The Map to Everywhere by Carrie Ryan
But it was her mother Marrill wanted to hear more about. To make sure she was okay. Marrill pressed her back to a tree and slid until she was sitting. The ground was soft here, blanketed by vines that seemed to shift to cradle her. The tips of her fingers dug into the damp earth as she closed her eyes and concentrated, listening.
It was her mother’s voice reminiscing with her father about the time they’d visited Antarctica as a family. Marrill relaxed into the story, letting the sound of her mother lull her like it did when she was putting her to bed at night.
The rhythm of the forest came low, so steady it was almost soothing. Before long, threads of other stories wove in and around the one her mother was telling. Stories about AlleySalley and all her lost husbands. Stories about the ships that sailed the deep Pirate Stream, warships and traders and travelers and floating nations of strange people.
Marrill didn’t even notice when the vines crept over her toes and up her legs. She didn’t see the strange-shaped leaves tilting in, the flesh-colored flowers shifting closer. It was like they were whispering in her ears, filling her head with secrets.
As the leaves closed over her vision and the vines pulled her up off the ground and into the air, the last conscious part of her knew something was wrong. But she knew just as well that she couldn’t fight it on her own.
“Fin,” she whispered with the last bit of will she could muster. “Fin, if you’re out there, help!”
And then the rhythmic beat of the jungle swallowed her whole. She was lost in a world of rumors and whispers and hidden knowledge. And at last, she was happy to give herself over to it.
CHAPTER 23
Poison Fire Whispers
What whispers?” Fin asked again. But the tree’s polished eyes had drifted shut. Fin looked around. Sunlight speckled through the forest canopy, dancing on the leaves outside the hollow. No matter how hard Fin listened, all he could hear was the hum of insects, the call of birds, and silence.
“Oh, oh!” the tree suddenly murmured. “That’s a good one!” Fin turned back just in time to see a thick bud sprout from one of the green vines wrapping up its trunk. It burst open to reveal a black acorn, about the size of a thumbnail.
Hesitantly, Fin plucked the acorn free. It felt cool and woody between his fingers. Different colors whirled beneath its dark skin, and he pinched it lightly, testing its firmness. The acorn cracked, and a hushed voice whispered out,
Fin jumped back, dropping it. A swirl of dark liquid oozed from the broken shell and disappeared in the space between two stones. Fin caught a glimpse of a face reflected in it as it went. He would have sworn it was a man with buckteeth, wedging a hat onto his head.
“What was that?” Already, where the dark liquid had gone, a new vine had sprouted. Fin gasped as it snaked its way up to twine into the tangle surrounding him.
“Hm, what?” the tree asked, blinking. “What’s what? Who’s where?” Its eyes settled on the newly grown vine. “Oh, that. A good rumor, that. Quite a nice secret.” The heavy lids began their slow descent once more.
“Wait,” Fin said, puzzling through the words. “That was a seed, not a secret.”
“Of course it was.” It sounded annoyed, at least for a tree. “Here, secrets turn to seed, good secrets take root, and the vines that grow bloom into rumors. Secrets do that, you know,” it said, as much to itself as to Fin. “Once planted, they grow. And start new rumors all their own.”
Fin crossed his arms. “So where do they come from?” he asked. “The rumors and whatnot?”
The tree yawned. “The Council of Whispers collects them in the Gibbering Grove, of course, and spreads them to the forest. Some come from what the ears of the forest might hear, but little happens here anymore. Thankfully, the Council sees everything everywhere and brings it all back home to grow.”
Fin tilted his head to one side. He wasn’t buying it. “Really? So why can’t I hear all these secrets then?”
“You would if they concerned you. But you don’t, which means no one anywhere is talking about you. No one anywhere at all.” The tree yawned and closed its eyes.
The words stung. Mostly because Fin feared they might be true. He shook it off. He hadn’t let the sadness that floored an entire thieves’ den get him down. He sure wasn’t going to be judged by some overgrown shrubbery.
He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “So this Gibbering Grove,” he said, “how do I find it?” If there was a Council that knew all the secrets in the world, surely they’d know where to find the Map.
The ear-shaped leaves rustled beside him, making him jump. Right by his head, the vine that had just grown from the acorn quivered with energy. The rustling spread down its vibrating length, off into the forest. , it seemed to say, echoing Fin’s words and carrying them away.
“Oh, oh! A new one!” the tree creaked, eyes popping open again. “Someone is searching for the Gibbering Grove!”
Fin blinked. “I know,” he said. “That’s me. I just said that.”
The tree snorted, or at least Fin assumed it did; it sounded to him more like the crunch of rotten wood. “Well, who are you? I don’t remember you saying anything,” it said. “In fact, I don’t remember you at all. Besides, if the rumor had come from you, it would only be as trustworthy as you are, which is not very. But I don’t know where this rumor comes from, and therefore it must be true.”
Fin raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you don’t know where it comes from, and that means it must be true?”
“Of course,” the tree sighed. “Everyone is saying it.”
Fin chuckled. “You trees sure are a swift lot.”
