Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU in there?” Katie asked when they were back on the road.

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” said Mike. “It was like I was in the room where I grew up.”

“Like remote viewing?” asked Gary.

“No,” Mike shook his head as he merged onto the highway. “It was more like reliving an old memory from the third person.”

“Was it a dream?” asked Katie.

“Sure, I guess,” said Mike. “Yeah, that makes sense because it never really happened exactly like that, but it was close. I had a really active imagination when I was a kid, and I had a really hard time after my little brother died.”

Katie sat back and adjusted her seatbelt.

Gary studied the trees as they passed out of the angle of the headlights.

“Charlie?” Gary eventually asked.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “How did you know?”

“I think you mentioned his name just before you woke up.”

SNOW FAWN HUGGED HER BABY CLOSE against the cold evening and rubbed his gums, checking for a tooth. She had executed this single-fingered move about a thousand times that day and in the previous few weeks. It was her waking obsession—the first thing she did when he woke her up with his insistent mewing, and the last thing she did before he drifted off to sleep.

Her sister hadn’t come in over a week, which meant that Snow Fawn had survived only on what she could gather near her cold cave. She moved a hand from her baby’s chest and checked her own, feeling her sharp ribs poking through her thin skin. If only his first tooth would appear, she would be able to return to her home with no fear for his life.

When her boy had descended in preparation for birth, that’s when she had known for sure. Her sister had warned her weeks before, but she had discounted her sister’s opinion as jealousy. Her sister, Rose Blossom, had warned her that her smell had become sour. Snow Fawn didn’t notice a change in her own odor, and tried to ignore the hard truth. She had sensed the same sour smell that Rose Blossom described, but she smelled it whenever Sharp Claw, her boy’s father, was around.

But this was her first child and, given her age, would likely be her last. She was unable to admit to any possibility of a health issue until she saw him with her own eyes. When she did finally see him, she could deny it no longer.

She froze when she heard the approaching footsteps. With her hand cocked just above her sleeping boy’s mouth, she prepared to clamp down her hand, to silence him if he should make a noise.

“Fawn?” a timid voice called. “Fawn?”

“Rose Blossom,” she whispered. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” her sister answered. “I brought you some meat and squash.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Snow Fawn scrambled from her rocky den, careful not to wake her baby.

“How is he?” asked Rose Blossom. “Does he have a tooth yet?”

“No,” said Snow Fawn, “but I think he will any day now.”

“I think you should come back,” said Rose Blossom. “You look so thin, I can tell even in the moonlight. He’s old enough. They won’t make you give him up.”

“You remember Pidgeon’s baby girl? She was older than this boy, and they still dashed her head on the rocks.”

“That was years ago,” argued Rose Blossom. “Sharp Claw has softened since then. He’s much more gentle. And besides, she had a closed hand. She would never have been able to work.”

“I’m not taking chances with this boy. He’s my only child, and I won’t be able to have another,” said Snow Fawn.

“Don’t say that,” said Rose Blossom. She sat down on a rock and laid out the food she had brought for her sister.

Snow Fawn sat on the other side of the offering and rocked her baby.

“How is everyone?” asked Snow Fawn.

“Your nephew brought home a rabbit yesterday,” Rose Blossom smiled.

“You must be so proud,” said Snow Fawn, tilting her head and putting her finger in her son’s mouth again.

“Fawn? Did you ever think about why the men would smash your boy’s head on the rocks?” asked Rose Blossom, quietly.

“Don’t say that,” said Snow Fawn. “I know why these things are done, but I’m not going to let that happen to my boy. He’s my only child,” she pleaded.

“Okay, okay,” her sister consoled. “I just wonder what life will be like for him. I’ve heard of such boys. Sometimes they can’t talk, and can’t understand either. He may never have a name, and never bring home meat to his family.”

“He’ll do all of those things,” said Snow Fawn. “You don’t know. He’s the son of a great provider, a great leader, he’ll do all those things and more.”

“Then why do you have to wait for his first tooth before showing him to the family?” asked her sister.

“They won’t understand,” said Snow Fawn. “They’ll see his mouth and his nose and just assume. A baby’s look can change you know. You remember how small your boy’s chin was when he was born?”

“All babies have small chins,” said Rose Blossom.

“I know that. I was just saying,” said Snow Fawn.

They sat in silence and watched a puddle reflect the moonlight. Snow Fawn took a piece of meat from the rock and gnawed at it with her molars.

“I should get back,” said Rose Blossom.

“I’ll come back soon,” said Snow Fawn. “Don’t risk coming here again. I don’t want someone to follow you.”

“Okay,” said Rose Blossom. She laid a hand on her sister’s arm and then touched her nephew on his soft cheek. “He’s sweet,” she remarked.

“Thank you,” said Snow Fawn, not looking at her sister.

After Rose Blossom made her way across the hillside and disappeared into the trees, Snow Fawn sat at the cave’s entrance and chewed on the meat. She wanted to save some for morning, but couldn’t risk drawing the attention of any nearby animals. Building a fire would keep the animals away, but likely draw attention of her estranged family.

When she had finished her meager dinner, Snow Fawn carried her son over to the narrow river through the woods so she could wash his wrap and relieve herself before sleep. He squirmed and wouldn’t return to sleep after she swaddled him. She adjusted his little body, tucking his arm under hers so he could nurse while she moved.

Walking back to her small cave, she heard the return of footsteps and waited for her sister to appear from the forest.

“Did you forget something?” she asked the footsteps.

Snow Fawn’s breath caught in her throat, refusing to return to her lungs. The shadow stepping from the dense trees didn’t resemble her sister at all. The form stood impossibly tall, taller than any person Snow Fawn had ever seen. The hulking form rose from stocky legs that bulged at the calf and thigh. The creature’s torso cut a triangular hole in the canopy of stars it blocked. She sensed danger from only the tilt of the thing’s head, and she imagined the eyes staring at her. Her boy stopped suckling abruptly, picking up the fear in his mother’s body.

The creature crouched and Snow Fawn found her breath. Although it stood many paces away, she turned her foot back towards the relative safety of the woods, and waited for it to pounce or leave her alone.

It pounced.

She turned as soon as she saw the creature spring, but heard it closing the distance before she even had her feet in motion. Snow Fawn knew instinctively that this was no mere human, and her only course of action leapt to the front of her mind: she must make it to the shallow river. Since childhood, she had been taught that demons and spirits couldn’t cross running water. Until this moment, that knowledge had been completely useless.