The rain came down hard in freezing sheets. Shaynen’s parents had covered him with a blanket, but the rain soaked both it and him through. Squeezed between his parents as they trudged through the rain and mud. The three led the crowd between the trees. The sun had risen over the canopy. It made the forest dark grey instead of black. The storm’s hold on the forest hadn’t relented, but intensified. On the ground, the wind’s sway lessened. Shaynen felt unbalanced when the wind stung his face. The mud was too solid.

This was the best time of year in the treetops. When the platforms swayed with the trees. You could jump the farthest with the momentum. Get dizzy in the swaying when you spin in circles. Rain on the canvases and the hanging fire pits. A bitter taste flooded Shaynen’s mouth, coating his throat. He swallowed it down and looked up through the blankets. His mother’s hair stuck to her skin. Even under the blankets she was holding up she looked sunken. His father had dark lines around his eyes, and in the past few hours his face had become rough.

“Mom, dad?” Shaynen asked. His mother looked down, but his father kept pulling him onward. “Where are we going? How far is it?”

“It’s” His mother looked up at his father. “Aelius,” His mother grabbed his father’s arm. He stopped and turned the razor sharp look at his mother. Shaynen jumped back. Bumping into the crowd behind him. His mother and father shared a conversation with their eyes. His father turned to Shaynen and looked around the group.

“We’ll find a place to rest for a short time,” His father said. “Maybe I’ll take a small group and we’ll fetch a cart from Feypost.” His mother nodded.

“Bring the canvases!” She commanded the crowd. Shaynen stepped aside. His mother directed a handful of people toward a little grotto in the trees. Heavy bags that were soaked weighed the adults down. Shaynen slid up next to one tree where the small crowd of children was congregating. Ila leaned against his shoulder.

“I don’t like mud,” Ila murmured to him.

“Me either,” Shaynen stuck out his tongue at the mud over his legs.

“I miss home,” Ila said. Shaynen caught himself before agreeing.

“I miss home too,” another voice in the crowd agreed for him.

“It’s not all bad,” Shaynen said loudly, trying to force himself to believe it. “Look at how big these trees are. They’re at least twice as big as the floors back home!” He reached out and put his hand on the tree while walking around it.

“Can you imagine how old it must be?” Shaynen looked back at the children. A few were contemplative. It was a start. “Or how tall it is? Or how old it is? It’s gotta have hundreds of circles!” Each year a tree grows, another circle is added to its trunk. When a slice is taken from the thickest point of a tree, the rings show how long the tree’s been growing.

“Remember how we’d spiral around the rings at home until we got dizzy?” One voice in the crowd changed the tides. It made Shaynen pause too. Memories of the warm hanging fires while running along the floor’s circles until he couldn’t stand straight juxtaposed against the freezing rain and the sobering weight of the wet blankets and mud cementing them in place.

“I wanna go home,” One voice started, and the rest followed soon after. The group fell into tears. Even Shaynen cracked. Sniffling under his blanket, that wasn’t doing anything but weighing him down.

“Come under and get dry,” one adult slipped in and ushered the children towards the canvas still being tied up by the lowest tree branches. Shaynen rounded the tree and ran to the canvas. Whipping the wet blanket off his shoulders. A canvas draped at an angle so the heavy rain water came down in a manufactured waterfall. But it was dry. Shaynen shook out his short hair and whipped it back.

“Here, I’ll take that for you.” His mother took the blanket and wrung it out a few times. “Why don’t you go rinse off in the stream?” Shaynen nodded and went to the pouring of water from the canvas and rinsed the mud off. The area they put the canvas up had a layer of moss instead of mud that made it cleaner than the paths of the forest. After washing off his bare feet, his father ducked under the canvas and rinsed the tree debris off his hands.

“Dad?” Shaynen asked

“Yeah?” his father said. Exhaustion was heavy in his voice.

“Back when the platforms fell and that crooked lady appeared,” Shaynen started, lifting his foot to peel wet leaves off the bottom of his feet. He noticed his father holding his hands under the water longer than he needed to. His father was standing still and wide eyed.

“Are you okay?” Shaynen asked.

“Yeah, fine. What was your question again?” His father forced a cough and finished rinsing his hands.

“Well,” Shaynen bounced as the memory brought the same excitement back. “What was the bright light thing that came in and saved us?” His father put a hand over his chest and sighed in relief.

