Interlude

[In which we take a small break and shift our perspective back a few years. Stay with me, people. It's gonna be okay.]

             Silas had disappeared.

     Eliza woke with a start, her joints sore and stiff from a night on the cold ground, only to find him gone. He had fallen asleep before she had, and the last thing she remembered was his rhythmic breathing, the faint slurping noises of his lips around his thumb. His nocturnal twitches. The small area of tall grass they had stamped down didn't have any place for him to hide, and there were no signs of a struggle. The morning dew clung to the tall winding strands of grasses that formed the wall of their little hideaway, but there was no obvious break to suggest from which direction he might have exited.

     She stood up, her knees creaking audibly. Her mouth was dry, and there were bits of grass and dead leaves woven into her hair. She shook her head free of as much debris as she could manage, and tied up her hair with a band. Arching up on her tiptoes, she could just see above the tops of the grasses. There did seem to be a darker line approximating a path, extending...she checked the sun...northward, if directions held the same in this place as they did at home. She did a quick three-sixty to see if there were any other, similar paths in other directions, but the one she had identified seemed to be unique. She stretched, examined and clicked together the blades of her left hand, and headed off to find her brother.

     The tall strands of grass parted without resistance. Close to the ground, she saw stalks that appeared to have been recently trampled, but no definitive footprints or dropped debris to indicate that it was her brother who had made these signs. No trail of breadcrumbs, either, she sighed.

She started calling out his name, but stopped before the first syllable could escape her lips: he might be able to hear her, but so would anything else out here. She thought back to their first terrifying experience with the...the whatever-it-was, half-wolf and half-lobster, that they had surprised with their bumbling through the grasses. She had managed a lucky first strike that had sent it off running, injured and likely blinded, its sticky blood and eye-jelly on her fingers and sweatshirt the only evidence that she hadn't imagined it. If there was one, there were probably others. Maybe lots of others.

As Eliza pressed on, the grasses grew thicker, making it easier to pick out the trail he had left. The leaves were changing, too: a whitish residue was evident on the underside, and some of it clung to her sweatshirt as she brushed through. She thought about using her left hand as a machete, but the trail wasn't yet obstructed enough to require it. Gazing ahead, some of the leaves at about the height of Silas's shoulders had darker streaks where this residue had rubbed off-- further evidence she was on the right trail, and that Silas, or someone his size, had created it.

She caught the toe of her sneaker on something thick, tripping forward. The ground was crisscrossed with larger roots, intertwined like a bed of snakes. The grasses, their stalks thickened to resemble those of corn, stood tall enough that she could no longer get a good view, even on tiptoe. She stepped on the largest of the roots, one about the diameter of her own thigh, peaked at the top like the ridged back of a rhinoceros. From there she could see the path continued on for another one or two hundred feet, then disappeared into the woods that grew up around the grassland. The root she stood on was probably an extended tendril of one of the behemoth trees she could see in the distance. It created its own tunnel through the grasses, perpendicular to the track she followed.

Eliza came to the border of the grassland, where the tall stalks dwindled to nothing beneath the cover of the tall trees. Visibility was certainly greater without the grasses in the way, but she had also lost Silas's track. Her stomach growled, but her anxiety drowned out her hunger.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again, trying to really see her surroundings, looking for anything that might indicate which way a five-year-old would have chosen to wander...a footprint, a scrap of cloth, a bent stem. Anything. The leaves and low-lying plants on the forest floor appeared undisturbed. Farther in the distance, a fern-like ground cover blanketed the gently rising hills between the thick tree trunks, broken only by an occasional sheer rock face. She heard a low buzz of insects, birdsong and chirps from above, and small rustles from the branches that could be squirrels or chipmunks.

The atmosphere changed a few feet into the woods, cooler and darker beneath the ceiling of thick branches. The sounds were richer and seemed to carry farther. She wanted to explore deeper into the woods, to lay her hands on the trunks of the ancient trees. But there was no evidence that Silas had gone that way, and it was best to stay on task.

Eliza decided to risk calling out. She cupped her hands to her mouth (careful not to cut her nose; this new left hand was taking some getting used to), and took in a deep breath.

Her call turned into a yelp as a hand landed on her shoulder. She spun around, her ponytail whipping at the air, her left hand almost instinctively solidifying into a reared-back clawed position, ready to strike. Her right hand curled into a fist.

Silas looked sheepishly up at her, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles. "Hi, Eliza."

Eliza could feel the flush filling her face. Her teeth locked into an angry grimace. "Good morning, Silas," she hissed.

"I found some food." He offered her a handful of blackberries. "And some other stuff."

Eliza tried to calm herself, the warning lights in her head drowning out her urge to throttle him. He was just a kid, and she was practically a grown-up. Yelling at him would do no good. "Silas," she began, speaking slowly and as emotionlessly as she could manage, "I have been very worried since I woke up and found you gone."

