The power of the ancient forest was apparent from the moment the sun came up.

The old trucks sputtered through shadows, choked on the heavy air and tripped over the gnarled knobby roots that stretched like veins from the tremendous oaks and pines. Emerald moss poured from the giants and spilled out onto the dark gray boulders that poked through the humus. I could only stare. Even with a map and compass Id be lost in this wilderness I used to know like my own front porch. The truck bucked furiously, threatening to bounce the three of us out at every turn and stream crossing. Somehow Champ scored a front seat, while we fought just to hang on in the back. The tires knocked rocks loose and the truck skidded from side to side. Even though I couldnt see the bottom, I knew the river was down there somewhere. Laurels and rhododendrons, heavier than the combined weight of all the rock in the Blackwater, reached waxy leaves into our space, clawing at our hats and shirts. We clutched at the tailgate and wooden slats enclosing the bed. Canvas tents and crates filled with venison and beef on ice and canned vegetables slid back and forth with the constant jostling. We fled the Shavers Fork watershed and returned to the Blackwater via Otter Creek. When the old green path hit the ridge top, pine gave way to spruce that blocked out nearly all of the sunlight. The faint glow of headlights did little to pierce the darkness. I kept a cautious eye on the forest and cursed my mind for the tricks it played. It was bad enough to be running from an enemy I really didnt understand, but creating new, unseen enemies, was plain stupid. I should have at least been able to control my thoughts--I knew there weren't ghosts in the basement and I knew there were none in this wilderness either. But who needed rationality when you had shell casings filled with powder and lead, shotguns and pistols and the hot-headedness that came when sparks were left uncovered? I didnt even know where to place blame anymore. I knew what caused the immediate round of hostility; but for me, this all went back to Jane. The years should have stitched these wounds long ago. The Lewis name should have been as meaningless to me as Jones or Johnson. But scars have a way of getting scraped back open. I could give two shits about Charlie Lewis and his land and his disputed family possessions. Only my life, and the way I wanted to live it, mattered to me anymore. If I decided to walk away without their blood under my fingernails, that was my business. After all, this was my story.

The sky opened up when we crossed the rocky ridge top. Gray clouds slid down from the west, threatening rain. At this point too much precipitation would be a disaster. Kneehigh mud and swollen streams would do little to help our cause. With the road made impassable, wed be trapped. "Itll hold off," Ben said as I watched the sky. "I hope so." "Even if it does rain it will be little more than a drizzle. Those clouds talk big, but are too emaciated to do any damage." Greg casually pondered the front. "But it may mean colder weather is nearly upon us." "Cold wouldnt matter so much to me." Fuck the weather and all this small talk, I wish I couldve said. But I knew Ben and Greg were just trying to be kind. "It'll pass." Ben took in the wide view. "All of it. You and Alex will be happier than a pair of moonshine still guard dogs. You guys can hold hands and play kissy face... It's all good. We just got to put this baby to rest first." I couldnt figure out whether Ben actually believed what hed said or not. He knew what I knew, yet insisted on acting like the spring hadnt dried up. And that we were drinking cold, clean water instead of mud. "Alex is the girlfriend, I suppose?" Greg loosened his boot laces and stretched his legs out. "Sort of. I miss her. I'm trying not to worry, but I have a bad feeling." "Henry, Rachael and Katy and Cassidy are tenacious. And, they can all knock witches. You know they'll shoot first and then ask questions. No, better yet, they'll have Alex shooting too." Ben leaned against the tailgate, his arms propped like he was at the beach rather than on the run. "Seriously, Katy's probably already indoctrinating her to the ways of Clan Collins. Alex'll be hanging mayapple from your headboard and hiding rowan branches in your coat." "So, these ladies know about old magic?" Greg said, his eyes wide at the new turn the conversation had taken. "Something like that. But my point is you got nothing to worry about, Henry. Alex's safer than a bear cub in June."

"Yeah, I get it. But that doesn't make me feel much better. I have a hard time putting my faith in magic, Ben." "Trust us. That's what family's for." It would've have been easier to trust them if there weren't so many variables. I could have faith in the fact that people I trusted wouldn't let me down, but my trust ended there. Beyond that there was little we could do to limit the actions of people hell-bent on living like they needed no justification for their actions. If Charlie Lewis decided he was wronged, then by god, he was wronged. Fate didn't have a hand in this ordeal. This was simply people at their worst. At the bottom of Otter Creek we followed the Dry Fork up to its junction with Red Run. The rocky banks were low to the water. With recent weather being an indication, that wasn't about to change any time soon. All around us mosses and ferns fought for moisture. The bluets speckled the green banks with faint blue pinpoints creating a galaxy in miniature. Wild bleeding hearts stared, sleepy eyed, at hawthorns, oaks, and ash, perhaps looking for fairies, perhaps just readying the ground for the Indian pipes that would pop forth any day now. On the slopes of Mozark Mountain we bounced through a weedy clearing where an old logging town had once stood. The only recognizable structure was the stony foundation of an old hotel where wood hicks and gandy dancers could drink and fight without worrying about bosses. We passed long-dead coal shafts where miners had labored beneath the earth, dreaming of daylight and fresh air. When we reentered wilderness we left behind any ties we had to the modern, mechanized world for good. We knew all we had was all we carried with us. If things got really bad we could only rely upon ourselves. The forest lining Red Run was greater than any I'd ever seen. Monster oak trees, ten feet across at the height of a man's waist, crowded the old green path we followed up to the camp. Giant poplars stretched hundreds of feet into the air, quickly stifling any talk of redwoods and giant sequoias. This forest in all of its height and width embodied the spirit of that which is wilderness. We bumped up the path I realized the streams were wilder, the cliffs rockier, the laurel hells thicker than any I'd ever seen. This forest wasn't the product of conservation,

planning and management. This forest was the product of seeds and sunlight. Thunderstorms and blizzards. This forest and its dark, woody depths held secrets. Held fables. This was a fairy tale forest, an abomination of imagination and nightmares. Every tale that began 'Once upon a time' has a forest like this present at its birth. Demons and devils evolved from the wolves and serpents that played midwife to the birth of such tales. Thorny greenbrier served as the cradle. In all of this our role was a small one. We were nothing more than a small drop of milk sliding down, down, down to the navel.