The Green Tower Page 2

  I’m speechless, wanting nothing to do with this odd man. He let me be tied up in a net. Questions race through my mind but not as fast as my heart pumps blood to every muscle in my body, swelling, building, desperate for freedom. I glance over my shoulder. A rope bridge leads to a small wooden building, and a hanging ladder descends as far as I can see. Maybe it goes to the ground.

  “So you will show us our pasts?” the girl asks.

  “Yes, precisely.” The old man sounds pleased.

  But I turn to her in disbelief. “We can’t trust them.”

  She shrugs. “I would like to learn more.”

  My voice rises almost to a shout. “They tied us up!”

  “Please, calm down,” she says. “I told you we were not supposed to leave the nets.”

  “What do you know?” I ask her, eyes narrowing.

  She shakes her head, but doesn’t answer. Her blue eyes are unnervingly blank, tranquil.

  “She’s quite right,” the man says. “Trust the Provider.”

  I back away, still clutching the knife with one hand, and my other hand grabs the vine railing at the start of the rope bridge.

  “If you go, you may find a taste of freedom.” Daniel sounds unconcerned with whether I run or not. “But freedom in the wild will bring pain. You cannot be satisfied there. You will come to the Green Tower again.”

  More like the Green Prison. I don’t need to hear more. I’m not going back to the hanging net. With a final glance at the girl, I turn and sprint along the bridge away from her and the old man.

  “Wait, no!” the girl calls out.

  “Scouring tribe!” The old man’s voice booms. “Stop him!”

  I don’t look back. The bridge swings and bounces as I race along it. I’m halfway across when a boy appears in the doorway of the small building ahead. He raises a bow and draws an arrow.

  An archer. Aiming at me.

  Instinct takes over. Survival, the cruel master, makes my arm pull back, knife gripped at the ready. Before I’ve even thought about it, the blade is spinning forward, end over end at the archer. He has notched an arrow. He pulls the string taut.

  My vision focuses on the knife flying through the air. It’s a foot off, to the left. It’s going to miss. Panic and fury swell in me and my mind grabs hold of something unseen.

  The air. Moving.

  Suddenly I see it. Strands of energy flow together as if channeled by my mind. It creates a small current of wind that nudges the spinning blade to the right. Turning, turning, there!

  The knife stabs straight into the archer’s shoulder. The bow and the arrow drop. I look down at my still legs and realize I’ve stopped moving. But the rope bridge is still bouncing. Footsteps pound behind me. I turn and see others charging.

  I take off again. I pause for a moment to kneel down beside the archer. He looks at me through wet, pained eyes.

  “Sorry,” I say, before yanking the knife out.

  He screams in agony. No time to care, no time to look back. I dash into the building where he appeared. There’s a hole in the center of the floor. A ladder made of vines and wood dangles below. I bite the knife blade between my teeth, then grab hold of the ladder with both hands.

  I climb down the rungs as fast as I can. Taking two at a time, I drop twenty feet, then more. But it’s too slow. Above, the others have reached the building with the ladder. They are going to come after me. Or worse...one of them has a knife out, sawing at the ladder.

  I glance down and swallow in fear. The canopy of the forest looks like a hundred-foot drop.

  My hands grab tighter onto the vines. I step off the wooden rungs and press the insides of my ankles firmly against the ladder’s sides. I take a deep breath and start to slide.

  Faster then faster, gravity does its work—how did she not know about gravity?—and air rushes up at me. The canopy is closer. I’m almost close enough to jump. But I don’t get a chance to try.

  The ladder suddenly jerks, then drops.

  Again I see the air. It rushes past me in blue ribbons. In desperation I grab for the threads and weave them as I did to move the knife. I pull up, trying to lift myself. I slow slightly, but it’s not enough.

  The trees reach up like greedy fingers. My body plummets into their leaves, twigs, and branches. Hard blows hit and twist me as I bounce down. The knife between my teeth gets knocked loose, cutting my lip as it falls. My right ankle catches between two branches, twists, and pops. I fall head over heels, flailing my arms, trying to grab onto anything, clenching instinctively but uselessly to the ladder. I glimpse a thick branch just as my head bashes into it.