“Oh well, that might be a better question for your mother,” He said. “She knows the legends best,”

“But it was real? It was there!” Shaynen asked

“Yes, it was very real.” His father said, planting his hand on Shaynen’s head and messing his hair up.

“Okay!” Shaynen knocked his father’s hand away and ran through the crowds to find his mother. He followed her voice to the edge where his mother was directing the divide of supplies. He ran up and grabbed her hand.

“Mom! Mom!” He tried to keep his voice down as she was still shouting. He swung her hand while jumping and whispering for his mother’s attention.

“Shaynen, not right now!” she snapped and yanked her hand out of his. He jumped back in shock. Without blinking, his mother went back to directing the adults. The excitement dropped into Shaynen’s gut like a rock. He stepped back, taking a glance around at all the forlorn faces. He drifted back from his mother and back into the crowd. Walking into his father collecting up the waterproof clothing, along with a small group.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice drowned out in the rain.

“What? Speak up, I didn’t hear you,”

“I said, What are you doing?” Shaynen yelled as a roar of thunder trampled right over him. His father shook his head, trying to hide his laughter.

“I’m taking a small group ahead to Feypost. Seeing if we can’t get a cart and maybe some lodging.” His father said.

“Can I come?” Shaynen asked, rubbing his hands together and twisting in place.

“I thought your mother was going to tell you a story?” His father asked while a cloaked pair appeared over his shoulder.

“She’s mad right now,” Shaynen whispered. His father leaned close to hear him.

“I see,” His father said. He stood up and looked at the two adults that were double checking their gear. “We’ll be walking in the rain and we can’t stop.”

“I don’t mind,” Shaynen said, shaking his head quickly. “I promise I’ll keep up.”

“Shaynen-”

“Oh, just let him come,” one adult said. “It’s probably safer and one less person to weigh down the cart with.”

“He doesn’t weigh much in the first place,” His father said under his breath, but he shrugged. “But I’ve been out-voted. Let’s get you ready to go and I’ll tell your mother.” Shaynen nodded as the two adults behind his father brought down more rain proof sheets. Decorating him up in them while his father went off to talk to his mother.

“You having fun?” One adult tossed the first canvas over his head.

“I guess,” Shaynen said unconvincingly.

“It is rough, isn’t it?” The second knelt down ahead of him and tied him into the canvas.

“Yeah,” Shaynen nodded. The familiar face looking at him with such compassion had Shaynen sniffling. “How long before we can go home again?”

“That’s a good question, but I don’t have an answer for it.” They put another canvas on him and helped secure them.

“Oh,” Shaynen said.

“It’s an adventure,” they continued. “All adventures have super fun parts, exciting parts, sad parts, and the part where it feels overwhelmingly hopeless. The important part to remember is that it will always pass. The next part is just around the corner if you’re ready for it.” Shaynen looked up the best he could from under the canvases.

“All right, are we ready?” His father appeared around him. Grabbing his shoulder and giving it a few pats. Shaynen tilted his head back as far as it would go so that he could see his father. “Okay, let’s go.” His father kept Shaynen close as the group of four left the canvas and went back into the pouring rain. Finding the path again almost instantly regretted his actions. He felt every raindrop falling over him. The water wasn’t penetrating the layers of canvas, but that meant little with how wet Shaynen’s clothes still were. The three adults walked fast. Shaynen had to run to keep up. Jogging along behind, trying to breathe in air and not rain water. He wiped the rain from his face every time the water dripped into his open mouth. He kept a hold of his father’s hand, but Shaynen trailed behind.

The main road leading into Feypost went uphill, created with stone and gravel to make it easier to travel on foot. The group slowed as they approached the village. Shaynen’s father held his hand tighter. Shaynen jumped from side to side over the deep wheel ruts of the road. He hummed quietly to himself as he jumped. His father stopped short and Shaynen bumped into his leg.

“Shh.” His father said. Shaynen looked up at the end of the road. Feypost. Hidden behind an unnatural mist. The looming shadows of buildings creaked behind the mist.

“What’s wrong?” Shaynen whispered. His father held up his hand to silence him. Shaynen looked back at the village in the mist. It was still.

“Phosi, Reo, go investigate.” His father said. The two adults pulled out long staffs and entered the mist.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Shaynen pulled his father’s hand to get his attention.

“The village is still,” His father whispered.

“Shouldn’t it be, though? It’s a ground village. They can’t move like ours did.” Shaynen said. Trying to keep his voice down, but the effort was making it rise in odd places.

“Not that kind of still,” his father said.

