"When is it going to end, Grandpa?"

"Soon I think."

"Really?" Elsa perked up with a bright smile, a contrast to the dark hour.

"Do not let joy win your heart yet."

"Why?"

"We are losing."

"Should we pray, Grandpa?"

"It's past the time for prayer."

"But, isn't that what you do?"

"Not anymore." Somehow he knew, an instinct playing a discordant tune against his heart. Tonight the walls would fall. The realization confirmed Alfred's certainty, his granddaughter would see death. He just hoped death would not see her. Lilly clutched the hem of his woolen jacket, reminding him of how she held her mother's scarf as if it could replace the parents she lost.

"Grandpa, what will happen if the fighting comes here?"

"Terrible things. It's war, you need only know that." What would a man give to save his only blood? Alfred didn't know what he could do, but he would do all he could bear. His son and daughter-in-law deserved the sacrifice. He owed them.

Down his cobbled street, lantern poles cast shadows in accord with a vivid moon, the light cutting across the mill of frightened people. The spectacle convinced him how futile it would be seek refuge in the city center. He grimaced, disgusted at the foolhardy of his neighbors plying their way to a vane hope, possessions clipping their heels and slowing their steps. "Fools."

"What, Grandpa?"

"Nothing. Let's get inside." The edge of his oak door pinched between his aged fingers. He pulled the frame open with a scrape of wood on stone eased by the dew.

"I don't like it here. It isn't cold, but the air still makes me shiver." Lilly took a couple small steps backwards into their house, the front of her pink dress bunched in her fists. A warm glow from a single lantern flickered from behind her, casting her shadow in a dark sway at her feet.

"Neither do I." The door creaked mournfully as he began to close it, pausing at the distant howl of a horn. One blast, then two, and finally three the horn blew. He shivered, old bones and all. "Lilly, run upstairs and..."

"What was that sound?" She cut him off, her usual demanding approach to discovering what she didn't understand.

"It doesn't matter. We might be able to exit the southern gate." Alfred closed the heavy door and dropped the latch with a clang. It wouldn't do much, but it might give them a few seconds. "Now run upstairs and grab the pack you use for picnics and fill it with clothes and everything you can't leave behind."
"Are we not coming back?"

"No we're not."

"Where are we going?"

"Remember my friend Mildred?"

"Yes, she makes great soup!"

"She does. Well, we are going to sneak out the castle and head up the eastern road till we get to her village."

"But, won't that take awhile?"

"It will. A couple of days probably, but not of concern. Now no more questions, go!"

Her face paled with shock, she spun and ran up the steps to her small room.

Alfred felt bad for yelling at her, but haste or the lack thereof was deadly. A scream came from outside. His neighbors would have to take care of themselves. Ignoring it as best as he could, he shuffled through the house as best as he could, his limbs tender to the rigid movements forced on them.

A banging on the door drew his attention and he grabbed the nearest item he could use as a weapon, procuring a poker from the fireplace across the room. The banging didn't stop and someone yelled on the other side of the door, but he couldn't make out what they said. Sweat streaked down his cheek as he moved the distance to the door. "Who is it?"

Lilly came running back down stairs. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry yourself. Go back upstairs."

"But..."

The banging continued and Lilly hadn't moved. "Go! Stay upstairs till I call you. Now go!"

She sprinted up the stairs.

He placed his ear to the frame and the voice became discernible.

"Let me in you old fool."

"What?"

"I said let me in."

"No. Who are you?"

"You really are getting senile, I'm your next-door neighbor, Henry. Unlock the door!"

Alfred snorted. "You're not coming in." He didn't trust Henry a wit, and besides, the man smelled of dusty books.

"Have it your way. I just wanted to tell you the southern gate is blocked. There is no way out of the city. Messengers are running down the street, saying the city has surrendered and all citizens are to go to the Central Square."

Alfred almost spit, but refrained, thinking of Lilly. He stopped a lot of things since his granddaughter moved in. "Of course! They would want us in one big circle. Easier to kill us. Henry, don't tell me you're following this foolhardy? You were smarter than most of the lot around here."

"What choice do I have? It is better than running around like a cat and dog, before I get cut down. I would rather take a little chance of survival than none at all. They say we're going to become citizens of the Empire. As long as they leave us in a peace I'm fine with that. You must go. You have to think of Lilly. Give her a chance!"