  The ladder suddenly catches and comes to a halt. I barely keep my grip, gazing desperately up into the tree, wondering how long I can hold. My head throbs as I glance down. But then a shallow laugh slips out of my lips. The ground is only five feet below me. I drop onto a carpet of soft moss, hurting everywhere.

  4

  THEY’LL COME FOR ME. Daniel, the old man, trapped me in the net. He commanded the guards who tried to shoot me with arrows, who cut the ladder. He must be the harshest type there is.

  I look up, neck aching. No one is coming yet. Maybe they think I died. I probably should have. And I’d feel dead if it didn’t hurt so bad.

  I force myself onto my knees, wincing and still breathing hard as I study the surroundings. Ahead there’s forest as far as I can see. The underbrush is light—a few feathery ferns and moss. Behind me it looks like there’s a dark, brown wall. It’s the base of the enormous tree. There is a single, large opening, like a door, where it meets the ground. No one is going in or coming out, but it won’t be long. Past the tree is a true wall, made of dull grey stone, stretching as far as I can see. I need to go the opposite way.

  My first attempt to stand fails. Back on my knees, I prod around the worst spots. The right side of my head feels like a giant whacked me with a club. My hand comes away from my hair covered in blood. Every movement makes my pulse pound like a jackhammer in my head.

  A concussion, I think, and the thought is new, yet vaguely familiar. I picture an image of a jackhammer, though I can’t remember when I ever saw one, or learned about it.

  Stop thinking. Move.

  With a hand on the tree trunk—the same trunk that hit me, and saved me—I try again to stand and manage to rise unsteadily to my feet. The pain in my ankle is unbearable. It won’t hold any weight. I need a crutch.

  I spot a serviceable stick on the ground a few feet away. Probably knocked loose when I fell.

  Take that, tree.

  I crawl to the fallen branch, which is mostly straight and as thick as my wrist. I break off the side twigs and stand, leaning heavily on the makeshift staff. It’ll have to work. After a few shuffling steps I spot something shiny under a fern: the knife. I tuck it into the waist of my shorts and limp quickly away from the giant tree, senses on high alert.

  The only noises are birds singing, bugs chirping, and my shuffling steps. The forest floor grows denser. Bushes with glossy green leaves slow my unsteady march. Roots grab at my throbbing ankle. It becomes harder to know which way I’m going. The canopy allows only rare pinpricks of sky to peek through. The giant tree is no longer visible behind me.

  Surely any of those guards who wanted to catch me could have by now. They must assume I’m dead. Or they just don’t care. I keep moving forward anyway. The more distance between the giant tree and me, the better.

  The sky begins to darken. The cool air grows colder in the shadows. My stomach churns in hunger. My eyes scan the undergrowth for something to eat. The knife is tucked into my pants, but there’s no way I’m catching any animals with my hurt ankle. My best hope is berries or...more mushrooms. The thought sinks me into despair. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe the hanging nets weren’t so bad. We had a roof over our heads and food came regularly. But the cost was too high: freedom.

  There’s a gap in the trees overhead. My feet come to a halt. The sky is midnight blue and dotted with star
s. The bright spots draw my gaze up and up, taking in the light, unable to look away.

  Cipher, come back.

  The words come down as if carried by starlight. I see the threads of this light—this thought—but I don’t hear it.

  The words come again. I shiver as I see them entering my mind, clear but visible, like cold water pouring into a glass.

  It is me, Emma. Look at the stars. See me.

  My thoughts follow the light back up to the stars. It takes immense effort and concentration. But the stars take my thoughts and channel them across the sky, racing from star to star and following the voice down to a tree. The tree. I see it as if I’m floating before it.

  Yes, yes! Here!

  The words attract the starlight like a magnet, pulling my attention to a long branch at the edge of the tree’s canopy, where a girl sits. The pale light gives her blonde hair the luster of silver, her face a gentle glow. She’s the girl from the net.

  She smiles. Hi, Cipher.

