Hidden in Sheridan (Tainted Series: Book 1)

Moon: YOUNG

Levi - There is a break in the tree canopy above, allowing several streams of light to cut through the dark branches, all the way to the ground where we stood. A network of trees that had grown together, had been used to construct a three level tree house. Its neatly orchestrated rope ladder hung down leading to a first open level floor plan, with a double rope railing around it. The ladder to the second story shot off to the right tree, tucked into the branches of its hardwood.

I don’t know trees but this one is not the same as the Christmas pines that occupy the forest. This one’s branches are thick and twist enough to support an inclosed room with two windows bordered by white shutters on either side. Its outer walls painted a bright turquoise.

Next, my eyes trail to the the rope bridge that shoots off to the left, doubling back over the first level but higher into another hardwood tree, whose branches wore a darker red bark which sheds in several places, making it look like a tree with leprosy.

This tree also holds an enclosed structure, large enough to be two rooms, since the back of it is so deep into the tree, I can’t see its end. Painted a soft orange color with a bright yellow door, and several windows.

I stare at it with a gaping mouth for so long I don’t notice that Ity is now standing beside me, trying to see what I’m seeing.

She nudges me with her elbow.

“Okay.” I nod, taking in one last look at the entire construction before looking over at her. “I can see the appeal.” She nods proudly. “Did you build this?”

A ‘tisk’ escapes her teeth as she promptly shakes her head. “Then who did? This is amazing.” She shrugs and then quickly ascends the rope ladder. I follow her up to the first floor, which is the least imaginative. I slide up through the square opening to the long flat surface. Its floor is slatted like an outdoor deck. It’s well made, as the floor doesn’t even creak beneath my weight. A small chest in the far corner is the one thing on the level. No frills or chairs. But still, we’re up off the ground so I’m impressed.

Ity walks straight to the chest and opens it, retrieving a long burgundy blanket. She tosses it to the ground as one would a picnic blanket. It’s four corners billow out until it’s laying perfectly flat across the surface. Ity drops her backpack in the center before she sits and begins to riffle through it.

I can’t fight the urge to explore further, “Can I?” I ask, Ity doesn’t look up. She simply waves me off. So I climb.

On the second level I find it has a normal house size door. It faces the opposite direction, which made it impossible to see from the ground. This door is painted with the same soft yellow as the opposite level. The detail on the door is remarkable, like a wood carver needed something to practice on and someone took that practice piece of wood and made it into a door.

A fire patterned sun, blazed in the center but it was soft and delicate, one flare from its surface twisted down the middle of the door not quite reaching the base. Though weathered the design is still quite the work of art.

I don’t go inside and instead step onto the rope bridge thinking I want to venture to the third level.

It sways in the breeze and brings me pause. I’m not afraid of heights, butIty is down below.

What are you doing leaving her alone? I silently scold myself and return my footing to the stationary step ladder that would lead me back to the bottom level.

There I find Ity sitting comfortably on the blanket, reading a familiar book. I sit close enough to get a better look at the characters written across the page and found it interesting that they didn’t run right to left but vertically top to bottom.

“You’ve been reading that for a few days.” I say, realizing too late that I probably sounded a bit stalker like. “Uh, it looks like the only English words are in the title. How do you read that?”

She made a quick gesture to herself and her mind as she looked him.

“You can read Chinese?”

Placing her finger in the pages to keep her place, she flips to title page just after the hard cover and points to an image. It’s an island map, which I instantly recognize. “That’s Japan. You can read Japanese.” I correct.

She nods.

“When did you learn that?”

A dreamy look crosses her expression and she uses her book free hand to gesture behind her.

“You learned it in the past, huh? That’s very … vague.” I say and she shrugs, as if to say that’s the only answer I’m going to get. “I don’t think you’ve ever told anyone where you came from. Or how you came to Sheridan.”

She closes her book and turns to me, then she shakes her head. No, she hadn’t.

“Why not?”

Her head tilts slightly, and I come to the quick conclusion that wasn’t the usual question asked. Perhaps she was expecting me to ask her to tell me where she came from. But I don’t want to change my question because she didn’t shrug me off, she just looked at me carefully.

“I guess no ones asked because we’d rather keep pretending you’re a sparkly vampire?” I say very matter of factly and Ity laughed.

Before now the only sound I had heard come from her was a sigh, a breath, or some tell of exasperation. So this laugh was a first for me.

Her lips spread wide showing her brilliantly white teeth and her eyes closed. No sound escapes her throat, but the whoosh of air echos from her throat. It was uncontrolled, and it surprised her. Ity’s hand flew up, covering her nose and mouth, she swallows it back into a controlled expression.

This was huge for me so I let myself blush, “It must be easier to not share details about yourself since you can’t talk, huh?”

She snaps her fingers and points at me with a confident nod.

“Oh so that’s it. The key to an easy teenage life, is let everyone make up your story for you.” I laugh only because she looks so confident about it. “Well, you share more than you probably realize. Everyone gravitates to you because you’re easy to like.”

Her eyes narrow into slits.

“I said easy to like, not easy to talk too. Some of us are just really good at tripping over every word we say around you. That’s my talent.”

She raises two thumbs up at my honesty. Clearly not something that had gone without her noticing. My eyes return to admiring how she hides away her expressions.

“This really is a great place. Why did you let me follow you?”

This time she resorts to official sign language. Both hands dance in front of her. She uses the simplest of words and I find the confidence to fill in the blanks.

“Would I have let you go on your own?” I laugh again, “No. I was just attacked in these woods, so the idea of you wandering around alone, nope. I couldn’t let you.”

Again, her hands move effortlessly.

“Of course I’m not scared.” I pretend to jump as the breeze rustling through the leaves, “What was that?”

She rolls her eyes.

Our conversation continues, lasting twice as long as the imaginary ones I usually have with her. Keeping the topics light and everything coated in humor seems to keep her engaged. I stop pushing the topic of her or where she came from, because every time I try she quickly redirects to something embarrassing, such as, my entire existence.

I talk, she signs and I repeat what I think she signs. The time passes rapidly and suddenly the sun was setting, the forest temperature drops and I suspect our window to safely exit the forest, is closing.

CHAPTER END