The Woodlanders
[for Fool's Duel]
“Esse quam videri: to be, rather than to appear.”
They stand at the gate, to attention; their great, round, stone bellies protruding like oversized children’s marbles extending out over large, encumbering feet. At first, Alice thinks they are a figment of her imagination. But on further inspection, she realizes that their rounded heads and narrow set eyes are in fact real.
She breathes in; and, then out—letting the gust of her own breath carry her farther towards them. The stone sentries remain still and unmistakable like beacons at the end of a ferry dock.
As Alice advances closer, the gate they guard extends high above them. Copper metal whirls intertwined with vines. The forest growing straight out of the stone. Under this canopy, the stripes of their shirts and their pudgy arms stand out against the surrounding greenery.
They do not speak until she approaches. And, when they do, their voices are deep and grey.
“Name,” the one on the right asks Alice.
She looks up, craning her neck to meet the creature’s beady, dark eyes. “Alice.”
“Last name?” asks the other.
Alice bites her lips. “It’s just Alice,” she tells them.
“Just Alice,” one of them repeats. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a just Alice.”
“Pleasure to meet you, just Alice.” They both recite in time, and Alice feels herself relax, muscles relieving earlier tension.
Alice curtseys in response, grabbing onto the sides of her blue dress as she does so.
“What brings you to us, just Alice?” They ask her.
Alice does not respond at first, trying to remember an appropriate response.
“I’ve lost my cat.” She finally says.
“Oh, poor kitty,” one of the stone giants replies.
“I’m afraid we haven’t seen any kittens, have we?”
“No, no. Not one.”
“We’re very sorry.”
Their voices seem to be apologetic as they explain what they have not seen. Alice tries to smile, but the muscles in her face twinge.
“That’s okay.” Alice tells them. “She’s very small.”
“Well, we wish you the best of luck.” They say when Alice tells them she must depart.
Alice thanks them before passing through the gate. And, as she continues on her way through the forest she hears faintly one of them say, “Poor kitty, I hope she finds the helpless little thing.”
*
It has been two days since Alice lost her cat. Alice had felt the worm of worry enter her after she watched the flick of a tail in the grass. Duchess was not supposed to be outside, and so she followed her cat into the woods.
It has been a few hours since Alice had last seen Duchess traipsing through the ferns and undergrowth, and now the worry has become a stone which settled in her stomach—merciless and nauseating.
As Alice marches through the dense trees, despair clenching at her heart. Will she ever find Duchess? Heart-weary and feet sore, Alice comes across a hollowed out tree stump. After brushing off the seat, she settles into its embrace and curls her feet into the curve of the wood.
She yawns. It won’t matter if I take a few seconds of rest, she tells herself as she drifted off to sleep.
Alice’s nose itches. She comes awake with her nose itching. When Alice opens her eyes, she gasps. Sitting perfectly still, on the branch above her is Duchess. Alice watches, frozen, as Duchess launches herself from the branch and lands inches away from her resting place. The cat then stretches, and makes her way over to Alice. There is no worry in her stomach now, just delight at finding her cat.
With a grin tugging at her lips, Alice reaches down and scratches Duchess behind one large, fluffy, white ear. The cat purrs.
“What were you thinking?” Alice mutters. Suddenly, Duchess turns her yellowed eyes on Alice, and blinks.
Alice shivers as her cat’s eyes lock with her own, but soon shakes off that strange, ominous feeling.
She scoops up Duchess and lifts her up onto her shoulder. “C’mon, Duchess, let’s go home.”
*
Alice is lost. Better yet, she knows she is lost. Trampling back through the forest, she came across no large, forested gate, and no large, round-headed stone sentries. Fear nags at her spine; it is getting dark now. And, Alice has lost her footing more than once earning dark looks of annoyance from her cat.
A dangerous thought now plagues Alice’s mind: will she make it home before dark? She is not naïve to the hazards of the forest after dark and all the nefarious and wicked creatures that it holds. She is a little girl, and Duchess is only a cat. No match for any treachery—demonic or environmental.