  It’s you, I think, and she hears it, or sees it, through the light. How are you doing this?

  Daniel told me we could, because we came so close to the White Tower together. And see, it is working. You can trust me. It is safe here. Please, come back.

  I hesitate. They tied us up. They drugged us.

  She shakes her head. You left too soon! Daniel showed me everything, Cipher. We were paired in the Red Tower. We were in the Blue Tower before that. Your name was Paul Fitzroy. You were a doctor. Come back and you will understand. It is not safe in the forest. The tribes will capture you. You must come back.

  The words don’t make any sense. Towers? Tribes? Even as my mind resists, the girl’s blue eyes capture the starlight and threaten to overwhelm me. It could be another trap.

  No.

  Cipher, please, remember. It is me, Emma.

  Her voice, her eyes, they soften me. I want to remember. I want to know why we’re here...

  Follow the starlight, she says, it will show you the way back.

  I step forward. Pain shoots from my ankle, sharpening my thoughts and blurring the vision. I steady myself, leaning on the staff.

  Keep on, she urges, this is the way.

  No...Daniel and his guards tried to kill me. She is on their side now. I can’t trust her. I force myself to look down, away from the stars and the blue-eyed girl.

  Wait, please! the girl says, but her voice fades to nothing. The vision is gone. Her spell broken.

  I limp and stagger ahead through the forest again, away from the gap in the trees and the starlight. The woods are dark and silent. No light reaches me on the forest floor. No more voices come. I try to keep my bearings, remembering the direction that my thoughts had traveled to the tree and the girl, and going the opposite way.

  It is not long before I feel lost. Hobbling on my staff, going around trees and thickets, climbing over roots and under fallen trunks, I turn slightly, then slightly again. The darkness makes it hard to tell which way is straight. The trees ahead of me all look familiar, like I’ve already passed them.

  I stumble over a bush and stay on my knees. It’s no use going forward in the dark. I lay down my staff and knife beside each other on the ground, pointing the way I think I should go. I’ll start again in daylight.

  The bush I fell over has small, juicy berries. I nibble at one, though I can’t even tell what color it is. Maybe red or purple. It tastes fine. It could be poisonous, but my stomach tells me it’s worth the risk. Handful after handful are stuffed into my mouth.

  With a belly full, I lay back, beside the bush, body aching. The ground smells like decaying leaves and pine needles. I curl up for warmth. Within moments the chanting bugs lull me to sleep.

  I dream I’m in the net again. But this time I turn into an owl and fly away, the wind rushing under my wings as I glide over the forest. Another bird joins my side. It has golden brown feathers and bright blue eyes, like the girl from the net. Cipher, come back, she says. You will remember. I am Emma. Daniel will show you. We will soar to the White Tower. I try to tell her we can’t trust the old man, but the only thing that comes out my mouth is the deep hoot of an owl. She flies back and I see smoke in the distance, rising from the dense forest. I fly toward it and descend toward the flames.

  The smell of burning wood wakes me, and I instantly sense I’m not alone. I lay still and crack my eyes open.

  A man kneels over a fire beside me. He tends to a skinned animal roasting on a stick. He wears a dark green cloak with fur along its edges and the hood pulled up, shadowing his bearded face. A knife hangs from a sheath at his belt. It looks like my knife, which is nowhere to be seen. A long bow and a quiver of arrows lay on the ground beside him. Whoever the man is, he could have easily killed me while I slept. He could easily kill me now.

  The smell of roasted meat makes my stomach groan. There’s no use pretending to sleep. I struggle up to a stiff sitting position. My head throbs. My ankle pushes angrily against a tight bandage, feeling like it would swell to the size of a melon if it weren’t contained. This man must have wrapped it while I slept.

  “Who are you?” I ask through parched lips.

  “The Hunter.” His voice comes out raspy but quiet, like leaves rustling in the wind. He points to a leather pouch on the ground near me. “Have a drink.”

  I take the leather pouch. The contents slosh around inside. I try a sip. It’s cold, fresh water, and it’s delicious. I study the man as I take another sip. He looks as natural as a deer in this forest. The Hunter, he said, not a hunter.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask.