"Foolishness." Alfred shuffled from the door, effectively muffling Henry's pleas. He went about his packing, trying to figure out another way out of the city. Within a few minutes the man outside ceased his banter. Lilly  inched down the stairs. Alfred lifted his left eyebrow in question.

"The man outside stopped yelling and you didn't say I could come down so I thought I would check and see if it is alright."

"Hmmph."

"Can I come down, grandpa?"

"I don't see your pack, so the answer is no."

She darted up the stairs, ebony curls dancing behind her.

"Change into something better for traveling!" Alfred tossed his jacket in the corner, walked to his desk, and pulled back his chair to sit, banging his knee in the process. It knocked him off balance. He teetered, grasping for the chair before he fell. The world spun. He tried to break his fall with his arms, but then he knew he would need his hands more than any part of his body, and he let his hip take the brunt of the fall while his shoulder the rest. Pain erupted in his side and his vision went black.

When he opened his eyes Lilly sat beside him, but he couldn't hear her. Finally his hearing returned and he noticed tears stretched like long lines down her face. "What has got you all a fluster?"

"You were on the floor, and and I was worried and I don't know what to do."

"Hush yourself. Now help me into my chair."

She tucked her small frame under his shoulder pushed up with her legs, while he grabbed the edge of the desk. With a bit of grunting, Alfred sat upright in his chair, left out of breath. His granddaughter crumbled at his feet, exhausted. A pain walked along his chest. At first he worried it might be his heart giving out, but he quickly realized it brooded deeper, beyond his physical ailments. He gave Lilly his hand, pulling her to her feet. A fresh stab of pain in his side drew his attention. He couldn't walk and even sitting in place hurt.

"What now, grandpa?"

Alfred had no idea. "Do you have your pack with you?"

"Yes." She held out a small satchel with a stuffed doll sticking out of a corner.

"You remember the picnics we used to go on?"

"Yes."

"Good, I want you to gather all the food we normally take on a picnic and stuff it into your bag."

"But grandpa, there's no more room in my bag."

Another jolt of pain shot through his side and he suppressed a wince. He didn't want to frighten Lilly and so waited a moment to regain his bearings. "You'll have to take some out. Be quick about it and go!"

She ran around the steps into the kitchen without arguing.

Alfred exhaled a sigh of relief. Now to figure out how to save her. He dug into his desk, opening drawers and threw everything about him in such haste it seemed like a waterfall of paper, quills, ink bottles, and more cascaded over his shoulders. He withdrew an old piece of parchment wrapped around a copper tube and almost tossed it aside before an itch of a memory made him stop. He laughed, a deep chuckle escaped unbidden from his chapped lips. He knew the idea was absurd, but it felt right, much like he used to feel after hearing good news he had prayed for coming true. It was an outrageous project he spent a number of years working on, while never quite getting it right. Eventually, he had set it aside for later speculation and must have forgotten it.

Unrolling the parchment revealed scribbled notes along the edge of an intricately sketched tube with the purpose of transforming time into fire. It would transfer the prayers of the wielder into a burning luminance of a desired shape by shortening the time it would take for the prayer to come true and filtering it through the device as a fiery projection. Originally, he hoped it would become a holy relic, a tool of immense power to smite evil, along with blessing him with praise from his fellow clergy.

Alfred set the parchment on the table and held the instrument in his hands, the cold metal chilling his sweaty palms. The chill reminded him of death. He shivered. Could he get it to work? The light could only enter from one point, where it was supposed to exit, a magnifying lens he procured from a rare spyglass. The device would be easy to wield, even Lilly, with her small hands, could use it.

A strategy for escape built in his head, hinging on the device, as a smile creased his lips. Once the bulk of the army passed their house, Lilly could slip out and leave the city, using the device to fend off straggling soldiers. Then she could head north to the country village of Hampsteep, which has skirted most of the fighting. But, how to get the light into the tube?

"Grandpa, I was able to get food in the pack."