She walks swifter now; adrenaline coursing through her veins, heart pumping faster so that she can hear the echo of the beat in her brain.
Alice peers at the foliage in front of her. All the same. She turns right and then left. Still the same. She jerks forward and catches her foot on some wandering tree root that has arched sky-ward. Alice tries to recover her balance, but fails, toppling head first into the ground, the sharp pain of Duchess’s nails digging into her back.
*
People are talking; words are being said. And yet, Alice cannot decipher them, her whole head woozy and foggy—a grey mist swirls around in her brain.
For a few moments, she lays there limp; attempting to find some meaning to the sound reaching her ears. At last, she opens her eyes—and with sight comes sound.
At first, her vision is blurry, but she blinks, once, twice, and she can see the ceiling and the dark stain of the logs. The first voice she understands belongs to a woman—its high pitch and cadence carrying over swiftly.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” she is calling. Alice hopes it is Duchess the woman is addressing. She cannot afford to lose her cat again.
Alice attempts to sit up, but her body flops about like a fish out of water.
A young man’s face comes into her view. His dark brown eyes, hooded by bushy eyebrows, tinge with what Alice imagines is concern. His close-shaven face is unfamiliar.
She looks at him, and he attempts to smile. Even in half-attempt, it is blight and bright, and Alice’s face warms in return.
He offers her a glass of water, slowly bringing it to her lips, so she can sip it and gather strength.
She nods in appreciation, and sits up. The young man disappears out of Alice’s sight, but she can see the woman now, who is bent over, hand outstretched, petting Duchess. Alice breathes in a sigh of relief.
The woman turns towards Alice. “Oh, lovely, you’re awake.”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” Alice stammers at last; her throat cracking.
“Seems to me you took a bad fall; it is so good that my Elvis found you.” The woman bustles over, and plops down next to Alice.
“Thank you,” Alice says. There are lines in the woman’s face, deep, creasing lines; and the woman’s hands are rough, fingers callused. Her dark red hair, full of unruly curls, is brought back away from her face. She smiles at Alice.
It is heart-warming and comforting. Alice closes her eyes for a moment.
“What is your name, dear?” The woman asks.
“Alice.”
“Oh, that’s a very pretty name, I’m Mercedes; and I know I shouldn’t, being nosy and all, but I have to ask what were you doing with that pretty little head of yours out in the wood like that all alone.”
“I was looking for Duchess.”
“Oh, is that your pretty kitty’s name?”
Alice nodded.
“Well,” the woman padded Alice’s shoulder, “you rest for a little bit, my dear. Elvis can see you back in the morning.”
Truth be told, Alice feels sleepy, and soon she is falling asleep to the lilting carol of the woman’s own music.
*
Mercedes gave Alice a picnic basket to carry Duchess in on the way home. It is much simpler, Alice finds to make her way through the forest without Duchess’ talons gouging into her skin.
The way back is quiet. A few bird call out to one another from tree branches high in the canopy, but that is all. Elvis, her guide, is silent as he leads her onward.
“Do you ever talk?” Alice demands when the quiet gets too much for her, itching at her skin.
Elvis humphs.
“Well do you?” Alice calls out to him.
He stops and twists towards Alice; one of his dark eyebrows is raised. “Sometimes.” His voice is low and soft; and it reminds Alice of a child’s lullaby.
“Oh. Good.” Alice fidgets with the picnic basket.
“How did you get your name, Elvis?”
He chuckles and starts walking again. “I’ve always had it.”
“Oh.” Alice replies because she cannot think of anything else to say.
They continue on in silence for a while before Elvis turns at the edge of the forest. He points ahead of him, and when Alice catches up, she sees it is the main road back into the city.
“If you take that road, it will get you back to town.”
Alice quirks a smile; only a forest-dweller would call the main city of Alexandria, a town.
Before setting off down the road, Alice takes one last look behind her. Elvis is standing at the edge of the forest, one hand in his pocket, the other on his hip; there is a quizzical grin plastered on his face.
Back home, in amidst the chaos and commotion that is her younger brothers and sisters, Alice thinks about Elvis’s face and Mercedes’ hands, and she smiles.
