Chapter One: In the Woods

           I'm running, tripping, clawing at the trees around me. I struggle to climb back up, losing my grip on the slippery moss. My breath rips out of my chest and throat, which grasp oxygen desperately. I refuse to look behind me - I'm not running away. I'm running towards. Towards what, I don't know... I pray that it's home.

                A tree root catches my foot, and I tumble down. My body flings arms over legs over feet as I fail to protect myself from the roots and twigs that tear my skin. The scant moonlight disappears as the sticks do, and suddenly I'm rolling over cool dirt with no light whatsoever and no idea where I am.

                I collide with a cool dirt surface and light like that from a fire or candles reflects off the dirt around me, causing it to look reddish and alive. The damp, fresh scent of dirt carries a tinge of smoke. Slowly, I push myself off the floor and look around me. I'm alone in a tiny dirt room that looks like a hollow cube, with nothing on each wall but a single tree-branch torch. In front of me a low-ceilinged dirt tunnel stretches out, with similar torches hanging in intervals. I look up to see another dirt tunnel, the one I fell through, lacking torches and curving so that the other end is blocked from sight.

                I feel a hand, calloused and firm, grab my arm and whirl to view my captor - but I'm still alone. Another hand traps a scream on my tongue, and desperate, foreign whispering tickles my ear. It's a woman's scared voice. "Je suis un ami! Tais-toi et suis-moi - dépêcher!"

                  I struggle against the hands I can't see and swing out my own, seeking any form of contact but finding none.

                "Friend!" The voice is pleading and strangled now, and I barely recognize the English, but I stop moving. The pressure on my mouth dissipates. Her hand on my arm slides down to my hand and pulls me to my feet, then begins dragging me along the tunnel. The end of the tunnel curves to the right, and I continue stumbling behind the incredibly fast invisible creature. This tunnel has carved wooden doors in between torches, but the place seems to be completely empty.

                A terrifying noise, reminding me of some animal, echoes through the dirt halls, and for a moment my guide freezes. After barely a few seconds, she pulls me forward harder than ever. I nearly fall from the sudden movement. The noise is getting louder - it's some cross between screeches and a roar, and I know it's nothing I've ever heard before. I struggle to keep moving. The strange, monstrous noise is joined by cries that terrify me more than anything I've ever heard. These sounds are too familiar, and I cry out from the realization that they're the sobs of humans.

                I stop and jerk my hand away from my unseen guide. How can I continue to run when there are people here, somewhere down in these tunnels, crying out? But the cool hand takes mine again and tugs again and again, frantically begging in that strangled, broken voice.

                "Hurry! Come! Nous devons nous dépêcher, s'il vous plaît!"

                I submit. Again we're running, past two more tunnels, until we take another right and tightly packed dirt walls give way to ancient, twisted stone. We're in some sort of cave. There are no torches here, but the hand continues pulling and I follow, more slowly now. The room smells of water, like the odd chemical smell that fills the air around a swimming pool. We're partly walking and partly climbing, slowly going in an upwards direction. The further into the cave we walk, the less the torchlight from behind us reflects on the stone walls. After a short while we're in complete darkness and barely inching forward, until a new source of light is reflecting into the cave ahead of us. The next time we turn, I can see that it's sunlight. The hand lets go of me, and I turn towards the light.

                "Wait! Where am I? What do I do now?"

                There is no answer, simply a push on my back. After a minute I walk forward and climb out of the cave into -

 

                Incessant blaring forces me out of bed.  I sigh in frustration. This time I had actually stopped to investigate the noise in the tunnel, and yet I still ended up going to the cave. One of these days my dream-self would find out what the strange creature in my nightmares was, and maybe even be brave enough to stop it and save the terrified people. I push off of the bed and stumble towards the bathroom to get ready for school.

                Weeks have passed since the first night I dreamed of the tunnels. Still, there’s been nothing new, no changes. I've almost given up hope of ever being the heroine or learning the source of the noise when something Father says at breakfast catches my attention.

                It's a normal morning - Damien gets up first and makes coffee, which gets Father up and moving.  Damien always sits in front of the sliding glass doors that open onto the two-story wraparound wooden porch; Father sits to Damien's right, in front of the three-sided window, and reads a newspaper. Once I'm out of the shower and ready for the day, I join them and sit in my place across from Damien. Eventually a half-asleep Viviann completes the family group, across from Father. We're sitting around a white wooden square on matching chairs in our white-and-yellow dining corner. Plenty of country sunlight is already pouring through the glass door, framed by pale yellow curtains Mom picked out back when we moved into this house the first time. I love to look out the matching curtains on the three-paned window, where several trees block out the highway and house across the street and filter the sunlight.

