Episode 1 · Soul Tree

Soles got off the bus with a drawing tube under his arm and the firm intention of being home before his dinner went cold.

His dark hair was flattened on one side from the bus window and untidy above his forehead. His narrow face, straight nose and thick eyebrows gave him a serious look that softened when he smiled. He was lean, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. A line of grease remained beneath one thumbnail despite a thorough scrub at work.

He had stayed late at the port workshop to finish a pump mounting. The old one shook itself loose every few months. His replacement had survived the afternoon test, and his father had asked to see the drawing. Soles had taken the large copy because Kale would complain about trying to read dimensions on a phone.

Now he was late, carrying something the size of a drainpipe down a quiet residential street. His mother would have an opinion about both things.

The gate stood open.

He slowed. Lucky usually reached the fence before he reached the corner. This evening, the dog was barking inside the house. Mina answered him with a thin, impatient sound.

— Coming, he called.

The light above the back door was on. Beyond it, the kitchen curtain hung still. He pushed the gate wider and stepped onto the path between the house and the greenhouse.

A man stood beside the kitchen door.

Soles first noticed the bare forearms, then the dark object held close to the man’s thigh. The man raised it as Soles stopped.

For an instant they looked straight at one another. A broad face. Short hair. A mouth held tight, as though Soles had interrupted something difficult.

The man pointed the pistol at his chest.

Soles tried to step back.

The sound struck the walls of the yard. Something hit him beneath the breastbone, hard enough to fold him over the drawing tube. His knees gave, and the path rose into his face.

He landed on his side. The tube rolled against the greenhouse step.

His first breath made a wet sound.

The man was coming toward him. Soles tried to push himself away, but his palm slid over the paving. Through the open gate, a woman’s voice called from the street. A window went up above him.

The man’s shoes stopped beside his hand.

Soles lifted his eyes. He could see only the pant leg and the pistol hanging beside it. He waited for it to rise again.

The shoes turned. Footsteps crossed the path and hurried through the gate.

He wanted to call his father. He managed the beginning of the word before his breath ran out. Lucky was throwing himself against the kitchen door. The handle rattled each time.

His hand found the front of his shirt. It was warm and slick beneath his fingers.

Somebody knelt beside him. Hands moved his own away and pressed down. He tried to explain that the dogs were inside. It seemed important that the stranger should know.

— Stay with me!

He was trying.

The light above the door stretched into a pale line. Then the path, the hands and the barking slipped away together.

He stood in a gray emptiness with both feet beneath him.

Soles took a quick breath. It entered easily. He drew another, deeper one, and put a hand against his chest.

His shirt was dry.

He turned, searching for the person who had spoken. The ground around him was smooth and dim, without a road or a wall to give it distance. Something like grass stood near his shoes. Each blade was a thin outline against the gray.

He could not remember coming here.

— Hello?

His voice sounded close. He waited for an answer, then called louder.

Nothing moved.

A faint light showed ahead. It narrowed, almost disappeared, and returned. Soles watched until it faded again. When it brightened, he started toward it.

The grass thickened around his legs. He felt none of it. Looking down, he saw a long stem pass through his shin as he walked.

He stopped so abruptly that he nearly fell.

The stem remained where it was, complete from the ground to its curled tip. He crouched and reached for it. His fingers closed on empty air.

He tried again, slower. The pale outline passed through the joints of his hand.

Soles straightened. He kept his eyes on the light and continued, leaving his hands at his sides.

Flowers appeared among the stems. Some grew in low clusters; others stood alone on stalks he could have snapped between finger and thumb, if his fingers had been able to meet them. A thorn bush curved over the way ahead. He ducked beneath it, then felt foolish for being relieved when nothing caught his hair.

At the foot of the bush, marks lay across a small, flat stone.

Letters.

He bent to read them, but the light ahead faltered. The outlines around him grew faint with it. Soles lost the last part of the word and lifted his head.

Beyond the bush stood a tree.

Its trunk rose from the center of the plants, dividing above his head into bare branches. A narrow glow traced the bark and collected in the forks. He could follow it upward until it thinned into the gray overhead.

The light weakened. A branch disappeared from the tip down.

Soles hurried toward the trunk.

He wanted to get there before it went out. He had no explanation for that certainty, but the thought of standing in the emptiness without even this much light made him walk faster.

Up close, the tree looked solid. Deep grooves crossed the bark. He reached for one, hesitated, and pressed his palm against it.

It was cold.

He pulled in a breath. After all the empty stems, the roughness beneath his skin was so startling that he spread his fingers to feel more of it.

A thin light traveled under his hand.

It followed a groove upward, crossed another, and spread into the first branch. The tree brightened. Soles held still, afraid that moving would stop it.

Something struck beneath his palm.

He snatched his hand away. Light rushed through the branches, then sank toward the roots. The ground moved under his feet with a slow, deep shudder.

— What the hell…

The glow dwindled again.

He looked behind him. The plants were fading. Beyond them, the empty gray seemed very close.

Soles put his hand back against the trunk.

— Come on.

The bark pressed into his palm. He leaned against it, holding on as the light gathered under his fingers. This time it climbed beyond the first branches. The trunk shone through the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger.

A second pulse hit.

It lifted him off his feet.

He fell among the flowers, hands thrown over his face. Light filled the spaces between his fingers. The tree, the ground, the whole garden vanished in it.

White light stayed against his closed eyes.

Something hard pressed beneath his back. A voice spoke above him, suddenly near and clear.

— We’ve got a pulse.