back where we came from

There's a black turtle waiting on the doorstep, a tightly rolled letter tied to its shell. Amy Whelan opens the door, picks up the little reptile. "Hello," she says, knowing that these creatures are far more intelligent than any other species of turtle. "I've got some food and water in the kitchen."

She can't understand the black turtles like her older son can, but Amy likes to think that she's mastered their subtle body language. This one seems grateful.

"Greg, Jonathan, Jason," Amy calls, "we've got a letter." She doesn't need to be any more specific. They know exactly what she's talking about.

"Yay!" her younger boy shouts. His feet slap against the floor of the second story, then pound down the stairs. He's got Jason on his head. Jonathan follows at a more sedate pace, and the four of them unroll the paper.

Dear everyone,

My work on the Windswept Isle remains as frustrating as ever. The entire island will be an edelwood forest before its range is properly cleansed, and I'm still not sure if the island reaches every part of the Quadrangle of Doom. Do you think that edelwoods can grow under water? Should I try to make edelwood seaweed? I suppose that's another entry for my big list of questions.

Other than this, there's not much going on. Preparations are beginning for the summer solstice festival. The Day of the Long Sun isn't as big or important as Solstice Week in winter, but there's still feasting, games, dancing, children's plays (think Christmas pageants), and special music. The preparations are mostly kids working on their plays and people of all ages are rehearsing their songs. I'll try to write some down for Jonathan once I've got the lyrics down.

Mrs. O'Sialia told me that they make traditional desserts called sunset cakes out of orange marmalade. Preserving the oranges is part of the Solstice Week celebrations, and part of celebrating the Day of the Long Sun involves preparing the candied blackberries they eat during Solstice Week. I'm told that these foods represent continuity and the cyclical nature of the year, among other things. I'll try to get ahold of the recipes and a few blackberries for you.

The O'Sialias might be going to Kenningdole for the festival. I haven't talked with them about their plans yet. Hopefully they won't try to hold themselves back for my sake. I can hardly go into Kenningdole with them.

To answer Greg's question—no, I can't talk with fish. I tried with three different fish of three different species, so either they were all very shy or we couldn't understand each other.

With love,

Wirt

"But what about fish who are like the frog folk?" Greg wonders out loud.

"We'll just have to ask him. Ready to help me write the next letter?"

"Always."


When the black turtles slip between worlds, they can only appear in certain places. When they make for the realm of their lord's birth, they emerge without fail at the location he designated for them, the roots of a fir tree saved by one of his first acts of power. They walk through the Whelans' backyard, climb the stairs, and await discovery.

When they return to the Unknown, they can come directly to their master.

Wirt plucks up Chattahoochie (named for the poem, not the river) with a smile. He pats the turtle's back. "How'd it go?"

It went well, the turtle assures him. Your kin are hale and healthy.

"Good."

These little guys have really grown on him over the last year. Wirt places Chattahoochie atop his shoulder, then sits down and begins to read.

Dear Wirt,

If you wanted, you could come visit us a few days early so we could celebrate the solstice together. Bring those blackberries. (Make sure there's enough for your brother the bottomless pit!) If you get us the recipe beforehand, Jonathan and I can try to whip up a practice sunset cake. Does it have special decorations?

Not much is happening here, either. Jonathan, Jason, and I are still getting used to school being out. Greg, of course, took to it like a duck to water. He's thinking about a little project of his own. I'll let him tell you about it.

Hi Wirt! Jason and I are going to create an Advenchering Adventuring Club with some of my friends from school. I'm thinking Poppy, Esperanza, Phil T. (but not Phil S.), Eric, and Andrea. We can have team meetings in a secret clubhouse. We'll solve mysteries and stop bad guys and hunt ghosts. Andrea says that her dad knows kung fu and that he'll teach us all kung fu so that we can karate chop our way into haunted houses. Esperanza has a dog who's whose nose is even better than a normal dog's, and we're gonna train him to sniff out magic. It's gonna be great! Dad says that he might even put our adventures on his YouTube channel if we find anything cool. I bet there's tons of cool stuff in Lakeville just waiting to be discovered! After all, you can get to the Unknown from here.

Are you sure that the fish you talked to are smart enough to talk back? You should try talking to fish that are smart like Jason.

That's about it on our end. Love you!

Mom, Jonathan, Greg

P.S. If anyone could figure out how to make the edelwood equivalent of seaweed (edelweed?), it's you. Good luck!

"Edelweed?" Wirt mutters, not sure if he's disgusted or amused. Both, probably.

Yeah, definitely both.