                "How'd you sleep?" Father asks as usual. Mumbles and nods pass for answers. "Well, I had a rather peculiar dream. Would you like to hear it?"

                Viviann ignores him. I don't really care about his dream, but I can tell he's eager to tell a story, so I shrug and nod. Damien is a quiet, attentive listener.

                "I was walking in some woods - for some reason I was lost, wandering, maybe trying to get home - when I fell and ended up in these tunnels."

                That's when I start paying attention.

                "They were all really dark and dirty, lit by this eerie flickering firelight sort of thing. So I'm sitting at the end of these tunnels with nothing but a pitch-black hole above me, when I feel someone grab me and pull me up. It feels like a hand, but nobody's there! I think it wanted me to run - it was pulling and all. But I didn't get the chance to, because next thing you know this great big creature is blocking the tunnel!"

                I drop my spoon into my Cheerios, coughing and sputtering. A few gulps of milk drains my bowl dry and calms me down.

                "You all right, Beila?" Damien’s dark, attentive gaze is trained on me.

                I nod at my brother and then at Father, clearing my throat. "You were saying, a creature?"

                He grins and resumes. "Well, I'm not quite sure what it'd be called." He gestures to the three of us, his little family. "Maybe you can help. It had a head like a giant predatory bird, with these great, wild golden eyes. The color reminded me of a cat, but they were definitely a bird's eyes with their round, beady shape. The eyes are the first thing you notice, before the beak. Man, that thing had a beak! All hooked and shining yellow, it just screamed predator. Not to mention the claws! Talons, really, I guess - they were a bird's, too - huge, curved, and gleaming black. Very black. Now, this thing had the head and talons of an bird, but his chest was puffed out and furry. It projected the very image of strength and power - the whole muscled body did, from the chest through the shoulders and haunches to the taloned hands and the massive hind legs and paws."

                School, breakfast, time, life has all faded away. There's nothing but me and Father and the monster I've been seeking for weeks.

                "See, the back half of his body wasn't bird at all. It was more like a... hm... give me a minute to place it... a lion! That's it! A sleek, gold-furred lion. The paws and legs were just massive - oh, and it had a tail, this big long curved tail that's all really skinny and odd-looking, really, with a fat tuft of hair on the end.  It didn't have a mane or anything, though. The strangest part of all, though - can you guess?"

                Viviann hums out a noncommittal response and props her arms on the table before laying her head on top.  Her dark brown hair falls across the table. Damien's being the polite listener, leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed and his chin propped on his hand. I'm completely wrapped into the terrifying image taking form in my mind, though. I want - I need - it to be finished, whole. I need to know what keeps plaguing my mind and my sleep and those poor souls crying out.

                "What? What was it?"

                He smiles and reaches out with his hands to illustrate as he talks. "Wings! This great, savage beast had wings! Didn't match the head and talons at all, though. These weren't just some skimpy flappers or even an eagle's wings. Oh, no! I'd say they were more like a... a guardian angel's wings! Spread out and massive layers - layers and layers of brilliant gold feathers!

                "So this thing is standing right in front of me, and it's no tame pet. It'd have to be at least eight feet tall, I'm sure, and barely fitting in the tunnel - did I forget to mention, it stands on its hind legs like a man. Its voice is completely inhuman, too - awful in your throat and neck like a screech, but exploding in your chest like a roar. I was frozen with terror, I'll tell you! Next thing I know, though, the beast has lowered onto all fours and is speaking, like a person!”

        Father’s short wisps of gray-white hair bobs around his head with his animated gestures.  If the story didn’t have me completely engrossed, I’d laugh at the spectacle he makes. His excited tone completely contrasts the muted, professional look of his navy blue suit and gray tie.

                “First it starts talking in some foreign language, looking right past and beside me, talking to thin air! I suppose now it was talking to whatever I felt earlier, but at the time I was looking all around and thought maybe the creature or I or both were completely crazy!"

                I'm shocked and holding my breath. Father is eating up the attention and thoroughly enjoying the story.  My pulse races; I force myself to breathe.

