Young Writers Society

A/N: Here's a recap, in case anyone decides to tune in from here. Also for my trusty readers who have had to wait a while for this installment:

• Henrik's mother passes away under strange circumstances, leaving behind a series of glowing symbols on his arm.
• He vows from that night on to discover the meaning of these symbols and unravel the mystery surrounding her death.
• Henrik and Conrad, brothers, are whisked away from the city for life on Shinpi Farm. Henrik thinks he's lost the opportunity to investigate the symbols, but discovers that this is where his parents grew up, and the farm has a dark history that is certainly tied to his symbols in some way.
• His father tells them that thirty years ago, the children of Shinpi disappeared. One of the witnesses to this event explains that a spirit lured the children into the forest, where they vanished forever.
• To discover the location of their disappearance, Henrik tricks another witness into leading him there by making it seem as if Conrad is being lured by the spirit, just as the witness's daughter had been, thirty years ago.

#

Mr Tanaka won’t waste time forcing me to turn back, which is just as well, because he’ll know soon enough that I ignored his command to stay put. This is immediately apparent as I scurry after him and my feet tangle with the undergrowth, making me stumble and slam into the hefty trunk of an evergreen. To make matters worse, a thick mist rises from the dewy ground, cloaking every hurdle in my path.

The haze poses another serious problem; I can’t see through it with enough clarity to spot memorable landmarks. If I can’t map the journey in my head, then Mr Tanaka could very well lead me right to the location of the incident and I still wouldn’t be able to repeat the journey on my own.

There’s a sudden absence of sound. Mr Tanaka has stopped charging through the trees, pausing to stare ahead. He’s lost sight of Conrad. I expect this, because I told Conrad to snuff the lamp and hide once we entered the forest. I scuttle into the range of Mr Tanaka’s lantern, though the shimmering light offers little guidance through the scruffy foliage snagging my feet like bear traps.

He acknowledges my arrival with a sharp, misty exhale through his nose, then pushes his lantern into my chest. The transaction is much the same as when he handed me the old photograph; fast but unaggressive.

With no time to lose, he barrels on, hereby leading the way from memory alone.

There’s now a new obstacle to contend with. Bamboo shoots of varying thickness slowly fill the gaps between the evergreens. We’re able to snake through them until they band together so tight, it’s like trying to run underwater. Mr Tanaka goes to work, hacking the shoots with his blade, as well as any branches jutting into our path. The snapping limbs sound as devastating as an entire tree tumbling down. Good. By all means, chop away. Every severed bamboo shoot that litters the forest floor will signpost the way for me when I need to return.

We hew through the forest for several minutes, and long after we’ve passed the spot Conrad must have hidden, we burst sideways into a narrow passage intersecting the one we just created. My feet move freely through the mist—the undergrowth here has been trampled flat, suggesting this second walkway exists because someone made it so. Supporting this theory, many amputated shoots and branches poke through the haze like accusing fingers. I can only guess that Mr Tanaka created this path, and made certain the forest doesn’t reclaim it. Does he make this trip regularly?

As if in answer, another pang of guilt rises in my chest.

With our newfound freedom, we sprint flat-out through the second tunnel, making up for lost time. I can vividly sense what’s going through his head, his desperation to reach Conrad, to see a glimmer of blue in the distance—confirmation we’re not too late. Of course, no matter how fast we run, there is only hazy darkness beyond. The bamboo splitter in his hand swings back and forth as he runs, glinting in the yellow cast by the lamp, drawing my eye as I follow behind. A weightless sensation in my stomach tells me he didn’t bring it just to clear our path.

The dirt track eventually hardens. Our footsteps slap on the solid texture and the lamp glares off an enormous, vertical surface. We’ve reached the mountain range. I slow to a crawl, expecting a dead end, but Mr Tanaka presses on, turning sideways at the base of the mountain and ascending a narrow, sloping shelf in the rock.