It's been a long day at work. Nasty, demanding customers and a missing child. The little girl is fine—she saw a stray cat outside and snuck out the door, and her parents found her in under five minutes—but it's enough to bring back bad memories in addition to Amy's earlier stress. Thankfully, her manager is great and gives her a few minutes in the back.

So she's even happier than usual to look out back and find the small black turtle on her stoop.

Dear everyone,

The smart fish speak English and/or Piscene. Since I can understand Jason's Froggish, I assume that I can also understand Piscene. What I can't do is communicate with fish like I can with trees, or like Beatrice and her family can talk with birds. This, of course, assumes that my powers are consistent, which is not always a safe assumption.

Enclosed are two recipes for sunset cakes. They don't use cups and teaspoons here, but Carol is pretty good at math and converted all the measurements to parts. It looks like one part is about a quarter-cup. Apparently you can substitute lemon jelly for the marmalade, and very rich people sometimes make them with pineapple, while mountain folk often use cloudberries. (Cloudberries have nothing to do with the Queen of the Clouds, though, coincidentally, she does like to eat them. They're called that because they grow at such high altitudes.) It sounds like you can use any yellow or orange fruit. The color is more important than the flavor because it's supposed to symbolize sunlight.

I made a go for The Tome of the Unknown today. I started in the back of the Cave of Wonders and went towards the exit. The second room I checked had an evil murder doll chained to the wall. I set it on fire, so now it no longer exists. Good riddance. But after that, I left the Cave for a bit. I'll go back soon.

Greg, your Adventuring Club sounds really fun. Just try to stay safe, okay? And if you ever find something too dangerous for kung fu, make sure to tell one of your parents and/or me. Let me know how the inaugural meeting goes.

Edelweed, really? But I guess it wouldn't be wood, so it would technically work.

I think I've found a new project (other than cleaning up the Windswept Isle so that I can get to The Tome of the Unknown, that is). There's a place down south that's suffering from a drought. The people have started planting crops that thrive in dryer conditions, but then a blight started. It's just a very bad situation. The blight is fairly widespread, so I'll be basing myself at a place called Risorgimento while I focus on fixing this area. While I'm there, I'll try to do what I did in Kenningdole with the aggressive friendliness. That wasn't a complete failure back there, so hopefully I can make some progress here, too.

With love,

Wirt

Amy scans the cake recipes. Both have butter, which risks upsetting Wirt's stomach. If simply substituting margarine doesn't work, then she'll have to experiment to get it right.


The turtle waits until his master's task is complete before nudging his bare foot. Wirt startles, blinks owlishly down at the little reptile where he stands among the waist-thick roots of a new edelwood. "Oh," the Pilgrim says, and steps through the edelwood's shadow to a place on the mainland.

He's only made one tree on this trip to the Windswept Isle, but he can take a few minutes' break. Maybe that will stave off the headache brewing in his temples, cleanse the taste of rot in his mouth.

Wirt steps through the edelwood's shadow and makes for Risorgimento.

Dear Wirt,

My first attempt at a sunset cake turned out terribly. Apparently I can't just sub margarine for butter without changing anything else, or maybe it was the fake eggs. Do your friends have any vegan versions? Speaking of which, I think that the O'Sialias must bake larger cakes than we do. Next time, I'll make just a half-recipe, though I'll need to keep a closer watch on the oven.

The bird feeder broke (we're not sure how. I blame those annoying squirrels). Jonathan saw online that you can make bird feeders and birdhouses out of old wine bottles, so we're going to finish the one I got for my birthday and use that. We've obviously never done this before, so wish us luck.

Good luck with your own new project. I know you didn't get the results you wanted in Kenningdole, but that's on them for being too foolish to recognize how wonderful you are. Hopefully the people of Risorgimento are smarter. Still, be careful. I hate the thought of you anywhere near terrified people with guns, even if you can sense them from a mile away. Also, watch out for things like bear traps. With regards toward your other project, keep an eye out for more murder dolls and other cursed items. Try not to touch anything except the book you're looking for. I'm worried you'll trigger something. Remember that fairytale about the sticky golden goose? It could be that, or it could be something more dangerous.

Greg had his first meeting with his adventuring group. They spent about ten minutes trying to come up with a name before deciding on The Adventure Society of Kung Fu Ghost Hunting Weirdness Detectives. It seems like a bit of a mouthful to me, but all the children liked it except Phil, who was very upset that his own suggestion was voted down 5-1. I don't know how well you remember Phil, but he has a tendency to call things stupid when he doesn't get his way, and that's exactly what he did. He told the other kids that magic and ghosts and such aren't even real, then stomped away. Your brother's not very happy about it, but I told him that Phil will come around eventually. Every friend group has these little spats, so he should try not to let it bother him too much.