                "Then it starts talking in English, and definitely to me. It demands to know what I want and why I'm there and how I got in, et cetera. So I say - more like stutter, really - that I got lost in the woods and all that. It's raging and then talking in the foreign tongue again, and I think maybe it switches between personalities or something, but then it goes back to talking to me. What do you think is says? Well, it more or less threatens my life - it's a monster from a nightmare, what else - but then it babbles about redemption from a daughter that came before me! Can you imagine? Eh, girls, what do you think of that?"

                I swallow several times before shakily smiling. Viviann is slumped over the table, probably sleeping.

                "I don't even have the chance to say a word before those weird hands without a body are on my arms again. They're very cold, I tell you, and shaky and all - like they're scared of the thing. Not that I blame them. Then they're pulling me along as fast as I can move, all while the lion-bird is doing a cross between a gallop and a march in front of us. Next thing I know, the whole lot is pushing me out of a cave and growling about daughters returning in a week. And that was it! I woke up, still night out, went back to bed and didn't dream a bit. So what do you think of that?"

                Viviann mumbles without lifting up her head. Damien is about to give his answer - probably something about work and stress-induced nightmares - when I slide what's left of my cereal away from me and push up from the table. Even I didn't realize how badly Father's tale affected me, because I stumble and have to grab the back of my chair to keep from tripping.

                Damien and Father look up at me with concern. "You alright, sis?"

                I start to nod, then moan. "No." Groping my mind for an excuse, I take the most honest reply. "I feel kind of nauseous.  Maybe I should stay home today."

                "I can call the school if you like, dear."

I nod; Father would never think me a faker, even if I did fake, but I don't - ever. I can't lie to sweet, naive Father, and I could never get past Damien. So today I falter up the stairs into bed and give in to the desperate, absolute terror that's been nipping at my heels since the first nightmare.

                Sleeping isn't something I can do right now, not with Father's descriptions filling my head and the despairing tunnel world just waiting to claim my dreams. Instead I lie on my side and look around my room, still so much like the last time we lived here.

                Just ahead of me stands my black wooden dresser. By my bed a matching night table holds my lamp with a white and red polka-dot shade, which I bought for the condo we had in New York City. It matches the white throw rug on the floor, the red and white polka-dot comforter and sheet set, and the white curtains with little clusters of red dots in certain places. I bought them all from the same store. The television mounted above me and the bed match the other furniture, too; it was bought as a set, when we moved into the condo and I decorated my new room.

                I stare at one of the two windows in my bedroom, reflected in the mirror attached to the dresser. It's nice to have my room all unpacked and put together, even if the rest of me's still mentally moving in and getting used to the place without Mom. I keep expecting her to come in like she would on Sunday afternoons and tell me nap time's over, to go put on my play clothes and help her in the garden out back. The house has a long gravel driveway that separates the tree-framed backyard into one large section by the house for playing, and a little triangle bit across the driveway. It was never the most level ground, but Mom loved the garden she set up back there.

                Cold, uncomfortable longing seeps into me. I strip off the covers and sit up. Mom's gone, and remembering our old life here isn't important or helpful right now. I slide off the bed and walk around behind it. A strange sort of nook is created by a downward-sloping ceiling closed off by half a slanted wall. It's too cramped and slanted to be of much use, but I've decided to keep some shelves and baskets I found on sale in the city back there for storage. I pull out the one I use for school and find some paper and a pencil.

                I grab a book off the shelves under the television and use it for a hard surface while I lie on my bed and get to work. First I list everything I can remember from Father's talk this morning - eagle's talons, beak, wild eyes, long and slender tail, strong and muscled body, powerful hind legs, paws, giant gold angel's wings, furry breast. Referring to and editing my list as I work, I sketch on another piece of paper. Drawing isn't one of my talents, except maybe when I'm doing rough sketches of plants. The image is never good enough for me. After three separate pages, though, I've got something close enough to Father's description.

                I bend down to the floor and reach under the night table to pull out my laptop. It doesn't take nearly as long as I expected to find drawings, animations, sketches, even pages about movies with this beast. Apparently it's called a griffin, although the spelling is definitely not standardized.

                The time ticks by as I learn that this creature is certainly powerful, mighty, gigantic - everything that Father said. Its screech-roar can be terrifying. But nearly all the stories match up in one respect: this animal is not a danger or enemy to man. In fact, it is often portrayed as a guardian or warrier, symbolizing honor and courage. Traditionally, it was considered king of all creatures and therefore royal and majestic.

