Clete was ahead of her, already in the middle of the log, setting one boot in front of the other. Nicky fought back her fear, trying not to look down at the stream rushing beneath her. When you’re scared, take small steps, her mother had told her. Make no sudden moves.

She stretched her arms out to either side for balance, took a couple steps, then a few more. This wasn’t hard. One foot in front of the other. She was almost to the middle of the log when she saw, along the stream bank, prints, an exact match of those on the wooden board at the trailhead. A bear claw, big as an oven mitt. Beside them a set of smaller tracks hugged the stream bank. Her heart lurched. A bear and her cub.

Nicky didn’t want to yell out to Clete, for fear of causing him to lose his balance. She also didn’t want to say the word bear. But the thought of being eaten made it difficult to move. Stuck in the middle of the log, she peered back down to where the riffles bunched up in front of the rocks. Clouds blocked the sun, and the land fell into shadow. Darker now, the stream looked deeper and faster and farther below than it had from the edge. The five holes in the print, where the claws punched the sand, seemed bottomless.

“Nicky!” She heard Clete calling from the other side. He beckoned her with a hand. “Don’t stop walking.”

She pushed her fear down and found the courage to take another step. The sun reemerged, the moss turned bright again, and the contours on the log beneath her sharpened. With a leap she came down, tumbling into the soft ferns.

“Get your spray out! I saw a print in the sand,” she said as she pulled herself up from the wetness.

He smiled at her. “That’s old,” he said. “The edges are windblown, not crisp.”

His easy tone reassured her. He knew this forest, and it wasn’t like she’d ever be out here alone.

She followed him to the base of one of the giant hemlocks, allowing her heart to calm. Nicky ran her palms over the tree, feeling the bumps, the crumble against her skin as the bark flaked off. A pulse went through her, and she snatched her hand back.

“What was that?” Clete asked, inspecting her. “Did you feel something?”

She stepped beyond the hemlock and approached the gnarled cedar, with its paper-thin layers of shedding bark. At the base of the trunk, mushrooms pushed up in clusters from the moss, their caps shiny with moisture. She kept her hands folded to her chest as she walked.

“Probably the oldest tree in the valley,” Clete said, looking up into the branches. “Sometimes I think it’s my best friend on the island. Usually the mushrooms aren’t out this early.”

She crouched beside one. The middle of the cap appeared toasted, the top folded down along the rim, giving way to ridges beneath.

“Close your eyes. Try not to think of anything,” he told her.

Dampness from the soil spread across her knee. She reached her finger beneath one of the mushroom caps. Immediately a buzzing began in her head, a single unbroken line of sound, sharp and insistent. She snatched her hand back. The sound faded.

Breathing deeply, she reached out again, this time gripping the mushroom, even as the buzzing filled her ears. She tried not to panic, keeping her hand in place as the current returned to her arm. It unfurled along her shoulders, up her neck, shaking out along the back of her head, lighting up the roots of her hair. She swallowed. The back of her throat began to feel dry and sore. It was hard to get a breath, and her molars were starting to ache, the sour metal taste when you bite into aluminum foil.

With an effort she broke free of the mushroom. As if someone flipped off a switch, the buzzing stopped. Clete watched her, his hands out in front, ready to catch her.

“What was that?” she asked. It had been stronger than with the spruce on Clete’s island, though not as disorienting. Her whole body seemed to twitch and fizz. She stared up into the branches of the great cedar, whose crown vanished into the milky white clouds. This tree is testing me, she thought. It wants to see if I’m scared.

“Nicky, maybe this is too much,” Clete said, scanning the forest. “You look pale. I don’t want to be out here if something happens. Let’s go home—we can come back next weekend.”

“You just said next weekend is too late,” Nicky said as she rolled the sleeve of her windbreaker, then curled her palm around the stalk of the largest mushroom.

Instantly a screeching started in her ears. Her chest seized. A new wave of energy passed through her. Then came another, and another, and soon she heard a chorus of screams, both joyful and scared, one layered over the other. She knew in an instant that she would never be able to unclench her hand by herself. The current held her in place. She blinked a few times, turning toward Clete. He was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. Something else filled her ears. Not words, or anything close to them. But a moist, insistent sound, a warble that evened into a keening, steady and clean and urgent.

Damp hair fell over her eyes. As the sound echoed through her, she fell deeper, deeper into a cavern, with no way to get out. She looked down at the mushroom, searching its brown cap for an answer. Then up at the moss-heavy branches of the cedar. Just before she felt herself about to lose consciousness, the screeching in her ears quieted, and she was still. You came, the trees said.

She felt Clete’s hands grip her shoulders, pulling at her. The mushroom exploded from the ground, and she stumbled back into the moss. This time, flashes continued to go off in her head, even as the buzzing faded. Slowly, like a storm passing, her mind cleared.

“This is too much,” Clete said. “We need to go back. These trees, it’s too much for one person.”

She arched her neck to stare up at the Old Yellow Cedar, then across at the Three Guardsmen.

“They’re crying,” she whispered. “The trees. They’re crying, and also laughing. It makes no sense.”

Moss hanging from the lower branches of the cedar swayed in the wind.

“Did they say anything?” Clete asked.

Nicky searched her mind. She could almost taste the words the trees had given her. They circled along the roof of her mouth, then seemed to settle, clear and bright in front of her. Just like Clete had said—too much for one person.

“They said they want me to save them.”