2. DRAFTY ROCKS

The next morning, Holly woke up with a clue still sitting stubbornly inside her head.

This was mildly annoying. She'd hoped sleep might tidy things up a little.

It had not.

Outside, the tree spirit village was already busy. Someone was hanging herbs to dry between branches. Someone else appeared to be chasing escaped mushrooms. Near the well, two elderly spirits were arguing about whether moss counted as a vegetable.

Everything looked perfectly ordinary. Which only made Holly more determined.

After breakfast, she slipped quietly from the house and wandered through the village.

The village spread up and down through the great tree like a maze. Winding paths twisted between roots. Wooden stairways climbed past round-windowed homes nestled in the bark. Holly's family had lived near the top for as long as anyone could remember, high up where sunlight came through the cracks first thing in the morning and the wind made the whole tree hum very faintly at night. She knew every shortcut, every loose root, every spot where the path curved past old Elm's window just as he was attempting to teach a beetle to sit.

The beetle never sat. Old Elm remained endlessly, heroically hopeful. The beetle, for its part, had other ideas.

Sunlight spilled through cracks in the ancient tree bark high above, golden beams stretching down through the village. Holly stopped beneath one and tilted her head.

Yesterday, Grandma Hazel had spoken about spirit doors. About the missing book. About running water, and sunlight, and stone carvings. Holly had written it all down.

She looked at her notebook now.

Running water. Sunlight. Stone carvings.

The village had a spring. Holly had never paid it much attention before.

She set off.

Past the water barrel. Past a row of tiny gardens. Past old Elm, who was explaining something extremely serious to the beetle. The beetle did not appear interested. In fact, the moment Holly's back was turned, it climbed down off the windowsill and trundled away into the roots, off on business of its own. Old Elm, still explaining, did not notice it had gone.

Holly took the lower path, then the one below that. The first clue led to a storage hollow full of rope and suspicious mushrooms.

"Not that," said Holly, to nobody.

She turned back and tried a different way entirely. The second turned out to be somebody's washing line.

Holly stared at it for a moment. "Definitely not that."

She wandered farther than she usually did. The paths grew quieter there, the roots twisted thicker, and plants crowded close to the edges of the trail.

Then the path simply stopped.

Holly looked left. She looked right. The roots ahead were knotted so thickly together they formed a kind of wall. She nearly turned back. She nearly went home for a second breakfast.

Instead, she got down on her hands and knees and found a gap just wide enough to squeeze through.

On the other side, she could hear water trickling.

The spring.

Hardly anyone came here nowadays. The spring sat in a quiet hollow beneath the roots, a place all but forgotten. Ferns crowded the old stones, and moss had softened every edge. Thin shafts of sunlight slipped down through the leaves overhead. It felt older than the rest of the village. If anything in the whole place was hiding a secret, Holly thought, it would be here.

Holly's eyes moved across the hollow.

Sunlight. Running water. Stone carvings.

Holly rummaged through her acorn backpack for her notebook, accidentally pulling out a smooth pebble, two acorn tops and a mushroom she'd forgotten about, before finally finding it.

"There you are," she muttered. She crouched beside the spring, looking closely at the stones along its edge.

Suddenly, a cool draft brushed against Holly's leaf.

She froze. That was odd. Spirit realms weren't supposed to be drafty.

The breeze came again. It was cold, and coming somewhere from behind the roots.

Holly crouched lower. Something lay hidden beneath the ivy. At first sight it was just a village stone, but then Holly spotted leaf patterns curled across its surface.

“That must be it!”

Holly pushed aside a curtain of ivy.

Then she noticed it.

One of the roots wasn't growing over the stone.

It was growing through it.

Straight through a narrow crack hidden behind the moss. Holly edged nearer, and somewhere inside, very faintly, she thought she saw something blue flicker.

Holly held perfectly still. Her heart gave a small, startled jump. She looked at the crack again. The blue was gone, but the draft was still there. She pressed one hand flat against the stone.

Cold air curled between her fingers.

Something is on the other side of this, she thought.

Then one of the leaf symbols caught the light, just for a second, like a blink.

Holly leaned closer. The symbol looked ordinary again. Carefully, she brushed away another layer of moss. More carvings appeared beneath it, one bearing a tiny symbol shaped like a sunbeam.

