seeking those who are far from home

"You're safe now, children." Whispers brandishes her broom like a spear. "We'll not fall for his shapeshifting trick again."

"I should have known," Lorna whispers. Her face is white.

Greg stands on trembling legs. He bolts towards the door, only to be grabbed by Whispers as he tries to pass. "Wirt! Wirt, come back! Let me go!"

"Put him down," Beatrice orders. She stands as well, wondering if she'd have to fight the older woman to free Greg. With her luck, it wasn't too unlikely.

"That wasn't your brother, little one," the witch tries to explain. "The Beast—"

"—is dead," Beatrice cuts in.

Whispers almost drops Greg.

Lorna is shaking her head. "I don't know what that monster told you when he was impersonating Wirt—"

"I was there!" Beatrice yells. "I saw him die. All three of us did, and Wirt too, because Wirt's the one who killed him."

They gape at her, clearly disbelieving.

"I saw his body. He turned into an edelwood himself just a couple miles from my family's home. That's Wirt, and—"

And he turned someone to edelwood. Wirt. Wirt killed someone using the Beast's signature method, the magic that had nearly ended Greg's life. She doesn't want to believe it, but the look on his face left no room for doubt.

"It's a weird magic thing," Greg states, still wiggling in Whispers's arms. "If you kill the Beast, you have to take his place and grow branchlers and stuff. We were just trying to make him human again." He kicks a little, but his captor doesn't even seem to notice.

"What he said," Beatrice confirms. "So there's an explanation for that, and I'm sure there's an explanation for—the other thing—too." Edelwood. Wirt had made an edelwood tree, turned a living human being to wood and oil.

Please, let there be an explanation.

"…Perhaps we should hear them out, auntie," suggests Lorna.

"Yes you should. Also you should let me down so we can go get Wirt and then he can tell us why he…." The boy's face twists, and Beatrice is treated to a vivid memory of Greg wrapped in branches, too weak to stay awake. He hasn't had any nightmares since finding Wirt—the presence of his brother and protector apparently tends to sweeten his dreams—but he'll wake in a cold sweat tonight for sure if they don't get Wirt back.

"Explain, then, what happened," Whispers commands. "If you can convince me that your companion was not truly the Beast, I will help you find him and listen to his explanations as well… from behind the wards."

Lorna gasps. "The wards!"

Whispers's enormous eyes widen further.

"Yeah, the wards." Beatrice seizes the opportunity. "All they did was make him sneeze. Same magic, wrong person, so they didn't work right."

"And then," Whispers murmurs, more to herself than anyone else, "he learned to undo their effects within mere minutes." But her frown is pensive, speculative.

"I like the explaining-things plan," Greg tells her, "but I think it could use a little work. We should find Wirt first so we can all explain stuff at the same time."

"No."

"But—"

"I said no, boy."

Beatrice chews her lip, looks out the door. She can't see any sign of Wirt. How fast can he move now? "Let's just explain, okay, Greg? The more time we spend arguing, the further he gets."

Greg's inhales. "The Beast was trying to turn me into a tree but then Wirt saved me and killed the Beast and brought us home, but then it turns out that if you kill the Beast you have to take his place, so Wirt had to come back, and me and Jason Funderberker came to find him and we found Beatrice and she helped us and we found out that Wirt's the Caretaker and decided to see if we could turn him human again, so we went to Adelaide's but there was nothing there so we came here instead." He gasps, panting for breath.

"What he said," Beatrice confirms, edging towards the door. "Look, Greg's known him his entire life, and I used to travel with them. One of us would have noticed if he wasn't Wirt."

"I think they're telling the truth, auntie," Lorna suddenly declares. "Don't you remember, when we first heard the tale, neither of us knew what to make of such odd behavior. It would make so much more sense if lost control of the situation whilst trying to save those children."

They don't have kids with them, Wirt had said, staring nervously at the witch's house. I can run pretty quickly now, and I will run if something goes wrong. They don't have kids with them.

Some of the dread that's been coursing through her veins abates. Maybe, she tells herself hopefully, it was some kind of accident. A very traumatic accident that he didn't want to talk about. It would be just like the idiot to accidentally turn somebody into edelwood.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Let's go outside and look for Wirt while you tell us," Greg adds, wiggling hopefully. Sure enough, the witch lets him down. They file out the door and scan the surrounding area. Nothing.

Whispers and Lorna glance at each other before the older woman speaks. "You are aware that some witches have… had, now, I suppose… bargains with the Beast? Child offerings, in return for their own safety and additional gifts."

