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  My cry of “Wait!” was ignored, and a sparkling cloud of green mist whooshed by me and fled to be lost in the darkness of the surrounding Woods Beyond the Wood.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Following A Tricklestream

  Still seated, I kicked the ground with the heels of my highboots. I clenched my fists in frustration. Such was so until I was struck by a pleasant thought.

  Maybe that was my task, I mused. She lost her orb. I found it. I gave it to her. That’s so such a task of sorts, isn’t it? Well, now. So. I’ll go to sleep. Yes, I’ll sleep, and when I wake up I’ll be back in my future and sitting in my hut by the Well of Shells. Such should most certainly probably be so, maybe.

  Not truly firmly believing that such would be so, nevertheless I curled down and allowed simple weariness to sink me into a thick honey of sleep. In a slow dream I sat trying to write at my table in my hut, but the inkpot avoided the dip of my quill and the oat parchment page sprouted red wings and flew out the door. “Kar, is that you?” I cried. “No,” answered the table before giggling and shifting to bendo dreen Kar. “Fooled you, didn’t we?” laughed Shendra Nenas, who had shifted from inkpot to blue bool, moon dweller. “Who is the parchment page then?” I asked logically, not in the least fuddled in any manner by their jest pranks. “Guess,” urged Kar, poking me in the ribs with her elbow. “Ow!” I said, waking up.

  I had rolled my ribs onto a hump of root under the tall, tall tree. It was morning enough to see that I remained in the when of long ago there in the Woods Beyond the Wood. I sat up, looked at the pool. Not a ripple, calm and flat.

  “All right. Giving her the orb wasn’t it,” I grumbled.

  I washed my face in the pool, drank. I decided not to stay there. Delia Branch had mentioned a river and a cave. Such I remembered from her behind-the-tree murmurs. I would look for one or the other of ‘em, the river or the cave. I didn’t care which. I pulled up some feather ferns and nibbled the roots. They weren’t dreadful, and the green beauty of the Woods was pleasing. Which way should I go? I asked myself. I answered by striding off true on the line of direction where the green sparkle mist of Delia Branch had fled in the night.

  She probably headed for her cave or the river, I thought. I have not completed my task, whatever it is. I wonder when it will be too late. Why do I have to be stuck here alone and uninformed? Well, mostly uninformed. Oh, here’s a tricklestream to follow. Such. I’ll follow it. What do I know? How much? I know what when this is. I know that. I know some whos. Runner Rill I met. What about him? He’s prickly like his daughter will be…if she will be. At the pool he saw Delia Branch high in the tall, tall tree. His first sight of her. He was smitten. Such was so, a fact. SHE was smitten! She, too. That’s right. That has to be. But what else? Riffle Sike. Riffle Sike had a dream vision. He was instructed by the so-seen silver wizard, I say Shendra Nenas, to come here. He was told to disappear when he saw the woodlock. He did so. Where is he now, I wonder? Is he important to my task? So such probably not. Runner Rill and Delia Branch are a future. Rindle Mer will be their daughter, or will she? What if I fail to complete my unknown task? Such there might not be a Rindle Mer, which means so such much other will not be!

  I stopped walking in order to imagine my possible failure allowing mounds and mounds of ugly consequences. No Rindle Mer means no Woods replenished. Means no Nimble Missst! Means Blossom Castle burned! And means all else other sorts of disasters and disasters and disasters! I doubled the length of my strides along the tricklestream, going I knew not where to do what I did not know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gloom

  The tricklestream meandered. It curved under banks below hedges. It cut through meadows where I walked ankle deep in lush green clover. Could the clover blanketing the green hills of Clover be any deeper or thicker? I doubted it, but I could not be certain. I had but one time seen the Clover hills, and such was a view from high in the sky while riding the Dragon serpent neck of my shifted jrabe jroon best friend Kar. We hadn’t had time to land on ‘em. We were on our way somewhere to do something. I forgot what. What did it matter? That was then in the future. Here was now, me following a tricklestream eons before I was born. I stopped to bang on my chonka. I stopped to shout for Shendra Nenas. I shouted for Riffle Sike, Runner Rill, Delia Branch. I searched the tops of every sort of tree, straight or twisted, short or tall, leafy or merely leaved. I scrambled up boulders and down. I traversed ravines and hollows. I passed bursts of bright wildflowers, red, yellow, pink. I sampled petals and nectars. The tricklestream was joined by another and ran swifter, wider. It tumbled a hill, a short cascade, and leveled off lazily to flow through a density of forest. I was forced to fairly squeeze my way between tree trunks and to bat branches out of my face. With bendo dreen skill I slipped my way along, keeping close to the stream on my left.

