Wooden Bones by Scott William Carter Page A

faces were like their polished granite arrowheads—hard, cruel, and razor sharp. The man in the front had the hardest face of all. He was the oldest of the bunch, his hair more white than blond, his cheekbones so sharp Pino could have pricked his fingers on them. His skin was weathered and bleached. On his left cheek he bore a small scar shaped like a crescent moon.
    â€œYou’re trespassing on sacred land,” he said, lowering his crossbow slightly. “The penalty is death.”
    â€œBut—but I didn’t know—,” Pino protested.
    â€œIgnorance is no excuse.”
    â€œWait!”
    The man again raised his crossbow. Pino thought about diving into the lake, but he knew the arrows would strike him before he even touched the water. He couldn’t believe the voice in the cave had sent him to the lake only to have him die.
    â€œI’m here to see the girl with no arms and no legs!” he cried.
    With his voice still ringing in the open air, Pino closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was sure the arrows were going to fly. A few seconds passed, the breeze humming over the water and whispering through the grass.
    â€œWhat did you say?” the man asked.
    Pino swallowed, cracking open his eyes. The woods people were still pointing their crossbows, but now their faces looked more confused than angry. “I said I’m here to see the girl with no arms and no legs,” he repeated.
    â€œHow do you know her?” the man demanded. “Who are you? What do you want?”
    Pino told them his name and why he’d come. He said he’d been told she could save his papa, who was right this minute dying in a cave, and at this they murmured and exchanged glances.
    â€œDo you know where she is?” he asked hopefully.
    Finally the man in front lowered his crossbow. The others quickly followed suit.
    â€œOf course we do,” he said. “You speak of Elendrew, the one with special sight. She is our queen.”
    *  *  *
    With the blindfold over his eyes, Pino couldn’t see a single thing. They hadn’t walked long, an hour at most, but he’d already lost his sense of direction. He heard a growing chorus of crickets. He heard water murmuring over polished rocks. He heard the whispers of the woodsfolk, all of whom kept their voices too low for him to make out what they were saying.
    Worrying about his papa, he was about to ask how much farther it was when the crunch of pine needles on soft earth changed to the dull thudding of wooden planks. He heard a creak and a thud, like a gate shutting, then someone took his hand and placed it on rough rope.
    â€œHold this,” a woman instructed.
    Before he could ask why, the planks beneath him shuddered,and he grabbed the rope for balance. He heard a rhythmic ticking, like someone banging two sticks together. His stomach dropped suddenly, as if they were moving upward. How could that be?
    The ticking went on for some minutes, until the planks shuddered, then fell still. Finally his blindfold was removed.
    The sensation of rising had been a correct one; they were high up in the giant trees, so high that when Pino peered over the rope that acted as a rail on the wooden platform where he stood, he could not see the forest floor. It was lost in the labyrinth of leafy green branches and foliage below.
    Of all the stories his papa used to tell him at night, none could prepare him for the awesome sight of the city in the trees. At most it might have been only thirty or forty dwellings, each of them no bigger than the cottage Pino and Geppetto used to call home, but what other word could describe such a splendidly constructed place?
    Not a village. Not a town. It was a city, all right, a city of rope bridges and thatched roofs, a city of houses half carved into the thick trunks and half built outside them—but so expertly made, with the same bark and pine needles that made up the tree itself, that only the