Beatrice thinks of Adelaide, of the mental gymnastics she'd gone through to convince herself that this witch wasn't like that, and grimaces. "Yeah. We know."

"The story goes that one such individual had captured two girls and attempted to offer them to the Beast."

"Wirt's not the Beast," Greg interjects. He starts towards the woods.

"Peace, child. I'm only repeating the story."

Lorna gets them back on topic. "According to the tale, right after the witch offered up his tribute, the Be—the person he thought was the Beast was furious. The next thing the girls knew, their captor was covered in vines and screaming for mercy. They took advantage of the distraction to escape, whereupon they were found by…." She pauses, realization lighting up her face. "…a wandering stranger who, now that I think about it, had no good reason to be in the woods at night."

"Wirt," Greg declares.

"I believe that he called himself the Pilgrim, but—"

"That's him!" Greg is beaming. "He's the Pilgrim! Do you have any magic spells that can help find him?"

"No."

"Oh. Then let's split up."

"You can go with Lorna," Beatrice tells him. He gives her a weird look but nods. "Whispers and I can go on our own."

(Beatrice hopes she finds him first, because she knows exactly what it's like to kill a witch for the sake of two hostages, knows what it's like to understand she'd do it again if she had to.)

They search for a long time, but it's too late. Wirt is already gone.

"I think Wirt was right," Lorna tells her. She glances at Whispers. "Don't you, auntie?"

The older woman nods her enormous head. "I know very little about the Beast's specific powers, but generally speaking, it is nigh on impossible to change a creature of magic back into a human being. The more powerful the magic, the more difficult this transformation becomes. The Beast grew weaker over the last several centuries; few remember what he was capable of at the height of his strength."

"And Wirt…." Lorna shudders. "The tale says that it happened very quickly."

Beatrice nods slowly, a frown on her face. She supposes that they have a point. Still, it's strange to think of Wirt as having any sort of power. The boy who whispers poetry to himself at night and once 'defeated' a man in a gorilla suit by tripping over his shoelaces and didn't even know he has minions does not make for an imposing figure.

But… he figured out how to stop the wards. He kept them dry in a summer squall. He taught himself enough shapeshifting to make his eyes appear human in the space of a single night. And of course there's the… the thing with the edelwood. The thing with Wirt turning someone who should be safe from becoming an edelwood into an edelwood.

"Wirt's pretty young, though," she points out. "Magic usually gets stronger with age, right? Even I know that the Beast losing power was weird. So maybe he just stumbled into some kind of magical loophole and isn't actually that strong." She likes this explanation, even though she isn't particularly convinced by it.

"Or perhaps he is at the Beast's old standard, before his strange decline set in," Whispers speculates. "Either way, I doubt that he could accidentally find a loophole to the use of his abilities that the Beast did not already know about. I greatly disbelieve that anything short of death could truly break his link with the Unknown, and even that would not restore his humanity."

Beatrice glances upstairs to where an exhausted little boy is sleeping. "I'd still like to try. Is there anything you can think of that might help? Books, artifacts, spells, anything. I'm not picky."

Lorna looks to her guardian, silently deferring to the older woman's expertise. Whispers taps her fingers against her chin. She's quiet for a long moment before something occurs to her. "If anything can help your friend, it is The Tome of the Unknown."

"I thought that was just a history book," Beatrice answers doubtfully.

Lorna is smiling. "There is indeed a history book with that name. We have a copy ourselves. Auntie Whispers is talking about the book for which it was named. Some call it The Greater Tome so as to avoid confusion."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense. So what's The Greater Tome about?"

"Everything," Whispers tells her. "Legend has it that the book's pages change each day. It is said to contain all knowledge. Every secret lost to death, every forgotten story, perhaps even the future…. If the book exists, it may provide some answers for you."

"…I don't suppose you have any idea where to find this possibly-mythical book?"

"I do not."

"Nor I."

Beatrice sighs. Of course they don't. That would have been too easy.

Greg feels kind of bad about sneaking out when everyone thinks he's sleeping, but not bad enough to not do it. Wirt might have come back. He's probably standing outside in the forest somewhere, staring at Auntie Whispers's house but too shy to come in. Or maybe he just doesn't want Whispers to attack him with her broom again. Greg wouldn't want to be attacked by a broom either.

So he waits a few minutes until he's sure that the women are busy talking before he creeps over to the window and climbs down the side of the house. It's kind of hard because the wood is wet from the afternoon rain, but Greg makes it work.