Alfred hadn't seen her come back in the room. "That's good. What did you take?" The doll still stuck out of the bag, but with more of it exposed.
"The rest of the loaf of bread we got from the baker yesterday, a small block of cheese, two apples, a small sack of rice, and a couple carrots."
Some of Alfred's concern eased due to his surprise at how much she was able to pack. "Well done. Now Lilly, I need you to do one more thing."

"Sure, grandpa."

"Run into my bedroom and in the closet you will find my coffer. Can you get it for me?"

"Why do you need it?"

"Because, we'll need the money for our trip."

"Alright." Lilly gave a quick nod of satisfaction and darted across the room slipping into the door to the left.

Returning to his desk, he opened the device, pride swelled his chest, the inner mechanism was more intricate than he remembered. He even designed a miniature grinding stone to create a spark, which created small flashes of light, but not to the effect he hoped. He adjusted the gears to leave room for a final instrument, as to what he didn't yet know. The rolling thump of countless footsteps echoed up the street towards their house. He hoped the soldiers passed them unnoticed. Where was Lilly? She should have been back with the box. After a quick inspection, he saw a lump in the curtain of the window next to the door. "Lilly get away from there! We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

She backed away, stumbled, fell, and lost her grip on the box, which spilled its contents on the floor in a wild spray of letters, trinkets, and jewelry. Lilly's face was ashen and her mouth opened and closed in a slow motion much like a dying fish out of water.

"Lilly! Come here, come here." Alfred knew if he left the chair he might not be able to get back up. But, his granddaughter laid on the floor, shaking and terrified as if the life already drained out of her. Alfred dumped out the contents of a box and put the device inside it, set it on the floor, and shoved it in Lilly's direction. He then tried to inch himself towards the floor using his right hand to grab the edge of the desk, but as soon as his full weight pulled on his arm, he collapsed and struck the floor on his injured side. Shock splintered his vision and pain quickened his pulse. He thought he heard a thudding sound, it could have been the sound of him hitting the ground or someone striking the door. He ignored it, forcing his eyes to narrow on Lilly. A whimper release from her lips, the only sound so far and not one to ease his worry.

Alfred dragged his pain-wracked frame towards her, pushing the box in front of him as he scattered trinkets, dashed on the floor earlier. Something wet oozed down his leg, but he dared not look. He must get to Lilly. Pulling himself the last few spaced, he reached her side. He let a hand rest on her small quaking shoulder. "Lilly, it is grandpa. Don't worry I'm here. I need you to look up at me, please."

After a moment she lifted her eyes, smeared with the wetness of fear. "You don't know, grandpa, you don't know what they did...what they are doing."
"It's alright, don't think about it. I want you to concentrate on something. Clear your mind for now. Think on...think on..." Alfred searched both around him and in his thoughts for a suggestion to help his granddaughter deal with her grief. Then he saw what he needed on the floor. A small trinket, full of meaning and history, a ring, old in its design, passed down to him, then to his son, his son to his daughter-in-law and back to him. He couldn't explain how it would make the device work. Maybe, because it symbolized an unanswered prayer, which went dark with the death of his child. He just knew it would bring the weapon to life, a gut feeling, which turned his innards like a mortar and pestle, grinding the herbs for an unique and rare elixir. The golden ring glowed from a deep green emerald intricately mounted as its centerpiece. With a bit of biting and bending he was able to get the gem out. "Now Lilly, this was your mother's. I was going to give it to you on your birthday, but now...just consider it an early present."

She grabbed at it, but Alfred snatched it behind the closed fist of his wrinkled fingers.

"No, I want you to imagine it. Capture its image in your mind. Close your eyes. Do you see it?"

She nodded her head.

"Good. Now take that terrible memory and place it inside the jewel for safe keeping so you don't have to think about it till you're ready. Now open your eyes. Better?"

She hesitated, but finally responded in a pale whisper. "Yes."

Banging sounded at the door followed by yelling.

Alfred opened up the device, took the system of gears, fixed the gem to one end, and inserted it into the tube. The banging on the door increased.
"Grandpa, they're coming!"

He closed the tube. Nothing happened. Lilly stared up at him with red-rimmed eyes. It must work. He shook it, but still no light. The door started to crack at the hinges.

"Grandpa!"

