The Adventures of Artemis and Ambros

CHAPTER 1

The Pink Line, The Old Lady, and The Copper Pot

They hid behind the cobblestone fence. The day-long search to find the mysterious, glowing pink line had suddenly come to an end, but now what? Artemis felt the cool surface of the weathered and eroded stone wall against her cheek. She peeked over a section of the waist-high barrier where the top row of rocks had fallen off—probably from a leaping stag, imagined the young, free-spirited girl.

An old lady in a flowing dress of bright yellow fabric was standing just feet from the beam of light—a line that stretched all the way from the closest peak of the Smalls Mountain Range to the heavily used chimney of the old lady's outdoor kitchen.

“We should just go,” Artemis said in a nervous whisper.

“I’m telling you now, Artie, I ain’t going back without finding out more about this beam,” Ambros said, not nearly as quietly as he had been moments before.

Artemis raised her head a little more to get a better view of the old lady and her strange little house, which was surrounded by some of the biggest trees she had ever seen on a property. The largest tree stood in the center of the backyard; countless lamps hung from its massive limbs, decorating it from the crown to the trunk. The tree cast a shadow on the other trees that surrounded the house. The leaves gently rustled in the soft valley breeze that cascaded down the mountain across the open green valley. Artemis didn’t think the little house looked normal, even for a twelve-year-old from a village the size of a chicken coop.

The more she looked at it, the more she realized the strange woman must have reduced the little valley cottage for some reason. The walls had been knocked down with some bizarre reasoning. Since the valley had not seen war for over four generations, there was no chance warriors had smashed the walls. Where the walls seemingly used to be, trees and plants of all varieties and colors now grew.

She must like plants more than privacy, thought Artemis, because she could see completely through the house to the small sparkling pond just on the other side.

The old lady lit a small fire in her outdoor kitchen, but Artemis did not see her go near it; smoke simply began billowing out of the chimney. The kitchen looked partly like an ancient ruin and partly like a kitchen the King’s chef might use. Pots and pans of all shapes and sizes hung from the few sections of wall that remained. Wooden spoons the size of small shovels were laying around the counter and sticking out of shelves. Ambros stood up to get a better look. He must have seen some food on the counter.

“Look at those loaves!”

“Get down, you little fool,” Artemis hissed, trying to sound like a stern auntie.

He held his position. “The pink line of light is humming. I wonder if we should touch it. Would it teleport us to the ancient times of war and adventure?” Ambros asked with a completely serious look on his face. His light brown curly hair was especially messy today from the long walk and his constant habit of pulling at it. He wore the same dark green coat and deerskin pants that were a little too short now, no longer reaching his ankles. He was only a year older than Artemis, but she always told people he acted three years younger.

Artemis put her focus back on the old lady and her strange house. She had had enough of Ambros and his ridiculous stories. The fire was steadily burning in the kitchen, but the woman was gone. She had not expected the grandmother to move this quickly and was slightly alarmed. Artemis scanned the fence that divided the yard from the vast valley beyond. Nothing but birds, a few squirrels on an oak tree, and a butterfly that danced in front of her with its orange and black patterns.

“Oh no, where did she go, Ambros?” she asked, standing up in a nervous reaction to losing sight of her. Artemis was in full view now, having in her confusion forgotten to stay behind the stone wall. The cool air and the floral waft of wildflowers put her into a light daydream for a moment.

“She must have gone for a cup of tea… don’t you think, young ones?” said a pleasant but sturdy voice from just behind them.

Artemis jumped with fright. Ambros did more than that—he leaped up, turned halfway, and fell sideways over the top of the stone wall. All that could be seen of her friend were the bottoms of his boots, which were worn through with holes.

“Time for some new boots, youngster. And how do you presume to be brave enough to get a closer look at that light beam if you are scared of an old lady tending to her garden?” the woman said, laughing as she looked down at Ambros. “Now, for you, my brave young lady: let’s go around the fence, have a drink of cool tea, and you can tell me why you’re peeking into my yard, how you see what you see, and why you are friends with this young man who has shoes like a strainer. And I can tell you a little about little old me.”