"Wirt?" he calls, quietly at first, then more loudly as he leaves the house further and further behind. "Wirt! Wirt, where are you?"

No answer. Maybe he's a bit further into the trees.

Greg keeps walking, which he only realizes might not be the best idea when he realizes he can't see the house anymore. He should probably turn around. Unfortunately, he must have taken a turn somewhere, because he can't see anything even after a few minutes of walking back.

Maybe he should have stayed on the path. He definitely should have made sure that he could see the house. It's late enough to be really dark.

(If Wirt was here, he'd find a big stick somewhere to use as a torch, then light it up with the Dark Lantern. It would be easier to use the Lantern itself, but Wirt is kind of funny about even letting them see it, just like he doesn't want to show them his glowy eyes and branchlers. But Wirt isn't here. Greg is on his own, so he turns on the flashlight he brought from home but hasn't had to use yet.)

But even though it's nighttime in an enchanted forest, Greg finds that he isn't scared. It's weird. The first time he came to the Unknown, the woods had always been at least a little bit scary. Greg hadn't let it show, but he'd felt it all the same. Now, though, he feels completely safe. Protected, even.

With a little pang, Greg realizes that that must be because the forest belongs to Wirt now, just like Enoch said. Even though Greg hurt his feelings really bad, Wirt would never actually hurt him. He is harmle—okay, the… the thing with the edelwood had happened, but Greg is confident that it was just a really horrifying accident. Everybody has accidents sometimes, even if most accidents don't end up turning people into trees.

(The night is warm, but Greg shudders.)

Something moves on the ground. Greg pauses. He hopes it's not a snake.

It isn't a snake. It's not moving right. It's—he leans a bit closer, directing the flashlight's beam—one of those weird black turtles.

"Hi, turt," Greg says politely. "Are you lost too? I'm looking for my brother and I got lost, but once I find him, he can bring me back. His name is Wirt, and he's the Pilgrim."

The turtle stops. Her (it looks like a girl turtle) little head cranes around to look at him.

"Except," Greg continues, "I'm starting to think he might not be here. He needs to stop running away from his problems." The boy sighs. "I don't think I can catch up with him tonight. I'm going to need the turkeys. Do you know the way to Auntie Whispers's cottage, turt?"

The turtle nods.

"That's great! Could you show me the way, pretty please with sugar on top?"

The turtle—Greg needs to think of a name for her—starts walking again. "Thank you! You don't have to bring me all the way there, just close enough so that I can see the light. I… don't think it would be a good idea for you to meet Auntie Whispers." He taps his chin, thinking. "Maybe I should do something about th—wait a second, aren't you guys supposed to be Wirt's minions?"

No response.

"That's what Beatrice said, anyways. At least I think that's what she said. I was busy looking at the deer bones. Do you think you could help us find him?"

The turtle (Martha Washington? Licorice?) moves her head in a circle.

"I don't know what that means. Man, at times like this I really wish Jason Funderberker's talking board fit in my backpack."

The turtle ignores him. Greg is starting to worry that maybe he's wrong about the turtle helping him, but it isn't like he has any other ideas, so he keeps following her.

"Sometimes," the boy confides, "when Wirt's sad, he goes off to mope in private and write sad poems and stuff. Our mom says it's his way of coping. I think that's what he's doing now. He shouldn't, but he can be kind of dumb sometimes even though he's really smart."

The turtle (Eugenia? Shelly? Benedictine Cumberbatch has a nice ring to it) is still ignoring him. Turtles apparently aren't much for conversation, but that's okay. Greg can talk for both of them.

A few minutes later, his faith pays off. There's a light up ahead. The cottage.

"You found it. Attagirl, turt!" Greg pauses, grins. "That can be your name. Attagirl… Smithereens. Hm. Do you want a middle name too?"

The newly named turtle shakes her head. Apparently she's given up on mostly ignoring her companion.

"Are you sure?"

Attagirl Smithereens nods.

"That's okay. Not everybody likes their middle names anyways. Wirt—wait a second." Greg's eyes widen to perfect circles. Giggles start bubbling up in his throat, because this is hilarious and he's going to tease Wirt forever and ever about it (but not too much, because his brother can be kind of touchy).

Attagirl Smithereens stops. She looks towards the cottage, back to Greg, back to the cottage again. Greg gets the message.

"Thank you for bringing me back, Ms. Smithereens," he says, bending down so he can shake her front leg in appreciation. "That was really nice of you. I'll try to talk Auntie Whispers into letting your friends go, okay? Bye!"

He runs towards the light, hoping against hope that he hasn't been caught.