Love,

Mom Jonathan Greg

Wirt tries, but he can't remember Phil specifically. Still, he figures his mother is probably right. Greg is friendly and charming and stubborn; Phil will be back before the week's end.


Dear everyone,

Greg, Phil will definitely come around soon (if he hasn't already). Have you thought about keeping a logbook for your club? Logbooks are very important and official for serious societies like yours. They help you keep track of evidence for your mysteries and stuff.

I've started healing the fields at Risorgimento. The trick is to stay close enough that they can hear my singing but far enough that they're not completely terrified. It's too early to judge how things will go, but so far no one has come after me with guns, magic, pitchforks, or any other weapons. They haven't sicced dogs on me or left out bear traps, either, but I promise to watch for them. They'll probably set up wards soon around the town, but that won't do anything other than (hopefully) make them feel safe. I'll be staying out in the fields, far away from the wards.

But that's not the big news. I finally got my hands on The Tome of the Unknown! There is, however, one small problem. I don't know how to use it. The book is supposed to contain all knowledge, but the contents of the pages change. So does the number of pages, which is what tipped me off. It was hard not to notice when the book got a hundred pages thicker because it added three chapters on the Wars Against Nature. I think that might have been in response to me asking out loud where it kept its information about the Beast. He caused a lot of damage in the Wars Against Nature (he was on the nature side, obviously). So it looks like there's some mental trick to getting the book to show you what you want, and my next step is figuring that out.

But just because I found the book doesn't mean I can come back. It might say that becoming human again is impossible, or that I'd have to commit an atrocity, or that there would be horrific consequences. Then there would be the matter of how to reintegrate me into American society, including what we're supposed to tell everyone. Was it you or Jonathan who suggested we should pretend I joined a cult? All I remember for sure is that Greg named it the Order of the Black Turtles, and then we talked about how I'd probably end up under FBI investigation so that they could stop this made-up cult from abducting brainwashed teenagers. Not my idea of a good time.

With love,

Wirt

Amy groans softly. Jonathan gives her shoulder a little squeeze, and she smiles gratefully at him.

"How do you think the book works?" Greg wonders aloud. "Maybe there's a secret password you have to say."

Jason croaks a suggestion. Greg, whose Froggish is improving by leaps and bounds (pun intended, because saying that always makes Amy hide a smile and roll her eyes), nods sagely. "He says that we should write down passwords. Let's start with Open Sesame!"

Amy brightens. "Not just passwords. We should brainstorm other ways to potentially make the book work for him in case passwords don't work. How to reintegrate into society, too."

"Yeah!" Greg agrees. "Right, Dad?"

Jonathan hesitates, but he answers before it's noticed (or before anyone calls him out on it). "Of course." He glances once again at Wirt's words, his cautions. His reluctance? Not for the first time, an unease prickles at the back of his mind.

It's hard to tell for certain when they see each other once every few weeks and mainly communicate by letters. It's hard to tell when Wirt has learned harsh lessons about masking his emotions and pretending that everything is okay. It's hard to tell when the boy—young man, really—would undoubtedly deny it if confronted. But… the Pilgrim doesn't seem too enthusiastic about the idea of returning to his old life. Perhaps he just doesn't want to get his hopes up, or perhaps….

But no matter Wirt's thoughts on his position, Jonathan knows that Amy and Greg and probably Jason aren't ready to hear his musings, so he joins their brainstorming session.

Even if Wirt chooses to stay, he should at least have a choice.


Dear Wirt,

I know you're being careful at Risorgimento, but I have to remind you anyways. Be careful.

It's wonderful that you've found The Tome of the Unknown. Could you bring it with you when you visit on Monday? You've mentioned before that your power doesn't play nicely with other magic. Jonathan thinks that an ordinary human might have more luck. Try asking the O'Sialias, too. We've got a whole list of suggestions if these things don't work.

We've also been thinking about possible excuses for your return. The best strategy we can come up with is claiming amnesia, which isn't very good. Alternatively, you could say something about living on the streets in various Canadian towns and that you don't like talking about it. That's also not a very good plan. Greg thinks that we should say you were abducted by aliens, but we told him that would just invite more unwanted scrutiny. Maybe we could pretend that the Order of the Black Turtles dispersed after the ringleader's death. (I can't remember either if it was Jonathan or me who suggested a cult.)

The bird feeder turned out surprisingly well. My second attempt at a sunset cake did not, but it was much better than last time. I just need to tweak the dry ingredients a bit more and we might end up with something edible.