The lady laughed again, even louder this time. “Oh, get up! I’m only teasing you. I had boots worse than those when I was coming up. Look at me now—I have the original shoes on!” She waved one of her bare feet around as she put her arm around Artemis’s shoulder.

Artemis didn't know why, but she felt strangely familiar with this lady. Part of her wanted to yell, “Look at that bird!” and run, but another part—the part that tells you when it’s time to wake up in the morning—sat steady in her gut. This was what having a "Grannie" would feel like.

Artemis’s short brown hair whipped up in a warm breeze as they walked across the emerald-green grass. They passed dandelions that, for some reason or another, appeared to turn and watch them pass by from down along the grass. The birds sang in a choir perfectly to the rhythm of the old lady's walk. A large leaf from a maple tree fell from a branch near the edge of her property. Ambros watched it drift and twirl in the air until it landed in the palm of his hand.

Suddenly, the old lady stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath through her nose. “Odd. Very odd... oh well, maybe an old lady's imagination,” she trailed off in a whisper Artemis couldn't understand. “Come and sit. We might not have the peaceful, long summer evening everyone had predicted.”

She looked up at the leaves of a large cottonwood tree as they began to blow gently, all the leaves in the tree having a conversation and then telling the three of them below what they had pondered upon. Artemis watched the leaves blowing while the old lady closed her eyes only to listen. Ambros held his leaf between his flat palms, making it look like a leaf sandwich.

Ambros caught up to join them. Sometimes Artemis felt like he was a little like a puppy dog, always nipping at her heels, but she remembered that at one point years ago she hadn't had a single friend. She used to sneak over to his house every afternoon for a late lunch or early dinner, and he didn’t seem like a puppy dog in those moments. He was her lifeline to an environment that made a cloudy day seem brighter, served with butter and bread on the back steps.

The lady led them to the kitchen, where they sat on tree trunks that had been sanded smooth for comfort. The pink beam of light looked like a perfectly straight bolt of lightning, too bright to look at directly for more than ten seconds but difficult not to look at for at least two.

“You can call me Grannie,” she said, just before she lit her wooden pipe with a snap of her fingers. It was so fast Artemis didn’t see a match or a flame. Ambros seemed to find it odd too; his eyes followed her hands instead of her face. He looked like he was trying to figure out how she did it.

Grannie was short with golden skin, as if she hadn’t spent a single day inside in her life. Her thick gray hair was braided and reached down to her lower back. Her skin was wrinkled but beautiful. Artemis liked the color of her yellow dress and now noticed orange pinstripes that ran up it. The dress was decorated with real flowers pinned into a design that spiraled outward from the middle.

The woman took a puff from her wooden pipe that surprised Artemis; she thought only grandpas and wizards smoked pipes with long stems, almost like a wand. When she exhaled, the smoke created what Artemis would swear was a question mark, followed by the letter A, then another A, before dispersing into the leaves.

“The question, Artemis and Ambros, is how you are able to see this beam,” Grannie said, waving toward the light that ended at her chimney, still humming and vibrating.

“Couldn’t anyone with eyes see it?” Ambros asked in his usually overconfident tone.

“You would think so, Ambros, but on the contrary, only about five or six humans can see such a beam. I’ve seen farmers stop and look out toward the valley sensing something, searching for what they knew not, but all for naught. No one for many years but you two naive little people has ever come to my yard to ask about it. Of course, it doesn’t appear as often as it did before, but the town folk would have their chances if they could really see,” Grannie said, taking a sip of tea. She gestured for them to drink.

Artemis was hesitant. She looked at the loose leaves swirling in the amber liquid. It smelled of licorice and another herb she recognized from Ambros’s mother’s kitchen.

“Basil, chamomile, and I apologize for the licorice. I wasn’t expecting two townies from the small river village without a name,” Grannie said.

“I don’t mind licorice,” Ambros said, trying to impress the elder.

“Never mind the licorice, tell me how you can see the beam,” she said, more restlessly than before.