                I think back to the invisible beings. Father mentioned them, too. Perhaps it's possible that the griffin is their king - or even their god? But then why would everyone be so terrified? Why would the creature’s cry strike terror in both my and Father’s hearts, and make the invisible hands tremble? I'd say the whole noble bit is missing in this nightmare beast. It must be some sort of evil griffin. I wonder if it was always this way, or if something happened to cause this.

                Plus, why do the griffin and its subjects live in those tunnels? Where are the tunnels? If they were real, I mean, where would they be? I'm pretty sure the woman that spoke to me was using French. Are the tunnels supposed to be under a forest or cave in Europe?

                Those woods, though... one of the strangest parts of the dream, aside from the fantasy element of the whole thing, is that those woods were so familiar. It's like I'd been there before. Even now, envisioning the hazy bits and pieces I can remember in the way a person remembers dream images... I'm sure I can remember them outside the dream, but not any more clearly, like I was sleepy or it was nighttime or a long time ago when I last saw them.

                Closing my laptop, I slide it back under the night table. Flopped back onto the bed, my arms crossed behind my head, I think about all the woods and forests and generally tree-filled areas I've been to or read about or seen in movies or on television. The forests in movies and books and stuff that I can think of are generally stressed as dark and creepy, or mystical and enchanting. But the woods from my dreams are different.  They're more realistic: not creepy or dangerous unless it's night and the weather's bad, not unrealistically pretty or "calling out to me" or "pulling me in." They're just... there, with their beautiful sunlight and annoying bugs.

                I can remember playing in the woods when we lived at this house. There aren't any real woods by our house. Plenty of trees grow here, but mostly in clusters or lines around houses and big backyards and farmers' fields. The closest woods I can think of by this house would be the ones by a house down the highway, where my brother used to play when he was younger. He had friends that lived there and they owned a lot of tree-covered land behind their house.

                Come to think of it, I played there with them a time or two. The memories come up in my mind like driftwood bobbing up on the ocean's surface. Details I'd forgotten return until a clear and somewhat frightening image has formed. Actually...

                Of course, when we lived here last, I thought the patches behind our house counted as woods, too. I was just a kid. Not to mention my memory could be wrong. Just to check, though, I pull my laptop back out and open Google Maps. I find our house and adjust the zoom so I can see the street and individual buildings, but not every single tree or car.

                I stare at the screen for a few minutes. Is this right?

                The house down the highway does have just a patch of trees behind it, but that patch connects to a huge green blotch on my screen. That blotch, which must be a forest, spreads out a few fields' space behind my house.  It’s enclosed by the highway in front of our house and another road a little ways off. Power lines and one dead-end country road cut it into portions, but if you piece it together, it's definitely large enough to comprise a small wood.

                The map pans around to show that there are plenty of other green patches within a short drive, but nothing this size and none that I could possibly have been to before.

                I shut my laptop and climb into bed. Dreams or no dreams, I really am feeling ill today. Maybe I'll be able to sink into complete, black oblivion like the past few nights.

                

                Neither dreams nor oblivion came with my nap. Instead, a few hours of the griffin's words - in Father's voice - play over and over in my subconscious. "Threatens my life... redemption from a daughter... a daughter that came before... my life... redemption... daughter that came before..."

                When I finally pull myself awake and wipe the groggy sensation off my face, I'm more tired than when I first laid down. My head is starting to throb with the echoing repetition of Father’s words.

                The evening creeps by in a quiet, uneventful dinner and a few hours of unpacking. I spend most of the time lying on the recently uncovered sofa, undisturbed by my family and entirely disturbed by my own thoughts. Finally I climb up to my room early and lie in my bed, unable to sleep but equally unable to avoid thoughts of the nightmare.

                When I do drift off close to midnight, I don't dream of invisible hands or hear words playing through my mind. Instead I find myself in a dirt room, with the same red packed-dirt walls as the tunnels but a different design. This room has an odd shape, five sides instead of four, and one wall is almost entirely covered by a set of carved wooden doors. The design is intricate and very old, I'm sure. There's nothing in the room but a single torch on each wall, and a chair in the middle of the room. It doesn't match the doors, but it's just as elaborately carved. It seems like it's to be a seat for someone rich or of high position, although not quite a throne. I can't make out the design because there's someone - something? - sitting in it, completely covered from sight by the long black cloak he - or she - or it - is wearing. Actually, the position is more like slouching than sitting.

