His wrinkles darkened. “It is not safe… ”
“Bear needs me to do this.” She stalked to the guest bedroom and returned with her pack. “I need to do this.” This wasn’t open for debate.
Bones creaking, Father Forest rose. “I am sorry, but I have to insist.”
“You and what army?” She marched to the door.
In a quiet, sad voice, he said, “I do not need an army.” Flicking his wrist, he commanded the walls. Shoots sprouted out at her and wound around her wrists. Cassie shrieked. Vines tightened around her arms and coiled up to her armpits. Wrapping around her chest, they lifted her off the floor. She kicked, and her feet ran on empty air. She spun in the vines. “Let me go!”
“Of course, I will,” he said, “as soon as you understand that you must stay until the child is born. Your child is needed.” His voice was so calm that it chilled her. “The world is short of munaqsri, and munaqsri make the world work. Please, try to understand. It is for the best.”
Cassie fought, but the vines held her like a scarecrow—arms out and feet dangling. Her head was between the rafters. “You can’t do this! You can’t keep me here!”
He fetched his tea. “As soon as you agree to behave, you can come down.” He went to the door.
“Where are you going?” She twisted to see him open the door. “Come back here! Don’t leave me like this!” She kicked the air.
Sipping his tea, he walked out the door and shut it behind him.
Pedaling in vain, she spun in the air. “Get back here!”
She heard the last singing stone, the creak of the gate, and he was gone into the forest. Pumping her legs, she tried to swing. She was able to stir the vines. She swayed back and forth, increasing momentum.
Sensing movement, the vines shortened. Her head bumped into the ceiling. She swore. Sedna, the lemming, the owl, the aspen… Had they known that Father Forest would want to imprison her? Had they deliberately misled her, or had she willfully misunderstood?
Cassie clawed at the vines. They squeezed her wrists. She had to stop as they bit off circulation. She hung in the air, panting. Oh, Bear, I’ll find a way!
Dangling from the living ceiling, she swung in a lazy circle.
Cassie heard Father Forest boil his morning tea. She did not lift her head. “You need to let me down for the bathroom,” she said.
“Birds and squirrels do not use bathrooms. You will not disturb me.” He poured tea from the kettle. The sound made it worse.
She clamped her legs together.
The vines twined themselves around her legs, locking them tight. “Unless,” he said hopefully, “you have decided to stay?”
Straining against the vines, she swore at him until she ran out of words.
“Such language for a child,” he said mildly, and then he left the cottage.
After a few minutes, Cassie had to stop struggling. It hurt too much. Her arms pulled at their sockets; she felt like she was being crucified. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them back. She would not give him the satisfaction. He could not beat her. Nothing could beat her—not ice, not sea, not tundra, not this damn forest.
She wormed her fingers through the vines. Responding, vines split and wound around her fingers, paralyzing her hand. She twisted, and the vines thickened around her. “Oh, God,” she whispered. Panic started to rise—she couldn’t help it. She flailed against them. But more vines piled on top of the initial vines. She was cocooned from the neck downward in bark.
Soon she would be swallowed entirely, like she had been in her sleeping bag in the storm. Panic bubbled in her throat. “I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t.” She could take anything but this: trapped, helpless, not in control of her own body. She took a deep breath, forcing down the fear. Her ribs strained against the wood. She took another breath, and the vines responded, squeezing the air out of her. She couldn’t help herself—she begged, “Please, don’t crush me. Please. Please.”
The vines loosened a centimeter, and she took minibreaths. She reminded herself she could still think and talk. The vines could not hold her mind or tongue. She shuddered at the image of vines wrapping around her tongue. Her shudder was constricted to a tiny shiver by the cocoon. She hadn’t known that Father Forest had this kind of power. She should have known—Bear had it too. But Bear had never used his power like this. When she’d wanted to go, he had let her go.
He had used his power on her only once without her consent.
For the hundredth time, she replayed their conversation in her head. He’d claimed a misunderstanding. He’d said he’d hoped that once she knew how important a munaqsri child was, she’d be as happy as he was. Now that she’d seen firsthand how all the other munaqsri reacted to her unborn baby, she finally believed he hadn’t meant to deceive her or use her or betray her. He may have deluded himself, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
Nine hours later, she heard the chime of the stones. Her cocoon, as thick as three bodies now, and immobile, positioned her so that her back was to the door. She saw sunlight spill across the floor as the door opened behind her. “Father Forest?”
“Yes, my child. How are you?”
She was aching and sweating inside her wooden shell. Her ribs hurt, her bladder pinched, and her skin itched, and he had the nerve to ask how she was? He dared call her “my child,” as if he were some benevolent priest? She was not a child, and she wasn’t his. “You need to let me go.”
He shut the door, closed out the light. “I am sorry,” he said, “but you give me little choice.” She heard feet shuffle. She could not see him. Neck paralyzed, she had to face the carved cabinets.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said.
Father Forest hobbled into view and put a pot onto the stove. “You are reckless. The young often are. In the meantime, it is up to your elders to ensure your selfish behavior does not cause lasting harm. You risk the life of a munaqsri, and that cannot be allowed.”
“Bear is a munaqsri!” Why wouldn’t anyone understand that? She was on their side—trying to help one of their own! She fought to keep her voice calm and even. “If you keep me here, you condemn the polar bears.”
She saw pity in his face. “The bear is gone,” he said gently. “I know it is difficult for you to accept, but he is beyond the world. He is as dead.”
“He is not dead!” Cassie thrashed, and the vines squeezed.
“You have the baby to think of now, and the polar bears are a dying species regardless,” he said. “You must accept his loss, and—”
“I will not. He’s not dead!” Never dead. She couldn’t think it. It wasn’t true. He was a prisoner, waiting to be freed, like her mother years ago.
“Some nice stew will make you feel better. Carrots, potatoes, onions”—he fetched vegetables from the cabinet—“tomatoes. If you truly love him, you will let him go.”
“He promised me,” she said. “‘Until my soul leaves my body.’” A munaqsri couldn’t break a promise. Right? Unless it was countered with another promise. Cassie remembered Gram’s story: The North Wind’s Daughter had countered her father’s promise with her own. Cassie felt despair tighten around her, tighter than the vines.
Father Forest peeled and sliced the vegetables and then added them to the pot. “Is that what your bear wanted? For you to seek your death and your child’s? No one has ever been east of the sun and west of the moon.”
“Not true,” she said. Gail had gone there, blown by the North Wind. The North Wind… Cassie cursed herself. She should have gone to the North Wind. He could have taken her to Bear. Stupid idiot. Now she had a plan, now when she was trussed up like a snared hare.