Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

Quick thinking took her to the left—downhill and into the thick scrub—as if she was being chased by a bear. The same rationale must apply; something so big would have trouble with the low branches and downhill slope. Even with the advantage, Snow Fawn knew the creature gained ground with every stride. Its chuffing, spitting snarls closed the distance and would overtake her.

Darting to the right, away from the river, Snow Fawn extended her lead by weaving into a copse of alder. The frustrated creature growled as it snapped pliable limbs and squeezed between trunks. Snow Fawn broke from the stand of young trees and could see the small river just beyond several paces of moonlit ferns. She panted as she sprinted to the edge.

The creature emerged from the dense trees nearly horizontal, extending its thick arms and long claws towards Snow Fawn. She heard its voice creating a low purr, and understood that its grip would soon close on her shoulder. Hugging her boy tight, she leaned forward and propelled herself towards the banks of the small river, leaving her feet just as she heard the creature crashing to the ground behind her. For a moment, she made no noise. Her breath and heart stopped as she dropped towards the shallow stream and her boy, pressed against her flesh, kept perfectly quiet.

She threw her leg forward as she fell towards the bubbling water and aimed her foot at a large flat rock. She hoped to spring off this submerged rock and vault most of the way across the river. Leaning back, Snow Fawn attempted to center her weight appropriately, making her best guess at how to execute this athletic move with an infant strapped to her chest.

Her foot slapped the water and plunged to the slippery rock. Her leg was bent to absorb the shock of the descent, but instead buckled as her weight compressed the tired muscle. Snow Fawn’s foot slipped forward off the rock and sent her sprawling to her back in the rushing water. Her left leg flew forward untethered, but the right one, the one that had slipped off the rock, caught between the flat rock and its neighbor, causing her leg to bend back unnaturally.

She screamed with pain and anger. Pushing her arms back, trusting her boy to the sling which held him to her chest, she tried to stand in the current. Her left leg slipped and she nearly spilled again when her right leg refused to take any weight. She hopped to the opposite bank and clawed her way to the shore.

Snow Fawn turned to assess her pursuer. She sobbed with relief to see the creature gingerly picking its way into the shallows before it balked and returned to the opposite shore. Suddenly this giant attacker looked more like a little boy than an evil spirit, and she watched it as she pushed away from the shore and attempted to regain her feet. Her boy, sensing the partial ease in his mother’s fear, coughed a brief cry.

Across the stream the creature pointed to her—“Boy,” he said and then paused, “must die.”

Snow Fawn’s jaw dropped and she froze, shocked to be addressed by a spirit. When she found her composure, she was surprised that her first emotion was righteous anger—“He has a tooth,” she spat. “He deserves to live.” All the families shared the same rule—if an infant survived until it had its first tooth, it should be allowed to live. She squared her shoulders to the creature and stood as straight as she could on her injured leg.

“No,” said the giant.

Her thwarted pursuer turned his shoulders away, as if he would retreat, but his hips stayed pointed across the river at Snow Fawn.

“You can’t follow me,” she said, realizing that this was a hope more than solid fact. Snow Fawn backed a single pace and reached out to grab a sapling to help her pull her injured leg along.

On the other side of the river, the creature’s upper half snapped back around to face her. The only thing missing from his moonlit body was his trailing arm—that came around last, in a wide arc. She never saw the rock as it hurtled towards her chest, but she heard it. Her arms came up to protect her baby boy, but they were an instant too slow. The impact of the big smooth rock knocked her back. To keep her balance, Snow Fawn braced her legs, but the injured knee failed and she collapsed to her back with her right leg sticking up, knee bent at an odd angle.

She screamed.

Her hands found a wet mess where her baby’s head should be. She screamed high and loud until her voice ran thin and then gave out entirely. She tried to cup her son’s tiny crushed head to her dripping breast. Eventually, Snow Fawn rolled to her side and wept as she clutched her dead son to her chest.

The Hunting Tree had claimed his first victim.

“WHAT’D YOU GET FOR number seven?” asked Paul.

“Twenty-four,” said Davey.

“Wait a second,” said Paul with his shoulders hunched as he glanced around the library, “you put down twenty-one.”

“Yeah, but the answer is twenty-four,” said Davey.

“Start making sense, jag-off,” demanded Paul.

“Just because I know the answer doesn’t mean I have to put it down,” said Davey, focused on creating the perfect curve of a shoulder. His thin paper was scarred by dozens of erasures.

“I don’t get you,” said Paul. “How come you know the answers but you never pay attention? And how come you don’t just put down the right answers?”

Davey stopped drawing and looked up at Paul with puffy, sleepless eyes. “You remember when I got straight A’s last year?”

“Yeah.”

“You remember how my mom started talking about me going to that other school, and how she got all those papers for those stupid summer classes?” asked Davey.

“Oh, so you don’t want people to think you’re smart?” asked Paul.

“It’s just easier that way,” shrugged Davey. “I get to hang out with morons like you, and I don’t have to do much work.”

“What’s that a picture of?” asked Paul, pointing to Davey’s mangled sheet.

“Nothing,” said Davey. “You want to go play in the gym?”

“It’s not four yet,” argued Paul.

“I mean at four, artard,” said Davey.

“Whatever,” said Paul. “Explain to me how to do number eight.”

“I can’t explain it, you just have to memorize it,” said Davey.

“You weren’t even here when Mrs. Roberts explained this stuff. How come you already know how to do it?”

A thin woman approached the table from behind a bookshelf—“Sharing our work today, boys?” she asked.

“No Ms. Smit,” said Davey. “I missed class when Mrs. Roberts explained how to do this stuff, so Paul was just explaining to me how to do it.”

“That’s great Davey,” Ms. Smit said. “Next time you should think twice before offering such an obvious lie,” she put her hands on her hips.

“It’s not a lie,” Davey said calmly.

“You’ve got a full page of answers, next to a drawing of a very muscular man,” she noticed. “Paul has,” she began, turning her head to read Paul’s paper, “about half a page of answers. If he’s helping you, why are you done?”

“I don’t know,” said Davey.

“Excellent,” said Ms. Smit. “Perhaps you can figure that out in the study room.”

Davey lowered his eyes and began packing his papers into his pack. Paul tilted his head back and let out an exasperated breath. He looked about to lodge a protest when Davey shot him a warning glance. Paul closed his mouth and started to gather his things.

“You can come back tomorrow, but I want you to keep this in mind,” said Ms. Smit. “The library is a privilege. I don’t get paid extra to let students study here while I work. It’s a benefit I grant to only those children who respect my rules without constant supervision. Do you understand?”