She swallowed hard. Checking her rage was difficult, and she had started to increase her volume involuntarily at the end of that last sentence; she had forgotten how maddening Silas could be when she was the one responsible for him. "We don't know what's out there, and I would feel much better if I could see you, or at least know where you are, at all times. That...creature yesterday looked dangerous, and there may be more like it. We'll stand a better chance if we're together."

She was shaking, now. He didn't look ashamed or sorry; his grin was more sly than reticent. Eliza fought the urge to slap him. She exhaled pointedly. "But I am very glad you're okay." She looked closer at the berries in his outstretched hand. "Si, where did you get those? You haven't eaten any, have you?"

He couldn't lie; she could see traces of juice on his lips. "There's a patch over there. They're blackberries, just like we have at home. I saved you some."

"Oh, Si..." Eliza started to admonish him, but then thought better of it. Neither of them had had anything to eat since noontime the day before; it had been just before dinner when she had chased Silas into the woods and they had found themselves inexplicably thrust into the middle of the grassland. And in all their evening's wanderings they had found nothing edible, until now. And these did look like blackberries. She wanted to examine the plants to be sure, but the berries themselves were indistinguishable from the variety that grew wild around their yard. But the story of Persephone in the underworld nagged at her; what if eating food here was breaking some sort of unknown rule?

"Si, I'm very glad you're okay." She was calming down for real now. "But I think we need to be very careful about what we eat. I don't know if there are hospitals here, and we don't know what's poisonous and what's not. We've just..." She trailed off. They knew next to nothing about this place. There might be tons of laws they were breaking inadvertently; maybe stepping on roots was out-of-bounds, or being left-handed, or saying the word 'blackberry'. "...gotta be careful," she finished.

"I'm sorry." Now he genuinely did look sorry. "I was just so hungry. And we didn't bring any food. I thought I could get back before you woke up. But I started eating about an hour ago, and I don't feel sick at all. Let me show you where I found them. There's plenty left."

Eliza started to say they should head back to the clearing where they had slept, but that was crazy. They hadn't left anything behind there. It wasn’t even necessarily close to where they had emerged into this strange place, not with all of their initial running to get away from that thing that had attacked them. She had just started thinking of it as their home base. But finding food was infinitely more important, as was finding water. The first step to finding a way back home was surviving long enough to do so, which meant eating and drinking. Silas was right, even if he hadn't picked the smartest way to go about it.

Silas led her in what she decided to call an eastward direction, toward the arc of the morning sun, keeping the thin grass on their right and the woods on their left. She thought it might be about eight in the morning; her inner clock had always been pretty accurate, but who knew what being in this place would do to it.

They walked about a half-mile before coming upon a long hedgerow of what did indeed appear to be blackberry bushes, situated in a patch that had obviously been well-tended. The vines were the same pale blue-green as the ones at home, dotted with menacing thorns, and the leaves had the same jagged edges, a shade lighter on the underside. The vines were practically staggering under the weight of the berries, the bruise-purple fruits clustered in groups as big as Eliza’s hands. She could see how hard it would have been for Silas to resist eating them; the gnawing in her stomach started with renewed intensity.

She popped a single berry into her mouth, rolling that first one around to make sure it tasted how she thought a blackberry should taste, then started devouring whole handfuls. Eliza found she had enough dexterity with her stiffened left hand to grip and twist the berries off their stems; they really were so ripe they were almost falling off anyway. She found a rhythm in which she was plucking with her left hand, transferring the berries to her right, then bringing them to her mouth. The juice ran down her face, tracing bloodlike rivulets, looking as though her red lips had sprung a leak.

The two of them walked up and down the patch, feasting until they were full. Eliza would have liked to show more restraint, but who knew when they would find food again? Plus, they didn't have a safe way to transport very much of it.

Only after she was sated did Eliza harken back to something else Silas had said. "Silas," she recalled, "Didn't you say you had found some food and 'other stuff'? What did you mean?"

He grinned and led her farther east, past the end of the blackberry bushes, around a bend of the makeshift trail between the grasses and the forest. There, hidden until she traversed the curve, was a gentle downward slope populated by shorter grasses and scrubby-looking evergreen bushes. It culminated in a forest that extended far across a wide valley. Miles away in the distance, on a hill on the other side of this valley, was the unmistakable skyline of a city or a town, its size or any details of its buildings difficult to estimate at this distance. But it was the foreground that tore Eliza's attention away from those structures.

Not one hundred yards away stood a small wooden edifice, a single-story longhouse, with wooden planks forming the sides and a stone fireplace poking up from the back. A thick plume of smoke rose from the chimney. Although it seemed unlikely that she could detect such a thing at this distance, Eliza nevertheless knew the smoke had a tangy spice to it, bringing to mind a dusty market in a Middle Eastern town.

