A Deep Connection

Rory, lithe and compact, was the too loud, almost oafish shadow of his father, he acknowledged bitterly. For such a large man, he moved almost as silently as the monsters in the forest.

"Quiet, Rory." Father muttered gruffly. Rory bit back a sigh. He couldn't help that he somehow managed to make the tiniest twig or leaf produce a sound like a theunderclap!

"Yes, Father." Rory answered back. They continued on into the forest, always wary of how far or how near a trill or series of gurlging clicks sounded.

They were in the forest to check traps. All empty so far. When Father's pace quickened, Rory knew they were close to another, and his father likely spotted something near it. Heart quickening, he followed, and despite the numerous times he'd made a noise trampling along a twig or landing his foot to harshly, Father said nothing. Could it be, had they found food?

Father suddenly vaulted forward and crouched down by a thicket, muscles in his back moving underneath the worn shirt as he rummaged around the trap. Rory leaned forward, interested, but then quickly leapt back when Father snarled and threw something raw and limp away from them. It was half a rabbit's corpse, clearly touched by the monsters of the forest as shown by the oyster mushrooms that had quickly sprouted up between its ribs, bared to the world.

"Damn them!" Father hissed, grabbing the sides of his head, and just as quickly jerking his hands down. Rory hesitated, fighting the urge to shuffle. Father said unecessary movements were the work of an untrained mind.

Father turned around and looked at Rory with an indecipherable gaze. "I must go into the deep part of the Forest. I have to see about the other traps. It appears the creatures have begun to figure out these too, but perhaps they haven't found the others. Rory, stay here and cover yourself. You know how to hide."

"But Father-"

"Rory!" Father tutted.

Rory implored Father. "Please, I can help. The other boys have fashioned traps and kills for themselves, I'm still so far behind, you said you would teach me to help the village!"

Father sighed, scratching his beard. The harsh, crackly sound was almost too much for the hush of the forest as Rory waited for Father's answer.

Father spoke at last, a gentle rumble. "You're improving with your traps. Your pace is no fault of your own, and no dishonor besides. But I have responsibilities Rory. That include you, and the village. I cannot balance them, so I must prioritize them. Do you understand?"

Rory lowered his head. "Yes, Father."

Father soon left, and Rory crouched down to rest his back against the tree next to him. With a sigh, Rory thought he would rest just a minute before beginning the process of hiding amongst this dark forest. He wished he was big and strong enough to be trusted to move about the forest on his own, as his father and two older brothers, Micah and Jonah, were. He wished his mother were still around to speak up for him, cajole his father as she so easily did. He missed his mother. Missed her hugs, and her soft voice, and her smell of lavender . . . he could almost smell it now-

Rory jerked, eyes fluttering as he looked around. He did smell lavender. And he could hear something. Something soft, reedy, but sweet. It sounded human. But Rory knew that there were some traps the monsters made that could sound almost the same. Rory glanced down at the rifle by his side. Perhaps . . .

Slowly, Rory rose up and cautiously walked forwards, away from the tree and deeper into the brush. If Father were here he'd smack Rory on the back for this, but . . . Rory was so tired of being underestimated. He was smart too! And could handle himself! Spite invigorating him, Rory continued on, mindful of keeping in a straight line, and followed the song.

The closer he got, the clearer the song became. The more human it sounded. More human than he'd ever heard a fungi accomplish, so . . . it was likely another human. A girl, it sounded like? Had a child from another village gotten lost? Rory's steps hastened as he thought it, anxious to help this poor lost soul. He rounded a tree, and came to a halt.

It was indeed a girl, sitting in the split of a fallen tree trunk. Not little though, she looked just about the same age as him. That was all they had in common really. For this girl was the most beautiful girl Rory had ever seen. She was delicate looking, arms gracefully curved over her lap, a face as fine boned as a kitten. Skin as pale as moonlight, but flushed a shade of seashell pink at certain spots, giving her nearly translucent skin a healthy glow. Her hair was bone white, silvery snow under a pale winter sun. In fact, Rory noticed with perplexity, nearly everything about her was white! White hair, white tufted dress, even her eyes were such a light blue grey that they might as well be colorless. It was as if Jack Frost had dropped his daughter here while he went to go dispense winter somewhere else.