  “Anybody!” I cried.

  A few flutters whirred and a few rustles stirred, followed by silence. I felt abandoned. I wished I was in the Assembly Bower listening to Zobba or even to Old Danno reciting a Gwer drollek tale. I wished I was hearing a tale in the safety of the hedge, not living one alone and deep in the past. I felt ripely sorry for myself. I pushed aside a tangle of branches and sat on the bank of the stream. I broke off bits of twig, tossed ‘em in one after another, and watched ‘em flow away.

  I can’t find any of ‘em, I moped to myself. I found the woodlock’s orb. That should have been the task. Such! Why was I put here alone without instruction? I bet Shendra Nenas is the biggest lackwit shifter there is. Or ever was! Why didn’t I get Zom Falbu or Scong Lodd? Theirs was a Gwer drollek shifter story that made some sense. This one is silly. How can I know what I don’t know?

  I sat there, stubbornly glum, for the rest of the day. I hung my head. I WAS that low. Such was so. When the stream and the trees grew dark, I sighed and gathered leafy branches, snapping ‘em off, to build a sleep nest. I curled down and vowed not to move from that spot until…until…until I didn’t know what.

  A bendo dreen should not be all completely totally alone, I complained. Adventure may be well and good, but not alone. I wish Shendra Nenas would send Kar to help me. I can’t fly or shift or do anything useful but think. I wish I had Jo Bree with me. It’s the only magical thing I have. If I had my Carven Flute, my Jo Bree, it might float in the air and pulse me a rainbow tune clue. But you don’t have the Carven Flute. You have the chonka instead. Shendra Nenas suggested that you bring the chonka. I bet she was supposed to tell me to bring Jo Bree. You should have brought it anyway, lackwit Bekka! When you grabbed the chonka, the Flute was right there. You should have grabbed it, too! You know it’s the only magic you possess.

  I continued berating myself so such until I fell asleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trofle?

  I awoke in a bright flood of sunshine. So such it seemed I had slept away a night and all of a morning. A truth. Too much sleep makes me groggy. I was groggy. I rolled to the stream and doused my head, submerging it completely in the shocking cold water. I sat and let sliding dribble drips drop down onto my jacket and shirt. I blinked my bleary eyes. I raked my fingers through my drenched hair, and such when I did so, I recalled the Gwer drollek story of the Ledgemoon. In that tale, the creature Sill has the habit of raking her fingers through her hair. Sill has blue fire hair and pale green skin. She’s a twin. Such thoughts as these drifted slowly through my foggy mind. I stared at the stream. I was barely half awake and remained clouded a long distance removed from my situation.

  “Speak softly or Badge will faint,” said a low trembly voice.

  I lifted my gaze from the water and found myself looking at a trofle posed between two tree trunks on the other side of the stream. I’d never seen a trofle, but truly did I know about ‘em from listening to such and so many a Gwer drollek tale. I thought, A trofle called Madge held a part in the Rindle Mer tale. Rindle Mer tale! My task! Will she be born? Instantly alert, fully awake, I regarded the trofle. She regarded me w
ith her green glow eyes. A night blue head with ivory bone purple spikes meant she was a she, not a he. Such I remembered. Her tail whips, both of ‘em golden, waved wildly above the clattering purple spikes which covered her plump lump of a body. I couldn’t see her waddlers, though I was certain she had ‘em.

  “Trofle?” I said softly, aware that trofles faint when overly excited. The cloud of gloom weighing on me lifted slightly. A creature. A something. Maybe…?

  “Badge is a trofle. Cho dett. You are not a woodlock. Have you seen one? Mek tor?” said the trofle in her low trembly voice.

  I blazed indignant, insulted, angry, and happy all at once instantly together. Why? I am Bekka of Thorns, Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined. I have wits. I am known for ‘em. I knew in a flash I was staring at Shendra Nenas. She couldn’t hide the shifter phrases peppering her speech. So such a lackwit shifter is she, I thought. Yet, she WAS there.