He has. The ladies are all angry with him. He gets three angry lectures and a lot of angry croaking before they send him off to bed—supervised, this time.

Oh well. At least Auntie Whispers agrees to let Wirt's turtle minions go.

It turns out that tracking Wirt with birds is a lot more difficult than using birds to find him.

The problem is that she has to find the birds, too. When they'd found Wirt by Rambler's Holt, he'd been in the area for awhile. Gossip had spread, meaning that pretty much every bird in the area had known that the Caretaker was trying to fix a bad place, so he'd probably still be there, and would you like me to show you the way? But Wirt wasn't staying in this neck of the woods, he was moving through it at a rapid clip. Worse, he didn't need to sleep, so he'd been traveling through the night as well as the day, which meant a different set of avian witnesses to track down and interrogate. And of course he can't just use a bridge like a normal person, he has to climb a tree and jump and make them lose almost four hours searching for another way across the river.

Greg tries to recruit the black turtles, but either they can't sense where Wirt is or Attagirl Smithereens's helpfulness was the exception rather than the rule.

Fortunately, she has a general idea of where he's going. Wirt seems to be retracing their steps. He's probably on his way back to Rambler's Holt and that patch of slightly cursed woodland he'd been so intent on healing. Yet Beatrice is a little afraid to just head straight for the town herself, because what if she's wrong and he's not going there? What if she loses the trail?

She wishes that Rusty was a hunting dog, but he's useless.

They're at the tavern where they stole Fred. Greg is trying to convince the Tavernkeeper to give him molasses for his mashed potatoes. She is understandably reluctant. Beatrice gives it two minutes tops before someone bursts into song and is plotting her escape—she can make some excuse about walking Rusty, who is snoozing in their rented room and does not need to be walked at all—when the door creaks open.

Beatrice glances over automatically, begins to turn back when she processes what she's seen. Her head snaps back around. Sure enough, it's him: tall and narrow and dressed in black, his eyes a bit too bright, his shadow a bit too dark.

Wirt meets her gaze. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and forces a nervous smile onto his face. It's not very convincing. He must realize it, because he lets the expression fade after just a second or two.

Jason is the second one to notice. He lets out a great croak and grabs at Greg's sleeve, dragging the little boy out of his argument (and thankfully forestalling any rendition of "Potatoes and Molasses"). Greg sees his brother walking towards them and falls silent mid-word.

The Tavernkeeper retreats to the kitchens.

Wirt approaches, hands nervously kneading at his satchel. He deposits it on the table before them, then backs away several steps, all without saying a word. "Is… is it okay if we talk? You can say no if you want to, I'd be fi—um, I would respect that. But I thought that you might, yeah. That I could explain. If you wanted me to."

"Take a seat, brother o'mine," Greg commands, patting the chair next to him.

"Actually, don't." Beatrice gestures to the other guests. "I think we might need some privacy for this conversation."

Wirt shudders, the motion sending little ripples through his cloak. "Yeah. Good plan."

"To the forest we go!" Greg proclaims. There's a smile dawning on his face, a bounce in his step as he rises to his feet.

"No!" exclaims Wirt, hands aflutter. "I mean, don't you have a room here already? I'd rather talk there, if that's okay with you guys."

Beatrice frowns, wondering why Mr. Hadn't-been-inside-in-months is suddenly so adamant about remaining indoors. A nasty thought strikes her, and she feels herself pale. Except it's a stupid thought because of course there isn't another new edelwood tree out there. Wirt has some other, perfectly legitimate reason that he wants them out of the forest.

"…okay," says Greg. He's more bewildered than suspicious, but Jason appears to be having thoughts similar to the unwelcome ones in Beatrice's head. (She's getting alarmingly good at reading that frog's facial expressions.)

Wirt scoots back a couple more steps. "Aren't you going to take this?" Beatrice queries, gesturing at his satchel.

For a moment, Wirt looks like he wants nothing more than to snatch up the satchel and hug it to his chest forever, but he shakes his head instead. "You two can carry it for now."

"Is it presents?" Greg wonders. He opens the flap, peers inside. His mouth falls open in a little o.

That's when Beatrice remembers what Wirt usually keeps in there, at least when they're around. She stretches, peers down. Sure enough, the Dark Lantern is resting there upon a spare shirt.

Oh, the girl thinks, stunned.

Greg closes the satchel. He picks it up delicately, carefully. "Wirt, are you sure—"

Wirt's nod is firm, sharp. "I'm sure."