"H-hello?" Rory's voice squeaked, and his face flushed a lurid shade of red at the way the pretty girl jumped and looked at him with frightened, welling eyes. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. I just came to see if you needed help?"

The girl did not answer, just ducked her head, curtain of white covering her face from him. He could see her thin, elegant fingers knot together in anxiety.

"I heard you singing. You have a really pretty voice." Rory tried a more casual tactic. He was concerned about why she was here alone, but figured it was better not to come on as strongly as he had before. The curtain of white fluttered, but she did not move to face him again.

"Aren't you cold?" Rory tried. "You're only wearing that dress, and it's brisk out today."

"No." The whispy voice was almost impossible to hear unless you were really paying attention. And Rory had never focused so much on someone in his life.

"Okay." Rory wouldn't push. Honestly the whole scene was a little strange, and in a more practical mind there might have been fears of this girl as bait for ambush from rogue groups. But Rory couldn't imagine such a beautiful girl being in such a set up, not looking as clean and healthy as she did, and Rory was still stuck on the comforting smell of lavender all around.

"My name is Rory. I'm here, hunting with my father." Rory introduced himself, stepping forward and stopping when he saw the girl tense up. "You're not alone out here are you?"

The girl shook her head. "Are you here with your father?" Rory sought more reactions from this girl, hoping she'd look at him with those quicksilver eyes once more.

The girl nodded her head. "He hunts . . ." was the spidersilk murmur that came from her, and Rory felt a pang of sympathy.

"Yeah, my dad left me behind too. Doesn't think I'm capable enough yet to go into the deeper parts of the forest with him. I can't really blame him though. He's got more important things to do than train me on setting traps up here. The forest has been running low on game. Are you and your father having trouble hunting too?"

This, finally, got the girl to look at him, and Rory hoped the quick inhale he took in went unnoticed by her. Her wide eyes, thick white lashes quivering like hummingbird wings gave her gaze a dizzying effect. She nodded meekly, looking at him for all the world like she was placing all her hopes on him.

"Are you from another village?" Rory prodded. "Or are- I mean, I don't mean to be nosy but, uh, it's dangerous being out by yourselves now."

Rory's flush worsened the more he blundered. Before he could try to fix the damage, both clammed up when a large sound, like a twig being stomped on, sounded nearby.

The girl whirled toward him, hair and dress swaying with the movement. "Go!" she whispered urgently, eyes wide and warning.

Rory took a step back, but felt awful eaving her there alone. "What-"

"Go!" this whisper was more commanding, accompanied by a sudden stern set of her fragile shoulders. Rory heeded her command, and quickly left. He traversed his same path backwards, many times looking backward to see if he could spot any others coming around. He was so busy looking around, he didn't notice his own father until he crashed into the man's barrell chest.

Rory ricocheted off, but was stopped from falling over by the sudden harsh clamp of large hands around his biceps. "Where were you?" His father demanded, shaking him. "You know better than to play in this forest, Rory!"

Rory shook his head, and looked at his father pleadingly while he lied through his teeth. "I wasn't! It's just that I heard some creatures starting to come near, so I had to leave and come around again. I'm sorry Father."

Father's chest heaved as he breathed harshly, looking over Rory for any sign of injury. Finally, with a grumble, he let the boy go and beckoned him to follow. "Just . . . be careful please."

"Yes Father." Rory answered as he fell in line. As they walked, Rory stared at his father's back, and noticed the three hares swinging over his shoulder. He gasped, "You found food!"

Father nodded, looking over his shoulder at him and Rory could tell by the crease of his eye that a subtle smile curved his mouth. "Yes. It's still not enough, but. It proves the traps deep in have yet to be discovered by the monsters. I set them again and took more care to hide them, with any luck in the next few days we will see successful results again."