                "Hello?" I call to the slouching figure.

                The hood turns sort-of towards me - facing the floor to my right - but the figure remains seated. "Yes."

                "Excuse me?"

                A wide gesture is made with the side of the cloak. "Come in. Welcome." The voice is low, a male's. He sounds young and not at all frightened like the invisible woman I heard before. In fact, he almost sounds unhappy, resigned, possibly even bored.

                "May I ask... where am I?"

                "The tunnels."

                I nod and take a few steps forward, then take a deep breath. "Yes, I thought so, but where?"

                This time the hood faces me directly, still completely covering the man's face. He is silent for a minute before pushing against the curved arms of the chair and standing quickly, like the President or a king just walked in the room. Again, he is silent and unmoving for a long minute.

                "Your name." His deep voice rumbles in my chest.

                "It's Beila. I'm Beila Durand, from New York." Another minute of silence passes, and I feel like he's examining me. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so awkward if I could see him - his eyes, his face, even his general form to see if he's human. Or maybe if he spoke again, then this place wouldn't seem so stifling. "And you are?"

                The hood nods quickly. "Ah, yes, of course. So sorry. I am... well, perhaps it is best for me not to say. Call me whatever you like, I suppose."

                I take another step towards him so that we're not standing so far apart. The cloak side makes another wide gesture, this time seeming to indicate the chair. I shake my head and sit cross-legged on the floor, so he takes the chair.

                "Is your name dangerous or something?"

                The hood shakes. "No." Then it leans back ever so slightly before dropping forward. "Actually, it is. Now that you ask, yes. It's... best for you to not know about me. Not yet, that is."

                "Okay then. Next question... why am I here? Oh, and you still never said where here is."

                "Those are questions I cannot answer for you."

                My eyebrows bunch up. "That makes three. Is there anything you can tell me?"

                "Only that these dreams are very important to all who live in the tunnels. Our lives are in your hands."

                "Our? You mean the griffin, too, then?"

                There is no response, no movement of the cloak.

                "And the invisible people, with the cold hands that speak French? They live here, right?"

                I wait for him to speak. I'm beginning to wonder if he will when he clears his throat. "You have done well to learn this about our world. But I cannot answer questions for you. You must learn the truth for yourself." I’ve decided he doesn’t sound just bored. There’s a little bit of... of sadness, maybe, or grief.

                "So they do live here - the invisible people, and the griffin - here with you, in tunnels. But you can't tell me anything about them, or yourself.” I pause. “Why not?"

                "To tell would be grave. The truth must be sought for us to be saved."

                "What do you mean, saved?"

                The hood shakes.

I nod. "I get it, no questions. If you're not going to tell me anything, why am I even still here? Why doesn't anyone come to take me to the cave? Or why don't I wake up - something like that?"

                The hood nods again. "You may leave whenever you like."

                When I turn around, all I see is the massive doors. Closed doors. I turn back around. "So I just up and leave, then? The cave's out there?" I gesture to the doors as I speak.

                "When you step through the doors, you return to your home. The cave is unnecessary from here."

                "Huh. Unnecessary." I push off the floor and stand, brushing the dirt off my hands onto my pajama pants. It's only then that I realize I'm in my pajamas, with my hair down and unbrushed, as if I climbed straight out of bed into this room. I wave to the cloak, suddenly a bit self-conscious. "Guess I'll be going, then, if that's all you wanted to say."

                The cloak rises from the chair and steps forward. "Before you leave, my lady." Then a necklace is dangling in front of my face, right there in thin air. I look at the cloak-man, who just points to it with his cloak and nods once. So I take it and hold it out in my palm, trying to get a better look at it in the torchlight. The necklace is some sort of golden pendant on a chain. The pendant is an oval, with the design of a ribbon tied in a bow carved on top and a fancily scrolled loop carved on either side, connecting the pendant to the chain. Matching scrollworks curls along the bottom of the oval. The center of the pendant is a portrait painting framed by a thin gold line. The painting features a young man, with nearly-shaved dark blond hair and eyes the same color. He's wearing elaborately carved armor painted in red and black designs.

                "What's this?"

                "A necklace. For you, Beila. Take it with you when you leave."

                I consider protesting, but then think about the fact that a man I can't see just made a necklace materialize in front of my eyes. So instead I ask, "Who is he?"

                The cloak simply bows. "As you have learned, I cannot answer questions. You must learn things for yourself. Farewell, my lady."