The northerly sun burned hot in the cloudless sky, as was all too common this time of year. It was late enough in the summer that the grown-ups of the town were beginning to long for autumn. For most of the children—accustomed, as all children are, to every season feeling like an eternity—it was just another day.
But for five of them, this afternoon was anything but normal. They were making their way up the winding path out of town and deep into the forest, their hearts eager for adventure, their minds steeling themselves against hidden danger.
“Wait for me!” A sixth child, Jacob, choked out the words as he struggled to catch up to his friends. His feet slapped against the dirt path, catching every exposed tree root as he raced to close the distance between them.
“You told Jacob?” Terina’s eyes narrowed, a faint smile curling the edges of her lips. She was a head taller than the others, which was the only thing about her she did not wear with confidence.
“Why wouldn’t I have told Jacob?” Roka asked.
Terina threw her hands upward. “I don’t know, he’s so young. Look at him, he’s already sunburnt.”
Jacob was the same age as the rest of them, give or take a few months, but he seemed young thanks to his innocence. So Terina often treated him that way, keeping him shielded from their more dangerous and foolhardy adventures, and today’s certainly qualified as one of them.
In truth, they were all innocent. It was an innocent time. The kind of time safe enough for children to think of themselves as brave. The kind all good parents trying to raise good daughters and sons hope to live through. It was a peace hard won. The whole of the place felt, to those who’d lived through what had come before, like an exhalation of breath.
“You know he’s going to get scared and make us go back,” added Toru, toying with a stubborn hair on his chin. A beard had sprung from his face without warning a few months back, and he was not yet used to its presence.
“He can’t help the paleness of his skin, Terina, and he’s braver than you know.” Roka’s skin was darker than the others’, black and already glistening with sweat. It had never been something the others had cared about, but it was enough for him to notice and see reflected in Jacob.
“Hey, Jacob, come here!” yelled Lithuwe. He was balancing, one foot outstretched, on a tree trunk that hung over the cliffside next to the path.
“I am not going out there, Lithuwe,” Jacob said with a laugh, still catching his breath from the climb.
“Oh, come on! Roka was just telling us how brave you are.” Lithuwe stepped further out on the tree and balanced on one foot.
“It’s not that I’m scared, it’s that I’m fat.”
“Oh please, Jacob, you’re not fat. I swear, one girl calls you that and it’s all you see of yourself now. You know she was only saying it because she likes you,” Toru said.
“It’s true,” said Terina, “I’ve heard that all the younger girls have been fighting over you.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Terina,” said Jacob, her flattery further reddening his sunburned cheeks. “I’m still not going out there.”
Lithuwe groaned with melodramatic exasperation. “Look Jacob, it’s plenty strong enough!” he said, and jumped up and down on the trunk to illustrate its strength.
After several leaps, the tree let out a deafening snap and lurched downward. Lithuwe screamed in fear and launched himself back toward the safety of the trail. His hands stretched desperately for something to hold on to but found only air.
Jacob leapt toward the cliff’s edge to save his friend. He craned his body out over the edge and grabbed on tight to Lithuwe’s wrist. Lithuwe’s body slammed into the rocks, and his arm nearly slipped free of Jacob’s grasp, but he held tight.
The air filled with snaps and pops as the tree pulled loose from the cliffside and fell. Jacob slid forward, his shoes scraping against the dirt, almost losing his balance. He gritted his teeth, dug in his heels, and threw his weight back, dragging Lithuwe over the edge and back to safety. They collapsed into a heap on top of each other, both struggling to catch their breath.
In stunned silence, the six friends listened to the tree as it rolled and crashed its way to the ground far below. Then Lithuwe burst into laughter.
“Why are you laughing?” Terina said. “You could have died!”
“But I didn’t die, did I?” Lithuwe countered. “Thanks to Jacob. Roka was right about your bravery. My friend, thank you for your courage.”