He was about to ask for directions again when he heard it. A voice in the rustle of the forest noises. Quiet, barely audible, barely recognizable, but there. . He cocked his head. There it was again!
. He moved to the hollow’s entrance, stuck his head out into open air. . But there was no one out there; nothing but leaves shook in the vine-strewn canopy.
“Oh,” the tree behind him said. “It seems someone is talking about you after all.”
Then he heard it, loud and clear:
It was Marrill’s voice!
“That was my friend!” he shouted at the tree. “How do I find her?”
But the tree seemed lost again. “Local news, local news,” it muttered. “How interesting…”
Fin grabbed an acorn and threw it. It bounced off the tree’s nose and broke against the wall, a new vine snaking out from it.
“Ow!” the tree cried. the vine echoed. “That’s not how those are supposed to be used!”
Fin readied another acorn and put on his best I-dare-you squint. Forget the Gibbering Grove. Finding Marrill was more important than finding the Map.
“Okay, okay!” the tree cried. “Quick, tell me a secret about your friend that she would want to know, but doesn’t. Something juicy.” The vines around him twitched impatiently. “Come close and whisper it in my ear. That way it will come from me.”
Fin thought long and hard, and then cupping a hand next to the tree’s knotty ear, he whispered his secret.
“Oh,” the tree remarked, “that is interesting. Not surprising at all, but interesting.” A new acorn burst into life on one of its branches and dropped to the ground with a crack. A vine sprouted from it and shot past Fin, off into the jungle.
His own voice rustled down its length, and he cringed at the words. “I’ve never had a real friend before,” it said. “Marrill is the first.”
“Follow it,” the tree told him. “It will take you to her.”
“Thanks,” Fin said. “And, um, sorry about hitting you with the acorn.” He grabbed the vine and jumped out of the hollow, sliding down its length and following it into the dense forest.
The leaves whispered, up and down and off into the distance.
He closed his eyes, as if he could press out the sound. It felt like facing the crying Oracle all over again. Only this time, there was no magic making him feel small,
Finally, when it seemed like he must have crossed the whole island twice, his fingers touched something big. He opened his eyes. Just in front of him, his vine tangled with many others around a thick, person-sized bundle hanging just a few feet off the ground. He tapped it, and it let out a muffled squeak.
“Marrill!” Fin said, dropping to the soft forest floor. Away now from his own personal echo chamber, he could hear the deep primal rhythm of the jungle. It pulsed with voices, carried in whispers and hushed rustlings. The very trees themselves seemed to dance and sway with it.
it thrummed.
“Let’s get you out of there,” Fin told the squirming bundle. “I’m starting to feel a mite unwelcome.” He produced his knives and sliced away one of the vines binding her. A new one immediately slid up from below to fill the gap. He tried again, and again. Each time, no sooner had he cut a vine free than another appeared to take its place. All the while, the jungle chanted its sinister beat.
“Shanks skating, it’s like the rumors never end!” Fin cried at last, stepping back. “There’s got to be another way!”
Just then, he noticed a giant ear-shaped fern turning in his direction. Listening.
Fin thought back to the hollow, to the way his words about looking for the Grove had been carried away and then had come back to him and the tree. How a rumor without a source—or in his case, where the source was forgotten—got treated as simple common knowledge, all the more trustworthy for not knowing where it came from.
“The rumors never end,” he repeated to himself. A plan hatched itself in the back of his mind.
“Hold tight,” he told the Marrill-ball. It murfled back weakly.
Fin slipped over to the fern-ear, positioning his mouth just at its rim. “I heard,” he whispered gingerly, then looked around from side to side exaggeratedly, as if checking for spies. The fern didn’t seem to have eyes, but as crazy as this place was, there was no being too careful. “I heard that if the vines get the girl, then it’s all over for the Council of Whispers.”
All around him, leaves rustled, mouths repeating his words, more ears turning to hear. He smiled.
“Yep,” he continued, “I hear it’s all part of the plot. To, uh… take down the Council. Get them to wrap up the little girl and not let her go. That’s when the… let’s say poison—or fire! Poison fire? That’s when the poison fire starts.” He swallowed. “And then that’s it for the Gibbering Grove.”
The rustling came more furiously now, branches shaking everywhere. He could hear the murmuring all around him.
They’d taken the bait!
He slipped over to a different fern to spread the story a little further. “I heard about that… poison fire,” he told it. “Nasty stuff. But if the jungle just lets the little girl go, the whole plot will be foiled. That’s a big secret, so don’t tell anyone, now.”
The waves of whispers reached a crescendo, louder even than the rhythmic beat. The whole forest was talking about it! Behind him, he heard slithering and the creaking of wood. Fin turned, just in time to see the last of the vines dropping Marrill to the ground.
CHAPTER 24
Learning to Be Supportive
One minute, a sea of vines engulfed Marrill. Secrets and whispers thrummed around her, filling her ears and her mind. She could feel the tide of them, coming and going. She was part of a vast network, all driven in rhythm by a pumping heart at its distant center.
