“We climbed over the wall that isn’t there,” said Avery. “Where are we?”
“Well, you’re in the Forest of Borders,” said the owl. “The forest is very large, so that may not help you as much as you would like it to, but it’s where you are, and it’s where you’ll be until you decide to let your feet take you someplace else. You’re under my tree, which is more specific but even less helpful, since it doesn’t tell you where anything else is. Where are your nests?”
“On the other side of the wall,” said Avery miserably.
Unlike Zib, he had never gone wishing for adventures, and had always thought that he wouldn’t know what to do with one if it happened to come along. Now that he was being proven right, he found that he didn’t enjoy it in the least. This wasn’t the sort of right answer that was rewarded with hot chocolate and fresh cookies and pats on the head; this was the sort of right answer that came after a question like “Do you think it will hurt?” or “Do you know whose turn it is to do the dishes?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Avery found himself wishing he’d been wrong.
“Ah,” said the owl, understanding. “Poor children. You didn’t know you were on a border, did you? And when you’re on a border, if you step wrong, you can find yourself in the forest.”
“Can we step back?” asked Zib.
“No, I’m afraid not. You’re not on a border anymore, you see; you’re someplace. The only way to get back to where you were is to find another border, one that crosses in the opposite direction.”
“You said this was the Forest of Borders,” said Avery. “Shouldn’t we be able to find a border here?”
“Good gracious, no,” said the owl. “This isn’t the Forest of Border Crossings, or the Forest of Getting Where You Need to Go.”
“Do those places exist?” asked Avery.
“If they do, I’ve never been there,” said the owl. “This is the Forest of Borders. When you step over a border without a destination in mind, you wind up here, at least until you go somewhere else. Where were you trying to go?”
Avery and Zib exchanged a look.
“To school,” said Avery.
“On an adventure,” said Zib.
“One of you might get your way, but I can’t say which one,” said the owl. “Maybe both of you will, and won’t that be an interesting thing to watch? My name is Meadowsweet. Do you have names?”
“Avery,” said Avery.
“Zib,” said Zib.
“You shouldn’t lie to talking owls,” said Avery. “That’s not your name.”
Zib glared at him. “It is so.”
“No, it’s not,” said Avery. “Your name is Hepzibah.”
“A piece can represent the whole,” said Meadowsweet. “If the human child wants to hold up a branch and say it means the entire tree, I don’t see where it’s another human child’s place to stop it. Representative symbols are an essential piece of making so many things. Without them, we wouldn’t have maps, or books, or paintings. Peace, human child. Let your fellow be.”
Avery crossed his arms, chin dropping in a sulk, while Zib beamed.
“Now, then, we have more important matters to discuss, like getting you out of the forest and away from my tree.”
“Why?” asked Zib. “Are we not allowed to be here?”
“You’re allowed to be wherever you are, and I’m quite sure I don’t set the rules for either one of you, but there are consequences to being in places, and one of the consequences of being in the forest is you making noise under my tree and keeping me awake.” Meadowsweet puffed up, feathers standing on end, until the outline became less “owl” and more “dandelion going to seed.” “I would prefer to sleep, so you must go.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” said Avery.
“Also, there is the small matter of you being eaten by wolves if you stay here, flightless creatures that you are.”
“Oh,” said Avery, more subdued. “How do we get out of the forest?”
The owl, who was kinder than she sounded—who had raised three nests of eggs to adulthood, and most of them owls in their own right, with the occasional gryphon and harpy thrown in to keep her on her talons—took pity. She launched herself from her branch, wings spread wide, and glided down to land in front of the children. “Do you have anything of use with you?”
“I have a slingshot and some rocks,” said Zib. “And I have my math homework and a sandwich and an apple.”
“I have my books, and I have the metal ruler I won last year in the spelling bee,” said Avery. He had never been able to quite understand why the reward for being the best at spelling was a ruler, which didn’t know how to spell anything, but it had been so nice to win a prize that he had never wanted to argue.
“It’s a start,” said Meadowsweet. She turned to Zib. “A slingshot—that’s the human weapon that throws things away from itself, very fast, isn’t it?”
“It’s a toy, not a weapon,” said Zib. “But yes.”
“I suppose whether it’s a toy or a weapon depends on whether you’re aiming it or having it aimed at you,” said Meadowsweet. “Take a rock, and put it in your slingshot, and throw the rock as far as the slingshot will let you. Once you’ve done that, go looking for it. Three rocks should see you to the end of the forest. Maybe five. Definitely not four. Four is an even number, and those never get you anywhere.”
“Will you come with us?” asked Avery. Meadowsweet was an owl, which was strange, but she was also an adult. Things always went more smoothly when there was an adult around.
To his surprise, the owl laughed. “Me, go with you? You’re human children, and clearly on a quest for something, even if it’s only the wall you say you’ve misplaced. I value my wings too much to accompany human children on a quest. Only head for the edge of the forest, and you’ll find something there to help you.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Zib.
“Things have a way of going the way they’re meant to go. You should start walking. The wolves will be here soon.” Meadowsweet took off in a flurry of wings, vanishing back into the high branches, and for all that she was impossibly blue, no matter how much Zib and Avery squinted, they couldn’t see her.
“Now what do we do?” asked Avery.
Zib slid her hands into two of the pockets hidden in her skirt, coming up with a slingshot and a polished stone the size of a conker. She pulled the strap on her slingshot back, slid the stone into the cup at the center of the strap, and let go, sending the stone sailing straight and true through the trees.
“We go that way,” she said, and started walking.
Avery stayed where he was, staring after her. Zib kept going for a few more feet before pausing and looking back.
“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming?”
Avery scrambled to catch up with her, and the two children walked into the trees, not quite together but not quite alone, following the trail of the slingshot stone.