprawled, unwavering, as far as they could see.

Pontis’s Pa used to take him hiking in the Lowoods. He taught Pontis tricks of navigation: orienting against trees and rocks when possible, and creating unnatural variance—a rock balanced on a branch, for example—when it wasn’t. He taught him which mushrooms and berries were poisonous—most—and how to identify drinkable water. He challenged Pontis to find altitude and lead them home near dusk. But those were the southern Lowoods. They were kinder than these. The trees were primarily dawn maples. The ground was softer. It wasn’t clear if any of those lessons applied here.

“Something’s wrong,” Laszlo said finally, his shirt soaked in sweat. “We’d have found it by now.”

Varia took slow sips of water. “Like I said. We should’ve gone west.”

Laszlo shook his head but said nothing.

“Let’s cut our losses,” said Varia. “Due north. We’ll meet the ravine or come out the Lowoods, one or the other.”

Laszlo held the compass level. “That’s north.” He pointed in a direction that felt wrong to Pontis, who glanced up at the canopy, as opaque as a ceiling.

“You sure?” Varia asked.

“Yes,” Laszlo said.

They followed Laszlo. The ferns grew up around their waists as they went. The day stretched on, and the damp light dimmed further. Eventually they stopped and cleared a small area to build a fire. There was no room to lie down, so they each leaned against the trunk of their own monk elm.

“Long as we keep north…” Laszlo said, his eyes already closed.

Varia massaged her ankle. “We’ll find the ravine tomorrow,” she said.

Pontis eyed the black satchel on the ground beside Laszlo. The sky darkened quickly, and the nightly orchestra of crickets and cicadas commenced. Varia fell asleep with her head forward, her hands resting in her lap. Laszlo fell asleep soon after, his mouth open and his head on the tree behind him.

He hadn’t tended to the girl. Pontis’s stomach knotted as he imagined doing it himself, alone in the dark. He drank from his half-empty gourd-hide jug. An owl moaned from its perch on a branch overhead, its eyes agape.

#

They awoke to rain.

The canopy diverted most of it, but enough slipped past that by midmorning the three were sufficiently soaked to the bone.

They waded through wet ferns, their feet aching and waterlogged. Laszlo checked his compass frequently, making minor adjustments to their course, though at no point did the ravine appear. When they stopped for lunch they trapped as much rainwater as they could in their jugs. When they resumed course, Pontis noticed a particular monk elm with a distinct knurl on its trunk. It reminded him of the witch from a story his Ma often read to Harper, about a brother and sister who ran away from home. The story’s ending was bleak: the brother and sister trapped by the witch, who fed them until they were fat and then cooked and ate them. But Harper was never perturbed. She asked her Ma questions about the witch—“Was she always a witch?” “Why did she want to eat children instead of corn or sweet potato?” “Did all witches eat children?” And more often than not she requested the story again from the beginning.

Pontis looked up from his thoughts just as they passed the same monk elm, its twisted knurl like the witch’s face as his Ma described it.

He wrote out a note on his slick voice pad and handed it to Varia.

‘We’re going in circles.’

Varia handed the note to Laszlo. He frowned as he read it. “That’s impossible.”

Pontis pointed to the gnarled elm tree, and then to his eye, and then gestured over his shoulder.

“You’re mistaken,” Laszlo said. “You might’ve seen a tree like it—they all look alike to me—but not the same tree. I’ve kept us true north. No way we’ve come this way before.”

Varia chewed her lip, looking from the monk elm to Pontis to Laszlo and then back to Pontis.

Pontis rubbed his face, then bowed his head and gestured for them to continue. As they did, his note slid from Varia’s hand. Pontis picked it up from the muddy ground and placed it at the base of the monk elm, securing it with a small rock.

Night fell abruptly, and the rain picked up. They scrambled beneath a mossy boulder with just enough overhang to build a small fire. They huddled together, cold and wet, desperate for a break in the weather and the woods, with no promise of either.

Laszlo laid his bags and the satchel on the ground. He chewed a few mushrooms and stared out into the dark. Varia tore a piece of bread and shivered faintly, her blanket draped over her head like a hood. Pontis warmed his hands in the low flame; his fingers were pale and pruned, and tingled at their tips.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Let’s do our best to sleep,” said Laszlo, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ll be out of these woods tomorrow, or the day after.”

Varia nodded slowly at the fire.

Pontis eyed the satchel.

Laszlo closed his eyes.

Pontis fished his voice pad from his pocket and jotted a note. He tore out the page and tapped Laszlo’s shoulder.

Laszlo pried his eyes open and took the note. His brow furrowed as he read it. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

Varia leaned over and read the note in Laszlo’s hand.