Rory laughed softly, nodding his head at his father's pleased countenance. Then he bit his lip, and thought about the girl. "Father?"

An answering rumble gave Rory courage. "I understand that the village's sake is more important than anything right now. So, can I still come out with you, even just to check on the traps? I'll wait quietly again when you venture into the deeper zones, I promise. I just want to come out here too."

For a while, there was silence between the young man and his father, the muted chirps of cautious birds and the groan of trees in the distance merely background noise. Finally, Father spoke. "I'm proud of you, Rory."

Rory grinned, fists squeezing onto his pants and then quickly relaxing. He'd see that girl again, hopefully.

Four days later Rory and Father were out in the forest once again. Once again they checked the traps nearest to the village and ventured further in. These cooler months were good in that the monsters didn't often show their face, but the trouble was neither did the animals. Summer had been lean for them what with a sudden explosion in activity from the fungal creatures, so these last few months were critical for their settlement. Father and Rory ventured in deep once more.

Father turned to Rory. "You remember what to do?"

Rory nodded solemnly. "Yes Father."

Father nodded, patted Rory on the head, and departed into the blackest part of the forest. Rory waited for ten breaths, then departed for the split tree and the ghost white girl. The closer Rory got, the more he began to pick up on a scent of lavender, and the hoarse notes of a sweet, shy voice humming. Rory pushed past the final brush and saw, relieved, that his ghostly girl was there again.

This time he had made some extra noise before approaching, and so she was not frightened when he made his appearance and said, "Hello."

The girl did not answer back, but her lips twitched into a quick smile before taking on that doe-eyed, hopeful countenance again. Rory had to shake his head to snap himself out of staring.

"I was hoping I'd see you again." Rory said, taking a step closer. The girl did not tense up, and so Rory took another step. And another. He was a few feet away when she finally tensed, and he stopped immediately. He reached into the bag against his hip with those same careful movements, and pulled out a thick blanket.

"I know you said you weren't cold, but I thought . . . it couldn't hurt to offer it to you." Rory held out the folded blanket, a rich burgundy color, that he'd purchased from a stall and had hidden in his room until Father announced they would go off to hunt.

The girl looked at the blanket with wide eyes, as if she could not believe Rory would offer it to her. She peered up at him from beneath the fringe of her lashes. "Thanks . . ." she seemed not to know what else to say, her hands tentatively creeping up from her lap. Rory gently tossed it over, and the soft bundle fell into her lap. With a sniffle and careful hands, she unfolded it and smoothed the blanket over her lap and midsection.

"Pretty." The girl mumbled, looking up at Rory. The twitch of her lips stuck a little longer, dazzled him a little more. Rory grinned.

They didn't speak much more, just gentle questions from Rory that received vague answers from the girl. How old was she? She wasn't sure. Did her father have a good hunt last time? She supposed. What was her name? She stayed quiet on that one. Rory knew he shouldn't stay much longer, so he bid the girl goodbye and promised to return again if she'd allow it. The girl nodded, lashes tickling her cheeks as she looked down at her blanket covered lap, and shyly she waved at Rory. He nearly floated back to the tree where he would meet Father, who also returned with a triumphant gleam and four new rabbits. Still not enough, but it was progress, they both thought to themselves.

Father saw no reason to discontinue the arrangement, and Rory gave him plenty of reasons to disavow such thinking. Rory would painstakingly set the traps in the lighter sides of the forest, hauling weapons and wood without complaint on days he was assigned chores in the village, and remained an obedient son throughout. Rory might have had to endure increased teasing from his older brothers as a result, but the end justified the means threefold in his mind.

Because every change he got out into the forest, he went to see his ghostly girl.

They met dozens of times over the course of the next two months, their bond growing steadily deeper. It was the third visit that she told him her name in between bites of the precious chocolate Rory pilfered from a merchant's barn, the two of them now sitting shoulder to shoulder in her little tree hollow.

"What's your name?" Rory had asked, not expecting an answer. She hadn't answered the last two times.

