PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXVI: A Gathering of Slow-Talking Trees

Two months passed. Two months and not a single Skip. I didn't dare jump off a building again, the memory of my last adventure (and emotional break down) was still brimming at the edge of my mind. I managed to find a job at a sandwich place and spent the two months slicing bread and placing ingredients in a specific order on said bread. Very complicated stuff.

My days were pretty ordinary. Get up. Watch morning dramas. Go to work. Make sandwiches. Come home. Watch night dramas. Sleep. Great life. Exactly where I wanted to be twenty-one years into my life. (Note the sarcasm.) I appreciated the normality, but I wanted more to my life than the sandwich shop girl. For a while, I considered going back to college, but a part of me was convinced that the second I submitted my application, I would Skip to Middle Earth and the whole thing would be pointless. The only real relief in my life was hanging out with Nick. We'd get coffee or play video games at his place or just plain chat.

So one day, after two months of living a normal Skip-free life, Nick and I decided to go bowling. I was on the second day of my period and had planned to spend the day on the couch with a heating pad, but since Nick offered to pay, I agreed to go.

Bowling happens to be my talent. I may fail at most everything else in life (climbing trees, fighting, running), but you know, I can bowl like a pro. I even won my city's junior bowling championship way back when.

We were somewhere in our third game, and Nick was getting tired of losing.

"Can you mess up just one time?" he asked.

"I've been messing up," I said. "Lots of times."

"A spare does not count as 'messing up'."

I laughed. "You just need to improve your game. You cannot rival the master of the balls." I paused and then laughed. "Okay, that came out wrong. You cannot rival the bowling master."

"Yeah, yeah. If you say so." Nick was sprawled out across two of the plastic blue chairs at the bowling lane.

I picked up the lucky seven bowling ball. "So what's going on in your life?"

"New girlfriend," said Nick.

"Who's it this time?"

Scowling at my tone, Nick asked, "You really like my girlfriends, huh?"

"Let's face it. You have terrible taste in women." I hurled the ball down the lane and turned my back so I couldn't see the moment when the ball hit the pins. When I reached the ball holder, I turned around and saw that all but three pins had fallen over. "You see," I said, turning back to Nick. "I messed up."

"It's better than my last, uh, three gutter balls."

"Keep your arm straight."

"I just roll the thing down the lane."

When my lucky seven ball returned, I bowled down the lane and—perfect aim—knocked over the remaining three pins.

"Yeah," said Nick. "Totally a mistake."

I shook my head. "I'll have you know, I have never gotten a gutter ball in my life."

"Bullshit," said Nick. "When you were little?"

"Nope. I always managed to knock over at least one pin. I'm not counting the times where I had a split and the ball went between the two of them."

"There's no way that's true."

"It is. Some people are just naturally gifted." I settled into the chair beside Nick. "So, tell me about this new girlfriend."

"Her name's Karen. She's a real bombshell."

"Ah," I said. "And the true reason you're dating her comes out." I got up from my seat. "I'm going to the bathroom. It's your turn to bowl.'

"Don't remind me," said Nick, heading for the bowling lane.

All those times I have been to Middle Earth and was chased by orcs, hunted by balrogs, climbing the trees, and screaming my head off—none of them could compare to the horrors of that bathroom. There were three stalls in the women's bathroom. First stall, the toilet was clogged with yellow-brown water brimming. Second stall had toilet paper on the floor. Third stall, the handicapped stall, had blood on the seat. The choices weren't ideal. Is it really that hard for people to be neat in public bathrooms? In our lives, we spend an average of three years on the toilet. You would think in that time some people would figure out how to aim. But no. They still manage to get pee (and blood, apparently) all over the toilet seat. And if you do, have the decency to wipe it off! (Okay, I'm done ranting about public bathrooms now.)

"That was a traumatizing experience," I said when I returned to our bowling lane.

"What happened?" asked Nick.

"Public bathroom."

"Oh. You poor soul. Do you need extensive therapy now?"

