Woodlock by Steve Shilstone Page A

was wrong. North I’d already been. South would mean meeting the Greenwilla River. I went east. East, I hoped, would somehow lead me to the beckoning pool of Riffle Sike.

Chapter Twenty-Two
    Riffle Sike’s Pool
    As I made my way east, the Woods Beyond the Wood leveled, unbroken by ridge, gully or hill. No hedges, ferns or tricklestreams did I find. The ground was flat duff dirt, ash brown. Shragnut trees displayed summer greenery with ripe yellow nut pods. A few twist oaks sprouted crookedly gnarled here and there, but most of the trees were shragnut with rugged ribbed trunks. I picked up fallen pods, cracked ‘em, peeled ‘em, and ate my fill of nuts.
    This part of the Woods is such and so monotonous, I thought. No ground plants or water. My highboots sound muffled when they strike the ground. Duff dirt. A fine Woods for sneaking. More than enough trees to hide behind. No undergrowth to snap and break beneath my tread. I’ll walk until I find water or night, whichever one of ‘em greets me first.
    I walked the afternoon away on the flat unchanging pathless ground of the shadowy Woods. I paraded through my mind snatches of Gwer drollek tales, yearnings to have Kar with me, ‘what-if’s about the orb and Delia Branch and Runner Rill and Riffle Sike and such and so other random oddments of thought. I rattled along to the rhythmic chankling of my chonka at my waist. The light changed. It filtered a richer gold, and the shadows of afternoon darkened.
    â€œEvening approaches,” I said aloud.
    So saying, I stopped. I’d been silent such and so long that my voice, truly recovered, sounded to me like a deafening bell. I peered around. Shragnut trees. A twist oak here and there. Flat duff dirt ground with scattered pods and acorns. A new silence descended, seemingly deeper with me standing still, my chonka at rest, unshaken.
    I will keep walking until I can no longer see, I thought. I’ll sing.
    So determined, I took up my chonka in my left hand and tapped a rhythm. I moved forward, ever forward, singing softly so such as not to restrain my voice. Two thorn lullabies and one about the Festival of Chonkas brought me to where I could see in the distance off to my right a low row of feather ferns. Sign of a tricklestream! I doubled my pace. Yes. It was a tricklestream! I ran along it, hoping after hope to see it widen and pool. It widened! It pooled! There was a cave! I jumped and spun for joy.
    â€œKar! I found it! Riffle Sike’s beckoning pool! Rindle Mer’s! It’s it! The cave! Kar, I found it!” I shrieked, shredding my voice with each happy scream.
    When my throat began to burn and stab, I grabbed it with both hands and settled. I stared at a Gwer drollek setting I knew, but had never seen.
    I’m looking at Riffle Sike’s pool and cave, I thought in awe. It will dry to dust. It will be Rindle Mer’s vow to replenish the Woods Beyond the Wood. She will do it! If…if she is born. Oh, I wish I knew what I’m supposed to do! I wish Shendra Nenas was a better shifter. I wish I hadn’t screamed so much. My throat feels torn. I wish…
    â€œSo here ye be, Teller. Ye found my saucy new home. Be it not saucy?” said Riffle Sike, floating out of the cave and wearing a pleased little smile.

Chapter Twenty-Three
    Riffle Sike’s Version of the Second Incident
    â€œAh, night falls. Be it not a treasure pond wonder in this light?” said the proud Riffle Sike, gesturing all around him. “See how the Woods roll and tangle with hedge and tree and rocky ridge off in that direction and how they line up row on row in order on the flat over there? Ah, a saucy spot to dwell, Teller. No choppy seas here. All be calm. How did ye find your way here, Teller?”
    â€œI needed information. I guessed where to go. What happened yesterday with your brother and the woodlock?” I whispered carefully.
    â€œWhy whisper?” he