It seems to be a natural formation, just wide enough for one person. I follow his lead, stepping over branches that overlap the rocky path. Within minutes we’ve breached the mist and surpassed the canopies of the tallest trees. I glance sideways, towards the farm, unable to make it out through the thick, inky blackness. There’s no horizon, no tangible point where the treetops become sky.

It’s also impossible to make out the ground as we rapidly leave it behind. Perhaps that’s a good thing. It’s better not to have a sense of altitude—to know when a fall no longer means broken bones but certain death. With this morbid thought in mind, I run my free hand along the mountainside, but there are no handholds to steady myself. I can only use the weight of the lamp to anchor myself away from the drop-off. My eyes are trained on the edge of the rock shelf, though the speed Mr Tanaka scurries ahead tells me the path is clear.

I steal a quick glance in his direction—but he’s no longer there. Did he fall? No, I would have heard that. Then where did he go?

A few careful steps later, the mountainside opens into a colossal cavern, a hollow wide enough to fit the entirety of Shinpi Farm. Mr Tanaka is dashing across a field of evergreens—it’s as if a slice of forest has been slotted high up into this gorge in the mountain face, though in this one, the trees are sporadic, with much less undergrowth to obstruct us.

After a minute of rushing through the shadowy trees, Mr Tanaka stops on the fringe of a meadow, a small enclosure in the middle of the miniature forest.

I know immediately that this is where the children of Shinpi disappeared.

There are dozens of tree stumps dotted around the meadow, each the result of an evergreen that has been neatly felled at the base. It’s clear what happened to them. They’ve been hacked into manageable logs and lashed together horizontally to create a ten foot perimeter fence around the grassy paddock, forming the shape of an incomplete octagon—we just walked through the only opening.

Perched in the centre of the meadow, encircled by the stumps, a single tree remains intact, the lone survivor in a cemetery of its fallen comrades. Only it’s unlike any tree I’ve seen in the forest. Or ever before, for that matter. The bark is a marbled mixture of white and grey, like volcanic ash. Every branch is leafless, smooth as glass and equal in radius, giving the tree the appearance of a mushroom. The tree seems oddly aglow, as if reflecting silver moonlight. Yet the sky offers no celestial light this evening, especially not so far into this sheltered cavern. The trees beyond the paddock are certainly shrouded in heavy blackness. Why would this one be any different?

Mr Tanaka steps towards the ghostly tree, then turns to offer me his saddest expression yet, eyes watery with despair. He believes we’ve failed, that Conrad has been taken by the spirit. I know better. The least I can do is put an end to his misery.

“Conrad is safe,” I tell him. His look of anguish immediately turns into one of confusion. “I’m sorry, Mr Tanaka. I had to know where it happened.”

His eyes flicker, calculating, piecing together the events that led to this moment, the ruse I constructed which now must seem annoyingly obvious to him.

With a clenched jaw, he advances towards me slowly. His bamboo splitter glints in the golden light of the lantern in my grasp. I take a nervous step back, eyes drawing to the blade. He notices this, and hesitates, glancing at the knife himself with an empty expression.

Thunk! He lets the blade fall to the ground and embed into the frosty soil.

If I felt guilty before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. Even after what I’ve done, after making him relive an event so traumatic, it caused him to never again utter a single word, Mr Tanaka wants me to know he doesn’t pose a threat.

Now unarmed, he closes the distance between us with three long strides. His spindly fingers close around my arm in a firm grip. It’s clear that I can either walk back to Shinpi with him or be dragged there.

We turn away from the glowing white tree and proceed to exit the paddock.

That’s when the world fills with blue, rooting us to the spot. An azure glow from behind us illuminates every tree, every blade of grass, even reaching the ceiling of the cave high above our heads.

Mr Tanaka and I share a panic-stricken glance. The look of utter surprise in his eyes confirm that whatever is happening behind us exceeds his expectations in every way possible.

He releases my arm, and together we turn and face the ghostly tree, the location where the spirit enters our world.