"I'll go find Thorin and get him to sing for me. All my worldly problems will just disappear."

"Whatever you say," said Nick.

I stepped up to the bowling lane and picked up the lucky seven ball. "How'd you do?"

"Um…"

I looked up at the score board and almost dropped my bowling ball. "Why do I have all gutter balls for the last two frames?"

"What?" asked Nick, looking up innocently.

I turned on him. "Did you just bowl the last two frames for me and give me gutter balls?"

Nick smiled. "Maybe."

"You! How dare you mess up my bowling perfection!" I held my seven-pound bowling ball like it was a weapon. "I was getting strikes and spares and then all of sudden—Gutter ball! Gutter ball! You! I've just had one of the worst experiences of my life, I have cramps, I have a tampon shoved up between my legs, and I just don't feel like dealing with any of bullshit today!"

"You know," said Nick, cowering away from the bowling ball, "I didn't really need to hear that part about the tampon…"

"Live with it!" With a glance at the scoreboard, I added, "But I'm still winning."

"Don't remind me," said Nick. "I tried so hard to sabotage you..."

"Just for the record," I said, stepping up to the lane to bowl the last frame. "This doesn't ruin my never-had-a-gutter-ball streak."

I rolled the ball down the lane. It struck the pins and—bam—knocked them all over. I turned to Nick and grinned.

"What up?" I asked.

"I hate you," said Nick. He got up and picked out his own ball from the rack. "I'll bowl the next one for you, okay."

"No, no, no," I said, snatching up my lucky seven ball before he could touch it. "You can't go anywhere near my scoreboard. Scram!"

Nick laughed and grabbed my wrist, trying to take the bowling ball away from me. "Whatever it takes to beat you."

"You cheated! Get off me!"

Skip.

Nick's grip on my wrist tightened. I hadn't even noticed that we'd Skipped at first, and it wasn't until I caught sight of his grim expression that I realized something was wrong.

"Where are we?" asked Nick, slowly letting go of my arm.

I looked to my left and then to my right. Definitely not the bowling alley. Though I was still holding the lucky seven bowling ball.

We were in a forest, but not like any forest I had seen before. It had an old, earthy smell to it. The trees were fat and mossy, their roots spreading across the ground, embedded deep in the dirt. Dark green leaves fanned out overheard, shrouding the sky from view. There was a density to the forest that Lórien lacked—where Lórien was silver and youthful, this forest was strong and ancient. I had never visited this forest before, and as I stared at the trees surrounding me, I wasn't sure I would ever want to visit again.

"We're in Middle Earth," I said.

"You Skipped!" cried Nick.

I winced at the hint of anger in his voice. "Sorry, I can't control it."

It took Nick a second longer than I would have liked to respond. "Yeah. I know." He glanced up at the trees. "Where in Middle Earth are we?"

"A forest," I said.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I didn't know that."

"You're the one who asked."

"So you don't know?"

"I often don't know." I adjusted my grip on the bowling ball. "Something I have learned in my life—accept things as they come. If the trees come to life and try to kill us right now, do not be surprised."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Nick.

"Oh-ho, who is this who has wandered into the forest? Are you orcs? Have you come to destroy our home?"

Nick stiffened, and my eyes widened. We turned, very slowly, and saw a massive rowan tree leaning over us, his glassy brown eyes blinking.

Nick yelped and tried to cower behind me. Which wasn't a good plan since he was over a foot taller than me. "Ana, the trees are coming to life!"

"I was joking!" I cried, dropping the bowling ball and throwing my hands in front of my face. "I was joking! Don't let them kill us!"

We shuffled awkwardly, trying to hide behind one another, until we tripped over a tree root and stared up at the creature in horror. If he hadn't spoken, we would have passed by him, dismissing him as a regular tree. But he had the form almost of a tree man, with a head of bark and tree branches for arms and legs.

"Frantic little orcs, are you not?" he said. His big eyes focused on the lucky seven bowling ball at my feet. "What have you brought into the forest, little orcs?"

