Into the Woods

Chapter 12

Lance ended up improvising.

For starters the woods really was crawling with people, all of them shining their lights and calling his name. so now he found himself in a local park, one he hadn't played in for years. It was strange and nostalgic all rolled into one hard to describe feeling being here. Memories of before Rachel got sick sifted through his thoughts like a movie reel.

Her and Lance had each scraped themselves up good trying to see who could jump out of the swing the farthest. Rachel had dared her twin to balance like a tightrope walker across the monkey bars, and when he fell he'd busted his nose.

All of those and so many more had been such painful moments, and yet there'd been so much laughter in amongst the tears, and even now brought a small smile to his features, though a sadness tinged it.

It was ironic, to be setting up here. To Lance, it almost felt like a blessing. A place where Rachel had spent her happiest, healthiest years, and a wish, a wish that would bring those days back.

He stood in the middle of the bike trail, where the pathways intersected, one route leading down along the creak, and the other over to the street. This small area was protected from view by a small copse of trees.

It was late enough that he was alone, and would easily stay that way. Far enough back into the modest grove that he hoped he wouldn't be spotted from the road while he worked.

Lance took one last look around to be sure, but still he stood in solitude.

Perfect.

Even so the boys heart was beating out a dire staccato rhythm against his rib cage.

Without thinking on it anymore Lance dropped to his knees, digging into the cool gravel with his bare hands. In what was hopefully the center of the crossroads, or close to it. The top layer was nothing but hard, packed pebbles, which broke his carefully kept nails and tore through the flesh of his fingers. Of course he'd grabbed everything that he'd needed except for a shovel. Estupido. The boy pushed through it, and eventually he hit softer soil which almost felt good against his sore digits.

The book hadn't specified how deep he should go, but this would have to do.

As he pulled his hands free from the still shallow hole it took him a moment to realize through all the dirt that he was bleeding. At the site of the deep crimson mixed in with the smears of brown his heart skipped , as swiftly as he could the boy averted his gaze, wiping his hands gingerly onto his now grimy jeans, trying to rid them of the worst of the mess before he picked up Tiburoncito from where he was placed ever so carefully upon a stump. Without meaning to Lance gripped the soft stuffie, clinging onto the shark that had always fit so perfectly into his arms.

"Nos vemos en el otro lado de mi amigo" He whispered against the warm fabric. "Adios."

The boy dropped Tiburoncito as if he'd been burned, before he could change his mind, and as he pushed the loose shale over this shallow grave, the boy could not admit to himself how much his eyes stung.

Finally finished with that, what must have been the hardest step, Lance took a step back, dragging his forearm across his features, only to satiate the itch behind his lids of course. Grit smeared across his nose.

He searched around the small space he'd made for himself out here in the night, looking for the next piece to this puzzle that would save Rachel.

He pulled the small branch over to himself, sniffling as he held it up, driving in into the already softened earth. It was barely larger than a twig really. He'd found it in a desperate search on his way here, fallen from a tree. A slim Y of wood, with half of the bark still clinging onto the bottom part of it, and every other portion smoothed down by the elements and time. It was on this part that Lance had painstakingly carved the word "rowan" into it with nothing more than a stray paperclip he'd found at the inner most depths of his pockets. Lance didn't know a bit of Rowan wood from pinewood and so this was the best that he could do.

Once more he sent a prayer up, that this would be good enough.

Not that many of his prayers had been answered as of late.

Next, and finally, was the candle. he didn't really understand how the directions had phrased this, the color of a wish fulfilled? What did that even mean? His handful of old, half burned birthday candles were what he began to place into the ground at almost even intervals in a semi circle around the mound. Lighting them as he went, raw pad of his thumb growing more and more sore with each flick of the simple lighter.

Sweat gathered at his brow, and, forgetting momentarily his state of disarray Lance swiped at his forehead, smudging more mire across, which his bangs barely hid as they fell back into place.

When he was finished with that, Lance tilted his head. One way, and then another, examining his handy work. It could almost be mistaken for some sort of memorial, perhaps one erected for the death of his childhood.

As he thought this the boy couldn't tell if he was trying to make a joke... or not. Either way he didn't laugh.

Now what?

The number of small flames flickered as a sudden breeze picked up, and for the first time since he'd left Shiro's cabin Lance allowed the doubt he'd kept at bay through sheer force of desperation to creep up on him. It spread out through him like a drop of black ink, blotting out every aspect of his hope as if it were an eclipse.

This... this was all the instructions had said to do right?

Lance dove for the book before he became completely paralyzed by his own short comings. His digits hopelessly shuffling through the sheets at a speed which almost tore them from their leather binding. Until he found the dog eared page. It took him a moment to realize that this looked slightly different. The information on the parchment.... Were they changed somehow? He'd known that the letters moved on their own, the sketches shifting as if the creatures they depicted were alive, but... but he needed this information now. This fact was driven home as the distinct sound of a car passing by beyond the thicket of trees. His breath caught somewhere in his throat and he snapped his head up from the tome for a brief moment.

This had been the page the directions had been on right? Had they simply been replaced by other information for a completely different magical feet that would be of no use to him at all?

But no. Air whooshed out of his lungs. The scribbled steps were still there, but no longer did they simply take up the in between space at the hems. Now filling the entirety of the time stained vellum, letters shaking in their respective homes within the words as if their excitement was barely contained. Lance skimmed past the steps he'd already completed, pretending that he did not notice how the wording had changed ever so slightly. That didn't matter after all.

It was the extra bits, not tagged onto the end as if it had been there the entire time, that Lance focused on.

"Place your hand upon the stang. Call out 'the road is open!' And whomever comes forth shall be bound by the seeker's most heartfelt desire."

There was no way that could be it. This was all so simple. Despite his own hesitation however, he didn't doubt the books truth, for literally as he watched the letters were once more magically rearranging into something else entirely.

Lance dropped the book and stood, nerves jittering through them. He ignored the sudden thought that if anyone were to see him right now he'd probably look so stupid in his ripped and dirtied clothes, earth mixed in with blood smeared all across his skin. He shrugged and stepped forward. The grip upon the smallish branch was unsure and weak at first, but he'd not pushed it too deep into the soil, and it began to tilt, if only a little, and his hold tightened instantly, until his knuckles were white beneath the sepia of mud. He couldn't even feel the ache any more as excitement over road every other emotion and sensation. Lance licked his lips, which were suddenly so very dry, along with his mouth, and his throat, which he cleared, and uttered the words in a coarse voice barely above a whisper.

"The road is open."