Chapter 7: The Man at the Edge of the Woods

The protective charms felt heavy in Kai's jacket pockets as he and Taza drove back through the reservation in the gathering dusk. Mary Begay's warnings echoed in his mind, mixing with the weight of silver amulets and sage bundles that were supposed to keep him safe from powers that defied rational explanation. But safety felt like a luxury he could no longer afford, not with Emma's voice still echoing in his memory and the thing that wore Shadi's face waiting in the mountain's depths.

The reservation looked different in the evening light—more vulnerable, somehow, as if the approaching darkness stripped away the comfortable illusions of daylight. Kai noticed details he'd missed before: how the livestock clustered together in the centers of their pastures, avoiding the fence lines closest to the mountain. How even the dogs seemed reluctant to venture far from their owners' porches. How windows were closed despite the summer heat, curtains drawn against something more threatening than prying eyes.

"It's getting worse," Taza said, following his gaze. "Ever since Emma disappeared, people have been... on edge. Scared in ways they can't quite explain."

They passed the Yazzie house, where Emma's grandmother sat on the front steps surrounded by relatives who'd come to help with the vigil. The old woman's face was etched with the particular kind of grief that came from hope slowly dying, from prayers that seemed to go unanswered. Kai felt the familiar twist of guilt in his chest, the knowledge that he carried information that might help but couldn't be shared without sounding insane.

"Agent Rodriguez won't understand the protections," he said, touching the silver amulet around his neck. "She'll want scientific explanations for everything."

"Then don't tell her everything." Taza's voice carried a pragmatic edge. "Tell her you're going back into the cave system with proper equipment and backup. Tell her you think Emma might be in one of the deeper passages your childhood maps show. Just don't mention the Little People or talking ravens or any of the rest of it."

As they pulled into their grandmother's driveway, Kai caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. Something large and still at the tree line, just beyond the reach of the porch light. When he turned to look directly, there was nothing there—just pine trees swaying in the evening breeze and shadows that played tricks on tired eyes.

But the feeling of being watched remained.

Inside, their grandmother was preparing dinner with the methodical efficiency of someone who used cooking as meditation. The kitchen smelled of fry bread and coffee, normal domestic scents that should have been comforting but somehow felt fragile, like a thin barrier against the darkness pressing in from outside.

"You spoke with Mary Begay," she said without turning around. It wasn't a question.

"She identified the doll. Explained what it means." Kai sat heavily at the kitchen table, the same table where he'd drawn his childhood maps of the cave system. "She thinks the Little People want me to return to the mountain."

"And what do you think?"

The question was deceptively simple, but Kai could hear layers of meaning beneath it. His grandmother had always been good at asking the right questions, the ones that forced you to confront truths you'd been avoiding.

"I think Emma is still alive," he said finally. "I think she's being kept somewhere in the cave system, and I'm the only one who might be able to find her."

"Because of what you said fifteen years ago. Because of the words you spoke in the dark."

Kai nodded, surprised by how much relief he felt at finally admitting it out loud. "Mary thinks I created some kind of... obligation. That by speaking those words, by reaching the cave's deepest chamber first, I marked myself for something specific."

"The King of Bones." His grandmother's voice was barely above a whisper. "I should have warned you better about the power of words spoken in sacred places. Should have made you understand that some phrases carry weight beyond their meaning."

"You couldn't have known—"

"I knew the stories. Knew the warnings my own grandmother passed down about children who played games in places they didn't understand." She turned from the stove, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears. "I knew, and I thought you were smart enough to stay away from that cursed place."

Before Kai could respond, Taza stiffened beside him, his head tilted as if listening to something the others couldn't hear. "Do you hear that?"

Kai strained his ears but caught only the normal sounds of evening—wind through trees, the distant hum of a generator, a dog barking somewhere down the road. "Hear what?"

"Voices. Children's voices." Taza stood slowly, moving toward the window. "They're calling from outside."

Now Kai could hear it too—faint but unmistakable, the sound of young voices drifting through the evening air. But something was wrong with the acoustics, as if the sounds were coming from much farther away than they appeared to be.

"Emma? Emma, where are you?"

"Grandmother? I can't find my way home."

"It's so dark down here. Why won't anyone come help us?"

The voices were heartbreaking in their innocence, filled with the kind of desperate confusion that made adults want to rush outside and gather lost children into protective arms. But their grandmother was already moving, pulling heavy curtains across the windows with sharp, decisive movements.

"Don't listen," she said urgently. "Don't look outside. And whatever you do, don't answer them."

"But they sound so scared," Taza protested, even as he helped her with the curtains. "If there are children lost out there—"

"There are no children out there. Not anymore." Grandmother's voice was flat with terrible certainty. "The Little People have learned new tricks since Emma was taken. They're using voices to call people outside, to separate them from the protection of their homes."

The voices continued, growing more desperate and pitiful. Kai found himself moving toward the door despite his grandmother's warnings, drawn by an almost overwhelming need to help. His hand was actually on the doorknob when Taza grabbed his arm.

"No, cousin. Remember what Mary Begay said—they need willing participation. If you go out there answering their call, you're giving them exactly what they want."

