Young Writers Society

The forest was dank this time of day. Soft light spilled through the thicket above me, lighting my way on the soft turf. I was carrying Diya’s favorite picnic basket, something she would’ve murdered me for. It was loaded with some of Bevan’s favorites, all neatly packed with a little napkin. I knew he hadn’t asked me for food, but I couldn’t help myself.

I walked around the outskirts, for the first time wondering how I’d find him.

However, a pair of hands seized me around the waist and pulled me into a thicker part of the forest. I began struggling and the hands let go. I turned around to face Bevan.

He was in really bad shape. Twiggs and thorns were caught in his blonde hair, which remarkably still stuck up as though he’d put in tree glue. His shirt and trousers were torn and the strap on one of his sandals had snapped.

“How are you?” I asked sympathetically.

Bevan shook his head and took my hand. “I have to show you something,” he said gravely. I’ve never seen him so grim.

“You have to keep quiet and try to walk lightly,” he told me, leading me deeper into the forest.

“Bevan what’s wrong?” I asked, but he just put a finger to his lips and tread on.

We walked deeper and deeper into the forest, until the thick foliage cast us into a weird twilight. I blinked in the darkness, wondering what this was all about. Bevan’s hand felt clammy and sweaty in mine and I realized it was shaking slightly.

We reached a small spring where Bevan stopped and let my hand drop. He went on his knees and started pulling away thick bushes and vine plants just behind the spring, revealing the entrance to a clearing. He started crawling through it and motioned for me to do the same.

We crawled right into the sunlit clearing. I stood up and looked around.

My eyes were immediately drawn to a limp figure lying on the ground. It was half hidden underneath some more bushes.

At first I thought Bevan’s father had some how found him, and Bevan did something drastic. But as I drew nearer, I noticed the figure was way to small to be Bevan’s huge father.

Bevan was already crouching by it. As I stooped by his side I recognized the figure.

Memories started flashing in my mind. They showed me a little girl, singing alone in a sandpit, then glossy hair, masking a terrible face.

My hand was extended toward the limp figure on the ground but I drew it back on remembering her face. She was still in the same dress. It had grown with her to fit the body of a skeletal thirteen year old. I remembered the doll falling to her side and the trampled sandcastle behind her.

My hand extended again, this time it stayed there. I brushed the glossy hair back to reveal the same face I saw nine years ago, when I had wandered into Adwen.

Bevan flinched at the sight of her face, but said nothing.

“Is she – dead?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t think so,” Bevan said, viewing her sadly.

I touched my hand to her wrist, feeling for a pulse. I sighed in relief as I felt the heart-beat.

“She still has a pulse,” I told Bevan.

“What do we do?” he asked as we retreated into the other side of the clearing. He looked wearier than ever. “I’ve tried to give her some water and food, but she doesn’t open her mouth.”

“That’s a good thing,” I told him, remembering the bloodied mouth. I felt sick. I’d run from this girl all those years ago. I’d crossed the barrier two times already, which meant I only had one accident left. I wondered how I could forget something that big.

“I think we should tell Magorian,” I said, “so he can heal her.” Healing was usually reserved for dire situations, like fatal pneumonia or gangrene. Small things like colds or fevers were self-healed.

Bevan looked at me. For the second time I saw pleading in his eyes. I hated it.

“Come on Astrid,” he begged. “You promised.”

“What do you propose then?” I asked incredulously. I couldn’t believe it.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking miserably at his feet.

“Magorian doesn’t have to know you discovered her,” I said, although I knew Magorian would know instantly. Bevan’s father had already raised the alarm that Bevan had skipped. “And even if he does, he’ll protect you.”

He sighed heavily, but nodded.

“How’d you find this place anyway?” I asked, glancing around at the lush clearing.

“I was looking for a new place to sleep,” Bevan said, now surveying his fingernails as though they were the most precious in the world.

My shoulders sagged. Why was he doing this to himself? I held up the basket I’d dragged along the whole while he’d held my hand.