The Semaphore

The road to Arborvale through the Allegewi Forest was just wide enough for Mondagreen’s vehicle. He drove with both hands on the steering wheel, careful to keep the tires from clipping too far over the road’s edge. Varia had relocated to the front seat beside him, and watched the road ahead as it unfurled.

The trees of Allegewi were nothing like the trees of the Lowoods; they were twice the height, and branchless until halfway up their wide trunks. Their bark was reddish. Their leaves were three-pronged with serrated edges, and more gray than green. And whereas the Lowoods’ canopy was thick, the Allegewi’s canopy was porous—sickly, Pontis thought—so that narrow pillars of sunlight speckled the ground in odd shapes.

The air, at least, was humid and cool.

After about half an hour on the road they came upon a sign nailed to a tree—ARBORVALE—with an arrow pointing ahead. Varia glanced back at Pontis, and then hugged the satchel tight to her body. Mondagreen lit a cigarette and guided the vehicle onward.

Not long after they came to a short wooden bridge that spanned a running brook. On the other side was a house, partially concealed by trees.

Mondagreen stopped the vehicle at the outside of the bridge. “Better not risk it,” he said. “This sweet honey’s heavier than she looks.”

The three climbed out. Mondagreen swung his sword over his shoulder and stowed his glasses in the collar of his shawl. Pontis and Varia secured their bags to their backs.

“It’s quiet,” Mondagreen said, scanning the forest.

“I don’t see a one,” Varia said.

Mondagreen wiped his mouth and shrugged. “Reckon they’re all still sleeping.” He started over the bridge. “Let’s wake ’em up.”

The house immediately over the bridge appeared to be a gatehouse, of old, unpainted wood. It had no door in the doorway, and no furniture inside save for a single chair. The ceiling was a mess of spider webs and birds’ nests. A layer of dust and pollen carpeted the floor, long undisturbed.

“Looks like they don’t get much traffic these days,” Mondagreen said, standing just inside. “Or any at all.”

They followed the road past the gatehouse and rounded a bend, where the road opened onto a square surrounded by old wooden houses. These too were unpainted, but generally in better shape than the gatehouse. There was a gazebo in the square’s center, its banister decorated with coils of ivy. Otherwise the town was plain, even austere, the house-fronts all nondescript and uniform. Even given that Pontis had never seen a town other than Lowood Den with his own eyes, there was decidedly nothing strange about Arborvale.

Other than the silence.

There was no movement. Not on the street, not on the porches, not in the dead stares of the houses’ windows onto the square. No voices. No creaking. None of the little sounds of life.

And then there was the fact that every door of every house stood wide open.

“What happened here?” Varia asked, holding her walking stick with both hands as if she might, at a moment’s notice, need it as a bludgeon.

Mondagreen strolled up to the gazebo and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Arborvale!” he called, his voice echoing off down the road and into the trees.

The three waited, training their ears for a response, for a sound of any kind.

Silence.

“Where’s everyone gone?” Varia asked.

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Pontis approached the nearest house and peered in through the open doorway. Like the gatehouse, the floor inside was covered in pollen. A dense stillness emanated from rooms tucked in shadow. He backed away.

“Let’s get a closer look,” said Mondagreen, approaching a different house. “Hard to tell much from out here.” He passed through the doorway and disappeared inside.

Pontis and Varia paced around the square. Pontis ran his fingers along the gazebo’s banister, then wiped his pollen-stained fingers on his shirt.

“Something terrible happened here,” said Varia, holding the satchel close. “But I think, at least, we’re in the right place.”

Mondagreen reemerged from the house and hurried to the next, entering through its open door and disappearing again.

Pontis looked up at the towering trees. They swayed slowly in a wind he could not feel. Something about knowing he could not climb them if he had to—due to their sheer trunks—caused him unease.

Mondagreen reappeared again, and stood on the porch to light a cigarette. “These folk left in one fuck of a hurry,” he said. “Beds unmade, coffee half-drunk. No sign of violence, though.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and then went to investigate a third house.

Beyond the gazebo the square tapered into a narrow path, which curved into the forest. The path was well-worn, packed and trampled. Pontis walked along it, glancing back at the square where Varia scanned the house’s dark windows. The ground softened as the path curved deeper into the forest. There was nothing unusual out here. Whatever happened to the people of Arborvale, the answer lay somewhere back in town. Pontis started to turn around.

But then he saw something. In the soft ground.

A bare footprint.

Pontis knelt. There was another one near it, this one a different size, and another beyond that. He followed them, and the further they went the more defined the footprints became. Different shapes and sizes, dozens of pairs, all leading down the path away from town. Pontis rubbed his forearms despite the warm air. The deserted houses, the open front doors, the coat of pollen over everything—and now a mess of footprints along this narrow path. It seemed as if everyone in Arborvale had, at some point not too long ago, stopped what they were doing and marched, together, into the forest.

“Come here!” Mondagreen’s voice called suddenly. “Quick!”

Pontis dashed back to the square. Mondagreen and Varia stood outside a house on the far side of the gazebo. They gestured for Pontis and then disappeared inside.

Pontis followed.

The house was musky and dark but otherwise normal. There were books on a shelf in the hall; plants on a table by a window in need of water but not quite dead; a bathroom at the bottom of a staircase with soaps that retained their floral aromas; everything neat. No indication that anything horrific had occurred other than the plate on the kitchen table with a half-eaten piece of toast and a slice of something crawling with maggots, perhaps a piece of meat.

Pontis and Varia covered their noses.

Mondagreen led them up the stairs to the second floor.

“Reckon I just saved you a trip to Rainelle,” he said, stopping at a small table against the wall on the landing.

There were photographs on the table, mounted in simple bronze frames. A family of three: a mother and father with their daughter, no older than ten. In one they all smiled together, their arms folded around one another. The photos were sweet but so innocuous that at first Pontis did not understand what he was supposed to be seeing.

Then Varia gasped.

“This is…” her voice gave out.

“I believe so,” said Mondagreen. “Hard to say for certain, since… well… But the chin’s the same. And the age lines up.”

Pontis leaned close to the girl in the photograph. The shape of her head, the slope of her neck…

She had a beautiful smile.

Her eyes were brown.

Varia turned away from the photographs, clinging to the satchel. “Your home,” she said, quietly, tears welling in her eyes.

Pontis took Varia’s hand, and for a long moment the two of them stood together, holding the girl between them.

Mondagreen cleared his throat. “This’ll be her room,” he said, rapping on a doorframe. “Not a bad room, at that. Nicer than mine growing up.”

Pontis and Varia looked inside. The room was small but bright, its windows overlooking the square. There was a dresser against one wall, and a twin bed against the other. The bed was unmade, its tousled sheets decorated with little three-pronged leaves. A stuffed deer lay on its side by the pillow.

Varia entered. “Just a child’s room,” she said.

“Whatever became of her,” Mondagreen said. “She seems to’ve had a good life up till then. If it’s any consolation.”

Varia picked up the stuffed deer and held it against the satchel. “We found her home,” she said. “We actually found her home.” A tear lost its balance on Varia’s eyelid and skipped down her cheek. “But there’s no one here for her. She’s alone and in pain. And terrified…”

Mondagreen exhaled briskly and turned his back. Pontis stood at the room’s threshold, his fingers digging at the doorframe.

Varia wiped her eyes and straightened up. Mondagreen turned around, his glasses affixed carefully over his eyes.

“Where do we go from here?” Varia asked, her voice hoarse.

Mondagreen shook his head slowly and placed a cigarette in his lips.

Pontis jotted a note and held it up.

‘Think I found something else.’