"Nothing!" I cried, my voice unnaturally high-pitched. "Nothing dangerous anyway. Please don't kill me."

I swear, if trees could smile, that big rowan tree would be grinning at the two of us.

"I have decided," said the tree, speaking in slow and even tones. "That you are not orcs. You do not have any nasty weapons to point at me." He stood back up to his full height. "Hello, little ones, I am Bregalad, but you may call me Quickbeam."

"The tree is talking, Ana," whispered Nick. "Why is the tree talking?"

"I don't know," I hissed back. "Why don't you ask the tree?"

"I am not a tree," said Quickbeam. "I am an Ent."

"What is an Ent?" asked Nick.

"I think it's a talking tree," I said.

"But he says he's not a tree."

"Well, any talking tree would want to distinguish himself from other trees," I said. "That's basically humans and monkeys. We're practically the same thing, but because humans can talk, we're not monkeys. But in the end, we're primates just like the monkeys."

"Ents are protectors of the trees in the forest," said Quickbeam. "We look after the trees an make sure they grow tall."

"See," said Nick, "they're not trees."

"So they're just the leaders of the trees," I said. "But they're still talking trees."

"He just said they weren't trees."

"I still think they're talking trees who gave themselves a name."

Nick groaned. "Think what you want, I give up."

Quickbeam let out a chortling sound. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing—a deep, hearty laugh. Apparently, we amused the Ent.

"What brings you past the borders of Fangorn?" asked Quickbeam as his laughter subsided.

"Fangorn?" I tried to recall Faramir's maps but I couldn't remember seeing the word "Fangorn" on there.

The bark of Quickbeam's face shifted to form a sort of frown on his wooden face. "You do not know Fangorn?"

Nick and I shook our heads almost in unison.

"Fangorn is the name given to this forest," said Quickbeam. "Though that is not the first name, it has become the most common."

"That's, um, cool." I glanced around at the other trees, wondering if any of them were going to start attacking me. They certainly looked like regular trees, but there was an eerie watchfulness about them that made me nervous. "And, um, how do we get out of Fangorn?"

"How do you get out of Fangorn?" asked Quickbeam. "But why would you want to get out of Fangorn?"

I opened my mouth and then closed it. Was there really any point in trying to explain to a talking tree why I would want to leave a forest of trees? Somehow, no matter how many ways I phrased it, I didn't think Quickbeam would understand at all. "Never mind."

"I have decided you are not orcs," said Quickbeam. "So then, what kind of creature are you? Are you elves? Are you men? Are you dwarves? You are not wizards."

"We're human," I said. "My friend here, Nick, is a man. I am a woman. Ana is my name."

"Ana is a pleasant name," said Quickbeam. "So is Nick. But they are far too short. Much shorter than Entish names."

"Quickbeam isn't too bad," I said.

"Quickbeam is not my name. It is a short term used to refer to me by hasty people."

"Oh, a nickname," I said. "I have nicknames too. Most of them are unflattering. Shorty. Blondie. Beard Defiler. Stupid. Idiot. They're numerous."

Quickbeam let out another of his deep rolling laughs. When his laughing fit came to an end, Quickbeam stood upright and said, "You are most fortunate, little Ana and little Nick. You have arrived in Fangorn in time for the Entmoot."

"The Entmoot?" I asked.

"What is that?" added Nick.

"It is a gathering," said Quickbeam.

"A gathering of what?" I asked.

"A gathering of Ents, stupid," said Nick, using one of my numerous nicknames. "That's why it's called the Entmoot." He stood up, brushed off his jeans, and then held out a hand to me.

"I totally knew that," I snapped, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. "I was just testing to see if you knew that. You got to be quick on your feet here in Middle Earth. Like a ninja."

"You speak quickly," said Quickbeam, staring down at us with curiosity. "Faster than even I speak, and I am the quickest of the Ents. That is how I earned the name Quickbeam."

"You speak fast?" My jaw dropped. "Man, I would hate to see how fast the other Ents talk."