“Well, ma'am, we were fishing for trout this morning and Ambros noticed some geese flying over the valley,” Artemis began, looking at Ambros to see if he wanted to help with the story.

“Then Artie kept talking about the pink line,” Ambros added. “I couldn’t see it at first, but she wouldn’t stop talking about it, so we took off up the river trail for a better look. The more Artie told me it was there, the easier it was for me to see it.”

The old lady’s eyes darted between them, then to the smoke coming out of her chimney, which was blowing toward the trees they had hidden under rather than up into the sky. The lighting changed suddenly as the sun was diffused by a lonely cloud. A quick gust tossed the old lady’s hair.

“Our little conversation unfortunately needs to end here,” Grannie said, looking west. “Some other time we can have cakes and share fishing stories, but now you two must get home without delay.”

She began putting the cups away as the wind picked up. She put her hand on Artemis’s back and led them through a gate in the stone wall, walking three times as fast as they had when walking in. “I will come and find you. Don’t come back this way. Stay in your village. Stay inside. A storm is coming, and not like one you’ve seen.”

“Can we have some cakes for the walk? We might not get back until after supper,” Ambros asked.

“Ah, you can’t walk, my friend. I am afraid if you walk, you won’t make it to see another morning. This storm will steal your life.”

“What storm are you—” Artemis was cut off by the sound of thunder crawling across the valley.

The sky darkened and the air turned cold. Birds of all types raced across the sky toward the east, toward their river village. Two tumbleweeds, one after the other, brambled along the edge of her grass, leaping in the wind and bouncing off of rocks. Artemis couldn’t stop watching a large goose that was flying as fast as it could until it began going backward. The goose smartly turned and flew with the wind away from the incoming storm.

A whip of wind cracked a tree in half that was standing just below the pink line. The wicked wind pushed at the pink line, bending it and pulling it into a U-shape for twenty meters. The thread of pink light vibrated with more intensity until it was cut in half by the wind. The sound of thunder in reverse engulfed the valley as the pink line, with the twang of a broken string instrument, was gone.

“It’s too dangerous for you to stay here,” Grannie shouted over the wind. She held a copper cooking pot in her hand. “Change of plans. You’re going to need a guide to find shelter; you’ll never make it back to the village on your own.”

“Who is the guide? Where will we find them?” asked Artemis.

“They know the pink thread was here; it is not safe here for you. They will surely come. You have to go. Follow this, and do not let it out of your sight,” Grannie said, holding the banged-up copper pot.

“How can you expect us to follow a pot?” Ambros yelled.

“Do not question me, young ones! I have been alive too long to be questioned by two saplings out on a walk-about! Now start running and do not stop until the pot stops!”

The old lady reared back and threw the pot, twisting her short, wide frame as much as her old body would allow. The pot flew into the wind, cutting it while at the same time catching it inside the cylinder. Artemis took off running. She watched the shimmering pot sparkle as it caught the last moment of sunlight. Its handles whistled as it spun. It soared between a grouping of cottonwood trees, cleaving through the leaves and leaving a hole where it had entered.

After flying for more than forty meters, the pot hit the gravel road with a ringing noise, bouncing and rolling perfectly on the path.

“What is this pot, Artie? It’s like a bloodhound!” Ambros shouted. The rolling pot made a sound like ancient music as it hopped along, hitting off the rocks and sticks, creating musical notes that were surprisingly pure and clean.

The storm chased them while they chased the pot. Artemis could feel the wind building behind her. Branches and sticks broke off the trees, then flew past them. One nicked the back of Artemis’s neck, spinning past her face then bouncing along the grass below. Leaves slapped the back of her knees as they flew past at higher speed with each step she took. The darkness from the gray clouds muted the flowers and colors of the green grass.

The pot took a sudden turn into a grassy field, beckoning them to follow with its poetic sounds. It rolled along toward a creek that branched off from the No Name River. Artemis was torn between keeping up the chase and stopping with her disgruntled friend who had stopped running.

