Whispers

The left or the right? It’s such a simple question. But in one hand there’s emptiness and in the other there’s a key, a key that could change everything.

∞∞∞

Life isn’t easy. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you. When I was only 6 years old, my dad and oldest brother went into Hemlock cave and never came out.

Fittingly named for the poisonous ring of hemlock that grew all around, it always gave me shivers to look into the shadowy, crumbling entrance. Through my young eyes, it seemed alive. I could hear the dripping of moisture and shifting of rock that echoed in haunting symphonies and the air was always warmer at the entrance, almost like the cave was exhaling. The elders in my small town would tell you the cave was cursed and as a six-year-old, I believed them.

I don’t know why they went. They had never talked of Hemlock cave before. It’s like there were fire-ants in their pants, biting at them to go. They were agitated and antsy and could give no reason other than the fact that they needed to go to the cave. I can’t explain it.

My mom was beyond herself with grief. She started not eating and got so thin I thought her bones might start creaking at the hinges. Her hair, once full of body, laid flat and her usually bright eyes dulled, unseeing. One stormy evening about 3 months after we lost dad and Percy, mom quietly stood up from her chair, eyes fixed for the first time in months on some unknown point, and without shoes walked out into the fog. We never saw her again.

My sister tried to keep us together.

She left school with only two years remaining and instead went looking for a job. A family friend took pity on us and even though she didn’t need anyone else in her small herbal shop, she hired Laurelyn anyways.

For a while it was okay.

Laurelyn would go to work at dawn, and I would take care of the house and our younger brother Ban who was only two years old. Occasionally there would be time for reading Laurelyn’s old schoolbooks, but more often than not, I would be too busy chasing after Ban who got into everything. When the sky began to darken, Laurelyn would return home with a small handful of coins and some food. She would stow the coins in a plain crate made of dark wood, that lived under her bed. I don’t know if she was ever saving for something or just liked to know what was there, but at the end of every month you could hear the tink of coins as she dumped them out on her bed to count. After we ate dinner, we would sit around the cheery crackling fire that would fill the room with cozy golden light and therapeutic smells, and tell stories to each other: stories from our day, stories from our dreams, stories of princesses and princes, stories of sea adventures, and stories of candy-lands. That was our day, every day for two years.

Laurelyn loved her work and would spend endless hours talking about the benefits of hyssop tea for bronchitis and milk thistle for liver function. She would explain how to make a tincture using herbs and alcohol, and the advantages of compresses over poultices. She would laugh about how someone had accidentally mistaken cow parsnip for angelica and got a huge rash that they calmed using a topical ointment. She would bring home books on herbs and read them aloud, instantly absorbing everything. She had a perfect memory.

As the months drew on it became clear that Laurelyn was sad with her stilted life in this cabin. She began to work later and later and some nights wouldn’t come home at all. She stopped talking to us in the evening and would simply retire to her room after dinner. In the dead of fall on my tenth birthday, she went to work, money crate under one arm and never returned home.

Some mornings I would wake up to find small food packages and coins at the door, but me and Ban were truly alone.

I knew enough about plants from Laurelyn that I could forage around the cabin and I set up small traps to catch birds. I would occasionally walk the hour to town with an ancient-looking wooden wagon and stock up on supplies with the bits of money that were left at the door. On these trips, I would always see the ivy-covered herbal shop at the end of the street, but I never set foot inside. I couldn’t bear to face her.

It was hard but we were managing.

One year passed, then two. I started home-schooling Ban with the many books we were lucky to have. He was smart, just like Laurelyn. Words would jump into his brain and live there forever. I could always count on his memory.

The winter Ban turned nine he got sick, face red with heat, and body cold as ice. He had been outside catching rabbits all day in the blowing snow and came in for dinner exhausted. He flopped on the couch after chucking two lean rabbits into the sink and instantly fell asleep. I didn’t think anything of it, until the sound of his teeth chattering pulled me away from the potatoes I was peeling. I desperately tried to keep him warm, placing him as close to the fireplace as I could without fear or burning him, but even though he was sweating and hot to the touch, he wouldn’t stop shivering.

Ban had to stay warm. That I knew. I couldn’t risk bringing him to town and I didn’t want to leave his side to get help.