Through the covered windows, they could hear movement now—footsteps circling the house, small feet moving through the yard with deliberate patience. The voices came from different directions, multiplying until it sounded like a dozen lost children were wandering through the darkness.

"Please help us. We're so scared."

"The mountain took us, but we escaped. We just want to go home."

"Kai? Kai, is that you? I've been looking for you everywhere."

That last voice hit like a physical blow. It was Shadi's voice, exactly as it had sounded in the cave chamber, bright with joy and innocent trust. Kai's hand tightened on the doorknob until his knuckles went white.

"It's not her," his grandmother said gently, moving to stand beside him. "Whatever is using her voice, it's not your cousin. Shadi is beyond their reach now."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I blessed her before you children went to the mountain that day. Spoke the old protections over all three of you, the ones my grandmother taught me for keeping children safe from the Little People." Her voice broke slightly. "The blessings should have held. Should have kept her from being taken completely."

"Then why didn't they work?"

"Because the Little People didn't take her, grandson. You gave her to them. When you spoke those words in the sacred chamber, when you named her Queen of Bones, you overrode my protections with something older and more powerful."

The truth of it hit like a sledgehammer to the chest. All these years, Kai had blamed himself for leaving Shadi behind, for not protecting her, for failing as an older cousin. But the reality was so much worse—he had actively participated in her transformation, had used words of power to mark her for a fate worse than death.

Outside, the voices grew more insistent, more desperate. And now there were other sounds mixed in—scraping against the walls, tapping on windows, the soft thud of small bodies pressing against the door.

Taza had moved to the back window and was peering carefully through a gap in the curtains. "There's something out there," he whispered. "Multiple somethings. They're small, child-sized, but they move wrong. Too fluid, like they don't have proper joints."

"The Little People themselves," Grandmother said. "They're getting bolder, more desperate. The barrier between worlds is weakening, and they need to complete their ritual before it closes again."

"What ritual?"

"The coronation. The formal installation of their King and Queen. They've had their Queen for fifteen years, but without her counterpart, her power is incomplete." She looked directly at Kai. "They need you to accept your role willingly, to enter their realm and speak the words that will bind you to their service."

The tapping on the windows grew more insistent, almost rhythmic, like a drumbeat building toward climax. Through the walls, they could hear the Little People's voices joining with the mimicked children's cries, creating a chorus of desperation and hunger that seemed to vibrate in their bones.

"We should call Agent Rodriguez," Taza said. "Get federal backup out here."

"And tell her what? That invisible fairy creatures are surrounding the house?" Kai's laugh was bitter. "She'll think we've all had psychological breaks from the stress."

"Maybe we have."

But even as Taza spoke, they all knew this was real. The sounds outside, the feeling of malevolent presence pressing against the house's thin walls, the way their phones had stopped working entirely—all of it pointed to something beyond the reach of rational explanation.

Kai moved to the front window and carefully lifted one corner of the curtain. The yard was bathed in moonlight, empty and peaceful-looking. But as he watched, shadows began to move independently of their sources, flowing across the ground like living things. And at the tree line, barely visible in the darkness between the pines, stood a familiar figure.

The man from his childhood. The still, watching presence he'd glimpsed by the river fifteen years ago.

This time, Kai could see him clearly. Tall and gaunt, wearing clothes that might have been traditional or might have been something else entirely. His face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes were visible—bright points of light that seemed to burn with their own inner fire. When he realized Kai was watching, the figure raised one impossibly long arm in what might have been a greeting or a summons.

"He's here," Kai whispered. "The man I saw as a child. He's standing at the edge of the woods."

Grandmother moved to look over his shoulder, and Kai heard her sharp intake of breath. "That's not a man, grandson. That's their herald. Their voice in the world above ground. He comes when the Little People need to deliver important messages."

"What kind of messages?"

"Usually ultimatums."

As they watched, the figure began to move closer, gliding across the yard with movements that defied normal physics. He left no footprints in the soft earth, cast no shadow in the bright moonlight, and made no sound despite his apparent substance.

When he reached the porch, he stopped and spoke in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once—deep, resonant, carrying the weight of centuries:

"The King delays too long. The Queen grows impatient in her chamber of bones. The child grows weak in the deep places, and soon she will join the others in their eternal service. Come willingly, and she may yet return to the world above. Refuse, and all debts will be collected in blood."

The figure raised his hand again, and suddenly the air was filled with new sounds—not the mimicked voices of lost children, but something far more terrible. Screaming. Real screaming, thin and desperate and heartbreakingly young.

Emma. Somewhere in the mountain's depths, Emma Yazzie was screaming for help.

The herald's burning eyes fixed on Kai through the window. "She calls for you, King of Bones. She calls for her protector, her savior, her promised rescuer. Will you answer? Or will you let another child join the Queen's eternal court?"

The screaming cut off abruptly, leaving a silence that was somehow worse than the sound had been. In that silence, Kai could feel the weight of fifteen years of guilt and grief crystallizing into terrible clarity.

He knew what he had to do. Had always known, really, since the moment Taza's call had dragged him back to this place of memory and nightmare.

The Little People wanted their King of Bones.

And tomorrow, willing or not, they were going to get him.