Chapter Two: Adventure Calls

That night they gathered in Kaila’s house. It was the first time in Moma’s memory the whole village fit inside one house. They’d brought a few chairs in from the empty house next door, as no one needed those anymore. After a round of catching-up and asking each other how they fared, and another round naming the neighbors they’d lost over the winter, Kaila clicked her tongue. It was a habit she’d developed as chief storyteller and needed to reel in a chatty, grumbling group.

“This can’t last.” Kaila’s voice had dried and deepened over the years, but it cut right through the five of them easily enough.

“It’s lasted for three years,” Selan said.

“Not the clouds. Us. This village. We’ve got enough reserves to make it to the middle of summer, at the longest. After that, who knows but the wind.”

Ben, the village historian, cleared his throat. “I think we know, too.”

“I’m not leaving,” growled Selan. “I’ll die here, as I vowed to when I first came. This mountain is…” He stopped and waved at the air, shaking his head.

They all knew what he couldn’t say—the mountain was home. It was in their bones and skin, it had shaped the wrinkles on their faces, and it had given each of them a purpose. Leaving the mountain would feel like pulling out teeth.

 “Those that were going to leave already did,” said Kaila softly. “And I do not wish them ill. Do you?”

Selan shook his head.

“We need to get through to the city,” Moma said, and as the words left her mouth she could see the tall, silvery building as if they’d been painted on Kaila’s walls. They looked just as they had when she’d last seen them, seventy years ago. “I’m sure someone there would want to help us.”

“No one from the city has been here since the clouds came,” Ben said. He started tapping a pencil against his knee. His thigh had gotten so thin, it looked like his knee was attached to his hip with a garden stake. “If they could help us, I’m sure they would have.”

“Maybe they forgot about us.” Yuki still had her broom in her hand, and she clutched with tight-white knuckles. She’d brushed out her hair for the occasion, and it stuck out like a dandelion gone to seed.

“No,” Selan said. “They must have something else going on. We’ll have to fix this ourselves, save ourselves, like we always did.”

“We used to get supplies from the city each summer,” Moma said. “So not always.”

Selan cut her a look, but she was used to it. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but correct people.

“Nevertheless, he’s right. We have to help ourselves. Have any of you been down in the trees?” Kaila asked. Her voice shook, as though holding this meeting required every last kernel of energy. She gestured at her door, at the world outside, and Moma followed the direction down the rocky slope, across the fields, and into the forest. Her mind wandered, picking up speed until she was practically flying between beeches and over mossy-covered stones.

“I have,” she said. The truth of it stuck in her throat. “The last time I saw my parents. They took me there, and we had a picnic, before they put me back on the gondola.”

All of these people had been here that day, but she wasn’t sure they remembered how she’d cried when she emerged from the pod, tear-faced and full of fury, before she collapsed in front of her very own, very lonely house door, having finally accepted she’d never go home again.

Selan was looking straight into her eyes, as if he could see it too.

“You’re the strongest one of us left, Moma,” Kaila said. “And you’ve been there more recently than I have.”

Moma didn’t want to listen anymore. She had a feeling in her gut about where this was going, and as much as she had longed to see the forest again, she did not want to go now. It wasn’t that her neighbors—her only remaining family now—might not be here whenever she made it back, but she wasn’t sure she could even make it down the mountain. The clouds had covered their view of the world for three years, and after so long a time, she wasn’t sure she believed there was anything out there anymore. They’d been cut off, pruned from the source, and there wasn’t anything she knew of to fix that sort of wound.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Selan said. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Moma’s the only one who can get up those rocks for the eggs. If she goes, we lose that.”

“I can try it,” Yuki said. Her eyes were alert, as though she was thinking about scrambling on the rocks right that moment.

“Don’t you dare,” Moma said. She, too, was thinking about Yuki on the rocks, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. “What do you think I can do, if I go down there?”

Kaila and Ben shared a look, which was when Moma realized this wasn’t a new idea to them. These two had once hated each other, back when they were all a little less old and and a little less hungry. Apparently, there was a silver lining to this cloudcover after all.

“For starters, if the forest is intact, it will be a source of new seeds and plants you could bring back. But primarily, it might give us a chance to find others, to see how far the clouds go, and if the city’s still there.”

“But I’m not going to the city.” She wasn’t sure if she meant that as a demand, or as a question.

“No, that’s too far. I’m not sure I can withstand you being that far away,” Kaila said, and her mouth turned soft. “Just go to the trees. Look for help. Maybe, you can find answers, too.”

“I—”

“Sleep on it,” Ben said quickly. “Today’s not a good day for making decisions. Tomorrow is a lucky day, so make your choice then.”

Nodding, Moma stood up from the cane chair her old friend, Tiberius, had crafted forty years ago. It creaked, and it sounded like his laugh.

“Can I at least think about it today, or should that wait until tomorrow?” she asked Ben, sure he could hear the teasing tone in her voice. He grinned and, with a flourish, tucked his pen back into his shirt.

“Let’s give Kaila a rest,” he said before he, too, stood. With all of them but Kaila stretching up and up at various speeds, the space grew tighter, pushing them out into the dusky evening. They said their farewells, and each of them walked the few steps to their homes.

On the other side of her own painted door, Moma leaned against the wall and gripped the fringe of the rug that she’d nailed into it. She did this sometimes when she needed to think, or retreat.

She closed her eyes and was immediately back in the forest. It was lush, the air itself green as moss, and the leaves draped over her, shielding her from the blinding gray of the winter cloud. She tried to squeeze out the memory of her parents, of the picnic blanket and the crunch of honeyed biscuits, and focus on the soft feel of the forest ground. She lingered on the rich purple blackberries she’d discovered, and how they’d been tart and sweet on her tongue. She thought of how cool it had felt to be covered in shade, and how the undersides of the leaves glowed green like traffic lights.

She hadn’t seen traffic lights in decades.

No, she wouldn’t go to the city, but if she could manage it, she’d make her way down into the forest. Bad luck day or not, she knew she’d already made her decision.