Hours passed and he continued to get worse. I frantically read through Laurelyn’s herbalism books, trying to figure out what I could do, but my eyes were wild with panic and the words stood no chance of penetrating into my skull. Fever took people all the time and the fear of losing him was well and truly setting in. Overwhelmed, I started to cry on the floor where I sat, letting the book in my hand fall with a thud.

That’s when I started hearing them. Whispers.

At first, I thought it was just the wind, howling through all the unsealed cracks in the back of the cabin.

But as I concentrated, I realized I could hear words, words that were being whispered to me. I swiveled my head around but saw only our sparsely furnished cabin. I silently glided my fingers through the air behind my head half expecting to feel something, but there was nothing. Still the whisper continued.

The voice was soft and reminded me of something from a memory, a memory that was hidden deep under years of toil and hardship. It was beautiful like dew on a flower petal, delicate and gentle. The words were rolling over each other as if on a hypnotic loop.

“Concentrate. White willow bark.” Repeated the breathy whisper again and again.

Silent tears continued to snake their way down my face as I glanced to my side at Laurelyn’s book, that had fallen open to the section on hemlock. I gingerly lifted the book staring at the dangerous plant for a heartbeat before slowly turning the smooth pages. After what felt like an hour, although I’m sure it was only a few minutes, the words ‘white willows’ caught my gaze. My eyes grew large as I read the passage.

              Tea made from the bark is effective against fever.

I immediately jumped up, hastily wiped my sleeve across my eyes to dry them, threw on my ratty grey coat and grabbed the axe by the door. There was a white willow only a few minutes from the house. The snow was falling heavily, and the forest looked like a brilliant sparkling diamond in the moonlight. I wish I could have appreciated it, but in that moment all I could hear was the fading whispers as I made my way to the tree and cut off a small strip of bark.

Bark in hand I ran home almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I was following the advice of a whisper. Did that mean I was going crazy?

Once home, I made a tea the way the book outlined, and slowly poured it in my brother’s mouth so as not to choke him. His bangs were glued to his brow with sweat and he let out a small groan as he finished the small sip. I put down the teacup and dabbed a towel to his head, stopping to gently hold his cheek. His delicate freckles were hardly visible through the red and he was as hot as the teacup I just held.

“Please please work.” I whispered aloud to myself, softly running my fingers through his blond matted hair.

∞∞∞

I awoke with a start. Pale wisps of shimmering light was just beginning to filter through the frosted window pane. I had drifted asleep against Ban’s side sometime in the night.

I quickly glanced to Ban, his breath regular and skin fair as always. He was no longer sweating, and he appeared to be resting soundly.

I sigh of relief left me, and I whispered, “Thank you.” again and again, as I watched his chest rise and fall in regular breath. I nestled further into his side, relief flooding over my entire body and fell into a restful sleep.

Over the coming days, Ban continued to get better. He was still tired, and hungry as a bear after a long hibernation, but the fever and chills were gone.

I didn’t tell him about the whispers. Now that the danger had past and I was thinking clearly, I assumed my brain had played tricks on me. In my hyper stressed state, I was probably remembering something that I had once read.

∞∞∞

Spring came and I journeyed to the river to fish for trout. It was a beautiful day. The trees were alive with color and the leaves were reaching desperately towards the sunshine. The mossy layer underfoot was springy and dry, enticing me to wiggle my bare toes though it. The river was lazily flowing along with glacially cold water. Birds were chirping and squirrels were chattering. It was the most wonderful day to relax outside and fish.

After pulling up three trout, I heard the familiar whisper in my ear, “Go home now.”

It wasn’t threatening or demanding but seemed to impact a sense of impending trouble if I were to stay.

I quickly glanced over my shoulder, startled by its closeness, but there was nothing. I shrugged it off thinking I must just be tired. My line was still in the water and one more fish would round out dinners for the week. I would leave after that.

The whisper continued to repeat, becoming more insistent. It was getting hard to ignore.

That’s when I realized, the forest had gone quiet, too quiet. There were no birds or squirrels or rustling of grass. Aside from the noises of the flowing water, everything had gone still.

Nerves rising, I silently packed up my rod and tied my fish to the back of my bag. I quietly wound my way through the forest back to the path that would lead me home. I was less than ten feet from the path.

“Stop. Hide.” Came the whisper. An overwhelming sense of trust washed over me.