Greg carries his brother's immortal soul through the building, into the tiny room that Beatrice had gotten them. He sits down, hesitates, then withdraws the Dark Lantern and sets it on the floor beside him. Wirt's gaze follows it. His fingers twitch a little, but he makes no move to reclaim his soul because he's doing everything in his power to make them feel as safe as possible.

He's still Wirt.

Someone needs to break the silence, and so she does. "So. You said you were going to explain about…." She has to force the words out. "…about that time you turned someone into an edelwood tree."

Wirt flinches like she's physically struck him. "Yeah. Yeah, I… turned someone into an edelwood. It isn't, it isn't something proud of, and I never want to do it again."

"And you won't, because it was an accident, right?" Greg's voice is full of hope. "It was an accident and now you know how not to do it, so you won't." If the hope is tinged with desperation, well, it's not like Beatrice can blame him.

"…I…I don't want to." Greg doesn't notice the evasion, but the others do. Beatrice thinks she can understand. There will always be other Adelaides.

(And come to think of it, isn't that how Wirt succeeded the Beast in the first place?)

In hesitant, stammering sentences, Wirt tells them the story. The sense of being summoned. His decision to try to rescue the girls. Their conversation.

How it all went wrong.

His brother and friends listen in silence. Beatrice draws in a sharp breath when Wirt repeats the words which had triggered his loss of temper, but that's the closest any of them come to speaking.

Then he falls silent. He's wringing his hands, staring at the wall and only occasionally peeking at them. He looks like a defendant awaiting judgment.

The room is quiet.

Beatrice wants to tell him that she knows how he feels. She's been there, she gets it. But words have never been her forte. She doesn't know how to arrange them into something that can get her point across. She's still trying to figure it out when someone else breaks the quiet.

"Okay," says Greg, nodding slowly. "Are there any other terrible dark secrets you'd like to get off your chest?"

Wirt flinches again, which is answer enough.

"You were supposed to say no," Greg tells him, horrified.

"Sorry," Wirt mumbles, "but it's not another edelwood. Well, I guess that it sort of is—" Beatrice's heart skips a beat "—but the faceless kind, and I think—no, he's not exactly an edelwood, technically."

Jason's croak is full of suspicion.

"Sort of."

"Mind translating for those of us who don't speak Froggish?"

Wirt flushes gray. "Basically what happened is—you remember how I told you I can talk to trees? And, um, the Beast is technically a tree now. After… what happened, I went to ask him about the whole sick forest thing. Not my brightest idea. But he knew about the witch without being told because…. The Beast said that a part of him will always be in me."

What?

"So… the witch was the Beast's fault?" Greg sounds hopeful, relieved.

"What? No. No, that was me."

"Oh." Greg's shoulders slump.

"It's just that you asked if I had any other terrible dark secrets and I didn't think I should omit that." He's wringing his hands again. "I should, yeah. I should probably get going now, give you guys time to take it all in."

"No," Beatrice snaps. She understands that this is his dumb way of trying to help them, but dumb is dumb. "You're not going anywhere."

"Yeah!" Greg wags a scolding finger at his brother. "You can't leave again. You still owe me a bedtime story."

"Huh?" Wirt is baffled.

"The night before you left, you told me a sad bedtime story. I told you that you needed to tell me a better one the next day, and you said yes. And—you owe me interest like they have at the bank because it's been so long. I'm thinking at least ten happy stories."

"Make that thirty," Beatrice corrects him. "He didn't pay up when we found him again, so that triples it." (This is absolutely not how economics works. Someone will have to teach him that eventually. But not her and not today.)

"Rorop!"

Wirt is gaping at the three of them, but his shock is transforming into incandescent joy before their eyes. (The Dark Lantern is bright and brilliant at Greg's side.) "You actually still want me around?"

"Yes, dummy." But the insult is tinged with fondness.

"Of course. You're my brother." Simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Rorop." The frog is smiling.

There's only one logical thing to do at this point, so Beatrice isn't surprised when Greg launches himself at his brother. Wirt drops to his knees to embrace him, just like he had back in the clearing. This time, though, Jason Funderberker is right behind his person, and Beatrice isn't too shocked to join in right away.

And for a few precious moments, all is right with the world.

Title comes from "The Tavernkeeper's Song" in Chapter 4.

Don't own OTGW. This disclaimer was brought to you by your not-so-local author.

I'm possibly going to add a coda to this in a few days. Beatrice and Wirt need to have a certain conversation that didn't fit the tone of this fic and I'm not sure if it's long enough to merit its own installment.

-Antares