"It must work!" Alfred prayed and prayed pouring himself into the device. Then something caught as if an invisible force from inside the weapon latched onto him. He opened his eyes, and to his amazement a flicker of green light appeared inside the lens. He closed his eyes prayed some more and it grabbed on him as if it took a part of his spirit and filtered it into the light. His energy drained and his head spun, but to his amazement and delight the device projected a long green blade of light curved at the tip shinning like the rays of a foreign moon. It reminding him of the sword he had seen at the Grand Temple Hall during his inauguration into the priesthood. "Now Lilly, put on your pack, take this weapon and leave the city. If anyone tries to hurt you point this at them, pray, and it will glow so bright it will scare them away."

"What if they don't run?"

"Then swing it at them and they wont be able to hurt you."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't be. Run to your aunt's house in Hampsteep and you'll be safe."

"But what about you grandpa? I can't leave without you."

The pounding change to splintering thunks as the assailants used sharper tools to breach the door.

Alfred didn't know how to answer her. He couldn't move and he was afraid she wouldn't leave as long as he was here. "I'll be with you, but...inside in this." He dreaded the thought, but he saw no other option.

"How?" Tears fell down her face, dark curls matted to her cheeks.

"Just...trust me. Feel inside this device and you will find..."

The door crashed open, splinters of wood flying over their heads as two men stumbled in, swords gleaming in an eerie green light. Alfred prayed. He prayed with such devotion his soul seemed to cringed in pain as the nature of his being fought his very will. He had never been so intent in all his life so driven with purpose. Letting his whole being fall into it, he gave his soul to the device. He felt no pain, only a sense of losing oneself, of melding or becoming something else. He heard a distant voice.

"What do we have here?" The soldiers laughed to each other. Alfred couldn't discern their actions, but anger built in him cudgeled by the men's arrogance and his granddaughter's danger.

Green brilliance, screams of pain, and the soft padding of small feet was all Alfred knew. He could see very little, but he moved. He heard a soft voice calling to him, yet he couldn't make out the words. It's as if life became a dream. Fear oozed into him like oil over clear water. He was trapped in a boundless world with only a verdant radiance for companionship. Then a soothing warmth slaked his panic. It was Lilly. Somehow she was able to reach him with her thoughts.

Alfred didn't understand what was being said, but he did know she was safe. He had become the device, scorching luminance, the weapon to her salvation and death had not seen her nor shall it.

As a boy, he started working for his father’s jet boat business, Mahay's Riverboat Service. At nineteen, he obtained his 25 Ton Master's U.S. Coast Guard Captains License and started expeditions in Alaska's wild rivers, which brought him into the unclassifiable whitewater of Devil’s Canyon. Life in Alaska has filled him with a strong sense of both the beauty and horror of adventure.

During his six years of college, he took a string of odd courses which, to his delight, delayed graduation. Some of his favorite classes included Magic, Witchcraft & Religion, Latin, the Science of Science Fiction, Greek Mythology, Academic & Professional Writing, and the Etymology of Chinese Characters. While in college, he held a slew of jobs stretching him in ways he previously thought impossible. A great example is the experience he gained with Hope Network’s NeuroRehabilitation division. He kept psychopathic patients from either killing themselves or him, providing an appreciation for the complexities and diseases of the mind. While traveling across Europe and Japan, he surveyed cultures, philosophies and ideals, building a sense of global intrigue, which established the foundation for his worlds.

In late 2008, he had his first story Lord of the Dome published in New York Twist Magazine and not to long after The Trees of Evermore won a writing contest to be published in the North Shoreian Magazine. A few months later Lord of the Dome was made into a short film after winning a contest by WeMakeYourMovie.

Along with these accomplishments, he founded the business community and resource BeYourArt.com, educates artists on the business of art. The website has grown to over seven hundred artists and has published eleven video/audio podcasts, co-published ten articles with the North Shoreian Magazine, and hosted the annual "Be Your Art Writing Contest" where the winner received a custom artist logo worth five hundred dollars.

In the fall of 2009, his poem Willow was published in Mississippi Crow Magazine.

In the beginning of 2010, he will have the amazing opportunity to have a two week residency at Robert Wilson's Watermill Center, where he will write the Watermill Grimoire, along with a handful of character driven vignettes based on artifacts from the Watermill archive. The characters from the vignettes will be the driving force behind the Watermill Grimoire fairy tale.