Love,

Mom Jonathan Greg

Wirt closes his tricolor eyes. Without his sight, his other senses—already ridiculously acute—sharpen further. His forest is calm, the leaves barely rustling, the smells of soil and wildflowers and various animals mixing in his nose. He feels the life of the woodland around him, and he feels the weight of the antlers at his temples.

The Pilgrim sighs and decides to wait for another day before crafting his response.


Dear everyone,

Friendly reminder to NOT eat the blackberries yet. That means you, Greg. No sneaking any from the jars. You have to wait until winter.

You're not going to believe this, but the day after I got back, I met a pair of sea wardens. If you don't recall, sea wardens are sort of like environmental protection officers for merfolk, selkies, and so on. I didn't know much about them, just that they were well-respected and had powerful magic. In retrospect, I really should have figured out that they and their master are the closest things in existence to my underwater counterparts.

It isn't as though the sea wardens are undersea Beasts. Instead, they use special pearls to draw power from the Lord of the Currents, the eternally dreaming place-spirit of the ocean. The pearls allow them to convert small amounts of corruption to something called woestone coral (not edelweed), but it's significantly slower and more difficult for them. The sea wardens and I are working out a deal to get the Quadrangle of Doom under control. I'll tell you the details next time we meet.

The sea wardens don't know how to work The Tome of the Unknown, and all our ideas continue to fail. I'll keep trying passwords.

The people in and around Risorgimento have started posting guards on me. They aren't actively hostile, but they stay close enough to keep a close watch. As a matter of fact, nobody here has been actively hostile. It might be that they're too terrified to make a move, but I'm hoping that they might understand I won't go out of my way to hurt anybody. I try to wave at them whenever the shift changes. Still no bear traps, other traps, ambushes, or dogs, although I did see a coyote and take a picture. Do you look at the pictures I send you before reading the letter, or do you read first?

No other news of note.

With love,

Wirt

Amy glances at her husband. "Do you also picture this eternally dreaming Lord of the Currents as a kind of benevolent Cthulu?"

"A little bit, yes," Jonathan admits.

"What's a Cthulu?" Greg wonders.

"He's a famous monster, an undersea giant with a beard made of tentacles."

"Cool," the boy says. "We should ask Wirt if his new friends have tentacle-y beards next time we see him."

"Good plan, Greg. Good plan."


The village—not Risorgimento, but one of the little hamlets that dot the surrounding countryside—hasn't sent guards out after him, he's still riding the high of his new alliance with the sea wardens, and even The Tome of the Unknown is being more cooperative than usual. (That is, it's giving him information that is somewhat related to the questions he's asking all the time rather than just every other try.) It's a good day until Pot Pie the turtle (one of Beatrice's names. She'd thought it funny to name them after various foodstuffs) nudges Wirt's foot. There's a letter on his back.

The Pilgrim winces. He's managed to mostly avoid discussion of his nonexistent return to the other world, but there's a high possibility that his mother will bring it up again. He'd been incredibly fortunate to meet Khady and Coumba, so he's pretty sure he's used up all his good luck for the rest of the year. But he'll just fret until he knows, so he opens the letter and begins to read.

Dear Wirt,

I'm glad to hear that you've met more people who can help you. There's a little bit about the sea wardens in my history book, and the name is fairly descriptive, but tell us a bit more about them. Ask if they're all right with being photographed (unless you think that being asked would offend them).

It's fantastic that Risorgimento is reacting better to your presence than Kenningdole. The paranoid part of me is afraid that they're luring you into a false sense of security, or that they've summoned a coven of witches to take you out, or that they have some other evil plan. You have no idea how grateful I am that you've figured out shadow-walking and can just poof away from anyone who tries to hurt you.

We usually flip through the pictures quickly, then read the letter, then go over the pictures again more slowly. Your shot of that coyote was great, and so was the picture with the hidden snake. Jason found it first but refused to point it out, then Greg saw it and showed us. Once we saw it, we couldn't not see it anymore. That snake's camouflage was amazing.

There was a bit of drama at work yesterday. Essentially, my manager's boss accused her of stealing from the company, which she claims is revenge for rejecting his unwelcome advances. I think that my manager is the one who's telling the truth. I've seen our boss try to flirt with her, and she's always been just a great person. This is going to get very ugly very quickly, especially since most of the workers on my level agree with me.

You'll notice that my letter is only one of two. This is the family letter. The other is a very important official document from the Adventure Society. This is it from me.