A narrow track led from the opposite side of the house down the hill, deeper into the valley. Farther down this trail she could see grazing animals, cow-sized and black in color, but which appeared to be walking on two legs.

Eliza motioned Silas to back into the tall grass, away from the house. It would be best if they observed for a while; they didn't know if whoever lived in that house was friendly. Whatever lived in that house, Eliza corrected herself; it wasn't necessarily human. They hadn't seen any people since they came to this place.

She put a finger across her lips, signaling to Silas to keep quiet, then lay down in the shorter grasses, arranging the outermost layer into a makeshift wall. It was getting hot in the morning sun, hotter than at home at this time of year; it felt like it was mid-summer. The breeze had dwindled to almost nothing, and there was only scant, wispy cloud cover as far as they could see. The grasses provided little shade, and although the berries had been juicy enough, Eliza's hunger had been replaced by a steadily growing thirst. They would need to seek out water soon.

They sat there for what felt like a half-hour; long enough for Silas to need a bathroom break. Eliza, unwilling to let him out of her sight again, accompanied him deeper into the grass. Upon returning to their spying place, they saw that someone had left the house and was slowly walking the track away from them, toward the grazing herd.

The figure paused, then whirled, striding in their direction. As it approached, they could see it was a man. He wore pants similar to blue jeans, a rust-red shirt with a hood or a thick collar, and a black cowboy-style hat, though not as wide of brim or tall of crown as a typical cowboy hat. He leaned forward and squinted in their direction.

"Heya!" he called.

"Don't move," Elizabeth whispered to Silas, without taking her eyes off the man. "He might not be talking to us."

"I'm talking to you! You there in the grasses!" He had cupped his hands to his mouth to make himself louder. "I can see you! Boy and girl! Don't make an old man climb up that hill!"

"What do we do? Should we run?" Silas had stopped whispering, and Eliza didn't shush him. "He looks pretty slow." He paused. "I bet those were his berries."

"I don't care about the berries!" The man yelled. Geez, Eliza thought, did he hear us from down there? He must have ears like an owl. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you! You don't have to come close, just get away from there before the trees wake up!"

"Did he just say 'before the trees wake up'? What does that mean?" Eliza could only shrug in response. She looked over at the woods; no notable change from that direction. She didn't know what it would look or sound like if a tree woke up, but it didn't seem to have happened yet.

Silas studied the woods as well. "I think we should go to him. At least to talk. We can run if he seems dangerous." He glanced down at her left hand. "Or fight, if we have to."

Eliza agreed. She noted how much more grown-up Silas had been acting since they got here; not like a five-year-old at all. Much more eloquent, and decisive. Even his facial expressions had become more adult.

She stood up, made eye contact with the man, and shouted, "We're coming out. We... we don't mean any harm." She had started to say that they were unarmed, but she wasn't sure that this was technically true.

Silas stepped through the grasses first, Eliza following close behind. She couldn't decide if she should keep her left hand behind her to avoid looking threatening, or in plain view to avoid looking like she was hiding something. She decided to act as though it wasn't worth commenting on.

The man appeared friendly enough. His face was boyishly young, but when he took off his wide-brimmed hat, they could see his hair was almost completely white, with faint traces of the black it had once been. His cheeks were sunburned and shiny as they pulled into a smile, and his green eyes twinkled. "We don't get many strangers in from the direction of the Wheatsea. Not too safe to be wandering around in there, between the trees and the wheatsharks. I mean, they keep to themselves as long as you don't get between them and their food, or get too close to their babies. Still, not a place I'd recommend for a Sunday walk." He extended his hand. "My name's Amos, and this is my ranch."

His accent was something Eliza couldn't quite place, though it reminded her of deep New England. Trying to identify it and wondering if the creature they had encountered was one of these 'wheatsharks' distracted her enough that for a moment she failed to realize he was waiting for them to introduce themselves.

Silas stepped in and shook his hand in a professional manner than seemed out of place in a five-year-old. "I'm Silas. This is my sister, Eliza. And you're right, we are strangers here." Eliza wasn't sure how much they should be telling this Amos, but unable to think of a way to interrupt Silas without appearing untrustworthy, she remained quiet. "We found ourselves in the--did you call it the Wheat Sea?--without meaning to. We didn't know we were in danger."

Amos smiled wider, giving a short "Ha!" as he did so. "Getting in and out of danger without realizing it is one of life's greatest blessings. Gives you a story to tell without the fear you would've had if you'd known. Years from now I wager you'll be sharing this tale with your babies before they fall asleep.

"Now, you both seem nice enough, and I'm not usually the suspicious type, but before we go any further, I have to ask: are you going to hurt me with that glove of yours, young lady?"