He was a preliminary judge for storysouth's 2009 Million Writers Award. He read through a long list of wonderful science fiction and fantasy stories to finally select a handful to be considered as the winning story.

Currently, Judah lives on Long Island with his wife Lorien where he spends his free time writing short stories, and working on his novels under the watchful eye of his cat, Athena.

The interview starts at nine minutes into the podcast. Please post your thoughts and comments below.

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Published: "New York Twist Magazine," October/November 2008.

Won: "WeMakeYourMovie Contest," March 2009.

He sat down, leaned against the damp stone wall, and took his night's meal from a torn, gray duffel bag. He chewed on the empty juice box till his jaw went numb and spit the remnants aside. He didn’t like the taste anyway. Too savory. After eating a few more objects discovered earlier in the day, he rubbed his long fingers together in defense against the shallow chill of his cavernous home.

A screech, followed by the racket of heavy metal being crushed, erupted somewhere above, sending jolting vibrations into his back.

“What? What be this noise? Dare, dare you break the sleep of my ears?” He stood and sniffed the damp air. “You not know who I be?” He craned his neck and twitched his ears, but the noise didn’t answer his movements or questions. Irritated, the Lord stomped his feet and his subjects scattered. “Little rats, I apologize. Apologize, yes I do. A disturbance, minor, minor it must be.” He glanced up at the gleam of light from a rectangular opening and caught the sound of a low moan. “This annoyance, discover, yes discover I will...to protect us. I go. Til then...be as you may.”

The Lord of the Dome worked his way up the wall, grabbing notch, lip and ledge, till he reached the narrow space. Set at ground level on the edge of a hard path, the rim dribbled water down his front. He licked some to wet his lips and quench his thirst. He spit out the gritty after-bite. Hmm, water, drip drip warmer here. Remember this, must remember.

Outside, darkness held its comforting grip, scattered only by a singular glow attached to a tall pole. He could see well enough, the vile rays had not yet appeared. Across the hard path, twisted metal whirred for a second and puttered into silence against a wall. Painful groans came from within. He considered going back, but the potential threat required closer inspection.

He squeezed through the opening and immediately two bright eyes charged him. He leaped away, dodging the monster, and crouched to prepare for another attack. It roared in passing and was gone.

“Dark Eaters, light bringer, vermin wretches! Yes, damn, damn Dark Eaters. Find a way to destroy them later. Time not right.”

A quick check revealed no more dangers, and he scampered to the wreckage. Inside a hideous creature whimpered. A huge rat, devoid of fur save a long patch on its nearly snoutless head, squirmed feebly. Mutation. I've heard of such. This be ill omen. It moaned again and the Lord noticed the reason for its piteous cries. Pinched within the metal heap, a large piece of see-through stone pierced the rat's shoulder.

The Lord knew what must be done. He had helped many of his subjects before and this one was one was no different than the rest, other than being bigger and mutated. Fix the wound first, yes, before the life runs out. Then free, free it.

He ran down an alley and found one of the Boxes of Instruments. Each of these wondrous containers held many a prize, if he could find what he needed. Lifting the large lid, he tossed it up to flap behind the huge box, and leapt in. He rummaged through its secret contents, before raising his prize in the air with a triumphant cry. “Yes! Magic cloth of breaking water!”

He returned with much speed using all hands and feet. It took a moment, but he wrapped the wound at the base of the clear stone with the cloth he had found. His subject cried out at his ministrations, but seemed too weak to take notice of what occurred. The red water of its life stopped draining out. He needed to find another handful of the water-breaking cloth in order to remove the stone, but at least he had gained some time.

Clambering from within the wreckage, he heard a distant wailing. It escalated to a high pitch and suddenly a bright rainbow of colors flashed from the dark further up the hard path. He rushed to hide and covered his ears as the sound grew louder and louder. The lights and sound came from a large square beast. The noise stopped as the creature came to a halt not far away. It split open and more tall, mutated rats scrambled out.

They ran to the junk pile and the Lord prepared to attack, scratching his nails on the ground. When they carefully removed some of the twisted shards entrapping his injured subject, he stopped, retreating into shadow. They be helping. He watched more intently, hoping to learn from their magics. He never knew such creatures existed above the Dome.