I fervently looked around and saw a dead log laying over a knoll of tree roots, which had small bushes growing out haphazardly. As quick as I could, I squeezed myself under the roots and between the bushes just in time to watch 5 massive men walk off the path towards the river on the exact route I would have taken. I pressed my spine into the ground instinctively pushing further away and held my breath. I could hear the footsteps of several other people walking to the other side of my hiding place. Maybe three, possibly more. The men I could see weren’t old, but they had a mean look to them and at least two of them had dried blood on their faces. They were all filthy and I could see a few large knives hanging from belts and dead animals slung over shoulders. These were people I would rather not meet.

Laurelyn used to tell stories of nomadic men who would rove the country taking what they wanted, bending people to their will, and even killing for fun. I never knew if they were true stories or not. Laurelyn had a way of weaving fantasy and fact into one, seamlessly stitching the two realms together. Listening with fascination, I never thought to ask what parts were true. I wish I had.

My heartbeat was pounding in my ears and I feared the men could also hear it. Seconds felt like hours, and minutes like days. But they continued on, and eventually I stopped being able to hear the crunch of their heavy boots on the dead leaf litter and the sound of their rough voices. I started trembling as my nerves gave out.

“Go home.” Came the whisper once more.

Quiet as a mouse, I pulled myself out of my hiding spot and stealthily headed to the path, fervently glancing over my shoulders. I could hear the sounds of the forest return which comforted me, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Once on the path, I ran home as fast as my legs would take me, whispers fading with every step.

The men never bothered us.

∞∞∞

“Come to me.”

I heard the whisper in my dream. It was about an hour until sunrise, and the fog was pressed up tight against the windows, wrapping that cabin in a pillowy hug. As I stirred into consciousness, the soft whisper continued to pull me. I couldn’t resist it. In fact, I didn’t want to.

I silently crawled out of bed and found my clothes in the dark. Once dressed, I slipped into the living space and grabbed my coat from the couch arm where I had placed it the night before when I had topped up the wood for the fire. I expertly glided my arms into the coat, slipped on my mom’s worn brown lace-up boots, and grabbed a small lantern from beside the front door.

I should have looked around at the house where my life was spent. I should have examined the cup I drank tea out of every morning, and the chair I sat in every night. But I didn’t. I would miss Ban, but I knew in my heart I would see him again.

I was ready to leave.

The fog was so thick I could feel the moisture condensing on my eyelashes and dripping onto my face like tears. Or was I crying? I wasn't sure.

Even with the light from my lantern, I struggled to see where my feet were landing, but I somehow never tripped. I walked for three quarters of an hour until I could see the outline of my destination loom up in front of me. I arrived at the entrance of Hemlock cave just before the sun was about to spread its warm fingertips across the earth, ultimately dispelling the fog with its golden magic. Without looking back, I walked straight into the dark.

I held my lantern high, in fear of hitting my head off some stalactite or jutting rock, which turned out to be a smart decision as the ceiling was littered with hanging rock formations. The air was still and warm and the ground wasn’t wet like I had imagined it would be. Instead it was solid rock with limitless gold flecks that reflected the light from my lantern in heavenly hues. The walls were like the ceiling, rocks that jutted out in impressive ways and occasionally sparkled as I passed by with the lantern. It was clear that the path I was walking was not man made but formed over millions and millions of years. It was beautiful.

There were many turns and different routes to choose from. Each time I arrived at a fork, the whisper would guide me. I knew I could never find my way back out on my own. I trusted the whisper.

The path was gradually sloping down further and further. After several minutes, I finally rounded a sharp corner and found myself face to face with a statue that had both hands outstretched. The statue was beautifully lifelike. Its smooth androgynous face was pleasing and gentile, and the hair cascaded around its cheeks like an expensive gown. The smile was slight but familiar and there was something in the way it stood that sparked a fleeting memory that I just couldn’t hold onto. The statue was clade in battle attire and a long flowing cape. An intricate image of flowers and vines were imprinted in the chest plate and right in the middle the following words were carved:

              Back you cannot go. One path leads you to emptiness while the other is the key to your fate. Choose.

The whisper had stopped. There was no one to make the choice or guide me through. This was for me to decide.

I knew which hand to choose. Somehow, I always knew.

I lightly touched the left hand and a door creaked open from immediately behind the statue, who had started shifting slowly to reveal the hidden space.

I walked the ten steps and softly pushed at the door, revealing a dimly lit room and a shadowy figure in the far corner.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” A familiar gentle voice rang out to me.

I smiled, “I know.”