“Oh. Thanks,” said Tinn. “I just had to think about him really hard, and the magic kinda did the rest.”
“Him?” Evie said.
“Yeah. I just kept my thoughts focused on the spriggan right in front of me so my face would look like his face. Wait. It did, didn’t it?”
“Um. No.” Evie gave Tinn a sort of lopsided smile. “Wait. You have to be thinking about something really hard to make yourself look like it?”
“Yeah, that’s usually how it works. Why? What did I look like?”
“Well . . . me,” said Evie. “For about ten seconds you looked just like me.”
“Oh,” said Tinn. His ears felt suddenly hot.
Evie took his hand in hers again. “Come on. I can see hills through the tree trunks up ahead. We’re almost out of the forest.”
Together, they made their way out of the shadows at last and toward the bright, clear daylight and the open hills.
SEVENTEEN
Jacob Hill’s drill site was a grassy field nestled in a shallow dip between two hills. It was wide enough to squeeze in a decently sized baseball diamond, provided the outfielders didn’t mind climbing up and down hills or clambering through wild growth. Right smack in the center of it, surrounded by sawdust and splinters, stood the enormous stump. It was four feet high, with roots as thick as Cole’s waist and a top as broad across as the stage in Endsborough’s auditorium.
Fable let out a long, slow breath. “Aw, man,” she breathed. “This is why she’s been so grumpy.” Fable laid a hand on what remained of the Grandmother Tree.
The corpse of the tree lay in sections, stripped of its branches, at the northern side of the clearing. All around, shrubs and bushes had been ripped up, and a huge brush pile lay to one end of the field. Several more narrow tree stumps were also visible, low against the flattened terrain, and it was apparent Hill’s efforts had pressed the forest line back at least fifty feet to make room for his grand project. As for the pump jack, all that remained now were a few standing timbers and a lot of debris.
Cole examined the remains of the equipment, picking his way carefully across the wreckage. Beams of wood had been snapped like toothpicks. Iron rods as thick as Cole’s wrist had been twisted like paper clips and lay mangled in the dirt. Heavy cogs, like oversized clockwork, sat in a pile to the right. Three massive timbers and a couple of crossbeams remained intact, towering above them, although the structure leaned heavily to one side.
Cole heard Fable’s footsteps scuff along the earth as she approached. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She scowled. “What is this?”
“I think it used to be a boring rig, for cutting into dirt and rocks and stuff,” said Cole. “I’ve seen pictures.”
“Whatever happened here, it doesn’t look like it was very boring,” said Fable.
“Why was he digging so close to the forest in the first place?” Cole wondered. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just do it up by the old farmhouse?”
Fable shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “But the forest is not happy. This is definitely where it was sending me.”
“Are the trees finally talking to you?” Cole asked.
Fable wobbled a hand from side to side. “It’s less like words and more like annoying pokes in my tummy. Not as helpful as you might think. But now that we’re here, it feels obvious. I’m not happy, either.”
Cole’s eyes dropped to the ground. “It looks like you and the trees aren’t the only ones who aren’t happy,” he said. He took a step back and Fable followed his gaze.
The two of them stood on either side of a massive footprint in the soil. Pressed into the freshly churned dirt was one broad pad with five clearly defined toes. The indentation was as big as Cole’s mattress. He could have lain down inside the thing and still had room to spare.
“Giants,” said Cole in an awed whisper.
“If there are giants in my forest,” said Fable, “then they are the best hiders ever.”
“Shh, do you hear someone?” Cole hunched down. “Shoot. The grown-ups must be here already.”
The two of them ducked behind what was left of the drilling equipment.
“Just this way,” came the voice of Jacob Hill. “Here, ladies and gentlemen. We were standing right here when the brute lumbered off into the trees.”
Cole peeked out between the spokes of an oversized wooden cog.
Hill was leading the way down the hillside toward the field, followed by a handful of townspeople. Amos Washington, who was near the front, gave a low whistle. “Is that your rig, Mr. Hill?”
“It was,” Hill grunted. His eyes darted to the tree line every few seconds. “What’s left of the drill is lodged in the dirt over there. Mind your step, sir. You’re standing right in the middle of the proof we were looking for.”
Mr. Washington glanced down and then stepped gingerly out of the enormous footprint.
“This is one heck of a sight.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of strange stuff around here, but I’ve never seen anything that could do this.”
“We have no way of knowing if it’s authentic, of course,” said Helen Grouse. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hill. I don’t mean to be distrustful, but—”
“No offense taken. I wouldn’t believe me either,” Hill said. “It’s mad.”
“Where did it come from?” asked Mr. Washington.
“Heck if I know.” Hill waved at the forest line. “I was more concerned with getting out of here in one piece. You’re welcome to follow the tracks for yourselves if you like. I’ll keep to the open ground, if it’s all the same to you.”
Cole held as still as he could as Mr. Washington stepped past the kids’ hiding spot, followed by Mrs. Grouse and a handful of other inquisitive townsfolk.
