The Forest of Hands and Teeth

“Knowledge of the fast Unconsecrated has passed down through the Sisterhood since the Return,” she says, standing straight with her arms by her sides, the long black tunic whipping around her ankles in the afternoon wind. “The Fast Ones are fierce and rare and devastating. They have always existed and God has blessed this village not to be bothered by them.” She sneaks a glance at me as she says this, as if I am somehow to blame for the presence of Gabrielle.



“We do not know what causes them to be different, what causes them to be fast. But we do know that they burn themselves out quickly, ripping their bodies apart, and that soon everything will return to normal. The Guardians have doubled their patrols and have pulled men from the fields to assist with the village watches. This threat will end soon, either by the Guardians killing the Fast One or by the Fast One burning out.



“Until such time, our only option is to continue our prayers to God and ask for His forgiveness and blessing.”



Sister Tabitha leads us all in prayer and steps from the dais to allow the Edenmass and Brethlaw celebrations to continue. But I can see on everyone's faces that they are unsure and afraid of this new breed of Unconsecrated. The dancing becomes listless. The celebrations end early. People shutter their houses at night, preparing for the worst.



I can't help but wonder what other information they are keeping from us. What secrets the Sisters have locked in their Cathedral. What they know about the creature that was Gabrielle, once a girl like me.



My thoughts constantly turn to the day Sister Tabitha marched me down the underground tunnel and into the clearing in the Forest. Could the same thing have happened to Gabrielle? I want to run to Sister Tabitha and ask her what she has done, ask her how this happened. At first I stay silent because I'm terrified of becoming like Gabrielle and then other worries begin pounding in the back of my head: was there something I could have done to save her? Could I have spoken out? Searched harder? Was I responsible for her fate?



Finally, my curiosity becomes too much and I must know what happened—what caused her to turn into such a fast and powerful creature, unlike any Unconsecrated I have ever known.



In the few days remaining before my Binding to Harry, I begin to slink around the Cathedral as I go about my chores. Stopping outside closed doors, listening in on conversations between the elder Sisters, the ones I assume are the keepers of the secrets.



But I learn nothing of importance. In frustration, time slipping out before me, I begin to explore areas that are off-limits. I test the boundaries of the Sisterhood, of the Cathedral. Knowing that if I am caught I too could be thrown into the Forest to follow in Gabrielle's footsteps.



But I don't care about my recklessness. Because each day that passes is another day that Travis doesn't come for me. That I become more desperate to understand what has happened. That I must know everything: why we are here, who the Sisters are, what caused the Return.



Questions that we have never been allowed to ponder. That we have been forbidden to pursue.



I am ripe with these thoughts rolling through my head. As I kneel at services or attend Brethlaw celebrations, I feel rebellious trying to find a way around the Sisters, contemplating how to sneak past them. How to gain entrance to the forbidden sanctums of the Cathedral.



And yet when my final night alone comes, the night before my Binding ceremony with Harry, I am no closer to the truth. I have found nothing to connect the Sisters to Gabrielle's return. I have found nothing to show their complicity. I sit on the edge of my bed, my dressing gown clutched tight in my fists, and stare out the open window. Looking toward the Forest and wondering if I have it all wrong—if my questions have been for nothing.



Wondering if the Sisters are right and theirs is the only path. Theirs the only truth. Ours, the only village left in the world. Wondering if my mother was wrong and there is no ocean.



I clench my teeth, wanting to cry out with frustration and confusion. How am I supposed to understand it all?



My legs burn with anticipation and I jump from the bed and pace the room. Around me the Cathedral is quietly settling in for the night. My mind wars against itself, commanding me out of my room for one final search then ordering me to stay put. To not tempt fate and the wrath of the Sisters and to wait for Travis to come and claim me as he promised.



But then I think of Gabrielle out there tearing herself against the fences. I wonder if my mother is out there as well. If she somehow knows the answers I seek now that she is on the other side.



I don't bother to light my candle as I slip from the room. I don't bother to listen at doors as I make my way through the Cathedral, sliding along walls until I am sneaking down the dusty steps into the basement. In my mind I am following Sister Tabitha, remembering the day she brought me down here to a place I never knew existed to teach me about choices. I am remembering how I learned for the first time that the Sisterhood has been keeping secrets.