"You may meet them, if you wish," said Quickbeam. He bent over and placed his hand on the ground, palm (at least, I think it was his palm) up. His fingers were tree branches with little green leaves sprouting up at the finger tips.

"Come," said Quickbeam. "I will take you to the Entmoot."

"The Entmoot…" I glanced over my shoulder, wondering how far away from the borders of the forest we were. Going to a gathering of slow-talking Ents was not my idea of fun, and the longer I spent in this forest, the more unnerved I became.

"Sure," said Nick, stepping onto Quickbeam's palm.

I stared at Nick, surprised at how easily he trusted Quickbeam. Since his return from goblin town, Nick had always avoided talking about Middle Earth, and when we'd first Skipped to Fangorn, Nick had not been pleased. But now, he was sitting in Quickbeam's palm, his brown eyes lit with interest.

After another moment's hesitation, sat down on Quickbeam's palm next to Nick. Under my breath I said, "You sure about this?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but right then, Quickbeam lifted his hand from the ground. The ground grew farther away as Quickbeam raised us to his eye-level. I squeaked and grabbed onto his branch-fingers. Not at all bothered by the height, Nick hopped off the hand and settled into a seat on Quickbeam's shoulder.

"Coming, Ana?" asked Nick, grinning at me.

"Put me back down," I said. "I'll walk to the Entmoot."

"You cannot walk quickly enough to keep up with me," said Quickbeam. "You legs are too small. I will carry you."

I buried my face in my hands. "Please don't."

"She's afraid of heights," explained Nick.

"She does not like to be high?" asked Quickbeam. He frowned. "Maybe that is why she is so short. If she was any taller, she would be afraid to walk in case she were to trip and fall."

Nick laughed and patted one of Quickbeam's branches. I glared at them reproachfully from my place on Quickbeam's hand. It was nice to see they were becoming friends so quickly. At my expense.

"You two are not funny!" I called out. "I'm not laughing! Do you see my not-laughing face? Do you?"

"I will carry her in my hand," said Quickbeam, beginning to walk forward. "Since she will not climb onto my shoulder."

Through the branches of his fingers, I could see the ground moving far beneath me. "Stop! Stop! Stop! This is dangerous! Someone could get hurt! Stop! No! I don't approve!"

"Is she always this afraid of being high?" asked Quickbeam.

Nick nodded gravely. "Ana is afraid of many things, though heights is the worst."

"She is afraid of many things?" Quickbeam shook his head at me. "Ana is very pitiable. She must live in a world of fear. High things are everywhere."

"She's afraid of driving while it's raining," said Nick. "She won't even go near her car if it's sprinkling. She's afraid of spiders, ants, and flies. Though she has no problem with the centipede that lives in my bathroom. She—"

"Hartley is a kind and gentle soul," I said. "Don't you dare squish him!"

"—even named it."

Quickbeam let out a booming laugh. "You two little people are amusing. I should keep you with me at all times, and we shall walk through the forest and look after the trees together."

"That sounds like fun," said Nick.

Still clinging to Quickbeam, I glanced over my shoulder at Nick. He was smiling and laughing—something I never thought he'd do in Middle Earth. The memory of goblin town seemed far behind him.

Quickbeam took a particularly long step that caused his hand to shift uncomfortably beneath me. I screamed and tightened my grip on his branches. "Only if you shrink! I refuse to spend my life being carried around so high above the ground!"

"But that's the best part," said Nick.

"She really does not like high up places," said Quickbeam cheerfully. "Perhaps I should let her walk the rest of the way."

"She's slow," said Nick. "Carrying her is best."

"I've gotten a lot better at running," I said indignantly. "The Fellowship and the Company make sure I run everywhere."

"You haven't been to Middle Earth in two months," said Nick. "You have to workout more often than that if you want to stay fit. Besides, I thought you said Boromir carries you all the time."

"He only carries me when I can't keep up with the workout." The branches beneath me, swayed as Quickbeam walked, and I let out a yelp of fear. "I knew this was a bad idea."