They left in their magical flashing beast, taking the wounded rat with them. He stared after them as they departed, then into the great dark overhead. The Eyes of Above still twinkled there but he saw them differently now. They were much more. The Eyes of the Greater Dome.

His true realm lay here. He was sure of it. He would be Lord of this Greater Dome. Protected, protected, they must be. Long nails clicking, he clambered up a nearby wall to perch atop a tiled roof. "Rule over all rats of this dome, surely it is true. I will be. Yes. Be your sovereign! My subjects, I am your Lord!"

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Published: "The North Shoreian Magazine," The Writer's Issue, Volume 1, Issue 9, September 2008.

The forest watched Jared run. He could feel their eyes on him, even if he didn't believe it. He had grown to love these woods, and today he felt a part of them. He moved among them. Under branch, over fallen tree, around bush, and across stream, he ran, more akin to the forest than a passenger under its shadowy gaze.

He never ventured so deep before this. His heart raced. The taste of forbidden sweetened his lips. He wouldn’t be able to return before dark. He laughed at the sense of freedom.

The sky was closing. Branch intertwined with twig and trunk, becoming a barrier between him and the sky. Jared squinted as his eyes adjusted, but didn’t slow his prideful steps. Nothing would stop him. He would see the heart of the forest, of which the townspeople spoke in haunted whispers and dark corners. A forbidden place, and he would be there. His determined heart beat to the rhythm of his goal.

"I'm coming," he called to the trees, speaking with them as naturally as ever he did his own family. After all, he spent equally as much, and often more pleasurable, time amidst the woods.

He stumbled, but regained his balance. Where did that root come from?

Some said the forest was alive, old, and angry in its age. Jared shook off the thought. “Just more of their scary tales,” he told himself. "Fairy tales to keep children from going so far." Shadows shifted from behind two large trees he passed between. My imagination. The feeling of being watched persisted, prickling at the nape of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder so frequently he ran face-first into a branch.

Jared shoved it aside and sprinted deeper into the forest. That branch...wasn’t there. He swiped leaves from his hair, and his hand came back red. He remembered the path, there had been nothing in his way before he glanced over his shoulder. His resolve wavered. A root caught his foot and he tripped, stopping his fall with his hands. He shoved himself upward to regain his balance, but vines ensnared his right hand.

Jared crashed to the ground, ripped his hand free, and tumbled into a bush. Propelled by momentum, he passed through the thick foliage and rolled into a dry clearing. Towering trees raised their trunks to unimaginable heights to form a canopy of interwoven branches and leaves. Pallid light squeezed through, as if exhausted from its travel to the clearing. Around him, a wall of old trunks, thick roots, and tangled vines caged him. He couldn’t even tell how or where he'd entered.

In frustration, he tried to force his way between two trees, but the opening proved too narrow and seemed to close all the more tightly with his efforts.

"Now I've done it. I'm all but trapped." His usual resourcefulness fled, he couldn’t think of a way out. His mother would already be terrified he was gone so late. How would she feel when she only found his bones. “I have to get out of here.”

Searching the perimeter of the clearing, he examined the brush and even tried to make an opening, but only came away with a handful of crushed leaves and no progress toward making or finding an exit. He set the leaves on the ground.

“Sorry. I need to get out,” he murmured from habit.

“I admit the sapling confuses me.”

Jared jumped at the sound of a deep, creaking voice, which carried from somewhere above. “Hello?”

“Yes, he does confuse, sunfuse, concuse.” A rustling, breezy voice responded.

“I wonder. What do you think he is?”

“Me, I have ideas! Lots of them. Maybe he is a branch. A stick!”

“Yes, yes, that’s enough, Pine. It is just another fleshling. He's just like the rest. We should finish him.”

“Hasty, you always are. Vine, calm yourself. We must think on this first.”

Jared fell to the ground, staring up into the talking branches. Certainly it seemed they were talking. They have to be, he told himself. They even sounded like trees, though he couldn’t explain what precisely that meant.

“Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want with me?”

“Too many questions. I can’t take this ramble, rabble, babble. Lost, he must be Lost.”
“You might be right, Spruce, but we must take our time with these things.”