Holly's eyes widened. "Ohhh…"

She glanced upward, then back to the carving, then cautiously shuffled sideways until the shaft of sunlight fell directly across the symbol.

Nothing happened.

Holly waited. Still nothing.

"Well," she said. "That was disappointing."

"You sound exactly like your grandmother when recipes explode."

Holly jumped.

Grandad Fir stood a short distance away carrying a bundle of fishing gear, looking thoroughly amused.

"How long have you been standing there?" Holly asked.

"Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"To notice you talking to a rock."

Grandad wandered over and crouched beside the spring. For a moment he said nothing. His eyes moved slowly across the carvings. A bird sang somewhere high above.

"Hmmm." That was all he said. Which usually meant his brain was doing something important.

"You know this place?" Holly asked.

"A little." Grandad brushed a thumb gently across one of the carvings. "Long ago, spirits gathered here."

"Gathered for what?"

"Ohhh…" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Meetings. Ceremonies. Arguments about mushrooms, probably."

She pointed toward the hidden crack behind the roots. Grandad paused. The cool draft brushed past them again. This time he definitely felt it. His expression changed. Only slightly.

"You found a draft."

"Yes."

"Spirit realms aren't supposed to be drafty."

"No," said Grandad. "They aren't."

For a moment neither of them spoke. The spring water kept running beside them.

Holly looked at the carvings again, then slowly pointed at the stone. "I think it means something."

Grandad followed her finger. Then his eyes settled on the tiny sunbeam symbol and he went very still.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Holly asked immediately.

Grandad didn't answer straight away. Instead, he looked upward toward the shafts of sunlight filtering through the cracks high above, and a slow smile crept across his face.

"My goodness," he murmured. "Holly… I think you've found an old puzzle."

"An old puzzle?" Holly repeated.

Grandad nodded. "Ancient spirits liked puzzles. They said it encouraged patience."

"Did it?"

"No."

Grandad adjusted his fishing bundle and drew nearer to the stone. The sunlight had shifted slightly. The tiny sunbeam symbol sat just beyond its reach, not quite touching.

"Maybe it needs more light," said Holly.

"Maybe." Grandad studied the roots wrapped across the stone. "Or maybe," he said thoughtfully, "the forest has been doing an extremely good job of hiding things."

He gently pulled aside a curtain of ivy. More hidden carvings appeared.

Holly's eyes widened. "They connect."

Grandad glanced toward her. "Yes. Yes, they do."

Together they followed the pattern across the stone, one symbol after another, all the way to the centre, where a single carved leaf sat.

Perfectly still.

Holly stared at it. Something tugged at the back of her mind. She wasn't sure what.

Grandad said nothing. Then, very quietly: "You know, the ancient spirits believed that doors remember who they were made for."

Holly looked up. "What does that mean?"

Grandad just waited.

Holly looked back at the stone. The carved leaf. The cool draft breathing through the crack. She thought about tree spirits. About leaves. About the one growing from the top of her own head.

Oh.

Very slowly, Holly reached up. She touched her own small green leaf, then looked at the carving, then back at her leaf.

"Grandad."

"Hmmm?"

"Is it waiting for a tree spirit?"

Grandad's eyes crinkled at the corners. That was all the answer she needed.

Holly leaned forward. Very carefully, she pressed her hand flat against the carved leaf in the centre of the stone.

• •  •

Beneath the Roots…

"Ha!"

"You cheated."

"I cleverly repositioned my acorn."

"That's called cheating."

"It isn't if you're winning."

Mudroot sighed. "I don't like this game."

Thistle rolled his eyes.

The roots above them gave a tiny shiver.

The three spirits froze.

A faint blue glow rippled across the ceiling.

Pip blinked. "…Thistle?"

"What?"

"Did you hear that?"

Mudroot shrugged. "It's probably nothing."

Thistle kept staring. "It didn't sound like nothing."

Mudroot picked up an acorn. "Your turn."

Thistle didn't move.

Mudroot nudged the board. "Thistle. You're thinking. Stop it."

Pip nodded solemnly. "Thinking ruins games."

You have completed Chapter 2