  He rotates the roasting meat. “You’re in no shape to be in this forest alone. How did you get here?”

  “I fell out of a giant tree, then I lost my way.”

  “You fell?” He eyes me up and down, his gaze pausing for a moment on my scarred hands. “You’re not from a tribe, are you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Where’d you come from? Red? Did Behemoth spit you out here?”

  “What’s Behemoth?”

  “Bah, a Red creature. Better to fall out of the tree than face it.” He removes the meat from the fire and steps to me. He holds out the stick. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  I pull off a piece and blow on it before taking a bite. The meat tastes good, salty. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Baby behemoth.”

  I freeze, mouth open, before taking the next bite.

  The man lets out a quiet laugh. “It’s squirrel. Eat up. We’re leaving soon.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Deeper into the forest,” he says with a slight smile. He starts whistling softly as he gathers up his things. “Can you walk?”

  I stand slowly, using my walking stick as support. The man is almost twice my height beside me. I take a feeble first step. My ankle folds like paper beneath me.

  The Hunter helps me back to my feet. I try another step, and fall again. This time he catches me as I collapse. “Finish eating, then I’ll carry you.”

  I don’t have much choice. I’m hurt, lost, and he could easily overpower me. Maybe I should panic. Maybe I should feel fear. But I breathe a lot easier in the forest than I did in a net. Maybe he gets lonely out here, being the Hunter. Whatever his reasons, I’m glad for the help, and especially the food. There’s no scrap but bones left when I finish with the meat. I top it off with a few berries from the bush that I’d slept under.

  “I wouldn’t eat those,” the man says, after I’ve already stuffed a second handful into my mouth.

  “Why?” I mumble as my chewing stops.

  “They’ll mess with your sight, your dreams,” he says. “They twist the past.”

  I spit out the rest of them, and he nods as if satisfied. Maybe that explains my weird dream as an owl, with the girl named Emma and the old man named Daniel.

  “What do you know about the past?” I ask.

  “More than I’d like,” the man says, rising to his feet. “You will, too, soon enough. Want a taste o
f it?” He holds out a hollow cup the size of a thimble, filled with a dark liquid. “Usually you get it only in the tree, at the Jubilee. But I keep a nip on hand, for rare cases like this. Drink up. I’ll get you where you need to go.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Drink up,” he repeats.

  I don’t have much choice, and I’m curious...I take the tiny cup and bring it to my lips. The liquid pours thick as honey, but not as sweet. It’s bitter, sliding down my throat and pulling my eyes shut.

  5

  WHEELS ROLL OVER the floor, rattling slightly. Water drips onto my head. Above, there’s a leafy vegetable. It’s moist, still dripping. The wheels keep rolling. Mom puts a bunch of carrots into the cart. They drip, too. It’s like a rolling rainforest.

  We leave the produce aisle. The next aisle has some cans. Then we reach the promised land: the cereal aisle. I can’t stay on the cart for this. I climb out from below it and hold the edges, my feet on the bottom rails, leaning back until my arms are straight and I’m like a windsurfer riding a wave into sugary bliss that will fill my breakfast bowl. One of the boxes jumps out at me. There’s a rainbow and a pot of gold and marshmallows.

  “Lucky Charms!” I shout, pointing.

  “Sorry, honey.” Mom stops and bends down to the bottom shelf. She pulls out a boring looking bag and holds it up to me. “They’re basically the same.”

  “Lucky Charms!” I shout again.

  “Sorry, honey. This one’s a dollar cheaper.”

  I don’t want to cry, but I want the Lucky Charms more than anything. My lower lip quivers. The craving rises and swells and bursts out like water from a dam, tears falling, arms thrashing.

  Mom scoops me up. I’m screaming as loud as my little body can. She run-walks with me down the aisle to the back of the grocery store where there’s a restroom. It’s not the first time she’s taken me there. I remember what happened last time. I don’t want that. But I can’t stop. The screaming goes and goes and goes.