The vines around the clearing moved and rustled into a slithery voice. “We should pinch the life out of the fleshling and be done with it.”

Spruce interjected, “I don’t blow, sow, know if that be good idea. What do you think, Oak, Smoke, Hoke?”

“Watch your tongue, Spruce! Anyways, it is just a sapling. Barely old enough for its first greens. No, Vine, we cannot. We vowed always be watchful, to always hear and wait till they return. We cannot forget what we are.”

“What you are. I did not agree to the pact when they left.”

Oak continued, seeming unruffled by Vine’s disregard. “We have given every other creature fair chance, why not this one? The Trees of Evermore...”

“Forevermore...” Spruce intoned.

“Nevermore...” Pine continued.

“...will always keep watch for the Lost.” Oak, a large towering tree in front of Jared, seemed to bend with age and sadness, as if the steady crawl of the ages had worn deep into its bark.

The vines covering each tree coiled slowly down to the edge of the clearing. It made him think of a snake with no end. He shuddered with a sudden aversion to the thought.

“I’ll wait.”

Jared heard the voice come from the vines, yet it seemed not so clearly a voice so much as he understood what the natural rustling and creaking meant. His mind put words to every sound. “Who are you?”

Oak glared down at him as if considering what to say. Jared couldn’t explain how he knew the tree looked at him, but he decided not to question it. Enough was strange already.

“He understands us. It has been a long since one has understood.” Oak’s leaves rustled as if releasing a long held tension.

“A sign! It must be! Right, Oak? It must be, must. Yup must.” Pine creaked, evidently quite giddy.

“Are you, young sapling?” Oak asked.

Jared didn’t understand what they were asking and inched backward, but heard the vines moving close behind. What did they want of him?

“Am I what?” He almost shouted, barely holding back tears. Sweat chilled his neck and he shivered.

“He is confused.”

Vine slithered by inches into the clearing, as if testing water. “Maybe he is Lost, and the Found are never to be.”

Jared’s stomach churned.

Oak creaked. “Do you know who we are? If you can answer this question we will know if you are one of the Lost or Found."

Jared's heart quickened with fear. All he could see were vines, root, and trunk. No escape.

“Your silence is an answer. Do you want to keep it?” Oak rumbled.

“You called yourselves the Trees of Evermore, Forevermore, Nevermore.”

“That is what we are called not what we are.”

“Maybe I don’t remember.” Jared wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but if he stalled long enough he might be able able to figure something out or find a way to escape.

Pine, thin and tall, bristled. “What you mean? Speak! Want to know."

“Umm...” Jared had no answers. His time was up. I’m dead.

“Not yet.” Vine coiled closer, covering the dry ground of the clearing.

On instinct, Jared said the first thing which flew into his mind. “Last year, I buried one of my favorite toys, a wooden gargoyle my grandfather carved for me. I did it because my older brother kept saying he would break it. Later when my brother was away I went to dig it up and play with the gargoyle, but I couldn’t remember where I put it. I looked and looked and looked.” Tears welled in his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his fist, but not before a few drops salted his lips.

“Poor, lad. Look what you've done, Vine." The great oak rustled its leaves.  "Did you find the gargoyle, young sapling?”

“No, but he still is my favorite. I can’t remember where it is. Just because I can’t remember doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Jared dried his face on his sleeve and waited.

The vines circled closer and Jared brought his feet in close to his body and huddled against his knees. He tried to peel his eyes from the slithering mass and failed.

“I think the creature, vreeture, deeture, makes good its point.”

Oak’s exposed roots twitched. “What do you mean, Spruce?”

“Maybe, he doesn’t remember, september, varember, who he was. I think wees should riddle, spiddle, diddle, him. Then we knows yes or not.”

Vine shivered, exhilarated. “Yes, riddle. I like riddles.”

Pine gave its agreement in a whistle of wind through the tower of its needles.

Silence covered the clearing. Nothing stirred aside from the small movements of Vine as it made sudden shifts around the boy.

“Vine.”

“Yes, Oak.”

“You are best at these things. Riddle him.”

“Hmm, I might be able to oblige you.”

No, please don’t let Vine have me. Jared stood as the vines writhed with even more vigor. “But he isn’t part of the forest. You said he wasn’t part of the Trees of Evermore, Forevermore, Nevermore.”