But the girl surprised Rory by looking straight at him and answering. "My name . . . is Monotropa."

Monotropa! So bright, a sparkling group of syllables grouped together to produce a sound as lovely as the bearer of the name. "Monotropa . . ." Rory sounded it out slowly, savoring the sounds of her name even more than the taste of the slightly bitter chocolate. "It's a beautiful name."

The girl lowered her eyes and nibbled at her chocolate, but Rory saw the twitching of her lips and grinned. They sat together, quietly indulging in the taste of chocolate and the smell of lavender.

Rory always brought her some small trinkets, either hand made or bartered for. Little figurines, a winter hat, a dainty hair clip Monotropa allowed him to place in her hair. He brought crackers and cheese, sips of cider. The two grew closer and closer, and Rory yearned for the day where perhaps she'd agree to let their fathers meet so that they could talk and join the village. Monotropa grew more comfortable with him, touching his cheeks, his hands, the smell of lavender strong on her frail little wrists and the dewy gaze of her eyes ensnaring Rory in the binds of first love.

Only, Rory was not aware of the changes brewing around him.

For Rory, so besotted and single-minded in his desire to see the beautiful Monotropa, did not realize that this growing obsession was changing his behavior around his fellow villagers.

Father and his elder brothers have watched with growing concern, wondering if Rory wasn't too focused on going into the forest. He had never before shown such a fervent desire to be out in the wilderness, and it took Father only a few weeks to realize that his son had all but stopped asking for him to learn the ways of the hunt. He just kept asking to go into the forest. The forest, the forest, always the forest! The foremen in charge of overseeing chores outside the village gates had confessed to him that they often saw Rory staring out into the trees with an almost desparate look about him. As if there was something he needed out in the shadowed depths.

His friends watched in worry as Rory began to isolate himself, constantly murmuring nonsense to himself. His brothers sought to snap him out of whatever spell had come over him, increasing their teasing and barging into his room under the guise of meddling but really to glean any information they could about the sudden introversion and at times stoic temperament. But nobody could really get anything out of Rory, and all they could do was watch as he grew paler, reclusive, and more obsessed with the forest.

Rory's dreamy life and the cold realities of the world clashed spectacularly on the first evening of December. The weather had quickly turned uncharitable, and it seemed like an early snowfall would soon approach. The wind shook walls and cut through even the thick jackets everyone now wore. Winter would be rough this year. Rory had spent all day fretting and worrying when he heard the village chief mention such. He had hardly noticed the passage of time! He thought he'd have more time to try and convince Monotropa to live in the village with him, but the first snowfall would soon come . . . and then the village would be all but closed to the world for the entirety of winter. What if Monotropa's father hadn't stocked enough supplies for winter? Where exactly did they live? Would she come back to the forest in the spring? Oh, why hadn't he asked her these important questions already?!

The worry and the fear grew in his mind, wrapping around his chest like rubber bands. His mind clouded with fear for Monotropa. It had been three days since he'd seen her, he hoped to the heavens above she was not out in this weather! He could hardly swallow his food, fingers trembling as he grew made with worry over his beloved Monotropa. He did not notice the worried looks from his father and brothers. As the fat of the candle dripped, so too did Rory's patience and sense of rationality. He made a decision the moment Father opened his mouth.

"May I be excused." It was the poorest excuse of a question, and yet one Father answered quickly.

"Yes, son. You look tired, you should rest."

"Thank you Father." The family finished their supper but murmured quietly about what to do. How could they help Rory? Finally, Micah could not control his frustration any longer.

"Enough of this! He is still a boy, we cannot let him drift from us so far!" He banged his fist against the table, but dipped his head when Father glared at him.

Jonah glanced at his brother, and entreated their father. "Father, please . . . now, he looks too sick to even keep up with the chores, and so let's try and talk to him."

Father sighed heavily, slowly rising from the table, leaning some of his weight on two fists atop the oak top. Father was not a man prone to rushing in, but this was his son, and his son clearly needed help.