Rain began to fall on her face, and a big drop hit her in the eye. “I’m going back to the road; all we're gonna find in this grass is a snake,” yelled Ambros, pointing back toward the road.

A bolt of lightning struck a twisted old oak tree a short distance in front of them. The sound of the bolt ripped through the air, causing sparks to fly from the mighty oak. The air was tingling, and Ambros’s hair was standing up from the electricity in the air. The tree split in half; a large chunk came falling toward them with a splintering sound followed by a deep thud. Artemis started running toward the copper pot.

The trail ran along the creek, weaving and snaking between the trees. She turned to the right, following the trail toward their village. “Look at that!” yelled Ambros just a few feet behind her.

Artemis turned, looking back toward the old lady's house, and a dark gray twister was tearing along the valley floor, traveling directly for them. The wind was blowing so strong by this time that it was almost pushing her into the creek. She leaped over a few large rocks and a fallen branch; she saw a flash of metal rolling through the bushes toward her, then cutting across the creek back toward the twister. She leaped the creek, only getting one shoe wet.

The wind was now too strong to run. The copper pot was in full view, rolling along the trail and slowing down so they could keep up. It was now heading for a large, dark tree with great arms that reached out in both directions. The trunk of the tree was twice as wide as the average tree and it was not very tall. The pot was heading directly toward a crack that could be mistaken for a door with a scuffed steel knob on it.

The pot disappeared into the trunk. Artemis followed, leaping inside a large crack, leaving the heavy winds and howling noises behind.

Ambros fell on top of her as he arrived clumsily and in a breathless panic. The strange doorway slammed closed behind them, and the copper pot spun and rolled in a little circle like a coin coming to a stop.

The trunk was curiously quiet. She knew now that this was more than just an ordinary tree trunk; she could see it extended with at least one more room as her eyes started to adjust to the low light. This was much more than a coyote den. There was art on the wall—small drawings made from charcoal and paper. Books were lying all around the room. Candles were on the floor and a loaf of bread that smelled fresh sat with a stick of butter next to it.

“Are we safe?” asked Ambros, rubbing his head and wiping his rain-soaked face.

The tree shook and rocked on its roots. Artemis held on to a table that was mounted to the wall to stabilize herself. The wind outside began howling so loud it sounded like they were inside a great waterfall. Artemis yelled, but she couldn’t hear her own screams. An unlit torch flew off the wall and was sucked up through the chimney, followed by some papers and a small stool.

Ambros was not holding on to anything. Artemis heard his cries as he began to slowly move toward the chimney in the small room, his fingers making a sliding noise from losing his grip. She tried to move her leg over for him so he could grab onto it, but he couldn’t reach. With a scream, he was gone, sucked up and out of the chimney.

She tried one last grasp for a tighter grip on the table. She reached to pull herself tighter, but all she grabbed was a book that had been laid there. Her grip gave out and, with a thud, she hit against the chimney wall. She was pulled up by the twister, flying out of the tree above the crown, flipping upside down with the wild winds. She crashed through some branches and landed in a thick bush that cushioned her fall.

She lay on her back looking at the tree branches and leaves blowing over her body. Then, as fast as it had come, the wind was almost completely gone. Artemis rolled out of the bush. She stood looking for Ambros. She walked, stunned, muddy, and wet, looking in all the bushes and the creek. Her heart sank into her stomach when she didn't see him.

Artemis looked up at the sky. “Why… Why would you take my only friend from me? What did I do?” she cried, tears pouring down her face without control.

“Ya think you could stop your bellyaching and get me down?” said Ambros, caught in the tree about ten meters above her head. Just then, the branch broke with a crack and Ambros fell, tumbling down the wet, muddy creek slope and landing face-first in the water. He was followed by the copper pot, which landed next to him, banging loudly on the rocks before floating slowly downstream toward their little village, Nameless, in a mocking fashion.

Artemis stood there holding tight to the book she had mistakenly grabbed from the tree hovel. With Ambros at her side, she watched the storm darken the sky toward her village. She knew in her soaked boots and messy locks that their world had now changed.