Keeper's Justice
Copyright© 2025 by Charly Young
Chapter 20: Rose
“There is something about this forest that is scary,” Junie whispered to Rose as they followed the big man deeper into the forest.
Rose agreed. First, there were the little fat furry creatures that looked like little bear cubs. Junie called them ewoks. Now that she looked closer, she agreed. They looked exactly like Star Wars ewoks. As the day passed and they went deeper into the maze of undergrowth, the canopy overhead grew thicker, blocking out light. Now she had the distinct feeling that they were being watched. And not by friendly watchers either. She had the distinct feeling they were interlopers and not welcome.
A little further, and the forest changed again. Sunny. Flowering vines everywhere. Suddenly a flurry of tiny sprites appeared. She heard a squeal from Izzy and Junie; like a cloud of colorful butterflies, they hovered around them as well. The pixies were no bigger than her thumb. Their wings caught the filtered sunlight in prismatic flashes of violet, gold, and emerald. Some had dragonfly wings that hummed with an almost musical quality; others seemed to trail stardust as they spiraled and danced. Their tiny piping whistles and clicks lent more magic to an already surreal scene.
Izzy especially seemed enthralled. Her usual absent-minded demeanor—the faraway look she’d worn since Junie had known her—was completely gone. She was fully present in wonder, reaching up with tentative fingers as one brave sprite landed on her palm. The tiny creature was luminous, its features delicate as spun glass. When it chirped—a sound like wind chimes—Izzy’s face broke into the first genuine smile Rose had seen from her in months.
“It’s like we’re in a fairytale, Rosie,” Junie whispered, her voice hushed with awe. A sprite had tangled itself in her dark curls, and she giggled as it tickled her ear. “Look, hundreds of Tinkerbells.”
Rose saw that the sprites were attracted to the colorful bracelets the woman named Niamh had given them after Junie had commented on them. Friendship bracelets, she called them. That kept Rose from complelty sharing their wonder. The feeling of dread that had settled in her chest ever since the Preacher Man had picked them up flared anew. Everything about this felt wrong. The sprites were beautiful, yes, but their arrival felt too alien.
Sam clearly felt the same. He clutched his stolen knife—still hidden beneath his oversized shirt—and tried to look in all directions at once. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the undergrowth, the canopy above, the shadows between the trees. When one sprite drifted too close to his face, he swatted it away like a mosquito. It let out an indignant squeak and rejoined its companions.
The beings Junie had name ewoks ignored the sprites and plodded on, clicking and whistling softly to each other. But Rose noticed their ears were laid back, their movements more urgent. They were hurrying, she realized—trying to get somewhere or away from something.
They calmed when the forest changed again. It was continually transforming in ways that defied all logic and geography. They’d started in what Rose recognized as a pine forest—the familiar rust-red bark, the vanilla-sweet smell of sun-warmed needles, the dry crunch of pinecones underfoot. She’d hiked in these forests in better days with her daddy before ... before.
The ponderosas gave way to something else. The air grew heavier and damper. Moss appeared on the tree trunks, first in patches, then in thick carpets of emerald velvet. “Rainforest,” Rose thought, stunned. They were in rainforest now—massive fallen cedars creating bridges and caves, their trunks so wide three people couldn’t link arms around them. Mounds of mushrooms erupted from the decomposing wood: oyster mushrooms in shelf-like layers, honey-colored chanterelles, and others Rose couldn’t name. Huckleberry bushes grew in the gaps, their berries dark and glossy.
The temperature climbed. Rose’s t-shirt stuck to her back with sweat.
The trip seemed endless. They stopped and rested many times. The one eyed man would hand out water and snacks. Once, they stayed for a sleep time in the hollow of an enormous tree, sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. The big man woke them up, and after some food and water, they moved on.
The rainforest morphed into jungle—proper jungle, like something from an adventure movie. Broad-leaved plants with leaves the size of dinner plates crowded the path. Hot, humid air pressed against them, thick enough to taste. The undergrowth grew dense with shade-loving shrubs whose names Rose didn’t know, all deep greens and waxy surfaces. The smell changed too—from the clean scent of pine to the rich, earthy smell of decay. Not unpleasant yet, but organic, primal. Water dripped constantly: from leaves, from vines, from the canopy high above. Somewhere in the distance, Rose heard the call of a bird that sounded nothing like any bird from home.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. Sam grimaced in agreement.
Still, the ewoks plodded on, their pace never slowing. The scarred man and his two orc companions—Grissel and Murg, she’d heard them called—had gone silent; their earlier banter had stopped.
The forest changed again, and this time there was nothing wonderful about it.
Now there were nothing but dead trees—skeletal sentinels stretching up toward a canopy that had thinned to reveal a gray sky. Enormous mushrooms attached to the trunks like leeches, some as large as car tires, their gills a mottled purple-black that seemed to pulse. The shrubs and grass underneath were black and twisted, brittle things that crunched when stepped on and released a smell like sulfur and old meat.
The oppressive, dank air smelled worse than ever—like something had crawled into the earth and died. It was like the forest was rotting from the inside out. Rose had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. Several of the younger children were crying silently, tears streaming down their faces.
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