"We will speak with him now. Leave the dishes, this is more important." Father ordered, and Micah and Jonah nearly vibrated with the tension all three shared as they made for Rory's room. With a firm look at his two eldest boys, Father reached for the door and swung it open, only to balk as he watched half of Rory's body slowly ease its way out of the window in his room.

"RORY!" Father yelled, making the youngest man snap his head up in shock. With a grunt and a loud crash, Rory slung himself out of the house and onto the hard, cold ground. Struggling up, his legs nearly buckled until a burst of energy at the smell of lavender brought him up. Arms pumping and legs extending as far as he could make them, Rory sprinted off towards the village gate. It should still be open for another few minutes, and if he was fast enough they wouldn't be able to grab for him.

Rory ran, barely avoiding collisions with his neighbors, carts, animals- not that he would have cared. All that Rory cared about in the world, was Monotropa. Rory's father could be heard screaming for him, and some even were quick enough to catch on to the wrongness of the situation and try to chase after Rory. But Rory was possessed with a speed driven by love and madness, obsession fueling his muscles and streamlining his focus.

Rory raced on, and soon outside the gate, hounded by the calls of guardsmen and his own family, facing a brilliant sunset that nearly blinded him as the horizon began to eat the sun. He ran into the black forest, the cold of the encroaching night not a bother to him even in his thin night shirt and trousers, no shoes or hat or even a cloak. Rory needed nothing more than to be with Monotropa. He raced on, sometimes slowing to a jog, sometimes pouring speed on again, with only this thought on his mind.

Monotropa. Monotropa. Monotropa.

Finally he came upon their sanctuary, the tree hollow, and there she was. Beautiful Monotropa, a ghostly maiden of the moon, somehow even more perfectly lovely in the night as she was in the day. Sat there, demure and smiling, burgundy blanket covering her lap.

Rory, so ensconced in his deep love for the girl, did not even stop to ponder why she still sat out here at nightfall. Why she looked so calm, like she expected Rory. But Rory had long ago given up on questioning the why's and how's of Monotropa's existence . . . so grateful was he to even have her presence in his life. He scarecely cared for the what's, either.

"Monotropa." Rory breathed out, panting. This deep into the forest, there was no way to see the moonrise, but the pale beauty sat there and seemed to glow from within. A shining star in the inky black of this forest. Rory inhaled, muscles relaxing as the scent of lavender flooded the air. His eyes remained glued to Monotropa as he slowly, clumsily closed the distance between him and her.

"Rory!" Monotropa cooed, hands reaching out for Rory, those delicate palms held upwards and waiting for his warm touch. With a half crazed laugh, Rory stumbled forward and nearly collapsed on his way to touch Monotropa. Their hands connected, fingers interlacing as Monotropa gently urged him to sit next to her, the two youths staring into each other's eyes.

"Oh, Rory," Monotropa breathed. "I was waiting for you."

Rory swallowed, lavender and silvery, snowy white intoxicating him. "I'm sorry. I won't leave you again."

"I'm glad!" Monotropa breathed out, lashes drooping as she slowly leaned forward. Rory blushed but matched her pace, leaning forward so slowly and carefully. Breathing out her name one last time, Rory's lips soon touched upon the thin pillows of Monotropa's, and melded with them. Monotropa was cold, Rory noticed, but it mattered little when everything else about this moment was more magical than any story his mother had ever told him at bedtime. More beautiful than any spring or summer.

Rory felt as if all sensation beyond their kiss was fading out of his consciousness. Rory felt like he was floating, almost ephemeral, and his only hope to stay grounded was to continue kissing Monotropa. He squeezed her tiny hands, and she squeezed back, slowly lowering their joined hands to rest upon the dirt beneath them. Rory felt so warm with her affection, as her hands squeezed again, and squeezed even more . . . with a wince Rory, made to pull back and attempt a joke at her surprisingly strong grip.

"Oh, please." Monotropa gasped, throwing her arms around Rory and holding him close. "Don't go!"