  “Go ahead and faint, Badge. You aren’t Badge. You’re Shendra Nenas, and you put me here without proper instruction. How do I know what I’m supposed to do when I don’t know what I’m supposed to do? What am I supposed to do!?” I ranted, waving my arms dramatically.

  “Settle, Bekka of Thorns. Char ten. Hatch! I am here to evaluate your progress. Tell me what you have done so far,” said Shendra Nenas, the shifter, not Badge, the trofle, though she still yet appeared as trofle.

  “I figured out when this is. I met Runner Rill, then Riffle Sike, then Delia Branch. Is that right?” I said, eager to know if I’d been treading the proper path on the way to my task.

  “It’s one of the possibilities. Bel tok. What else?” said the shifter.

  “They all of ‘em told me about when they met. Each one had a different story. There was a beckoning pool and a tall, tall tree. That was where they met,” I informed her.

  “What else?” asked Shendra Nenas.

  “Else? Runner Rill is prickly. He was smitten when he saw the woodlock. Riffle Sike was told by…by YOU, I bet. Was that you in his vision dream? Were you the silver wizard?” I challenged.

  “What else have you done?” said the shifter as trofle, ignoring my question and clattering her spikes I knew not why. Maybe because I was right!

  “Else? The woodlock Delia Branch was smitten, too. I could tell. Her shyness made her shift to mist and race off. That’s why she dropped her orb into the pool. I found the orb. That was right, wasn’t it? I had it. I got her to talk to me because I had it. I gave it back to her, and she told me her story.”

  “What! You gave it back! Hatch! Oh, oh, dol ter,” shrieked the shifter. She followed the shriek with moans.

  I flushed green with shame. I should have kept the orb. I should have kept it! Why should I have kept it? How could I possibly know?

  “What can you do so such to help me?” I asked meekly.

  “You have made it much more difficult than it might have been. You have but one week more to complete your task. Deg win,” she said, shimmering to disappear.

  “It’s all your fault!” I screamed. “You should have told me! NOT! ENOUGH! INSTRUCTION!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Runner Rill by The Stream

  I threw myself into the stream and splashed a raging tizzy. I flung myself onto the bank, tore at tufts of grass with my teeth, and imagined Kar falling down laughing at me. Such was enough to make me feel ridiculous. Also, I noticed my chonka floating away. I dove in to retrieve it. Smiling like a lackwit, I waded back to the bank. Anger can never hold me for long. I look so such silly. I feel so such a fool.

  Well, I thought. I have one week to do whatever it is that I am to do. Such. So. I might as well enjoy myself. Walk along this stream. Nice stream. Nice trees. Pretty flowers. I won’t think about…No! I won’t!

  I banished all dark thoughts from my mind, and instead, sang out loudly tune after tune while banging, rattling and tapping my chonka. So such occupied after drying my clothes, I followed the stream until dark. I bedded down below a fine prickly hedge next to a small waterfall and allowed the falling water’s song to soothe me to sleep. I awoke refreshed. Dark thoughts attacked, but I warded ‘em off by flopping into the stream under the falls and turning my face up into the cascade.

  “There,” I croaked in a raspy whisper when I had regained the shore.

  Too much singing yesterday, I thought, holding a hand to my throat. Rest your voice today, Bekka. Follow the stream. Don’t think. Follow the stream. But first, you drenched your clothes again, lackwit. Dry ‘em.

  That I did, spreading ‘em out in the sun on the highest branches of an easily climbed tree. The double weaves of my jacket and pantaloons took the longest to dry. While perched up there waiting, I looked out over the vastness of the Woods Beyond the Wood. I saw where the stream ran and made a turn behind a low hill opposite a grassy meadow. Strange purple grass filled the meadow and a single tuft of orange grew in its midst. But wait. I squinted and shielded my eyes with my hands. Not a tuft, but an orange mop of hair! It was one of the brothers! Which one? I snatched my clothes and threw ‘em on, at the same time leaping and falling my way down the tree. Kar would have laughed. She would have laughed harder at seeing me up and hopping along the stream while struggling into my second highboot. A nince later, I was running. Rumpled and panting, I reached the meadow. His back was turned. I knew he knew I was there. A deaf wobbler would have heard my approach.

  “I’m from the future,” I croak whispered with my damaged voice.

