Partnership

Morning dew woke my legs, soaking my home-made, Council issued pants. It was exhilarating. I’d seen something new and different.

“Catal! Get back here!” My brother Shep screamed. He was always screaming. He meant well. Even then, I knew that. It no longer worked for me. I flew forward, jumping over fallen trees and bouncing between brambles. Playfully, I pulled on Yellow Birches so they would snap back to slow the loud pursuit of my brother and our friend, Wulf.

A thin branch must’ve thwacked Shep more forcefully than I’d expected. “Seriously, Catal! That hurt! That’ll cost you!” I turned to see my brother’s twisted expression, anger and pain with a hint of worry. I also noticed a smiling Wulf affectionately pluck that very same branch and pop one end into his mouth.

“Minty fresh,” he proclaimed, looking like the farmers in our homebooks. Farmers that we’d never see. Farmers that didn’t exist - anymore. “Tal, what’s this all about? Walking the path isn’t exciting?” Nobody else called me Tal. Just Wulf. Like we shared something. He was really good at that - making a body feel like a person. It put some people off and most people left him, and us, alone.

We were alone again, in the forest. We loved exploring that overgrown patch of history. Shep obsessed over paths. Uncovering wild, messy & mysterious trails kept his patience in check just enough to tolerate our wasteful meandering. Wulf tasted everything. His insatiable curiosity drove him to follow every earthy smell, each minute sound and all the tracks. My fascination? Simply, it was better out there. Wildly free, held in my own cauldron of people and place, I ran between the older boys, stirring them up or cleansing their often argumentative palettes with distraction. We were better there, together and separate from the muted earth tones action in the village.

I pointed, avoiding Shep’s bitter stare. He’d get over the sharp pain. Both boys turned. Shep’s stance shifted immediately. “How have we not seen this before?!” He yelled, with only a tinge of heat in his tone. An overgrown trail led forward, and we stood at its center. Curiosity and excitement in the newness of something old egged us on. Shep began to explore the crafted cairns hidden along the path; Wulf strolled, taking it all in. Overgrown with moss and more bramble, the structure called to me. And I started running again.

I knew enough to wait for them before entering. They’d meander and then appear, competing to share discoveries. This new attraction was old, long before our time. Held together by spackled moss and tied with sinewy vines, the building and its surroundings appeared stronger for their union. Thorny brambles spilled around its edges, melting the structure into the forest as if slowly eating this reminder of civic past.

I plucked a few dewberries, avoiding their barbed thorns and grazed cautiously. Shep didn’t like me eating wild. These were the bright dewberries that Wulf shared during the last green phase. We’d stuffed ourselves on the tart, crunchy berries, laughing at everyone in their homes sucking food from jars.

My attention fell upon the front door. Its darkly veined and stained wood was clean and polished. There was nothing green to be seen from brass hinges to the sculpted knob. This door either resisted the overgrowth naturally or received dedicated maintenance. I reached out, cautiously. My hand fit perfectly around the intricately cast metal doorknob. It was warm and my fingers were comfortably held by its shape. I felt a pressured force forward. Going inside was inevitable. The door opened smoothly, without a sound.

The air felt comfortable and inviting. An unusual quiet held me. My thoughts seemed to slow and my senses became wide, relaxed. The wooden floors were beautifully smooth, level and untouched by encroaching earth. Sparse artwork on the walls remained perfectly placed and well preserved. I noticed a portrait of two elders standing at a desk. Several closed doors encircled the space and a small stairway rose upwards at the back. Good! I’d leave those for Wulf and Shep. I shuffled towards the portrait and the only item in the room.

It was an old desk and it stood out for its age and imperfection. This room seemed to enjoy the same upkeep as the front door, yet the desk was falling apart. I noticed a small, circular symbol carved into the top drawer and reached to open it. My clumsy childish care was too much for the rotting wood and I heard something shift and fall deep into the desk. The slap startled me and I noticed a puff of some sort of dust breathe out around my feet. On my knees reaching blindly should not have been my first move. Still, my hand fell upon a soft leather bound book.

I pulled the book out and sat firmly on the floor. This was a soft, rounded journal. It felt warm in my hands and hummed with an aged personality. A leather lanyard, deeply black like the book itself, wound around the cover protecting its pages from carelessness. Carefully, I unbound the book and saw the same symbol embossed on its cover. I held the book open and began to explore.

The first page was blank, except for what I could only assume was the name of its owner, Mama Nammu. A spark of recognition brightened in my mind. I knew that name! I couldn’t place it. Still, I felt invited to walk more deeply into its pages.

Plants. Animals. Mushrooms. Rocks! I spied pages of delicately drawn figures found in the forest beyond that door. The ivory pages were soft, almost plush as I fingered them along. Each page had an individual illustration and lengthy description expressed in flowy handwriting. It looked loved. And felt wholly different than the cold kitchen manuals distributed to every home in the village. Intrigued and engaged, I missed the sounds of my brother and Wulf entering the room.