"I won't." Rory hastened to say, engaging her in another kiss. He could feel her tiny hands trailing through his hair, threading . . . it almost felt like her touch was ghosting down his neck, down under his shirt, along his back . . . and yet he could feel his hands still stuck to the ground, the grip on them now uncomfortable and- prickly? How was she holding his hand and . . . and her hands were on his cheeks, but the touch growing along his back . . . ? Rory tried to pull apart from the kiss again, but he couldn't move! He tried to make a noise, but suddenly it felt like his mouth was being pried open and, oh, what was that going in . . . ? Why did it hurt . . . ? The smell of lavender rushed up his nose, and, suddenly, Rory began to lose those feelings . . .

To the credit of the village, they rallied quite quickly. With horses, guns, and lanterns, Father and his two sons, and four other men in the forest, had followed the very obvious path the half-mad boy had made in his wild flight, and found Rory twenty minutes after he had found Monotropa.

Well. They found parts of Rory.

The clearest piece of him was his head, eyes closed and expression as peaceful as if he slept, tucked gently against the lap of a ghostly looking girl. Tendrils writhed gently from his parted lips and desceneded down into the ground. The girl looked up at them, hearing their shouts of horror and the gasps of disbelief, and smiled beautifully.

"Oh, so very close!" Monotropa simpered. Her cheeks were flushed a healthy pink, her face appearing almost flushed from the cold, if not for the unusually vivacity of the color that no human could achieve.

The group of men looked on in horror as they registered the presence of not just the girl, but three monsters behind her. Shocked into silence, all they could do was hold their guns aloft and point them at the monsters who paid them no mind. Why would they, when they were feasting so well? Two of the monsters were wrestling to get something away from the other. They were hideous things, like a terrible melting together of humans and bears but with large frills of gill fungi as collars, along their scarred elbows and over their groins. Their long, bone-like fingers wrestled at a mangled torso, no arms and savagely cut away from its lower half, tattered ribbons of flesh and viscera flailing. Another monster, a tiny hare like creature with eyes that jutted up from its skull like stalks of corn and horrible protusions along its spine like mushroom caps, held on to an arm, its fingers twitching with every nibble upon the tendons that controlled them.

Father heaved, nearly collapsing off his horse as he slowly registered the sight before him. His son, his Rory . . . he collapsed to the ground, hands grasping and pulling at the dirt, his hair, his heart.

"Ah . . . !" Father tossed his head, voice leaving him like a geyser of rage. "Ah, damned creatures . . . AHH-" with a choked cry of grief, Father writhed as Micah and Jonah raced to stand in front of him and guard him, guns cocked and tears pouring down their faces.

The creatures that had been feasting upon the remains of Rory stopped abruptly, letting the remains drop as they screeched, moving to face the men with hostile clicks and rumbles. An alien trill from Monotropa had them holding back, and it caused another man, one of the guards that had been at the gate, to eye her.

"What are you, you digusting wretch?" The guard growled, eyes narrowed as he slowly moved the gun to train on the still smiling Monotropa. "Are you a human pretending to be . . . like those creatures?" He jerked his head over to the more visibly monstrous things, then eyed the deceptively monstrous girl in front of him. "Or are you pretending to be human?"

Monotropa giggled, reaching down to grasp Rory's head and bring it up to rest cheek to cheek with her. Father howled in agony, nearly tearing his shirt apart, and the others snarled at the disgusting sight. More tendrils snaked out of Rory's mouth, mycellium that raced to fram his jaw, his nostrils, and moved to braid into his eyelashes and pull them up so that his dull eyes faced the world once more.

When Monotropa spoke, it was Rory's voice that came out. "I'm just trying to feed my family, just like you all." That beautific smile turned savagely gleeful.

Around them, the sounds of clicks, growls, and alien trills erupted into the night. With dawning horror, the men realized they had been led into a clever trap. The creatures had never shown this level of intellect before, could it really be the girl was a human leading the monsters . . . ?!

As their guns rose and gunshots and screams and roars shattered the quiet, Monotropa's and Rory's laughter was heard above it all.