“Forgetting what?” she asked.

Pontis scribbled out another note and handed it to Laszlo, who took it reluctantly. Varia read it with him, frowning deeply.

“You haven’t been giving her water?” she asked.

Pontis held up three fingers.

“Since yesterday morning?” Varia’s voice rose. “That true?”

Laszlo took a slow breath. “Yes,” he said, quietly. “But it’s for the best.”

Varia’s face creased with disbelief. “She’s suffering,” she said.

“I know,” said Laszlo, his voice measured. “But we’ll be suffering too, if we run out. And unlike her, we need it to live.”

Varia scoffed. “You should’ve put it to us,” she said. “I don’t agree with it.”

“Doesn’t matter if you agree or not,” Laszlo said. “It’s the right thing.”

Varia stood with her gourd-hide jug. “She can have mine,” she said, crouching beside the satchel. “I don’t drink so much as you, anyhow.”

“It’s not about how much you drink, Varia.” Laszlo placed his hand on the satchel. “Any water we’ve got, we need to keep. Case we stay lost.”

“We’ll catch rain,” Varia said. “Or boil more off the ponds.”

“When the rain stops,” Laszlo said. “And as we climb…”

“We were pulled for this errand. It’s our responsibility.”

“We were pulled to get her to Hummel.”

Varia ignored him, sliding the satchel out of his reach and fumbling with the folds of black cloth.

Laszlo stood up and went to her. “Listen to me,” he said. “You’re being reckless.”

“I’m being compassionate.” Varia struggled to grip the cloth with her wet fingers.

Pontis stood slowly, wavering on the far side of the fire.

“Don’t do it, Varia,” Laszlo said.

Varia huffed and drew back another layer of cloth.

“Varia. Don’t.”

She peeled the cloth away.

“Listen to me!” Laszlo took hold of Varia’s wrist.

In a movement, Varia twisted out of Laszlo’s grip and shoved him. He toppled onto his back with a wet thud. She stood over him glaring down, her nostrils flared.

Laszlo stared up, shocked.

Pontis stayed back.

A long moment passed, the only sound the rain beating down on the canopy. Varia’s breathing slowed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, offering her hand.

Laszlo ignored her and dragged himself backwards. He sat on the wet ground in the dark, ten feet from the fire, rubbing his arm and staring off into the woods.

Varia crouched again beside the satchel. She handled the cloth more delicately, taking her time with each fold. Pontis stood beside her. She had not yet seen the girl with her own eyes. Pontis placed his hand lightly on her shoulder.

As she drew aside the final layer she gasped and started at once to cry. By the firelight, the girl appeared even more shrouded in death than she had when Pontis first saw her. The skin on her lips was cracked like dried dirt, and her hair was thinning along her scalp. Pontis knelt beside Varia. She sobbed into his shoulder.

Laszlo sat in the shadows, staring into the dark.

Varia’s crying subsided as abruptly as it had started. She wiped her eyes and leaned over the girl. “It’s okay,” she whispered, uncorking her gourd-hide jug. “Everything’s alright.” She lowered the jug to the girl’s mouth and poured a droplet onto her cracked lips. As the water hit her skin, the girl writhed and bleated. Her hands flexed and her bony feet curled. “There, there.” Varia stroked the girl’s sunken face. “It’s alright…” When the girl stopped writhing, and the bleating sound ceased, Varia leaned forward and kissed the girl on her forehead. “Sleep,” she whispered, folding the cloth back over the girl and carrying her beneath the overhang.

She sat against the rock with the satchel in her lap. Pontis sat beside her, their bodies touching.

“There, there,” Varia cooed, petting the satchel softly. “There, there.”

Laszlo returned to the boulder. He sat as far from Varia as he was able without losing shelter from the rain. One by one they fell asleep without another word, and Pontis dreamed of a girl with long white hair standing on the surface of a lake, smiling warmly at him and holding a string that rose into the air and fastened to the muted sun as if she were flying it like a kite.

#

The rain stopped overnight. Still it remained overcast, and the woods were murky. The three had slept poorly, their bodies sore and their minds sluggish. They gathered their things in silence.

Varia led the way, the black satchel fastened to her back. She kept a brisk pace, pausing only to confirm their course with Laszlo. Laszlo, in the rear, checked his compass and pointed northward. He had not said a word since the night before. Pontis handed him a note asking him if he was alright, which he glanced at, crumpled up, and dropped on the damp ground.

The woods went on unchanging. Again they passed the gnarled tree with the distinct witch’s knurl. This time there was no question; on the ground at its roots, secured with a small rock, pulpy from the rainwater but still legible, was the note Pontis had placed the day before.

‘We’re in circles.’