Vine grew still.

“You are right," Oak rumbled. "It is strange that we ask you to do this, Vine.”

Pine needled in. “Wasn’t always such. Nope, nope, not always such. Never Vine before Lost. Nope, nope.”

“Shut up!” The vines tightened around Pine. “Those times are gone. You will listen to me. I riddle. It has been such since they left and it will be till they return.” Vines knotted around the trees, but Jared noticed they also caressed and soothed.

The trees calmed and whistled with the wind.

Oak answered. “We see what you mean, Vine. Please, riddle him.”

“Wait!" Jared cried. "Do you know the answers to his riddles? What if he asks me something that doesn’t have an answer so that he can kill me?”

Vine lurched toward Jared's face and stopped within inches before retreating. Jared was sure he went too far.

Spruce perked up. “Good point, voint, joint, the creature has.”

“Yes, I would say he does." Oak bowed lower. "Vine, you will give him the riddle of old, which we know and have put to heart.”

“I will say it in my own words. Agreed, Trees of Evermore, Forevermore, Nevermore?” Vine gave emphasis to the last word.

In unison the three trees responded by the creak of root, the rustle of leaf, and bristle of needle. “Agreed.”

Tendrils closed about Jared and wrapped around his ankles, waist, and arms.
In front of him, roping vines coalesced into the shape of a man, clothed in leaves, flesh of root, and smile of embittered age. It spoke, but its lips did not move. “Your time has come fleshling. Are you ready to be riddled?” With the last word, the vines tightened around Jared, making him gasp for air.

He’s just trying to scare me. He wouldn’t give in. He never gave in to his brother. He came into the forest even though people said it was dangerous. Vine wouldn't scare him now. “I’m ready.”

“This is their riddle, but I will say it.” Vine paused as if gathering a breath. “We are the Trees of Evermore, Forevermore, Nevermore. Branch, root, and trunk make us one. We are Evermore. Bug, claw, and feather are akin. We are Forevermore. Betrayal, slavery, and yearning marks the Lost. We are Nevermore. Who are we?” The vine man smiled down on him with malice and surety.

Jared had no idea. It could be the names of the trees. But, that would be too easy.
“What is your answer, fleshling?”

The vines constricted and he struggled to breath. His vision blurred from lack of air and panic began to take him, but anger conquered his fear. This was too much like what his brother did to him. He wouldn’t be bullied. “My name isn’t...fleshling. My name is Jared!” Suddenly, the vines fell away and he took in a full gasp of air.

The vine man glared at him and pounced, gnarled hands going for Jared's throat.

Loud cracks and snaps reverberated through the clearing and Vine reared up in surprise. The vines on the trees broke away to fall in a rain of broken root and twisted leaf. The trees straightened, as if casting away a long held weight. Their leaves straightened with new vibrancy.

Vine wailed.

“You are done, Vine. Leave the Trees. Your riddles are no longer needed.” Oak’s deep voice boomed through bark and flesh.

Jared smiled, but hid it when Vine looked back at him.

“I will remember this, fleshling.” Vine unraveled and slithered from the clearing, revealing exits among the trees.

“You have done well. One of the Lost is Found. Welcome home.” Old, muscular roots parted soil and lifted Jared to the sky, passing him from one thick branch to another till he perched above the trees elevated on a nest of soft leaves. The forest came alive with song and celebration.

Wind, rustle, and creak comprised the tune and it brought tears of joy to Jared’s eyes, washing away all fear. He could see the green floor roll away into the hazy distance, forever alive, forever there.

Still the riddle plagued him, and he frowned. “Oak?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Vine leave?”

“Because you answered the riddle correctly, releasing us from his chains. When you left so long ago we had no one to protect us and Vine promised just that, but his gifts were twisted as you could see.”

“But how did I answer correctly?”

“You said your name.”

“But, Vine asked who you were.”

“That is true and you answered correctly.”

“So I am the forest?”

“And the forest is you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright, sapling. With time you will."

"What do I have to do?”

“Whenever you are here, live with us. This your home now as much as it is ours.”

Jared grinned and held tight to a branch, enjoying the view as the sun worked its golden fingers on the green landscape. Home.