The air grows colder, danker as I reach the bottom of the stairs and slide my bare feet along the uneven stones of the floor. There's no light and I fumble to strike my flint to light my candle. Its weak flame barely illuminates my trembling hand and the light dies off quickly in the thick darkness around me.



With my free hand I feel for the empty shelves that, as Sister Tabitha explained, used to hold wine bottles and barrels for fermentation. I hear a scuttle of sharp nails over old wood and I freeze, a tingle creeping at the edge of my hairline.



When all I can hear is the wisp of my own breath I continue to feel my way through the room until, with the crack of my toe against the wall, I find the corner farthest from the stairs. I sweep aside the heavy curtain hiding the door, crawling behind it as dust coats my mouth and nose. And finally, I feel the rough wooden boards that make up the door leading to the tunnel that will take me to the Forest.



The latch won't move and I'm suddenly not sure what I expected to find down here. Perhaps I hoped that Sister Tabitha had left the door unlocked. Perhaps I hoped it would give way to my sheer force of will.



Instead, I let my head rest against the wood, pressing my ear against it as if I could hear anything on the other side. As if the door itself could whisper its secrets to me. I think about all these walls have seen and I wonder what it was like here when the Return struck. Did they know what was coming? Were they prepared? Did this village even exist before the Return, or was it created as a sanctuary? As a refuge hidden from the world?



But the walls tell me nothing, do not betray their secrets and everything around me is silent—my own breathing muffled by the curtain separating me from the rest of the room. Sleeplessness causes my eyes to burn, my limbs to feel heavy. I want to stay here in the cocoon of this place forever. Not having to face Harry. Not having to wonder if Travis will come for me. Not having to acquiesce to the Sisters, to acknowledge that I'm wrong about them.



I trace my hands along the pitted metal bands holding the wood of the door together, testing for weaknesses I know do not exist. I run my fingers over the hinges, my skin becoming slick with the grease they use in the Cathedral to keep the doors from creaking.



Suddenly, I want nothing more than my bed. To enjoy my one last night alone before I am bound to Harry. My last night to languish and allow Travis to pull me into dreams. I push away from the door, am slipping the curtain back from my shoulders, wiping my fingers along its grubby surface when I realize how to get past. How to gain entrance to the tunnel and the hidden rooms beyond.



I am instantly alert as I sweep the candle up from the floor by my feet. Its flame seems to throb with my heartbeat, the dull shadows it casts around me thrumming at the edges. My fingers shake as I feel along the wooden racks, testing for weakness. Finally, my finger catches the splinters of a split board and I grab it, twisting the wood until it pops and breaks, leaving me with a long narrow slat.



I keep prodding the shelves until I find another, thicker scrap of wood to serve as a makeshift mallet and then trace my way back to the hidden door. I wedge the splinter of wood against the head of the pin holding the two wings of the hinge together and begin tapping the end with the other scrap. I keep the curtain tight around my shoulders, hoping to dull the sound of my hammering.



At first the pin refuses to budge and I have to tap harder, until I'm swinging the mallet against the wedge of wood with all my strength, no longer caring about the echoes I'm creating around me.



I can feel the pin slipping free from the barrel, beginning to wobble, and I pull at it with my fingers, using the hem of my gown to get a better grip on the smooth metal. With a final tug it comes free, dropping to the floor with a satisfying ping. Without hesitating I start working on the other hinge lower on the door.



My nightgown pulls against my back, stuck to my skin with sweat by the time I've wrenched the other pin from its barrel so that the door is no longer connected to the wall by the hinges. I want to whoop and holler with satisfaction but instead wipe my arm across my brow and stretch the kinks from my back as I survey my progress.



While the door is still locked in place by the latch on one side, it's free to move on the other now that I have dismantled both hinges. Taking a deep breath, I jam my fingers through the narrow gap under the door and tug until the door eases open slightly. I scrape at the narrow opening until I have it pulled free enough to squeeze through, the heavy wood tilting now that it no longer has the hinges to balance it in place.