Love you,

Mom Jonathan

To Wirt R. Palmer
The Pilgrim
Voice of the Night
Master of the Trees
Brother with Other Cool Titles

From President Sir Greg Esquire of the Adventure Sosiety Society of Kung Fu Ghost Hunting Wierdness Weirdness Detectives

Paula's grandma's house has cold spots and lights that keep flickering. She and Paula's parents say it's just because the house is old, but Paula says she saw a ghost there. How do we make the ghost show itself?

Wirt rolls his eyes, but it's a fond gesture. He looks at the last page of the letter packet, expecting a more detailed account of the 'haunting.' Instead, Jonathan's handwriting scrawls across the paper.

Dear Wirt,

I'm going to sneak this letter underneath the other ones. Nothing bad is happening. I just need a way to communicate with you without your mother and brother getting worried when I might be wrong.

When you visited earlier this week, you seemed very cagey about the possibility of coming home. Amy noticed too, even though she didn't want to. I'm not sure if Greg did. You didn't really show any enthusiasm at the thought of coming back to the Known to live an ordinary human life.

What I'm trying to ask is, do you still want to come back?

I'm not trying to be judgmental. It's just that you seem increasingly content with your place in the Unknown and increasingly hesitant about coming back. That's completely understandable! You've given so much of yourself to the Unknown, made great friends, done amazing things, and there would be a lot of problems to figure out if you did return. (Not that we won't solve those problems if they ever arise, or that I don't want you to come back because it would be easier. That's not it at all! It's just that these are the sort of factors I know you're thinking about.) I can't really imagine that you'd be fulfilled at a desk job after saving an entire magical ecosystem. It's a tough choice, with a tough path ahead either way. I guess I just want you to know that it is a choice, and that we'll support you either way.

Amy knows this too, I think, even if she's not ready to admit it to herself yet. Greg and Jason might suspect. I'm not sure about my parents, but I wouldn't be surprised either way. But I know that we all want you to choose what's best for you, whether that's coming back or staying in the Unknown. We'll figure something out either way.

Lo Best wishes,

Jonathan

(And here he'd thought his mother would be the dangerous one, the one who would finally force him to confront this.)

Wirt stares at the three letters before him without seeing them. Some uncomfortable emotion squirms in his stomach.

The thing is—the thing is—

He wants to go back, and yet he doesn't. He wants his family, and CDs, and those house remodeling shows he always pretended to dislike but were secretly his guilty pleasure. He wants to walk casually among people without fearing that they'll discover his identity and try to kill him. He wants to leave behind the scorn and hate, the fear and the crushing responsibility. He wants to exorcise the Beast-fragment whose strength he still doesn't know because that stupid book remains uncooperative. He wants to not have to hunt down random cursed monsters. He wants to relax.

But….

He wants other things, too. Beatrice and her family. Occasional visits to the rare people who don't actively hate him. Long walks through the night with every sense wide open. His forest, his turtles. The feeling he gets when the first stalk of an edelwood breaks through the ground, and the satisfaction he experiences when that tree finishes growing.

He wants to heal the Unknown, to see it healthy and prosperous.

And that's not even getting into the other things he'd be giving up. His senses would dull or disappear entirely. He'd need to eat and sleep and drink and blink and breathe again, and he suspects that reaccustoming himself to those mortal habits would be significantly harder than giving them up. He'd lose his connection with this weird, wonderful, wild world.

The Unknown has been grafted onto him, or perhaps he's been grafted onto it, or perhaps they're two trees that grew too close together and are starting to merge. (He feels the beginnings of a poem.) Wirt's put down new roots here, and grown and flourished in the unbounded earth. Going back would be… like digging him up, chopping off the roots that grew too long, stuffing him into a too-small pot, and sticking him inside a building. Such a tree is safe from lightning strikes and forest fires, from hungry animals and unseasonal frosts, from infestations and fungus and axes, but it would never again feel the wind or taste unfiltered sunlight. Instead, it would be pruned to fit inside its meager new-old home.

Wirt doesn't think he can do that to himself, not unless it's the only way to keep the Beast from taking over. Maybe not even then.

The Pilgrim sinks down onto the welcoming grass. A sturdy tree offers its services for leaning against; he accepts with gratitude.

He sits there for a long, long time, thinking about everything and nothing. He remembers leaving home, letters on his pillow and nothing else.

He'll need to hold this conversation in person, but he won't have time to talk it through in Lakeville. His family will need to come to the Unknown to hear him out, and it will take time to convince Amy and Jonathan to come visit. But if he can just get them here for a day, a weekend….

Then, Wirt can tell them that he doesn't want to go back.


Title is from "The Adelaide Parade."

Let me know if the formatting of the letters is off. It seems to be behaving, but I'm a little leery.

Happy Halloween, all!