A different slap resounded as my brother grabbed the book from my hands and pushed me aside. “Why’d you go in without us? You had no idea!” Shep’s voice was hot again, tinged with the concern that he said often supported his anger. “Why didn’t you wait?”

I had no answer. I’d left the door open. Instead, I pointed to the book. “Look what I found. It’s some sort of forest journal. It fell from that desk.” The desk lay directly between the portrait and an ornate window. Standing still and ignoring Shep, I looked at the portrait more closely. One of the elders, a woman, wore a wooden bracelet carved with the same symbol. She was holding a journal. It had to be the same one! Was this Mama Nammu?

Shep thrust the book into Wulf’s hands, who accepted it hungrily. “More like your kind of stuff, Wulf. C’mon Catal, let’s see what this place does!” And he waited. He waited for me to respond, to comply. I stood still.

Wulf interrupted the silent standoff. “Hey, hey! This is a book of wild edibles, nature medicinals and forest practice! We could study this. Look, there’s even a picture of my favorite Yellow Birch. If we show this around the village, we’d be able to…”

A third loud slap broke the serenity of the room. It was jarring. Shep had knocked the book out of Wulf’s hands. Hard. The book fell through the air, pages down, black leather covers rising. The air seemed to thicken and slow its descent. And the book flapped to the floor landing gracefully. A loose piece of paper fell from a pocket in its back cover. It was a book no longer. A large raven with a circular ivory mark on its chest hopped towards the fallen stationary.

Shep was the first to break free from astonishment and quickly snatched the piece of paper. The bird seemed to scream at Shep, and hopped onto the ornate window sill, looking expectedly at Wulf. “What did you do? Wh-why did you hit the book?!”

We were all on edge, moving slowly. The crow’s scream punctuated a new tension between us. Shep was speechless. He looked down at the piece of paper and softly read:

Destroy this memo.

Mr. Albinus,

All is lost. The connections are gone. The system is dying again.

We shall rebuild; I’ve made arrangements.

Nammu must not know. We direct her return. As always.

Locate significant funds in the spot she would protect.

Note the circle. It is our ticket towards.

We will meet when the sun is high after the son is born.

Dir. Caedus

“What’s this? Catal, what else was in that book?” Shep stared accusingly.

“Nothing, it belonged to Mama Nammu, whoever she was. I guess the note wasn’t destroyed.” Back in the village, there was quiet talk of a Director Caedus. Mr. Albinus was a household name. He’d been a heroic founder of the Villages Project after everything bad had happened. This unlikely pair’s communication tasted terrible.

“‘Significant funds.’ That means money. A lot. What if it’s still out there, since old Mama Nammu found the note?” Shep wondered aloud. My attention was elsewhere. The raven had spread her wings and hopped onto the center of the desk. Wulf’s eyes followed, then bounced between the portrait and the window. Then he stopped, eyes wide.

“Look outside,” he directed, “that huge stone! It’s shaped like this desk. It’s shaped like the desk in the portrait. See what’s growing on either side? Huge Elder Trees! It’s just like the painting. It’s just like this room!” Wulf was yelling. He paused, self-awareness echoing. “Sort of. Right?”

Stepping back, I looked at three parallel scenes. It was strange. Purposeful? Meaningful? I wasn’t sure. Then I saw it! Without thinking, I chose a path. Even today, I’m not sure if I led correctly. “Carved on the stone outside! Do you see the circle? Do you see the symbol? They’ve got to be connected!”

Shep snapped to attention, stuffing the note in his pocket. “The funds! Mama Nammu would definitely protect that place!” He pointed outside. “C’mon!” Shep started towards the door, but was met with a screeching black feathered attack. The raven dove, claws reaching for nose and eyes. Shep dropped and crawled outside, kicking the door shut with a slam.

Wulf and I stood still. The raven landed softly on Wulf’s shoulder. Neither moved for a moment. I looked at them, and stepped towards the entrance. “Wait!” Wulf cried. The bird rose and flew out the door. We followed, seeing my brother running towards the stone in the distance and the raven flying out of sight. “That bird is important. That book is important. Mama Nammu is important,” Wulf muttered.

We heard a caw and looked up. Flying above, she dropped a small satchel into Wulf’s hands and flew away, further from the village. “I’ve got to follow her,” Wulf told me, apologizing with his eyes and pocketing the pouch. He turned away from the structure, from the village, from Shep and from me.

Head spinning, I looked at Shep still driving toward the stone desk. Again, I chose. I turned to follow Wulf. For once, I walked.

We walked silently, searching for the bird. Wulf seemed directed and passed me a Yellow Birch branch.

It was the last time we saw the village.

We wouldn’t see Shep again for many years.

We heard him one last time as we walked away from our known path.

Screaming.

Years later, I learned that Shep had discovered the funds. Cached near the stone desk, he’d unearthed a black briefcase with an embossed circular symbol. Twenty thousand United States dollars had been secretly stashed. The United States no longer existed. The funds no longer had any value.