“That was very brave, Jacob,” said Reni, speaking up for the first time, loud enough to hear but quiet enough that it felt like a whisper. She reached up and pulled back the painted basket she was wearing as a helmet. Her face revealed, she locked eyes with Jacob and rested her hand on his shoulder. Jacob felt his heart skip a beat.
“I have to admit, Roka, that was pretty impressive. If Jacob can save Lithuwe from certain death, he’s certainly not going to be afraid of a few ghosts,” said Terina, tousling Jacob’s hair.
Jacob pushed her hand away and used his fingers like a comb. Then he realized what she had said. “Wait . . . ghosts?” His voice quivered. His throat felt dry.
Lithuwe bounded to his feet as if nothing had happened, then clapped Jacob on the shoulder. “Toru found the lighthouse. We’re going to explore it.”
“That’s where we’re going? It’s forbidden! A-a-and haunted!”
“See? I told you he’d make us go back.” Terina’s eyes met Jacob’s. It was a challenge. Now that Jacob was here, she was far more interested in goading him into staying than encouraging him to leave.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Jacob. It’s just a story our parents made up because they don’t want the place to collapse on us,” said Roka, thinking the words a comfort. Instead, they only served to add “crushed by a ruin” to the list of fears Jacob was weighing against the joy of spending time with his friends.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to come, though. We can tell you all about it when we get back,” added Toru.
“I’m a little scared too,” admitted Reni.
“No. I want to go. It will be a good story.”
“Are you sure?” Roka asked.
Jacob nodded, sticking out his bottom lip in what he hoped looked like determination.
And so the six of them made their way deeper into the forest, teasing and joking and sharing stories. They had known each other long enough to forget when they’d first become friends, and conversation flowed as easy as a river, with secrets and rumors shared with abandon.
It was a one-and-a-half-day hike from their homes to the ruin. As they walked, the shadows grew long. In what felt like no time at all, they set up camp and settled into the easy sort of rest that follows a day of hard work. They sat in a circle, their feet outstretched, warmed by the fire they had made.
Soon, the night had cloaked all but the closest trees in an impenetrable darkness. They each thought up the scariest story they could remember and took turns telling them. It was halfway through Toru’s story that they heard the sound of footsteps.
They sprang to their feet and huddled closer together. Toru reached out and grabbed one of the remaining pieces of firewood, wielding it like a club. Roka looked disappointed but did not protest.
Through the trees, they saw a woman. Alone, her face half-lit by the torch she held, she snuck through the forest, choosing her footfalls with care. She didn’t look dangerous, and had no weapons they could see. Yet among the six of them, there was an immediate shared sense of wrongness. It permeated the air. Everything felt cold. The light from their fire didn’t seem to bounce off the trees the same way it had before the woman’s arrival. At first, it seemed as if she was going pass them by without notice of their presence. Then she stopped, and turned to face them.
She was Elnuurai, like Jacob, but her clothes seemed strange. Pressed between her arms and her chest, she held a bundle of loose pages. She was shielding them as if, to her, they were the most important thing in the world. The torchlight reflected off the tears staining her cheeks. She was beautiful, even from a distance.
The woman regarded them with equal parts curiosity and wariness. Then, as if a realization had dawned on her, she was overcome with emotion. She brought a hand up to her face and mouthed the words Thank you. She began to fall to her knees, but before she touched the ground, she had vanished.
The wrongness in the air vanished with her. The children erupted into conversation, desperate to make sense of what they had seen.
Toru held tight to his makeshift club for some time, unaware of the thin slivers of wood that dug their way into his palm. He did not speak with the others. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the fire until it burned down to embers.
Though they all would have preferred to go home, no one wanted to be the first to admit it, so they agreed to continue on their adventure. They turned to Toru, each hoping in secret he would grant them permission to leave. He thought for a moment, silence once again returning to the woods. Then, with a forced attempt at nonchalance, he tossed his club into the fire, which seemed, to the rest of them, enough of an answer.