My no-longer-best friend ignored my suffering with a broad smile. Instead, he turned to Quickbeam and asked, "So, what's your story? You from here originally?"

"Not always," said Quickbeam. "I am the guardian of the rowan trees, for such is my appearance. I am one of Fladrif's, translated as Skinbark, people, and we lived on the mountain-slopes to the west until the wizard of metal sent his minions to cut down our trees."

"Okay," said Nick. "This sounds very interesting and all, but you're going to have to slow down. Who is Skinbark and who is the wizard of metal?"

"Saruman." By this point, I had closed my eyes, hoping that if I couldn't see how far away the ground was, my fears would go away. "Are you going to put me down anytime soon?"

"Skinbark is one of the most ancient Ents," said Quickbeam, quite happy to ignore my question in favor of Nick's. "Skinbark, Leaflock, and Treebeard are all that remains of the original Ents. Leaflock has begun sleeping in a meadow through all four seasons. He has become treeish over the years—such is the fate of all Ents." Quickbeam closed his eyes for a second, almost in mourning. He eventually opened them and continued with his history lesson. "Treebeard is the one for whom this forest is named, Fangorn. He still acts as a shepherd of the trees. Skinbark and his people managed the trees on the west side of the forest, but Saruman, the once white and pure but now metal-minded, sent his orcs to ravage the area. Skinbark retreated high up into the mountain to dwell amongst the birches." Quickbeam paused and shook his head almost sadly. "They always were his favorite."

"So you have been displaced as well?" asked Nick.

"Yes." Quickbeam sounded less sorrowful about his own fate as he did about Skinbark's. "I have been living here in Derndingle, which, fortunately for little Ana, is near the Entmoot."

"It doesn't feel very near," I said through gritted teeth.

"Do not be upset," said Quickbeam. "We have arrived."

I opened my eyes as Quickbeam stepped through the trees in to a vast open space in the middle of the forest. There were other trees standing in the clearing, but like Quickbeam, these trees had arms, legs, and faces. They had gathered around an oddly-shaped jagged rock and were swaying gently in the wind.

At our arrival, one of the Ents opened his eyes and stepped forward to greet Quickbeam. He was quite a bit taller than Quickbeam and much older. A mossy beard hung from his lean face, and his dark green eyes were flecked with brown.

"Treebeard," said Quickbeam for our sakes.

He then let out a low long moan, and Treebeard responded in a similar fashion. It took me a minute to realize that this was how Ents talked to one another, in moan and groans and creaks. Nick and I sat silently, watching the two trees sway back and forth. I watched Treebeard curiously. Quickbeam had said he was one of the few remaining original Ents. He didn't look much older than Quickbeam, but there was an agelessness to Treebeard that reminded me a bit of elves. Except Treebeard felt much more earthy and much more dangerous.

Finally Treebeard asked, in the common tongue, "Who have you brought with you, Quickbeam?'

"These are two humans I met," said Quickbeam. "They wished to see the other Ents. They are funny little creatures who bring me great amusement."

Treebeard stared at Nick and me, his moss-green eyes wide and unblinking. "How odd these coincidences do occur. I too have brought little people with me to the Entmoot. Place your little people with mine, and they shall converse while the Entmoot goes on."

"Little people?" wondered Nick.

In four long strides, Quickbeam crossed the clearing. He raised his hand to let Nick climb on before lowering us to the ground. I scampered off his hand as quickly as I could, almost tripping in the process.

Ground! Beautiful, safe, sturdy ground!

"Ana?"

I stopped dancing on the mossy ground and looked up to see who had spoken my name.

Two little hobbits were sitting on the roots of an oak tree, their mouth hanging open with surprise.

A wide grin spread across my face. "Merry! Pippin!"

Note: Quickbeam is canon. I did not make him up - a lot of people seemed confused by this. But read the books and you will see, Quickbeam is the Ent created by Tolkien who was named "Quickbeam" because he answered "Yes" before another Ent finished asking his question.