“Clear!” yelled a voice from the mist. “It’s empty.” His father sighed.

“All right, let’s hurry before the floods come.” His father said. Picking Shaynen up and running into the mist. He saw the two adult silhouettes standing under the giant shadows of the trees. The closer Shaynen got, the easier it was to see what the buildings were as well as more of them.

“Where is everyone?” His father asked.

“No idea. We checked the trading post, but there’s nothing in there. It’s completely untouched.” Reo said. “Like everyone just vanished entirely.”

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, let’s grab a cart and whatever animal we can find to pull it.” His father said. “Shaynen, stay in front of the post, okay? Don’t wander.” Shaynen nodded as his father put him down. He ran to the trading post while the adults ran off in a different direction.

Shaynen stopped at the large double door of the wooden building. It had windows cut out of it and a slab of wood for a door that hung ajar. The solid walls didn’t move when Shaynen pushed against them. He giggled a little and looked into the dark inside. Shaynen ventured inside the trading post. The opening of the dark building had a small sitting area. He wandered onto a rug and paused. His bare feet felt odd on the rough rug. He slid his feet against the rug and snickered at the feeling. Moving along to the armchairs and small brick pocket in the wall. Ashes and wood particles littered the stone pocket.

“They built their fire pits into the wall? That’s silly.” Shaynen said quietly. He smiled as he ran his hand along the brickwork. Marveling at the unfamiliar sensation. He turned to the bulk of the room that comprised shelves. Rows and rows of shelves. Shaynen walked along them, looking at the folded and hanging clothes. Shoes, coats, and hats were the bulk of the first few shelves, though there were other things on other shelves.

There was an entire aisle of toys. Wooden, simple carved blocks and dolls. Shaynen grabbed one of the dark-haired dolls, just like one he had back home. A lot of the toys on the shelves were like his own. It made him laugh a little as he played with the doll’s sword and shield and moved toward the back of the room. A giant counter and glass case held treats and candies bunched together. The baked sweets in the glass case were too much for Shaynen to resist. He hugged the doll and ducked under the counter’s swinging door. Running to the glass case and peeking over the counter. Partially aware that he should ask before taking. He reached under the counter and grabbed one square of sweet bread glazed with sticky honey and had swirls of cinnamon inside. Grabbing the square made his hand sticky. The bread was a little stale. Honey had coagulated into something more gelatinous and the bread was stale. But it was sweet.

He crammed square into his face in two giant bites. He reached for another and noticed little bubbles of red jam splattered between the trays. Shaynen took another slice and followed the trail of jam from the trays to the ground. Little beads like a pastry had dripped when taken from the case. Shaynen didn’t see any pastries with jam in them. The beads turned to a thin trail over the floor and behind Shaynen to the little back door. He leaned in and chewed on the sweet bread while listening at the door. There wasn’t a sound from behind the door. He shifted the doll in his arms to keep it from getting sticky. Holding the square of sweet bread in his mouth as he tried the door. It was unlocked. He didn’t open it just yet, wiping his hand off on the canvas, and grabbed the door handle again.

He pushed the door open and his eyes drawn immediately to the spray of red that was dried in a dripped splatter on the wall. The bread in his mouth soured, his stomach flipped. Walls and ceiling were covered, floor was drenched in a puddle that led to the source of the red trail.

Shaynen didn’t fully comprehend what it was he was looking at. It looked like it had been a storage room, but the shelves were knocked over. Broken glass outlined over the floor. Shaynen’s first thought was that he was looking at a pair of slaughtered pigs.

He’d heard about pigs. His father brought preserved pig meat home from the markets sometimes. It had the same pinkish skin, pale bone and muscles and fat.

He couldn’t breathe. His chest was spasming as he tried. His stomach started crawling up the back of his throat.

Pigs had beady eyes like glass buttons. Not wide, vacant, unseeing brown eyes that were staring at him with half the face smashed open.

The doll dropped to the ground; the bread fell after it. Half a bite falling with it. He trembled, but couldn’t force his body to move. Black ooze was covering the corpses like giant leeches, coating parts of the furniture. Sticking and consuming the dead flesh.

A hand clapped over his eyes, and he was lifted into the air.

“I told you not to wander,” His father said. Carrying Shaynen out from behind the counter. He clenched his fists around the wet canvas until he felt a pain in his knuckles and palms. He buried his face into his father’s shoulder, but the image stayed firmly behind his eyes like he’d never closed them.