Where he walked the forest grew open and bright. Tall straight pines stood far apart on ground covered with blueberry rushes and the occasional fallen old tree. Sunlight streamed in almost unhindered, like through the windows of some vast cathedral.
Up ahead, water shimmered between the trees and the road split into two. The main road continued onward and to the right, going south around the lake. To the left a narrow track lead off, over a wooden bridge across a small stream and up a slope.
As Enar approached, he noticed a sign on post by the road. “Storvak Shrine and Gardens,” it read, and under the words an arrow pointed left.
This was it then. Nearly there.
The smaller track seemed almost too narrow for a regular carriage, but the ground held the impressions of horse shoes going in both directions. Perhaps he just didn't judge the width of a cart that well.
Something else to add to the list of things to do when he got back home; get a driver's license. So much to do. He almost looked forward to getting back home – almost.
Up the hillside after the bridge the forest grew denser, and a little darker. He could still see the lake from where he walked, but the track itself hid in the shadows of the trees, far above the water's edge. Rocks and bushes dotted the slope down to the lake. At least, if he fell off the path, there was plenty to stop him rolling all the way down into the water. Not that he planned on falling anywhere, but maybe it was reassuring if you were driving here. The track really was quite narrow.
He climbed a final rise and arrived on a ledge high up on the hillside. Here, trees and undergrowth had been cleared away, creating a big open space overlooking the lake and the surrounding hills. At the sides of the space stood a couple of sheds, and at the very back, between the sheds, a round door lead into the hill.
The place was deserted. A bench made from a cloven log stood next to the door but no one sat on it. The left shed was quite clearly a stables, but only the smell remained of the horse that used to stay there.
In the other shed stood a cart, but with the grass growing tall around its wheels it probably hadn't been used in a while. A quick inspection showed that no toolbox hid on its back.
Too late. He clearly hadn't arrived in time. An even earlier bird had cheated him on the worm.
What did the early sheep go for? It's not like it could eat all the grass before the others woke up. Must be something else. Enar grinned to himself, he'd ask her later.
Later – if she got back today at all. His grin turned serious. He should get hold of someone and make sure – or at least leave her a message.
Enar stepped up to the door and knocked. Maybe Amanda would be home after all. Someone else might have taken the cart today. It could happen – and pigs could fly.
Last time he'd stood waiting outside a door like this was when he'd gone to pick up Grynette for the spring ball of his last year at uni. He felt his face grew warm. Her dad had opened and wondered who he was and what he was doing there and what in the world did he want with his daughter? Didn't he know she was a good, respectable, girl?
It had turned out well in the end, they'd had a great time at the ball – both of them – but Enar still cringed when he thought about her dad opening the door that time.
He shook himself. This was nothing like that. This was different; like when he was a kid and his mom sent him over to Mrs Berryfawn to borrow a cup of sugar for the baking. Much more like that.
He knocked again. Not a sound came from the other side of the door. No one called out, no chair scratched against the floor and no footsteps approached. Somewhere in the forest a bird began to sing.
Enar sighed and shifted his weight back and forth. He fidgeted a little, and his eyes fell on a wooden sign leaning on the side of the bench. It looked like it should have hung somewhere on a peg, but had fallen down and not been put up again.
“Storvak Burrow,” the sign read in big letters carved into the wood. “Private Entrance”
Under it, in smaller, painted, letters it read, “Visitors, please use Garden Entrance,” and an arrow pointing to the right.
To the right stood the half empty shed with the old cart in it.
Round the corner he found another sign, nailed to the wall. “Shrine and Gardens,” it read, and again an arrow pointing right.
Behind the shed, pines and firs grew close together, leaving room only for a narrow trail disappearing down into the forest. Not much light made its way through the trees and not much grew on the ground: moss, patches of fungus, and the occasional tiny, pale, flower.
Enar brushed dry branches out of the way. He trailed one hand across the ground to keep from falling. Once he even had to crawl under a fallen tree that lay across the path. No gardener had ever tried to tame this forest, but perhaps that was the point.
Eventually, he could descend no further down the hill. Another step and he'd stand in the lake. The path turned and continued left, but Enar stopped to have a look around and catch his breath. To his right lay a big, flat stone, right on the water's edge, and he sat down to rest his legs.
Above him, the forest stood so dense, and the hill so steep, he had trouble making out the way he'd come past the last few steps. To his side, lily pads floated on the water and a dragonfly buzzed back and forth just above the surface.
He twisted around on the rock, turned his back on the hill and dangled his feet into the water. It wasn't nearly as cold as the lake from yesterday. There, he'd had to force himself to stand still and not run back on to land. Here, the water soothed his feet and beckoned him to come in and swim.
Enar wiggled his toes in the brown water, stirring up mud from the bottom, and splashing drops on the lily pads. The dragonfly hung still in the air for a moment, and then decided it had business elsewhere.
Laughing, Enar stood up in the water. His feet sank deep into the mud, onto rocks beneath, and his jeans got soaked to the knees. Arms flailing he struggled for balance, found it, and lurched back on to dry land again.
“Hah!” he said to the lake and wagged his finger at it. “Not this time.”
He waited for a moment and then smiled wide. Talking to a lake. Clearly the hillsides were getting to him. Not that he minded. It was his vacation and he could go mad if he wanted to.
Whistling to himself he grabbed on to the straps of the backpack and set off along the path again. Time to find that garden. Time to see the wonders of Storvak. Maybe they had a beach.
The trail snaked along between the hill and the lake, dodging and weaving around trees and rocks. He thought about the train he'd ridden to get here, and how he'd made the fields and the hills a metaphor for his life; the past on one side, and the future one the other.
This was the same, but better. The present didn't run on rails. He skipped from one foot to the other, stepped up on a little rock and jumped off of it with a whoop. Much better.
A stream came down from the hill, cut right through the trail, and splashed into the lake.
Past the stream grew a solid wall of green – trees and bushes hugging tight enough even a cat would have trouble slipping through.
On the other side of the wall lay the garden. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. That's the way these things worked. This wasn't where you entered and you just had to accept that. The gardener would let you in at the spot they'd chosen. Then you could see the garden.
Just after it crossed the stream the path turned left, up into the forest, along the green wall. Enar sighed to himself. Into the shadows again. It should be worth it though. With a wall like this the gardens would be something quite out of the ordinary. He skipped over the stream and headed in under the trees once more, away from the lake.
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Continued in Day 5 - Scene 4.
Back to Enar's Vacation.