The next minute, she sat in the middle of a small clearing swept clear of vegetation. Fin knelt in front of her, his eyes wide and slightly panicked.
“You okay?” he asked, breathless.
She blinked, trying to clear the weirdness from her head. Red marks covered her arms and legs from where the vines had held her tightly, and traces of her mother’s voice still echoed in her mind. It took all her effort to ignore it.
“Um, Marrill?” Fin prompted.
His question snapped her back to the present. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry—I was just…”
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish. A thought occurred to her. “You rescued me.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, as if that was obvious.
Which it was, but that wasn’t what she meant. “You could have gone for the Map instead. I know how important it is to you.”
He frowned. “Well, it’s important to you, too. I mean, we said we’d find it together.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks,” she told him. “You’re a good friend.” One of the leaves nearby picked up what she’d said, and soon the forest was chirping,
Fin scratched at the ground with a stick. “N-no problem.” He cleared his throat and added, “Any idea where Ardent and Coll are?”
“They were right with me, and then I turned around and they were gone.” She bit her lip, remembering how scary it had been to realize she was all alone. It made her even more grateful to have Fin here now. “Lucky the forest didn’t get you, too,” she told him.
“Yeah,” he said without pausing. “Good thing I don’t listen to all the things folks say about me.…” His voice trailed off into nothing.
She thought about what she’d heard when she’d been engulfed in the vines.
It had been Fin’s voice, saying
Her heart ached for him. The forest had nothing to say about Fin, she realized, because no one remembered him enough to say anything about him.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Fin stood. “Well, I guess we should figure out where the Map is and get out of here.” She wasn’t sure, but his cheer sounded a bit false.
Before she could say anything back, a loud “Caw!” sounded in the clearing. A smudgy black bird soared into view and settled on a nearby branch.
“It’s Rose!” Marrill cried. “Good to see you, girl.”
In response, Rose flapped her wings and began to preen herself.
“Good timing,” Fin muttered.
Marrill started toward the bird. As she neared the vines crisscrossing the underbrush, they seemed to rear back to avoid her touch. Out of curiosity, she tried to catch one on purpose, and its whispering turned to shrieks as she grabbed for it.
Marrill glanced back at Fin, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Fire poison?”
He swallowed, his cheeks beginning to tinge a bit red. “Poison fire, actually,” he stammered with a self-conscious shrug. “The… uh… vines listen and carry rumors, and I… er… needed to free you and… um…”
Around them the ear-shaped leaves twisted in their direction. Fin stared at them for a moment before clearing his throat. “I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean to let the details of your plan leak out.” He winked exaggeratedly. Marrill pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle.
Rose let out another loud “Caw!” and took off into the forest.
“Let’s go!” Marrill called, plunging into the dense thicket of trees after the bird. Every place she stepped, the thick underbrush shrank back, clearing a path forward. She could hear Fin weaving along behind her, dodging branches that snapped back in place as soon as she passed. He yelped as one slapped against him.
“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder.
“I should have told them I had poison fire, too,” he grunted in response.
Before long, they hit a clearing surrounded by a curtain of dense hanging vines. Rose plunged through them without hesitation, but Marrill paused, catching her breath and waiting for Fin. Together, they walked through the shrinking vines to see what lay ahead.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Welcome to the Gibbering Grove,” Fin said softly.
It was as if they were standing on the edge of a lake, staring out at an island. Only instead of water, there were thick brambles, with thorns the size of her arm. Masses of huge vines, bigger even than she was, tangled throu
It reminded Marrill of the time she and her parents had driven through Georgia during a particularly wet summer and she’d seen acres of land consumed by kudzu. The vines had eaten everything in their path: houses, trees, power lines.
But these vines weren’t just plants—not in any normal sense of the word. They writhed and twitched, ear-shaped leaves listening as the flower-shaped mouths called out in a cacophony of noise.
And beyond them, in the middle of it all, sat the island, like the central keep of a fortress beyond its leafy moat: a towering circle of trees so intertwined that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. It looked beautiful and terrible and impossible all at once.
Above it all, Rose circled, a smudgy speck of black swooping through the crystal blue sky. Hopefully, that meant they’d found the next piece of the Map!
Barely able to contain her excitement, Marrill grabbed Fin in a spontaneous hug, jumping up and down. His only response was a nervous-sounding gurgle of alarm.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, stepping back.
He cleared his throat as a deep shade of red spread from his neck into his cheeks. “N-no, it’s okay!” he protested, his tone slightly panicked. “It’s j-just that… uh… we shouldn’t celebrate just yet because… um…” In the end, he gave up and flung his arm out to indicate the very intimidating jumble of wicked-looking brambles. “Thorns,” he finally concluded.
“Right,” she agreed with a sigh. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood at the edge of the clearing, trying to determine their next step. “What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of weed killer,” she muttered.
With a groan, Fin slapped his palm against his forehead. “Of course!”
And with that, Fin placed a hand square in the middle of her back and shoved her forward. Straight into the pit of brambles.