It partially disintegrated in his hands as he showed it to Varia. She blinked at it for a long time, then at the elm.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice thin, her eyes heavy. Then she started off again and the others followed.

By lunchtime the woods were denser than ever. Varia unrolled the map on the ground, but it was useless without any indication of how their position corresponded.

Laszlo sat alone and ate mushrooms, refusing both to speak to or look at either of his companions.

Pontis leaned against the trunk of a monk elm and gazed up at the canopy. A sparrow fluttered down through the leaves and landed on a branch high up in the tree. It whistled a few short notes, tittered along the branch, looked down at Pontis, and then flew back up through the canopy. Pontis missed the pigeons of Lowood Den. The sparrows and other songbirds of the Lowoods were aloof, too high up or too far away. The pigeons of the city lived in conjunction, on ledges and in rafters. They were neighbors. When Pontis was younger, he’d climbed a tree and found a pigeons’ nest in a high branch with three tiny eggs. He’d visited the eggs everyday until they hatched, and then visited the chicks until they were old enough to fly. Spending so much time with the baby pigeons, Pontis almost began to feel like a pigeon himself. Until they took flight and soared over the plaza’s canopy, leaving Pontis earthbound…

He jumped up.

Varia startled, standing with him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Pontis looked up the length of the monk elm. He grabbed the lowest branch and hauled himself up onto it.

“What are you doing?” Varia called. “Pontis. Careful.”

Pontis climbed. The tree was damp from the previous days’ rain, so he went slow, branch by slick branch. He passed an abandoned robin’s nest, a dust of broken eggshells still inside. A squirrel froze mid-stride as Pontis’s head appeared, and then darted into a knot in the tree’s trunk. The branches thinned as he went higher, and sagged beneath him. He willed himself upward, commanding himself to be lighter. Varia’s voice came from below, distant. He planted his feet near the trunk where the branches were thickest, spread his body wide, shimmied into the blanket of leaves at the tree’s crown, and managed to wrest the top half of his body through the canopy.

Raw sunlight plated his face. A cool breeze tousled his hair. For some seconds he was too dazzled to see anything, and merely basked in the light. Then his vision focused. The woods went on in all directions, an ocean of shimmering green. At first Pontis feared that his climb had been for nothing, that the woods were just as endless from up here as they were from below.

But then he saw it. About a half mile to the east. A long, faint depression in the otherwise flawless woods.

The ravine. A flock of birds ascended from it like a signal.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before descending. He was careful to keep his bearings as he went, and made it all the way down without incident until, in a moment of carelessness, he leapt from the bottom branch and his feet slipped on the wet ground, and he ended up on his back.

Varia rushed to him and helped him to his feet, then burst out laughing.

“Your hair!” she said.

Pontis touched his head. Twigs and leaves tangled in his hair.

“Leave it,” said Varia. “It’s a full good look.”

Pontis scribbled out a note and handed it to her.

‘I saw the ravine. Follow.’

Varia’s eyes widened. “You saw it?”

Pontis gestured.

“Come on,” Varia called to Laszlo.

Laszlo appeared, for a beat, to consider some alternative. Then he followed them.

Pontis ran, crashing through ferns and leaping over fallen elms. Varia managed to keep up, and Laszlo, for his part, managed not to fall too far behind.

As they went, the ground rose, and the sunlight through the canopy intensified until the woods were aglow with green. Ahead, the trees thinned further, and a moment later Pontis crashed from the thick woods and onto the smooth brim of the ravine.

Varia leapt onto Pontis and threw her arms around his neck.

“You saved us!” She planted kisses on his face and hair.

Pontis jumped around with Varia on his back. Even Laszlo squeezed out a tight smile, though it was short lived, and by the time they resumed along the ravine’s edge he had regressed to his bitter, sulking silence.

They followed the ravine for the rest of the day. As night fell they camped in a small clearing. Pontis and Varia were in high spirits. They sampled different combinations of their food, trying the mushrooms with the sweet potato jerky, or the seeds with the cranberries, and reviewed each combination on a scale of one to ten. They used their knives to carve silly faces into pieces of wood, and made up personalities and backstories for each.

Laszlo sat by himself. When Varia unfolded the satchel to give the girl water, he moved his blanket away from the fire and laid down with his back to his companions.

Pontis helped Varia clean the girl’s gray skin with a damp rag. There were stars visible through the gaps in the canopy, and Pontis and Varia fell asleep side by side with the satchel between them, looking up. Pontis awoke only once, briefly, in the middle of the night. For the few seconds his eyes were open, he saw Laszlo sitting by the low flame with the night at his back, his hands clasped in his lap, the fire glinting in the wet wells of his eyes.