Ojibway Trail by Patrick Firth
(I don't know anyone who works at Ojibway Park. If there is anyone there who has the same name as my fictional employee, I apologize. The character is not based on any person living or not, and any resemblance is coincidental.)
There were six of them, minus one. Jimmy's glasses were fogging up
every time he wiped them off and put them back on his face. Cindy
stared at the gum in the dust of the trail, after having stretched it
a thousand times between her mouth and her fingers. Logan flipped his
long hair out of his eyes and considered the park employee's bitten
lip, tears, and twisted ankle. The Ojibway Park girl, Sheila, Bryce
thought; she was the minus one. And finally, the new girl who nobody
knew, but had somehow become part of their group.
"What now?" Jimmy said, wiping his glasses with his shirt.
"I told you, you have to go back and get someone from the nature
centre," Sheila said through gritted teeth.
Bryce stepped forward and crossed his arms.
"We have to go farther in," he motioned towards the
thickest part of the forest, farther along the narrowing path. "The
other workers," he shook his head, "can't help her now.
Only magic. And the only place you can find that is in the thickest,
darkest woods, where the spirits play."
Cindy picked up her gum and brushed it off.
"It's just a twisted ..." Sheila began.
"Sheila." Bryce looked her in the eyes. She stopped,
open-mouthed.
"Can we just go?" Logan said. "I don't want to be here
if she dies or something."
"I'm not going to..." Sheila said. "If you don't ....
I am going to tell your parents."
Bryce shot her a look again, and she found herself avoiding his eyes.
Bryce had been silent until she had slipped while showing them the
signs of an Ash Bore on one of the ash trees. He was not quiet
anymore.
"You're right, Logan," Bryce said. "If she dies in a
forest, her ghost will haunt it forever. We could never come back."
Cindy popped the gum back in her mouth. You could hear the grit in
her teeth.
"Well than, let's go," Jimmy said, forgetting the steamed
glasses. "Let's go find the forest fairy."
"Forest spirit," Bryce said and started to walk down the
trail. Four sets of sandals moved on, little dust sprites forming
behind them. Bryce turned. The new girl was still there, looking up
at the tree tops while Sheila pleaded with her to return to the
nature centre.
"You have to come with us," Bryce said. "Now."
"Have you ever heard the word 'parvenu' before?" She had a
deep voice. It matched her long, dark hair.
"No. Come on," Bryce said. The new girl shrugged her
shoulders and followed. "That French or something?" Her
shoulders went up and down again.
"Sure?" she said.
When they had gone on about five minutes Jimmy stopped and said, "You
hear that? Is that a forest fairy?"
"Spirit," Bryce corrected him. "I ... I'm not sure."
"No," Cindy said, interrupting the sound of dust and teeth
for a moment. "Definitely not spirits."
The woods opened up and stopped short at a fence. Beyond cars and
trucks and motorcyles passed by. They caught the eye of a woman in
her convertible, but it only lasted a moment.
"Definitely not fairies," Jimmy said.
Back where the trail split, Sheila lay, collecting herself before the
inevitable agony of pushing herself up and hobbling off towards the
nature centre. Sweat formed on her forehead, trickled onto the dust
under her face. She knuckled her eye as a drop landed in it, but was
surprised to see a figure making its way toward her. It was a bearded
man with what appeared to be a burlap sack slung over his knobby
shoulder. His beard was unkempt and tangled, knots twisted around
small twigs, and it appeared as though grass had woven itself into
the silver hairs. At first she thought that he was far off, until
that is all one foot of his height plunked down in front of her,
dropping his bag in the process. All sorts of small tools fashioned
with twine, rocks, and twigs spilled out of the sack's untied mouth.
"Where does it hurt lass?" he asked.
Branch and Trail by Patrick Firth