  The youngling waterwizard slowly spun a turn to stare at me. I knew by the scowl he was Runner Rill. I was held by his fiery orange eyes.

  “Ye be from the future?” he snorted. “Be that what ye have been paid to tell me? Ye look more to be from the trash heap. Why whisper? Speak up. No one be here save me.”

  “No one paid me anything,” I hissed on, though it really was so such painful to speak. “I have been sent by a shifter to do something. I think that if I fail, you won’t have a daughter. Rindle Mer will not be. And more. No watery woodlock. No Nimble Missst!”

  He looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted gadapples and thorns all over my body. He raised a hand, silencing me.

  “Save your stagnant puddles of lies,” he snarled. “I be leaving these Woods to my lackwit brother soon enough. Was the final treachery at the second beckoning pool yesterday not enough for him? Did he send ye to make certain that I go? Tell him not to fear. After yesterday, it all be clear. It all be most liquid clear.”

  “What yesterday?” I asked. “I don’t know about yesterday. What happened yesterday?”

  He glared at me with those fiery orange eyes. I felt rumpled and desperate. Something wrong was happening.

  “One day I will be a river,” sighed Runner Rill. “Oh, to be a river.”

  “You will! You will! I know you will!” I hissed. “Tell me about yesterday. Tell me. I can help!”

  He studied me from boot toe to the top of my coppery haired head. He looked deep into my eyes. In his gaze I could see he wanted to believe me. His shoulders slumped.

  “I will tell ye,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Runner Rill Describes Another Incident

  To encourage him, I sat on the purple grass and pasted what I hoped was a sympathetic smile on my face. Runner Rill lifted his purple starred pouchbag up from the grass and hugged it to his chest. His gaze no longer focused on me. He looked at the stream. So such he seemed fairly enchanted. Time passed. Was it a trance? I fidgeted. He remained motionless. Was he even aware of my presence? What was I to do? What was my task? I needed more information. I followed his gaze to where it rested on the rippling bend of the stream.

  “To be a river would be a glory,” I whispered. “What happened yesterday at the second beckoning pool?”

  He sighed, but otherwise stayed as he was, enchanted by the stream. I made ready to nudge him again with words, but the need to do so such passed. He began to speak.

  “When I returned to the tall tree where
I first saw…her, no one was there,” he said dreamily, eyes ever on the water. “I submerged to the bottom of the beckoning pool in search of Riffle Sike. He was not there. I floated up to the top of the tree and sailed aimlessly in circles for a time, waiting. Then I settled on the branch where…I couldn’t stay. I left to be…to be flowing like a river, not still like a pond. I searched out tiny tumble cascades, rested at night under low hush falls. Yesterday I found…”

  Runner Rill ceased speaking and broke off his stream gaze. He turned his mist green face to me. I nodded. I hoped the smile pasted below my nose showed sympathy and encouragement. He frowned.

  “Ye do have ears to hear. Ye have a greeny yellow face and eyes to match. Bendo dreen, ye said before. What games be ye playing at? Ye denied sorcery, but now claim time travel. If ye can shift, do so! Prove yourself!” he snapped.

  “To be a river would be a glory,” I repeated, hoping to deflect him back to his tale. “Such can and will be so. What happened at the second beckoning pool? What did you find yesterday?”

  He gathered my soothing whisper in and blinked his fiery orange eyes. He returned his gaze to the flowing stream, and his face regained the look of dreams.

  “I found,” he said softly, “the perfect beckoning pool. It had on one side a gentle tricklestream flow, and on the other an open cave beneath a rocky hill. I determined to claim the pool for mine. But my tide be lower than low, drained dry. There was in the cave already a mark. I was too late. My lackwit brother’s pouchbag was jammed into a crevice, a break in the cave’s smooth wall. I reeled back, stricken, and there he came, drifting up from the bottom of the pool. Oh, he pretended joy to see me. ‘Where be the woodlock? What did ye do with her?’ I demanded. ‘I did nothing. I spelled myself invisible be what I did. I did nothing with the woodlock. What woodlock?’ he lied. ‘Ye and she disappeared together. I saw. I saw. I have eyes,’ I said. Riffle Sike foamed innocence and begged me to take the first beckoning pool for myself. He preferred this smaller one, he said. I told him to get out. I said, ‘This be my pool. Mine. Yours be next to the tall tree. This has been settled.’”