Eliza moved to put her hand behind her back, then realized how pointless this was and brought it out into full view, turning it over in the sunlight so he could see how the metal portions melted into the palm of her hand on one side, and the wrist on the other. "No. I just...it's not a glove, it's part of me. I can't take it off. I would...disarm myself if I could. But I wouldn't use it on anyone. I won't get close, if that helps."

"No, that's quite alright. I've just never seen such a thing. And I--," he paused to wink at her and Silas,"--have seen a fair amount in my days. Now, I was just going down to check on the crows." He pronounced it to rhyme with 'cows', and now that they were closer, Eliza could see that the animals did appear to be black birds the size of horses, their heads pumping back and forth as they walked across the field, "And then I was going to eat a mid-morning snack. Are you hungry? I can see you've been eating my berries. No, no, don't apologize, those things spread like weeds, I always grow more than I can eat or preserve."

Eliza realized she hadn't cleaned off the juice from her lips as effectively as she'd hoped. "Please, sir, if you have some water, that would be plenty. We didn't bring anything to drink."

He led them to the front of his home where a rain-barrel with a dipper hooked to the side stood. Eliza and Silas took turns lowering the bowl of the dipper into the barrel, taking long drinks of the lukewarm liquid.

From here they were even closer to the creatures. Silas pointed at them. "Do you ride them?"

Amos laughed his short bark again, wiping at his forehead with the back of his wrist as he did so. "Not me, not for years! These old bones are too brittle to risk a fall from any height. And anyway, I'm too heavy. Birds in general are just strong enough to lift themselves, and maybe something they've killed, off the ground. As big as these are, their bones are still hollow. And, even if they stay on the ground, their walking has a kind of bobbing motion that's none too comfortable for the rider."

"Why don't they escape? If they can fly, then this fence can't keep them penned in."

Amos had opened a knee-high cask filled with bits that appeared to be kitchen scraps. He plunged his fingers into the mass, tossing a handful to the closest crow. He motioned for Silas to do this as well, and soon a group of hungry birds congregated, craning their necks and letting loose long "Awwwwwwww!" noises.

"They've got everything they need right here. They certainly could leave if they wanted to, and they sometimes will, going for short flights around the valley. And a few don't come back, but that happens with just about any livestock. Either they get waylaid by predators or find something they like better. But, for the most part, they're smart enough to know a good thing when they see it."

A medium-sized crow had poked its smooth gray beak through the split-rail fence; Silas ran one hand over it. "So, they could be ridden by someone, if the person was light enough?"

Amos gave the boy a reproachful look. "I know what you're thinking, son, but I wouldn't recommend it. You don't ride on their backs, for one thing; you'd get in the way of their wings. You have to use a special harness that's attached to their legs, and it's not a fun ride. A lot of jerking and rocking about. The Pirates of the Wheatsea are the only ones who do it, and that's just for scouting missions, little jaunts over the sea to spy out the best veins of wheat or to see if there's a swarm of sharks on their way in."

"And you called them 'crows'?" Eliza pronounced it as he did. "Doesn't that get confusing? Wouldn't you spell it the same as crows?"

Amos tilted his head towards her. "Well, well." He squinted, taking the two of them in with an intensely interested eye. "Looks like someone can read English. You are strangers here. Interesting."

Eliza started to stammer at her misstep. Amos waved at her, dismissing her flustered syllables. "The crows can wait. We have much to discuss. Come inside."

He stepped onto the front porch of his house, lifted a latch, and opened the door inward, ushering them before him. Eliza gave Silas a look; he shrugged and walked inside. She stepped in behind him, keeping one eye on Amos.

The house consisted of one large room, undivided, though certain sections were clearly designated as eating and sleeping spaces. The walls were a rich wood-brown decorated with amateurish paintings of vistas, most of which appeared to be of the valley they had seen, with the city in the distance. One notable exception was a tapestry made of glass or a similar substance, with etchings of shapes that were like a foreign written language, with repeating symbols Eliza could not decipher. The walls were broken by glassless square shapes cut from the wooden slats that swung upwards on hinges, propped open at an angle by long stout sticks, allowing slanting beams of light to enter. The bedroom section of the house had a single twin-sized bed, and an old and disused cradle, its white paint yellowed with age.  

Long work-tables occupied the lion's share of the house, arranged in a U-shape with the fireplace hearth in the center. Small pieces of metal and tools of obscure purpose filled the tables, with several pairs of glasses scattered amongst the miscellany. These varied in size, but most had one or two lenses that tapered and telescoped outward, as though their user had to work with exceptionally small things.

Eliza pointed to the closest of the eyepieces. "Are you a jeweler as well as a rancher, Amos?"

He motioned expansively at the chaos of the metal bits and the tables. "This? Sometimes, but just incidentally. Mostly?

"I'm a watchmaker."