The air is damp, moldy, and my own breath sounds like a windstorm to my ears. I strain to hear in the darkness beyond my weak candlelight, suddenly terrified that there might be someone or something else down here. I have almost convinced myself that I can hear every earth bug moving toward me through the soil until I remember the small table of candles by the tunnel side of the door and I light them all, my body shuddering with relief as the small patch of light surrounding me grows.



My entire body shakes now, whether from fear or the sweat soaking my thin gown I don't know. I wish Travis were by my side, someone to hold my hand, to keep at bay the terror at the edges of my imagination. I have thought of this tunnel and these rooms for so long and yet now that I am here I don't want to press forward.



I'm not sure I want to know the truth anymore. To know what's kept hidden down here.



With the candle held out in front of me I force myself forward, the packed earth of the ground smooth under my bare feet. I pass the racks of wine and remember Sister Tabitha telling me about the history of this building. I follow the curve of the tunnel to the left and stop in front of the first door.



The wood is duller than I remember, the opening smaller. I trace my fingers over the splinters around the edges. I had forgotten about the rusted metal bolts thrust into the stone, keeping the doors locked, and I almost groan with relief and frustration. I tap against the wood and, when I hear nothing in response, knock harder.



I feel like a neighbor come calling and it makes me giggle, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and echoing maniacally around me. The noise is discordant to my ears, causing shivers to trail down my spine.



Trying to steady my breath, I set the candle on the ground, instantly missing the light and warmth. My body pulses with each heartbeat and my hands itch with fear. I take a bolt in each hand, tugging one back and up while pushing the other forward and down.



I hear a click and then a creak as the bolts slide free, the door suddenly swinging open.



A rush of air spills from the open room, dousing the candle at my feet and thrusting me into darkness.



Panic sets in fast and hard and I stumble back until I am pulling at the wall behind me, my feet sliding out from under me. I imagine hands on my ankles and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. I push up from the floor, stumble and hit the wall, hearing the sound of bottles falling from racks and cracking around me.



Blind, I run. Behind me I hear the rip of fabric, the groan of wood against metal. I trip and fall, wincing as I crash against wooden steps and realize that I've gone the wrong way down the tunnel. The cavernous room under the Cathedral is at the other end and I am now under the Forest. For a heartbeat I consider running back through the tunnel, back to the Cathedral, but the darkness is too much. Too thick.



I climb up the stairs until I am wedged against the wooden door leading aboveground and can go no farther. I pull myself into a ball, tucking my legs against my chest. My breath pounds from my body like a sob. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it does nothing to muffle the noise, the high-pitched wheeze of my body seeking air.



I try to hold my breath and listen to the stillness around me, between pounding heartbeats that cause my entire body to pulse. I hear the sound of liquid slugging from the broken wine bottles. Nothing else.



A sharp pain pierces my panic and with shaking hands I pull a shard of glass from the side of my right foot. My cheeks are wet with tears. I don't want to be here. I don't want any of this. I no longer care about Gabrielle or the Sisters or Harry or Travis. I don't care about anything in this world.



I imagine pushing open the heavy wooden door above me and slipping into the clearing. I imagine walking slowly toward the fences, my white gown billowing around my ankles as if I were floating. I imagine my mother waiting there on the other side. Her hands outstretched, ready for me.



I let the sobs overtake me then. This was not the way I imagined my life. Crouched, dirty and terrified in a secret tunnel under the Cathedral the night before my Binding to a man I do not love. As a child I dreamed of love and sunlight and a world beyond the Forest. I dreamed of the ocean, of a place untouched by the Return.



And suddenly I wonder what right we have to believe our childhood dreams will come true. My body aches with this realization. With this truth. It is as if I have cut something important away from myself. The loss is almost overwhelming. Almost enough to make me give up.



It is as if my bones can no longer support my body. As if I am nothing more than blood and tears and fear and regret, slipping into the world around me. I realize I have three choices: find a way through the door above my head and go into the Forest myself, stay here until Sister Tabitha finds me and sends me into the Forest, or finish the job I have started and return to my life.