The three children who could see were staring into the creature’s eyes when it spoke to them again. “If the four of you are persons, then I am surely a person, and I suspect that you are persons, so that, therefore, I also am a person, although,” he said a bit wryly, “I have to say that you don’t look very person-like, at least from my perspective. But, if you’ll concede the argument, then I’m satisfied.” He then walked rather giraffe-like over to one of the chair-like articles of tangled branches and, one might say, made a sitting-down movement, finishing it off by crossing one leg over the other.
The person had two legs, and two arms nearly as long as the legs, with four thin fingers and two just-as-thin thumbs at the end of each limb. He had two distinct, porpoise-like holes the size of dimes well below his eyes that constituted his nose, and, just beneath those, a most diminutive horizontal slit of a mouth that seemed almost to move about his face when he talked.
“So,” the stick man said, once he had settled the ontology of their mutual existence—and himself into the tangled wood that resembled a chair, “I suspect that you are persons in the form of children, and that, since there are no known children remaining in the land of Bairnmoor, although at one time they constituted the primary form of personhood here, you are strangers in this land.” He paused and rubbed his chin, ruminating on what self-ascribed profundity he had just uttered, and then added, “Am I correct?”
“Yes,” said Elli, before anyone else could speak, and especially before Alex spoke, “but that’s all we can tell you.”
“By the way, Mr. . . . um . . . person,” said Jamie, to break the ice, “I want to thank you very much for saving me earlier.”
“Not a thing. Not a thing,” replied the stick man. He pulled out a beautifully grained wooden pipe from a hidden pocket on one of his legs that looked like a typical bulge on a branch, and lit it.
“But,” Jamie continued, “why did you save me? And why did you save all of us? And who and what are you—I mean,” catching himself quickly, “besides a person, I mean? And, um . . . what were those lights that led us to your place?”
“So, you have a lot of questions for me, do you? But,” said the stick man who then paused to puff a couple of puffs. “But, you apparently won’t answer my questions; is that correct?”
“We can’t!” Alex interjected himself into the conversation. “Mistuw Petuwinckuw said w’w’ we caan’t tawk . . .”
“Alex, stop talking! Please!” Elli insisted, interrupting him. “Let me do the talking for us.”
“And what, young lady, can you talk to me about?” the stick man asked, with little sense of urgency about the conversation, but with his eyes protruding toward her as if they were going to pop completely out of their sockets in the expectation of a forthcoming—and acceptable—answer.
“Sir, I can tell you who each of us is, and that we are not from this land, and that we mean you no harm, but I cannot tell you more.”
“So, you . . . are?” the stick man inquired, his voice rising in pitch at the end of his short question.
“My name is Elli,” she said compliantly, “and these are,” she pointed in succession, “Beatríz, Alex, and Jamie. And, of course,” she added, “we are children.”
“Hmm . . .” the stick man said, continuing to look at Elli and puff his pipe. “Well . . . my name is Thorn, and I am what is called a Dactyl. My family and I lived along with other Dactyl families in this forest, and this is my home—at least . . . my home as long as the forest lasts,” he added, his voice trailing off and his eyes staring through Elli, as if he saw something behind her that had grabbed his attention.
“What do you mean by ‘as long as the forest lasts?’” asked Elli.
“But,” the stick man said, as if not even hearing Elli’s question, “I must hear more. Whatever are you doing in this forest—and where are you going?”
“I cannot tell you why we are in this forest, sir, except to say that we found ourselves suddenly surrounded by this forest and, to flee from some creatures that were pursuing us, we simply ran further into the forest in whatever direction The Beast was taking us,” Elli replied.
His eyes suddenly retreating back into their sockets, Thorn asked, “And who or what is this thing called ‘The Beast?’”
“Oh, of course. Well, we don’t really know what he is—or was—exactly, but it appeared that he wanted to eat us, and then he became our friend and wanted to lead us away from those who were chasing us. We just called him ‘The Beast.’ The sad thing, Mr. Thorn, is that we believe he is already dead—that maybe he sacrificed himself to give us time to find safety from the creatures when they were just about to reach us.”
“Ah, yes, so he did,” said Thorn, sadly. “I mean died in this battle you’ve described.” Thorn chewed on the stem of his pipe and added, glancing at each of the children briefly, “I saw the entire skirmish from above in the trees; it was this Beast you speak of that actually initiated the contact, rushing headlong into the clearing where your enemies had gathered. I don’t of course know whether he intended to sacrifice himself. What I can say with certainty is that without that distracting conflict we would not be having this conversation.” Thorn blinked. “But, none of this tells me why you are here in this land in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but none of us can tell you that. We are sworn to secrecy—and nothing will make us tell you, with all due respect,” Elli said, resolutely, but politely.
Thorn smiled a most tiny, barely visible, smile with his lipless mouth. “Well,” Thorn then said, “I simply needed to make sure.”
“To make sure of what?” asked Jamie.
“To make sure you wouldn’t tell me anything,” Thorn said.
“But,” Jamie added, “that’s what the woman . . .”
“Jamie!” Elli whispered loudly.
“I know what Hannah must have said to you,” Thorn said.
“So,” Elli replied, in a question veiled as a statement, “in other words, we don’t need to tell you anything because you already know—like Hannah!”
“Well,” said Thorn, rather matter-of-factly, “I’m not at all certain that I know all that Hannah knows. I only know that Hannah has told me—and others through the ‘maven-line’ as we call it—that if I ever encountered those who resembled you, I was to provide you safe passage through the forest—that is, as long as the forest lasts—and that I would know you because you would be children who would not tell me anything of your mission here.”
“Mr. Thorn,” Elli began.
“Just Thorn—no Mr. Thorn. Please.” He smiled, signaling with twirling fingers for her to continue.
“What do you mean by ‘while the forest lasts?’ I believe you’ve mentioned that twice now.”
“The forest, as large as it still is, was yet much larger when the Queen ruled this land. But Sutante Bliss, who now rules, has been depleting the forest of trees to build huge fortresses and palaces and many things associated with roads and bridges, as well as wood to sell to others for heat and light against the darkness and cold that have overshadowed so much of the land since the Queen’s death.”
“The Queen’s death?” asked Elli, with a stunned and troubled look of surprise.
“Why, yes. Did you think she was still living?” asked Thorn,