Whistling to himself, Father Forest leisurely bent over the ferns, picked the seeds one by one, examined each one in the low angled sunlight, considered the full yard, and placed the seeds individually on the ground. Cassie wanted to shake him. She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at him to move.
Cassie worked through lunch and dinner. Father Forest came and went, tottering off to do munaqsri business (or, she thought, scratch his elbow for an hour or two). She stretched her back, wincing, as he sniffed the roses that curled around the cottage windows. He peeled back the petals until the roses were in full bloom. The old man, she decided, was a kinnaq, a lunatic. But as long as he brought her to Bear, she didn’t care. She finished with the ferns. “Now can we go?”
Father Forest arranged the petals like an artist. “All the seeds?”
She surveyed the yard. “Yes.”
He gestured to the forest. “And those?”
Cassie looked over her shoulder at the expanse of boreal forest beyond the picket fence. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He left her looking out at the forest.
Cassie felt the baby shift inside her again, and she automatically placed her hands over her stomach. If she cooperated, this kinnaq would help her find Bear. Sedna had said he’d help her. Even the owl had said she could rely on him to do what was best.
For the first time, she wondered exactly what “best” meant.
She turned back to the cottage. Silent and peaceful, it looked like a painting. The amber light of the permanent sun warmed the roof. She didn’t want to spend another night without Bear. Father Forest would simply have to understand.
She marched into the cottage and through the kitchen. She found him lounging in a wooden rocking chair in the living room. He looked up as she entered. “Finished already?”
“I want my husband back,” she said.
“And I want my tea,” he said. “Come, have tea with me, and we will talk.” He tottered into the kitchen and fetched the kettle.
“Bear needs rescuing,” she said as evenly as she could. Rescuing Bear was more important than tea or ferns or showers or sleep. Rescuing Bear was more important than anything else in the world. She followed Father Forest to the kitchen. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your hospitality, but every second Bear is in that troll castle is a second too long. Please, try to understand.”
He poured two cups of tea. “Won’t you have some?”
She wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she gritted her teeth and tried to smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were delaying me on purpose.”
He shuffled to a root chair and sat. Not looking at her, he stirred his tea. “You cannot travel with that child inside you. It risks too much.”
Cassie froze. She had to have heard wrong. “Excuse me?”
“I am sorry to disappoint you.”
She opened and shut her mouth twice before saying, “I don’t understand. You have to help me. You were supposed to help me. The mermaid said… Munaqsri are supposed to be good. You’re supposed to do what’s best.”
“I do want what is best. You cannot be allowed to risk a future caretaker.” Perched on the root chair with his feet dangling above the floor, he looked like a wrinkled child.
She clenched her fists. “I don’t care about the risks. I have to try!” Her father hadn’t tried, and look what had happened: She’d grown up without a mother, and Gail screamed at night.
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.